#or for having an “attitude” with my parents (often when I was purposefully trying to appear humble with an “idk” voice)

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Spoke to someone I don’t know over the phone, 11 dead, 32 injured

[ibijau]

Futures past pt5 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang chats with Su She, and gets reminded of his mission

"I swear, if that shixiong of yours doesn't stop sneering like that every time he sees you, I'm stealing you," Nie Huaisang grumbled as they walked away from the training grounds. “And then da-ge will be happy to have another hard working disciple, and you will be happy to never deal with those stuck up idiots, and I will be happy to have a friend at home!”

Su She rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips that pleased Nie Huaisang. He’d figured out pretty quickly that Su She liked being praised, reacting to it like a man lost in the desert who'd found an oasis. It was funny, and a little cute, and Nie Huaisang was only too happy to build up his new friend’s self esteem. When Su She was in a good mood, he was a little more willing to help Nie Huaisang with his homework, at least some of the time. He refused to actually do the work for Nie Huaisang, which was a shame, but just getting help was already something.

And it was help that Nie Huaisang desperately needed.

As weeks passed, it had become quite obvious that he was horrifyingly bad at studying, his grade plummeting down with each new test and surprise quiz. At least he could somewhat manage his homework if Su She or Lan Xichen were helping him, but… but he kept being punished because of his bad grades, meaning he ended up with very little time to spend with either of them. When he went to Lan Xichen’s house, he usually did some homework because that was easier than making conversation, but it didn’t happen that often. As for Su She… well, there were more fun things they could do together, and Nie Huaisang would fail his classes no matter what, so why waste time on something as stupid as homework now it was all obviously in vain?

“What’s the plan today?” Nie Huaisang asked.

"My mother sent me some treats from home and I don't mind sharing," Su She announced. "She figured I'd be sad, since I'm not able to go back for Qingming this year either. The teachers say my attitude isn't good enough yet, and going home might ruin all my progress." 

"They're all too hard on you, I swear." 

Su She shrugged. He was used to this. From what Nie Huaisang understood, most outer disciples were treated quite harshly until they proved they could be trusted to follow the rules. It might not have been so bad if Su She had been more the side to bend his neck and obey everything like some of the others, but he really had too much pride for a disciple of Gusu Lan. Still, being away from home for Qingming was harsh. 

Of course, Nie Huaisang too was stuck in the Cloud Recesses. In his case, that was because the trip would have been too long when he couldn't fly on his sabre, and Lan Qiren had warned Nie Mingjue that it would be bad for his brother to miss any classes due to that. The other Nie disciples had no such problem though, so they'd left and he was currently all alone in the cabin they shared.

Nie Huaisang didn't mind. A little quiet was nice. 

“Let’s go to my cabin to have some tea,” Nie Huaisang offered. “We can eat what your mother sent, and I should also still have some sweets, and I don’t mind sharing if it’s with you.”

It was, actually, almost the last of the candies he’d brought from home, and he hadn’t been able to get more. Students were allowed days off to visit the nearby town sometimes, but Nie Huaisang had been denied that privilege on account of his grades. He had thought of going anyway, but so far his fear of Lan Qiren still outweighed his desperate need for something fun. If Su She had been willing to come with him, perhaps… but Su She wasn’t exactly in a great position either, and didn’t want to make his situation worse by purposefully breaking rules, so they were both stuck inside the Cloud Recesses, the most beautiful prison in the world.

But it was a prison with decent company, and Su She agreed to that offer for tea. With just the two of them, they were able to get quite cozy in the Nie cabin. They dropped on the floor all the blankets in the cabin so they could sit in decadent comfort, at least by Cloud Recesses' standards. Half sprawled by the table, they drank the best tea Nie Huaisang had to offer at that moment (he promised, not for the first time, that one day he’d invite Su She to visit the Unclean Realm where he had access to much better leaves), traded treats much sweeter and tastier than anything usually available to eat away from home, and chatted quite freely, knowing there was nobody around to scold them if they got too gossipy. 

Su She, who tried so hard to never say anything bad about his fellow disciples where someone might here, ended up spitting a lot of venom on all those other Lan juniors, sparring neither inner nor outer disciples and denouncing their treatment of him as unfair.

“After all,” he spat, “I’m a much better musician than Han Mingzhe and Bao Tong, and my swordsmanship is at least as good as Li Xiaoping, but they don’t get scolded as much. But Bao Tong and Li Xiaoping have parents who are rogue cultivators, and Han Mingzhe’s parents are farmers which is at least honourable, while my father is a merchant, and a rich one at that. Everyone says I just bought my way into cultivation!”

Nie Huaisang frowned, looking down at his currently empty cup. This, he thought, would have been a conversation better accompanied by some wine. Complaining while drinking tea just wasn’t as fun.

“It’s stupid,” he said. “I mean, sure you can buy pills and all, but that wouldn’t take you very far with Gusu Lan’s style, that’s more of a Jin thing.”

Immediately, Su She hunched up his shoulders and looked down, a spot of colour on his cheeks.

“Actually my father tried to get me into Lanling Jin at first,” Su She muttered, sounding ashamed of the confession. “But they didn’t want me because I didn’t know anything about using a sword and they said I was already too old to be taught. Then we tried Gusu Lan, because we’d heard they use music, and I’m good at that. They also said I was a bit old, but they still took me in because they said I might catch up if I worked hard enough. But some of the other juniors still heard about me trying for Lanling Jin, and they’re convinced I must have cheated somehow, and… Well, a merchant’s son, no way I can have gotten here on my own merit, eh? Merchants are all dishonest, right?”

Nie Huaisang grimaced, because he could just imagine the sort of things that Su She might have been accused of. Even his brother’s sect, which tried to reward merit and talent above all else, wasn’t always kind to anyone coming from a merchant’s family. It was a profession with money, but that didn't count all that much when the way they'd gotten that money was through the work of others, not like farmers or scholars who put such high efforts into their respective crafts. Of course, being descended from butchers, the Nie couldn’t exactly look down on others for their origins, and yet…

“Have you told the seniors about this?” he asked Su She.

His friend shrugged and scoffed.

“What for? Most of them agree, or they wouldn’t be so hard on me.”

“Then… what if I told Lan Xichen?” Nie Huaisang offered. “If he says something in your favour, then everyone else will have to be nice to you!”

“Lan gongzi despises me,” Su She muttered. “Sometimes I cross paths with him, and he looks at me like I’m lower than dirt. With everyone else he’s nice, but me… it’s like he hates me, personally. And it’s worse when I’m with you.”

Nie Huaisang's enthusiasm deflated at the reminder.

At least, this confirmed it wasn’t just his imagination. He also thought he had noticed that Lan Xichen appeared to harbour some kind of personal dislike toward Su She, but he couldn’t understand why. By all accounts, Su She had always managed to be perfectly polite around the sect leader’s sons, and while his personality wasn’t the most Lan-like, Nie Huaisang knew his friend had never done anything that cast shame upon his sect. It might have been about Su She’s origins then, but somehow that didn’t sound right either.

Lan Xichen was a little boring, but he put great value on his sect’s rules, and those rules said clearly that people should be judged by their actions, not their origins. Nie Huaisang had copied those damn rules often enough to know that. It really was so odd for Lan Xichen to react like this to Su She, and that made Nie Huaisang want to understand why. Everything else about Lan Xichen was so boring, but this detail made him feel like there might be some personality in the older boy after all.

“I could still ask him to do something,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “He can look the other way if nobody tells him, but I’m a young master of a sect too. I'm not very good at being one, but when I say something, he still had to listen. And if I tell him his father’s disciples are little shits, he’ll have to do something, or all of Gusu Lan will lose face.”

Su She’s expression only turned darker. “It will just make everyone hate me more, even the ones who didn’t care before. Please don’t say anything. I’m just going to work harder, and prove everyone wrong, and when I’m good enough I’ll…” he pinched his lips and dropped his gaze to the table. “They’ll see, they’ll all see. When I’m good enough, I’ll show them all, and everyone will regret that they didn’t respect me.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, and even patted Su She on the shoulder, feeling quite sorry for him. He’d never thought about it before, but the way things were was a little unfair. Su She was so hard working and getting results for his effort, but people treated him like dirt, while Nie Huaisang couldn’t be bothered with anything and would have failed even if he tried, but everyone still felt forced to treat him with a minimum of respect because of his brother.

It really wasn’t fair at all, but all Nie Huaisang could do was stand by Su She and make it clear he saw his friend’s talent, even if everybody else was too damn stupid to notice him.

Nie Huaisang couldn't do anything to help, but he made sure to give Su She the last of his candies, and hoped that counted for something.

-

It was always too damn quiet in the Cloud Recesses at night, and Nie Huaisang struggled to get used to it. Back home, there was always the noise of something happening somewhere. Disciples who'd decided to continue training after sunset, those on watch duty doing their rounds, servants going about their business... it was a constant reminder that people were around and the world was safe.

In the Cloud Recesses, there was nothing. If not for the snoring coming from one of his companions, Nie Huaisang might as well have been alone in the world.

Nobody was snoring that night. He was alone, and would be for at least two more, until the others returned from seeing their families and honouring their ancestors.

It was annoying enough to be stuck in this lonely quiet place in daylight, when he could at least see people, when he’d been able to pester Su She and feel less alone. Only Su She had long returned to the dorms he shared with other Lan disciples, and Nie Huaisang was alone in this deafening silence.

That was why he couldn’t sleep.

That was why he heard those footsteps coming near his bed, when there shouldn’t have been anyone else in that lonely cabin. It couldn’t be a demon or a ghost, not in the Cloud Recesses, which should have been a comfort. Once, before his father went mad, it would have been.

There were things against which no magical barrier could offer protection.

The footsteps came to a stop near the bed. Nie Huaisang silently shivered under his blanket, biting into his fist to avoid making any sound. If he was quiet, if he pretended not to be there, things would be fine. It had worked whenever his father went into a rage. Back then, as long as Nie Huaisang didn't move, his father seemed not to see him, a trick he'd figured out very quickly and shared with Nie Mingjue.

Maybe it would work here too.

Or maybe not.

Nie Huaisang felt a hand grab his blanket, and all coherent thoughts left him. He shrieked in terror as he leapt out of his bed, nearly falling face first onto the floor but caught at the last moment by strong, slender hands.

“What are you crying like that for?” he heard a strange yet familiar voice huff. “Do you really think anyone would dare attack you here? It’s only me.”

Blinking away a few tears, Nie Huaisang scrambled to stand up while his future self watched him with an unimpressed expression.

“Sorry,” Nie Huaisang muttered, trying to put some order to his night clothes. “I get scared at night sometimes. Well, you’d know. Do… Does it get better?”

“No,” the older man bearing his face said, opening his fan. It was a different one from last time, but just as gorgeous. “It gets worse. I don’t sleep much these days. Haven’t in years. It’s a waste of time anyway.”

Nie Huaisang, who often thought that sleeping was the best part of his day, as long as he didn’t start panicking over nothing, didn’t know what to answer to that. He had a feeling his opinion on the matter wasn’t required anyway.

“So, uh, aside from sleeping, how have you been?” he awkwardly asked. “Anything interesting happened to you? How does time even pass for you? Did you also have to wait for several months, or is it just after the last time we talked for you?”

His future self glared and sharply closed his fan, making Nie Huaisang jump and effectively silencing him.

"How is Lan Xichen?” the man asked. “Have you made progress with him yet?" 

"We've talked here and there, but he's always so busy," Nie Huaisang muttered, wringing his hands. “It's really hard to chat with him, you know. And he’s got such boring hobbies, too.”

Not music and painting, those were valid ways to pass time, in Nie Huaisang’s opinion. And sometimes, serious people couldn’t avoid doing some amount of work, so he didn't even begrudge Lan Xichen that either.

But Nie Huaisang hadn’t taken long to realise that whenever they were spending time together, Lan Xichen wasn’t actually doing any sect work. After all, Nie Mingjue had tried to force his little brother to help with those things, so he knew what that looked like. And it wasn't calligraphy either that occupied the older boy, because Nie Huaisang loved that and would have struck a conversation about it if given a chance.

Instead, Lan Xichen had made a hobby of copying books and treaties.

Nie Huaisang had asked, once or twice, if Lan Xichen was trying to learn those texts by heart. The older boy had very awkwardly agreed that he was indeed doing just that, but he hadn’t sounded very convinced. He really was such a poor liar. Lan Xichen was going to be awful at politics if he didn’t learn how to conceal his thoughts. Then again, he wasn’t always like that, was he? With most people he was placid and radiating a sort of empty warmth. It was just around Nie Huaisang that he would get weird, and maybe around Su She as well, as if his disdain was just too great to be contained.

Just as Nie Huaisang was about to ask his older self if he’d ever found out what he and his friend had done to Lan Xichen to be so disliked by him, the man grabbed him by the collar and shook him.

"I thought I'd told you this was essential," his older self hissed, sounding too much like Nie Huaisang's father all of a sudden. "And you’re still only thinking about having fun! Do you want da-ge to die?" 

"Of course not!" 

"Then get serious about this,” the man ordered, shaking his young self once more before pushing him away with enough force that Nie Huaisang stumbled and nearly fell. “You have to earn Lan Xichen's trust, or he will choose the wrong friend, idiot that he is."

"Well, can't you give me hints?” Nie Huaisang mumbled in a trembling voice, trying again to straighten his clothes in spite of shaking hands. “You've got to know more about him than I do, can't you tell me how I'm supposed to get close to him?" 

This, of course, earned him another disdainful glare.

"I don't remember the boy he was," his future self said, "and the man he became was never worth my attention. Figure this out on your own, and be useful for once."

It struck Nie Huaisang as very unfair that his future self was allowed to not have anything to do with Lan Xichen, but wouldn't extend the same kindness to him. It also worried him that the man before him disliked Lan Xichen so much. Nie Huaisang just found the older boy a little boring, but he didn't have any particularly strong opinion about him. 

“You can’t do that!” he complained, clenching his fists. “You can’t… I’ve got to be told things! And if you can’t tell me about how to get close to Lan Xichen, then… then at least tell my why it’s important, and why… how does da-ge die, anyway?”

“Murdered, I’ve told you that already.”

Nie Huaisang stumped his foot. “There’s so many ways to murder someone, that doesn’t narrow it down at all! Tell me how, and tell me who…” He trailed off, a horrible suspicion hitting him. “Did… did Lan Xichen…”

Just thinking of it, Nie Huaisang felt a little faint and had to stumble against the closest wall, just to get some support. Whatever he thought of Lan Xichen, that was still his brother’s closest friend, Nie Mingjue's only friend. And besides, Lan Xichen didn’t strike him as a murderer. People changed, certainly, but how could a person have changed that much?

And yet his own future self, standing before him, was proof that such a complete transformation was possible. Nie Huaisang really didn’t see anything of himself in that man, nothing except his aged up face and perhaps a taste for fashion.

“Lan Xichen is too much of a coward,” his older self proclaimed, mouth twisting in disgust. “But he helped the murderer, willingly or not, and sided with him so many times that I’ve never dared come to him with the truth. I wasn’t sure he’d trust me, even with proof. I still have my opinion on that, whatever some others think he'd have done. But you…” he waved his closed fan toward Nie Huaisang. “You might change that. Da-ge’s opinion alone wasn’t enough, but Lan Xichen has no will of his own, he’ll be easily swayed if two people he trusts are denouncing the true nature of the man he protects. That’s all I feel safe telling you at the moment. I don’t trust you not to mess things up if you know too much. You only learned too late to keep your mouth shut.”

It still sounded odd to Nie Huaisang that Lan Xichen could ever side against Nie Mingjue. Not long ago, he would have called his older self a liar, because Lan Xichen was boring but honest and just. Now though, having seen how Lan Xichen looked at Su She who had never done him any wrong… maybe it was possible that Lan Xichen would turn into a bad man, since he was clearly capable of being unjust after all.

“I’ll work harder to get close to him,” Nie Huaisang promised, pushing himself away from the wall now that he felt steadier again. “I really will. Maybe I can ask him to help with lessons a little more… I really need it, if I want to pass.”

“You’re not going to pass,” his older self announced. “It’s fine. Da-ge will send you here again, and you’ll meet some useful allies.”

At the news, Nie Huaisang let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. Having to come back in this boring place for another year sounded like torture, even with Su She for company. And then, meeting more people his future self wanted him to befriend… weren’t these people going to be just as boring as Lan Xichen?

While Nie Huaisang despaired, his adult self turned to check on something only he could see, and huffed.

“I’m running out of time. Fine, let’s be quick. Did you bring with you the information I gave you last time about Meng Yao?”

“Yes, I have it.”

Nie Huaisang took a step toward the place he’d stored his qiankun pouch, but his older self stopped him with a gesture.

“That Night Hunt in Yunping should happen fairly soon now. You have to go,” the older man ordered. “One way or another, you have to go. I don’t know when else we’d have such a chance to alter Meng Yao’s fate, and it is vital that he doesn’t enter Lanling Jin. Do whatever you must do, take whatever risk you must take, but make sure Meng Yao cannot join the Jin.”

Nie Huaisang obediently nodded, half spooked by the edge in his older self’s voice whenever he said that Meng Yao’s voice. Hating someone was just too much effort in his opinion, but apparently he’d grow to hate that Meng Yao person. But if that person was fated to play a part in Nie Mingjue’s death… in that case, and that case alone, Nie Huaisang could imagine he’d maybe become enraged enough to do something about it.

“I’ll do my best,” Nie Huaisang promised, hoping he wouldn’t have to actually kill anyone. Murder was messy, and Nie Mingjue would be cross, even if it was to save his life.

“I know what your best is,” his older self snapped. “You’ll have to do better than that. Take care of Meng Yao, get in Lan Xichen’s good graces, and then… then we’ll see,” he mused. “Depending on how well you do that, there might still be a few loose threads to cut. Xue Yang and Su She didn’t need the Jin to make trouble, we might do everyone a service and…”

“What about Su She?” Nie Huaisang cried out, grasping the older man’s wrists.

He was roughly pushed away, and earned a nasty glare for his outburst.

“Don’t mind that yet,” his older self said, straightening his sleeves. “All that matters for now is Meng Yao and Lan Xichen. Focus on them, I’ll explain the rest when the time comes.”

“But that’s…”

“I’ll return in a few months. You’d better have good news for me next time.”

Nie Huaisang launched himself at the older man, wanting to grab him again and force him to explain why he’d mentioned Su She. His hands found only empty air and he stumbled forward, falling to his knees on the hard wooden floor. It hurt, and might even bruise later, but Nie Huaisang didn’t even think to rub them or cry.

He knelt there far too long in that lonely cabin, and wondered what might happen in the future that would cause him to treat Su She as an enemy.

[imaginationofacrazyfangirl]

Plotlines of BTS Music Videos According to My Drunk Ass

Just to be clear I am not promoting drinking to minors or anything like that. Plus I am of age so whatever.

Music Video 1: Fire

Let’s just put it out there that the whole plot of the music video is about a group of hooligans causing trouble around their neighbor hood. Moreover it starts with them and the reader hanging out at the town’s youth center. Supposedly they all (except Jimin) have grown up together, learning how to survive the streets and deal with the shit life’s thrown at them.

Now onto the key characters:

Min Yoongi: The badass gangster who enjoys causing chaos and mischief. He’s the one who creates the most drama by actively engaging in criminal activities simply for the fun of it. He constantly tags buildings and picks fights with other people. Think of it this way: Yoongi is the one everyone watches out for, because he has no problem meeting a pipe to your face.

  That said naturally his character is rather antagonistic and anti-social as well. While he does care about the members of his group, Hoseok is the only one he truly trusts to let in. Moreover his relationship with the reader is that of an older brother who finds their sibling annoying so they constantly bully them; that said anyone who messes with you better watch the fuck out. You are his pest after all.

Jung Hoseok: The brotherly bad boy who has way too much fun being naughty. Both Yoongi and J-hope share one thing in common, they enjoy being bad boys. However while Yoongi leans more towards apathetic chaos, J-hope merely enjoys the thrill and status comes along with the title. He is the type to cause trouble when others are watching or his friends are there, but never the one to plan it. Honestly Hoseok is a bit of a ladies man always bragging about his reputation to impress, but really he does that to everyone.

  He’s officially the group’s hype man. The one everyone trusts immensely, because at the end of the day what Hoseok is really proud of is his family (you guys) and does everything he can to protect/make you guys happy. Like Yoongi, Hoseok acts as a big brother figure towards. Unlike Yoongi, he’s always thrilled to see you.

Jeon Jungkook: The innocent newbie corrupted by his “big brothers,” probably rather self-explanatory. As the youngest Jungkook wasn’t around when the group started (the group being you and the Maknae line). In fact he’s the latest addition to the neighborhood, moving there with either his single mother or foster parents. At first the poor boy is so out of place in the neighborhood dealing with life and constantly bullies, it only adds to his misfortune that you meet him. Yes, you the reader can be blamed for introducing Jungkook into thug life (lol thug life); not purposefully of course you simply saw the baby bunny and took him under your wing. If anything you try to protect him, while keeping Jungkook away from all the trouble.

     To Jungkook, you are the mother/older sister figure he has never had. He cares deeply for you, practically following you around like a lost duckling. However Jungkook also idolizes the others and wishes to become like them. Thus, causing him to get into trouble.

Kim Namjoon: The muscles-first off let me say how sorry I am for this. Joon is legit my ultimate basis and the smartest of them all yet he plays the meathead in this plotline. Why? Oh god why? I don’t know, but he does.

   Namjoon is the second member of the group no one wants to piss off. Not because of any sociopathic tendencies like Yoongi, but because Namjoon punches harder than the six of them combined. He’s literally the armored shield that steps in between members and those who threaten them. Now I don’t have as much facts on him as the others, but I can say this: Namjoon is a follower not a leader here, and like Yoongi, he find you annoying-although he is less antagonistic about than other is. Also like Yoongi, he’ll beat the living shit out of anyone who messes with you.

Kim Taehyung: The introverted computer genius who prefers technology over people. In this plotline our bubbly Tae, plays an awkward anti-social computer genius who really doesn’t know how to interact with people on a massive level. Remember that character in tv shows, that is friends with everyone despite having odd tendencies and never leaving home? Well, that Taehyung. He spends most of his days playing computer or videogames, only to occasionally come up with some genius deceive or program that helps the group out. To outsiders, he’s a freak, but to the group he’s their family and no one mess with family.

    While Taehyung barely interacts with the others, the one person he does interact with is the reader. This is mainly because of your caring nature and patience. Out of everyone, you more than anyone accept his quirks. Which is why he has such a crush on you. Sadly our poor Tae won’t make the cut in this plotline.

Park Jimin: The stereotypical prep who pays the group to join them in their mischief. Now we are getting close to the heart of the story. Although not the antagonist of the plotline, Jimin definitely gets the ball rolling by bribing you guys into letting him join the group for a week or two. This boy is literally that rich kid rolling around in daddy’s money, but find life a bore. Like many others he idolizes the trouble you get into and wants in on that bad boy life. Initially he annoys everyone, but by some miracle he actually manages join by earning your guys’ trust somehow.

  Note you and him have an especially rocky relationship at first, thanks to his flirty ‘I’m hot’ attitude. To him, you are different from all the other girls. You are from the other side of the track making you a forbidden fruit. To you, he’s just a moron who doesn’t realize how good he has it.

Kim Seokjin: Ex-leader gone Captain America, he is the definition of bad boy gone good. Once the esteemed leader of your group of misfits, Jin now finds himself determined to move away from crime and go to college by playing sports. He wants to prove to you all, that succeeding in life is a possibility without committing crimes. This goal especially means a lot to him, because Jin sees himself as responsible for everyone in the group .Unfortunately turning over a new leaf has left him alienating the group and in turn getting alienated by them. He constantly struggles between staying on the righteous path and not involving himself in group matters. (Note: he can never stay away when one of you are in danger.)

What’s really interesting about Jin’s character is his relationship with you. Out of everyone in the group you are the one he cares most about. In fact it can be said you are the reason behind his drastic change and determination to leave the neighbor hood. Ironically though that doesn’t mean you understand his actions or reasonings. To you, abandoning everyone is unforgivable and you two often go head to head on your beliefs. In the end however, Jin is the love interest of this plotline.

.........Also they have a band..........

Anyway that was extremely embarrassing to write, but I hope you enjoy my crazy plotlines and let me know if you want to read about the other ones I have.

[katie-writes24]

Say It Don’t Spray It

Pairing: John Laurens x reader

Warnings: Language, alcohol, suggestive material, FUCK TON OF ANGST KIDS, kinda sad, John doesn’t know when to shut up :,)

Part 2

Request: hey! my request was a laurens x reader where they're frenemies, n one day they get into this huge fight that stems from nothing, angst angst angst, and then he comes to her house to apologize. they simultaneously realize they have feelings for one another, and fluff fluff fluff...idek know after that lol - @notebookgirl30

Okay....WAYYYY OVERDUE I TOTALLY APOLOGIZE! Ngl this was a bit of a struggle to write because I just wanted to get a good feel of their “relationship/friendship” but I think I got it. Maybe? But I built a bigger storyline than expected so there’ll be a part 2. But yeah, hope you enjoy! Thank you @tinywhim for the title (you’re a real one, you don’t even know). Let me know if you want to be tagged! Leave me some feedback PLEASE!! And yeah! Enjoy!

“Has anyone ever told you you’re super boring?”

Y/N scoffed, “I’ve always loved your compliments, Angelica.”

She rolled her eyes, giving her coworker an exaggerated look. “You have nothing better to do on a Friday night. Normal people go out, and party and have fun! It’s the weekend, Y/N, you don’t have to worry about anything!”

That was an overstatement. Y/N actually did have lots to do, like finish her report and pay her bills and visit her parents and do actual adult things. Her partying days were over in college, and she knew that nothing good could come from a night surrounded by all of Angelica’s friends, some who happen to be their coworkers.

This was different though, in a way. Yes, it was Angelica’s birthday, but she was never good at social interaction, especially not at a club. These days she’ll go out with the Schuyler’s for a couple of drinks and go home and call it a day. That was enough for her, and she was okay with it. She was perfectly fine with her own friends telling her how she’s a buzzkill when it comes to partying. She was fine with not putting herself out there to guys because she didn’t think it was necessary right now.

She was comfortable at this point in her life, and she wasn’t going to ruin that over a drunken night at the club.

“Aren’t you two like best friends? You’re gonna miss your best friend’s birthday party?” Y/N turned to find John tutting in mock disapproval, swaying slightly on his chair.

“Will you butt out?” Y/N glared hard but it didn’t have the proper effect when he only laughed.

That’s the other problem. John is going to be there, which could only mean chaos. She’s been to enough office parties over the last two years to notice that he can’t hold his liquor and is incredibly loud. Not only were his obnoxious traits an issue, but there was something about him that got under her skin, not totally in a good way.

Eliza would never make her forget her little crush that sparked at the beginning of her job, when John was always nice to her and would give her this blinding smile. That sailed long ago, but apparently, a drunken night full of shared secrets was enough for the Schuyler to remember. Now, maybe there were some things that Y/N could pick out to prove to herself that he was an actual decent human being, but the John Laurens that had been sitting beside her for years was still John Laurens.

“I’m sitting three feet away from you,” He gestured at their desks that were only separated by a couple of inches. “I can literally hear everything you’re saying.”

“And he’s right!” Angelica reached over her desk and grabbed her hand. “It wouldn’t feel right if you weren’t there. Please, Y/N, it’s just a couple of hours. I promise if you really get uncomfortable you can leave, but I know you won’t because it is going to be amazing!”

Rolling her eyes yet again, Y/N did feel a little guilty. Angelica has always been there for her, through all the ups and downs, she’s been her biggest support system. It wouldn’t be fair to not celebrate her birthday with her.

“Fine,” Angelica practically squealed at her grumble. “But don’t count on me as your designated driver, because I might really dip out if it gets too rowdy for me.”

“Might as well not go then. Put me and Alex together, pshhh, you’ll be walking out the door as soon as you step in.” John winked, like he just knew how to get Y/N fired up and ready to argue back. Angelica knew too, as she pulled her hands toward her again, gaining her attention.

“Ignore him, I swear we will all have a good time! Plus, who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone there.”

She looked hopeful, almost as if this was her intention all along. But Y/N knew better, no matter how many times Angelica tried to set her up, she wouldn’t invite her somewhere only to be mislead and be set on a blind date.

“I am not interested, I am perfectly capable of finding someone on my own, if I choose.” She made sure to point out the last part so her friend would drop the subject.

“I’m just saying,” Angelica put her hands in up in defense, but still had that knowing look on her face like she didn’t believe her. Y/N sighed and got up from her chair, heading towards the break room for another coffee.

Upon entering, she noticed Thomas was already by the coffee machine, pouring his own cup. He looked up and raised a brow. “Long day?”

“And it’s only getting started,” Y/N rubbed a hand over her face and motioned towards the machine. “Are you done hogging that now?”

“Woah, woah, what did I do to be treated with such attitude?” Thomas chuckled and grabbed a cup for her.

“Sorry, I’m just...kind of stressed, not really looking forward to the weekend?”

“You mean Angelica’s party?” Thomas handed the cup over to her, nodding at her thanks and watched her add cream into the liquid.

“Yes, actually. I’m not really good at parties, I think they’re too exciting for me. Go on, say it, I’m a boring buzzkill.” It’s not like she’s ever heard anything different before when trying to explain how she’d rather stay at home and unwind while reading a book or watching tv and just relaxing, instead of being surrounded by sweaty bodies and drinking till she grows numb.

“Now why are you putting words in my mouth? I was actually going to say I agree with you.” Y/N looked up in shock, not believing that Thomas Jefferson was one to refuse a party invitation.

“Really? You don’t like parties?”

“Not that I don’t like them, sometimes they grow old. It’s the same scene over and over again and I’d rather switch it up a bit, change the location, you know?” He had a small smile on his face, looking like he was fonding over some memory.

“You’re right, it must be so hard being invited to parties all the time!” Y/N smirked as he gasped dramatically in mock offense. It only lead to them giggling to each other, only stopping when someone else cleared their throat from the doorway.

Y/N found John standing, his usual smile gone and replaced with a frown and furrowed brows. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, no, I was just leaving actually,” Thomas made way to the exit before hesitating, turning back to look at Y/N. “I’ll see you at the party, Y/N.”

She waved shyly, watching him walk away. It was comforting talking to Thomas, in a way. They didn’t do it very often, but when they did Y/N felt relaxed.

Lost in her thoughts, a cough startled her and she realized she was standing in John’s way. Y/N stepped to the side, muttering an apology and thinking how Friday night might not be so bad.

~~~

It’s not that Y/N doubted that Angelica would not settle for less than a full out, top quality club. But she didn’t think that it would include a private floor, filled with a bunch of people that Y/N didn’t know. Luckily, she spotted the birthday girl herself from across the room.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Angelica screamed over the music that was blasting from the floor below. She was well passed tipsy already, but she knew that Angelica would want to sober up before the night was over. She was never one to purposefully forget her birthday. “Come on, let’s get you a drink!”

She pulled her over towards the overcrowded bar, pushing passed drunks and couples dancing, Y/N even got stumbled into and turned to find a familiar head of curls.

“Watch it, Laurens!” The glare sent his way was enough to make him sheepishly smile.

“My bad,” John walked off towards a booth in the corner, surrounded by a few other men, one who she had recognized as a friend of Thomas.

A shot was shoved into her hand and soon enough, so were two more. Once a proper drink was in her hold, Angelica invited her to a game of pool with her sisters. 

Somehow, Y/N got surrounded by a bunch of people that she didn’t know. Angelica had been dragged over by a short man, which meant Y/N was dragged as well. It was the booth full of John’s friends, and they had made their impression, that was for sure.

“Ah, and who do we have here?” Thomas’s friend came over and smiled, making Angelica smirk and push his chest.

“Laf, this is Y/N,” Even though they had never met before, Lafayette beamed at the mention of her name.

“So, this is the famous Y/N we have heard so much about, heh?” He grinned devilishly, like he knew something that she didn’t. It was strange, what would Angelica have said about her?

“Nice to meet you,” Y/N stuck out her hand politely.

“Oh please, the pleasure is all mine, cherie!” He took her hand and placed a gentle kiss in her knuckles. She giggled at his performance, looking to see if anyone else was buying the act. But when she looked around to see if anyone else knew something, she only saw John glaring at his friend while sipping on his drink.

Her coworker’s odd behavior was enough for her to move herself to the bar, ordering another drink for herself. As the bartender handed her the cup, he told her that it was already paid for, pointing her in the direction to a man across the room. He was cute, and if the look in his eye told her anything, it was the words Angelica had said.

You don’t have to worry about anything.

Maybe you’ll meet someone.

Perhaps she was right.

She was tired of everyone telling her how boring she was.

Y/N found herself dancing with the guy, not bothering to learn his name and more focused on her hips moving with his. The lips on her neck gave her a rush, like she was finally doing something fun and risky.

His hands were pulling at the hem of her dress when she was jolted forward. The guy had bumped into her hard, and when she turned around she found out it wasn’t the guys fault, but John’s.

“What the hell man?” The guy got up in his face. Y/N couldn’t really hear what they were saying, but it looked like it was something threatening. Laf, the short man and another one of John’s friends appeared, trying to pull him back and tell him to just leave it alone. John wasn’t having it, took to pushing the guy hard once more.

It was a giant commotion that got security involved, and Y/N was over it. She ran out of the club, tears brimming her eyes as she thought about what exactly just happened.

John always had to ruin the night. John always had a problem with her.

John also stopped her from calling a cab, grabbing her hand just as she reached the sidewalk and calling her name.

“What the fuck, John? What the hell was that for?” Y/N screamed, wide eyed and wondering why when she was finally having a good time, he had to fuck it up.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry! I just- I couldn’t let him-”

“Couldn’t let him what? Touch me? Dance with me? Why? How does that have anything to do with you, John?” Nothing was connecting, there was never a time she could recall where John cared about her love life.

“He was an asshole anyways, alright? Was he really all that to you? Okay, if anything I was helping you!” If he could actually believe that, John was growing angry, too. He had no right to be, but his kept spitting out words that only made Y/N fill with rage.

“What did I ever do to you? Why? Why do you have such a problem with me?” While furious was an understatement, she seemed to be more confused as to why John got involved anyways. She was finally inching out of her shell and he just had to give her a reason to want to never leave her apartment again. 

“I don’t have a problem with you, Y/N. I’m drunk, I’m-I didn’t mean to do that, I just-”

“Just what?” While John was stumbling with his words, she knew better. “Being drunk is not an excuse against your actions!”

"I was just trying to make a point! He was all over you, I thought you were uncomfortable!” He narrowed his eyes, and he’d grown more angry than regretful only a few seconds before.

“Well, I wasn’t! I am a grown woman, John, I’m allowed to have fun and meet guys! I was having a good time until you had to ruin it!” 

“Jesus- I was just looking out for you! It’s not my fault you’re such a whore-”

The world seemed to stop as the two screaming voices died instantly at the sharp sound of the hit. John locked his jaw before he lifted his hand to rub his cheek. When he finally lifted his eyes, he saw Y/N pursing her lips in pure rage, a single tear streak ran down her cheek. She looked so small, fragile in a way that made him want to wrap her in his arms and promise that he would make sure that nothing ever hurt her.

He had already proven that he could never do such a thing. 

“Fuck you, John.” Y/N whispered and turned, leaving him standing alone, full of regret. 

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Laurens taglist: @alievans007 @etjt1821 @dontblinkumightmiss @hj-creates

[houseof-harry]

I’m so h word but like gray being your neighbor and y’all just fuck when both your families are out of the house 🥴

okay listen, as a college student who still lives with her parents, this is a major topic of interest. we have what we call our home hoes, and gray is definitely yours.

You weren’t that close in high school, but you ran in similar friend groups. Every so often you’d be at a hang out together, nothing crazy. But it all begins one NYE, when all your friends have been at college for a semester and have gone a bit crazier than the occasional svedka shot you were all once familiar with.

Ever since that first night you slept together, you were each other’s home hoes. Now, this is technically not how home hoes work because there is supposed to be a selection to work with, but you and Gray honestly didn’t have any interest in fucking anyone. Not when you lived across the street from one another.

And it was getting easier now that your parents had started to trust you more. They were taking more weekend vacations to the mountains, or the beach, or wherever the fuck they’d go. They knew you wouldn’t be throwing any crazy parties and your siblings all had their own lives, too.

That’s why you and Gray started seeing each other more and more whenever you were home. It was easy logistically, and he met all of your criteria: he respected you, he was hot as fuck, and he could make you cum. Hard.

Which is what got you fucking antsy right now. He said he’d be over in five fifteen minutes ago. You were literally pacing your kitchen, watching his house from the window. You could see lights on, but no Grayson walking over here.

A whole twenty minutes later is when you finally see his shadow crossing his driveway, running across the street and up to your door. He’s about to knock when you swing the door open, your brow raised.

“Sorry, Mom asked what you needed so late. And then she got distracted and was telling me about how I need to do a bunch of shit tomorrow.” He steps right past you, taking his shoes off as you watch.

“You told your mom you were coming here?”

“Yeah, I mean she saw me trying to walk out the door at 11:30 at night.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Thought we weren’t telling our parents about anything.” You cross your arms, watching him slide his jacket off.

“She thinks I’m here because your fucking sink is flooding, I don’t think she’ll ask any questions other than about your plumbing.”

You roll your eyes but feel your shoulders relax, knowing he gave her an excuse that could take some time.

“Now are you gonna let me inspect your plumbing? Or...” He’s got a shit eating grin on his face as he approaches you and finally takes in your attire for the first time. A tight tank top with (obviously) no bra, and booty shorts that he can also almost positively say are directly against your skin with nothing in between.

You scoff, your hands resting on his shoulders as he starts to guide you back towards your bedroom. “My plumbing? You really are starting to sound like a fucking 40 year old dad.”

“Wow, someones got a fucking attitude tonight. Guess I’m gonna have to fix that along with the sink.” He does his best to keep a straight face, but fails. He never fails to crack himself up, even if no one else is laughing.

You do your best to keep your own neutral look, your lips barely curling up for a second before you sit on your bed, looking up at him.

“What, guys at school not doing it for you know? Have I ruined it?” You can tell he’s trying to tease you, but he also wants a bit of an ego boost. Unfortunately, he knows he’s the best you’ve had before because you let it slip one time after he’d fucked you at the lake nearby. He never let you live it down.

And it’s kind of true, he has ruined it. You’ve slept with a handful of guys since you started fucking Grayson, and none of them have lived up to the way he can do it. Hell, none of them could even make you finish.

“Are you gonna fuck me or are you going to fix the fucking sink?”

You couldn’t see his reaction to your words because he was slipping his shirt over his head, but you knew he probably rolled his eyes.

“You really are a brat sometimes, anyone ever told you that?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond, however, because he's got a hand on your throat as he kisses you, pushing you back against the bed while doing so.

You moan into his mouth as soon as you feel his tongue against your, relishing in the way he tasted, the way he felt. Sometimes it felt like he could knock the wind out of you when he kissed you if he really wanted to.

All to soon his lips were leaving yours to drag along your jawline and down to your neck. There, he was able to begin sucking on the skin, his teeth grazing over you every so often. His hips were pressed hard against yours, your legs still hanging off the edge of the bed as he stood between them. His knees rested on the mattress right below your center, and he used the leverage he had on you push your body harder into the bed by your throat when you let out a moan.

“Who’s home?”

“No one, they’re all out with friends,” you assure him in reference to your siblings. Although it was never ideal to fuck him while they were there, sometimes you really couldn’t resist. Was better than with your parents home.

He lets out a grunt of approval, licking over what you assumed was a blossoming red spot on your neck before lifting his head to look at you.

“Gonna fuck the attitude outa you, then.”

The conviction in his voice made you realize how serious he was, and it went straight to your core.

“Bet you’re dying for it, too,” he chuckles, and before you know what's happening he’s letting go of your throat to take your shirt off.

You decide not to respond, wanting him to find out for himself when he gets your completely naked. You were never one to spoil a surprise.

He takes a moment to look over your chest, appreciating the swell of your breasts and the way they moved as you took in every breath. He’s sworn you have the best tits in the world, and although you don’t agree, you appreciate the sentiment. In moments like these, you really felt like he believed it.

He didn’t actually do anything with them, though, because he couldn’t wait to get in your pants. Hell, you’d both been teasing each other for an hour before he agreed to come over and fuck you, and you were both getting desperate at this point. So he made quick work of your bottoms and found his earlier assumption to be true, and thank god. He didn’t know what he would have done if there was going to be another barrier between him and your pussy.

He groans as he stands fully in front of you, grabbing your knees to lift them, your feet resting on the edge of your bed and your legs spread wide.

“Knew you were dying for my cock.” His lip is between his teeth as he eyes your dripping cunt that’s on full display for him.

“You caused the problem, now you have to fix it,” you whine, your patience wearing thin. After all, he was the one who fucking texted you when he saw your parents leave earlier in the day. And now he wanted to play games?

“Oh, babe, this is not a problem.” He drops his pants to the ground, running his hands down your thighs once he’s completely naked between your legs again.

“Come on Gray.” You know you sound desperate, and you hate it, but you can’t stand the ache between your legs. He’d been working you up too long, then making you wait almost a half hour for it. You question if his mom had ever even stopped him, or if he was just trying to get to you.

“You’re lucky I like when you beg, or else I’d be much fucking meaner.” He leans over you again and you can feel the skin of his thighs on your ass. You use the leverage of his legs there to lift your hips up, a pout on your lips.

He merely rolls his eyes, one hand resting by your head while the other came around your throat again. “Fucking brat.” You just smile at him because now you can finally feel his dick against you and it made your whole body tingle with excitement. “Well put my dick in if you’re so needy for it.”

You happily oblige, bringing a hand down to grab the base before pumping him a few times. His eyes fall closed at the feeling and you know if you keep doing this he’ll get more annoyed and tease you, so you decide to do as he says and guide his red, throbbing tip to your entrance. He was just as ready for this as you were.

Without warning, he slides completely into you until you could feel the hair above his cock against your clit. Your eyes roll back at the overwhelming pleasure of finally feeling full from him as his hand tightens on the side of your neck.

“Missed this pussy, fuck,” he admits.

“Missed your dick,” you huff.

“Can feel that,” he whimpers as you clench around him purposefully, willing him to move.

It works because he’s moving in and out fo you quickly and suddenly, shaking your whole bed with the force of his thrusts. You moan out loudly, pleasure shooting through your body from your center as he grunts above you.

Your breathing was harsh as your brain fogged up, every intake of air slightly restricted due to his hand. The blood that was trying to rush to your head from how good you felt was slowed by his grip and it was making you feel like you were on cloud nine.

“Grayson,” you moan, unable to hold back the filthy noises bubbling up from your throat. All you could hear was your own breathing, Grayson’s grunts, and the sound of your wetness from every thrust in and out of you.

“Can’t believe you give me attitude when I fuck you this good.”

You want to retaliate, but can’t find it within you as he changes the angle of his hips to grind into your better. He quickly is rubbing your walls in a way that makes your toes curl, your chest flushing red from how powerful the feeling is.

“That it? That the spot, babe?” His tone is cocky, and as much as you’d like to me annoyed by it, it’s so hot when he’s confident like that.

You nod the best you can with his fingers just under your chin, your eyes opening when he gives you a tight squeeze. He raising his brow, waiting to hear a verbal response.

“Yes oh my god, right there.” Your voice is hoarse as your mouth falls open, your hands going to his middle back to try and ground yourself a bit.

“Gonna let me see you cum?” He already knows the answer to his questions, but he likes to hear you say it. He brings his free hand to your clit, rubbing quick circles there.

“Yes holy shit,” you whine, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts as he continues to thrust, his hips stuttering at your new movement. He was close, too, you could tell.

He brings his face closer to yours, his fingers moving from under your jaw to hold your cheeks, keeping your mouth wide open. You watch him pucker his lips, his brow raising as if he’s daring you to stop him.

You stick your tongue out instead, and he groans. Soon enough he’s gathering his spit at the front of his mouth, letting it fall into you waiting one. As soon as you feel it touch your tongue you moan and you think it’s borderline pornographic.

You bring your tongue back into your mouth and he moves his hand back to your throat so you can close your mouth and swallow. He feels your throat constrict under his touch and can’t help the profanities that fall from his lips.

“Gonna cum Gray, please let me cum,” you beg, your orgasm fast approaching from all the ways he’s managed to make you feel good tonight.

“Yes baby, give it to me.”

That’s all you needed to hear, your orgasm ripping through you as you arch your back into him. Your thighs cramp from how tense your body is, but you can barely pay attention to it because this is one of the best orgasms he’s ever given you. You clench around his cock as you slowly start to come down, your breathing heavy as your thoughts are flooded with pleasure and bliss.

You hear him curse above you and much to your dissatisfaction, he pulls out of you, pumping his dick until his hot cum shoots across your abdomen. He stands as he finishes cumming, one hand resting on your knee as the other still holds the base of his cock.

“Glad I could help with the leaky faucet.”

[afoolforatook]

On fandom and tragic romance tropes, from someone who's lived it.

Okay, this is kind of…. Idk a very specific vent and tbh one I feel kinda bad about because I genuinely don’t want to make people feel bad for liking reading/writing romantic angst or tragedy and it’s really less of an individual issue than an overall attitude in fandom.

Like, it’s absolutely okay to like not happy endings, and angst doesn’t have to just be for cathartic relief. Angst isn’t only acceptable if it’s to process trauma, you’re allowed to like it just because that’s your taste.

But at the same time…. I can’t help but have very personal feelings about how a lot of fandom spaces treat tragic romance tropes…

(this got really long but... it's something I've wanted to address for a long time)

I'm far from secretive with the fact that when I was 20, my girlfriend Emma (19) was killed in a car crash, along with her younger brother, mother, and aunt, and that a lot of my art and writing is purposefully about processing and accepting that grief. Fandom has been a very important part of how I’ve gotten through the last five years, which I’ll get into a bit more in a minute, but tbh it’s also been a lot harder navigating fandom and especially anything ship-related since Emma died, because of how people tend to romanticize a character tragically losing a partner.

And honestly, it’s not just fandom, it’s media in general. And mainstream media focus on tragic sob stories, shock factor, and BYG tropes is definitely a big part of the problem.

But as much as fandom pushes against mainstream overuse of such tropes, there is a good portion of fandom that falls into the same type of issue. And not just ‘fandom’ in the usual sense, but literary communities, poetry, etc…

The amount of times I see stories or prompts about characters tragically losing their partner, and that being the climax of the story, and then next to nothing about that character actually navigating their grief or being able to eventually start a new relationship or just be happy is just…. It makes me feel physically ill.

Like, people saying how tragic love stories are more interesting than happy endings. Or seeing a post about tragic pairing prompts and people saying things like ‘or they think it's unrequited but then A dies and B finds a letter confessing and they really loved each other but now it's too late’ and more people being like ‘YES YOU GET IT THAT'S THE GOOD STUFF’

Just… really, honestly. It's okay to like angst, even really tragic angst. I’m not trying to guilt anyone out of that.

I just….. Most of the time people just talk about it like ‘oh yeah I love some of that good tragic love story shit’ and the stories focus on the build-up and the shock/trauma of the death as it happens and then the excruciating reaction of the survivor and then maybe a time jump to show them happy again.

But very rarely do people take the time to actually handle the grief. People like the good cry of a character mourning their partner, but the vast majority of creators and fans rush through or skip over everything after the initial drama and aftermath. The ‘tragedy’ is the only part they focus on, and then the story ends and they move on.

And like. Shit. I liked that stuff too, I wrote some of it, years ago. And I’m not saying you can’t ever just leave it there, or that if you want to write tragic romance you always have to explore all the long-term emotional consequences.

But try to have it in mind, to consider what message countless grief narratives that end after the funeral, or maybe a few weeks or months later, teach people about real-life grief. This goes for any kind of grief narrative, but the one I see most, the one I used to ‘enjoy�� most myself, is romantic.

But, after having actually lived it? And knowing I'll have to live the rest of my life as the part of the story that usually isn’t told? It turns my stomach the way it’s often handled.

Like seeing people gush about how angsty a fic/idea is, and ‘OH MY GOD SO SAD CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW TRAGIC HOW DARE YOU. I LOVE SEEING/PUTTING THEM THROUGH SO MUCH PAIN’ gets a bit uncomfortable.

Not because there’s something inherently wrong with ever reacting like that, but because most often I can turn around and have the same people not know how to react when I tell them about Emma, not know how to handle the same grief they were just gushing over in fiction, when it’s real.

Grief is isolating enough on its own, but then it just doesn’t feel great when the worst thing to ever happen to you is a huge trope that people gush over, while very rarely fleshing out the actual reality of what it feels like to go through that or how to respond to someone actually dealing with grief, and eventually having to deal with your own grief.

Tbh it’s why I really just kinda have an aversion to the word ‘angst’ in general, and don’t really like to refer to my own writing as angst, even though I know plenty of people might think of it as such. So much of fandom's handling of ‘angst’ has come to feel like voyeuristic tourism of the grief I deal with every day, and will for the rest of my life.

Just, I know people are always going to like tragic angsty romance, and that’s fine, and honestly, it's not even an issue of individuals, but of how fandom in general treats it.

And again, I really don’t want to make anyone feel bad for liking it, and it has its purposes. And even when it’s not for catharsis, it's okay to just like sad stories just because.

I just… I wish more people would keep in mind that it’s not just a tearjerker story trope. People really go through this. And they then often end up feeling very isolated because people around them don't know how to react to their grief, because their grief makes things awkward and a mood killer.

Like, if you love this kind of angst (and not because you personally relate to it or find it cathartic, but just because, just for fun) but then feel awkward around people talking about their real-life grief, maybe spend some time with that, and think about the topic as a real-world trauma and not just a dramatic story trope. (this doesn’t just go for grief. Any kind of trauma you don’t personally deal with, if you love reading/writing it but avoid actually listening to people talking about their real-life experiences with it, think about why that is.)

I just hate seeing loss and initial dramatic grief responses being this shock factor/tearjerker trope, without ever really seriously addressing long-term grief. Especially when it doesn't even do a time jump or anything, and just ends on the surviving character being forever destroyed; when it focuses on the idea of how sad it is for your favorite character to have to spend the rest of their life alone.

And that’s not even folding in any kind of BYG/queer tragedy tropes in canon or fandom spaces.

And like… on a much more individual, less practical point, I just… there’s nothing wrong with angst but honestly (and especially for characters whose canon is in no way tragic) every time I see it I just want to scream WHY…. Why do that to them!? I’m not saying you have to stop, or that you’re not allowed to write trauma you don’t deal with personally. But I will never not cringe a bit at the ‘painful enjoyment’ of a character going through the traumatic loss of a partner. And it’s a sentiment I don’t really see people being okay with in regards to any other kind of trauma.

I don’t have actual numbers, but it sure feels like fandom treats stories about romantic grief very differently than most other traumas. Other trauma, even other kinds of grief, like a close friend or a sibling or parent, etc. tend to at least try to touch on a theme of recovery, or that the emotional turmoil being covered isn’t just a fun angsty trope to spend a little time in and then move on. And of course, this isn’t universal and plenty of people don’t handle these other traumas respectfully or as anything more than dramatic fuel, but this is the trend I’ve personally seen in over 10 years of tumblr fandom. And to that point, even when traumas aren’t respectfully handled I’ve at least seen people try to bring attention to that, with posts about how to respectfully handle disability or addiction or mental health or abuse. I can’t remember off the top of my head a single post like that about grief, let alone specifically romantic grief. It seems to be commonly accepted that while most kinds of trauma can be explored, but still handled respectfully, the death of a partner can just be done for the Drama. People tend to try to learn about abuse or addiction experiences before attempting big angsty stories addressing that. But doomed romance and a grief-stricken lover (it feels like, in my experience) are much more likely to happen on a whim.

Generally, it feels like other kinds of trauma, while still part of ‘angst’ also keeps a sense of awareness of how that narrative reflects real people’s experiences. It’s not just heavy because it’s big dramatic fictional angst, but because it’s grounded in real-life trauma that everyday people who come across it might relate to. Like... I just feel like a lot of fandom spaces treat ‘major character death’ and tragic romantic trope tags as just filters, like they’re needed because ‘not everyone likes angst, it’s just not their thing’ without really acknowledging that it’s a real trauma that everyday people deal with, where (again, often, but of course far from always, and certainly not in mainstream) other tws and tags like assault or substance abuse, people understand that people they interact with might really deal with those issues and they try to not just use them as dramatic fodder and to portray them respectfully.

But grief, especially romantic grief, seems different. The number of people who will come across a fic or edit or piece of art about a tragic love story, and will have had that personal experience of losing a partner, is much lower than people with real experiences with abuse, or addiction, or mental illness. That’s not a bad thing. I wish none of you ever have to know what that feels like.

But because of that, tragic romance ends up seeming like this distant thing. Like it’s only in dramatic tv shows or movies or literature, or lives solely in angsty fandom spaces as a way to get out a good cry. It seems grand and Tragic, off in its own world of dramatic emotional story tropes.

It’s solely pretty dark edits put to song lyrics, or striking art, or beautifully written prose that rips your heart out. It’s Tragic Romance.

And there’s nothing wrong with that inherently. But for many people, it seems like that is what it becomes: fiction. An angsty trope.

I genuinely hope that’s all it ever is for all of you. I wish I could ensure that that good angsty hurt will only ever be a trope you visit when you need a good cry.

But it’s not just fiction.

It's not just angst for sake of drama or fun or poetic storytelling. It’s not grand or romantic or beautifully tragic.

It’s unbearable. It’s physical pain.

That’s not exaggeration or metaphor. It sneaks up on me out of nowhere and it literally feels like someone is crushing my chest. I’ve nearly broken my hand punching a wall because I needed to make something hurt more than this thing in my chest that isn’t even actually there but it hurts so much.

Tbf I think a lot of my attitude towards this really stems more from fandom trends from when I was younger, and I think a lot more people actually try to flesh out grief more these days. But I just remember so much tragic romantic fic and fandom love from when I was a teenager that didn’t go deeper than ‘look how heartbreaking this is it’s so sad, I wanna make everybody read it and cry and it’s just fun and a story, oh my god I couldn't live with that’

no, of course I don't have a few specific old fics or posts from like superwholock days in mind, that I used to gush over too, and now just the idea of makes me feel actually sick

Idk… like I said. I don't at all want to make anyone feel bad for liking that type of angst, and I feel kind of bad for criticizing it. It just…

It hurts seeing basically your exact situation on angsty prompt lists with people gushing about how good it hurts. Especially when the same people would be (and have been) deer in headlights when they find out you’ve lived the same thing. (Again, this goes for any kind of trauma trope, but most others I’ve seen at least some kind of discussion about before)

Just please, try to be mindful of not just how you write stories about grief, but how you talk about death angst in general. (again, certainly not everyone, but more and more) People know to not just romanticize abuse trauma or addictions or mental illness, and to research, and ask for advice to try to be respectful.

And it’s much more common for someone in fandom spaces, in their teens or 20s or 30s to deal with those sorts of trauma than having experienced losing a partner.

But we exist. And while there is plenty of media out there showing tragic young romance, there is very little (in my experience, after nearly five years of desperately looking) real-world acknowledgment and support, or proof that you’ll be able to survive that kind of loss and still be happy, and even less so if they’re queer.

In a couple of months, it will have been five years since Emma’s death. From day one I have not been private about my loss, whenever possible.

And in five years of saying “When I was 20 my girlfriend died.” to new friends, classmates, potential dates, fandom spaces, therapists, grief support forums, etc… do you know how many other people have told me that they also lost a partner as a young adult, whether queer or straight, by accident or suicide or illness?

Zero.

No one. I’ve had people say how they lost a best friend or a sibling or a parent. And those losses, those kinds of grief are certainly not any less traumatic than the loss of a partner. But even in real life, they’re different. Losing a partner, especially at a very young age when it’s likely your main romantic experience, has different emotional effects, and can be harder to find people who directly relate.

Five years. Zero people dealing with the specific facets of grief as me.

The ONLY times I have ever heard about stories like mine in real life are either the rare article or essay or celebrity story, of which I can probably easily count on two hands.

All the other representation I’ve found is in mainstream fiction and fandom.

And of those stories, those fics, that art, the vast majority have had the partner die in the last half, probably closer to the 75% mark, of the story or arc.

If I’m lucky, that last 25% will focus on the immediate aftermath and grief (especially in fic, while a lot of media might give you a few scenes, and then move on to other character arcs).

If I’m really lucky they’ll show some kind of time jump, to say ‘see, they’re still haunted by their lost love but they’ve tried to move on or can pretend to be happy’.

And so much fandom reception is centered around ‘it’s soooooo SADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD MY POOR HEART IT HURTS SO GOOD. LOVE ME SOME ANGST’, or romanticizing the idea of being unable to live without them, and if they can, it’s often never really putting focus on all the pain it took to process their grief.

Again, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this individually, or that you shouldn’t gush and scream over fic or art or prompts that hook you because of angst. But it adds up really quickly, especially when, even when getting good genuine support from people, you still see no one else actually living with that feeling like you. The only place you find it is stories, and then you see people mostly excited over just how beautifully sad it is.

And that just feels… I can’t explain it honestly.

Just, think about how you react to or talk about fic or prompts or art about a character crying over their partner’s body, or attending their funeral, and think about whether you’d feel appropriate doing the same if instead, they were dealing with abuse, or addiction, or self-harm.

Again, that’s not to say you can’t ever gush or key smash or such, but is it all you do?

You don’t have to stop enjoying angst and tragic romance. But think about how I just said that.

Enjoy.

Do you only ever act like you ‘Enjoy’ it (and yes, this includes the ‘I’m such a masochist I just love to cry over them, it’s emotional release that doesn’t trigger me’ reaction), and romanticize it?

It’s fine to, sometimes. But do you also appreciate it, and try to understand the real-world weight of it? Do you know what you’d say to a friend if they told you they’d lost a partner?

That ‘love me some good angst’, Dramatic grief, being the main fandom attitude doesn’t just hurt me or others who have lost people close to them, partners or not.

A big part of fandom, and of just society, has no idea how to deal with grief, their own or others. It’s not a light conversation topic, it makes people feel awkward, or walk on eggshells around you, or tell you how they can’t possibly imagine having to go through that (btw, y'all don’t say this to people. About grief, or trauma, or disability or anything like that, just don’t. I’m begging you. And a rant about that kind of thing is for another day but... )

And then, when people inevitably face some form of major grief themselves, they feel ashamed for not handling it ‘right’.

It hurts, to try to find some acknowledgment of your grief, and only ever see stories that show just the first few weeks or months; the feeling of it never possibly being anything but constantly excruciating. Stories that end on ‘they were alone and sad and that is what their story, their love, will live on as; Tragic’. Or, that skip all the work and the doubt and the backsliding, and just show years down the road, when they’ve got a whole new life, and that grief, that love, is just a sad memory that they have ‘moved on’ from. Just a tiny trinket call back.

It feels impossible to survive, to ever be happy again, when you never see grief being treated as more than a tragic story point. And then, as you try your hardest to keep going, to process and heal, and connect to new people, while not forgetting the person you love, not letting them just become your tragic backstory, you see people gush over tragic love stories, over how romantic it is, over how characters loved each other so much they couldn’t live without them. (Thankfully a good bit of fandom seems to be pulling away from this, but it’s still common)

And, if that’s what it is to lose a partner, your soulmate… then… then how am I able to keep living? Even as painful as it is? If true love means not being able to live without the other person, does that mean I didn’t, I don’t, actually love them enough? Am I selfish for still actually wanting to live the rest of my life, even with this pain of the person I love being gone?

Would people read my, our, story and ‘enjoy’ it? Would they find this romantic? Would they scream over a prompt based on the worst event in my life, and have a good cry, and then move on, thinking how sad and beautifully tragically romantic that story would be? Would this person I love and miss more than anything, become just a Tragedy? Just an angsty sob story to gush about how wonderfully painful it was? Would it become about only my pain and heartbreak, and not about the cruelty of this other complete, unique, independent person who was robbed of their entire future?

Maybe that seems melodramatic or putting too much weight on tropes, or fandom. But remember.

Five years.

Zero real people saying ‘I’ve been there too’.

The only places I have seen my grief reflected (beyond a rare celebrity interview, or article) is in fiction, and mostly in fandom.

For over a decade I’ve seen people key smash and gush over angsty ships in fic and art, and I was one of them for a long time.

And then, when it became real life for me, all too often (not always, of course) people wouldn’t know how to handle my real grief. Even when I didn’t want to grieve, but wanted to remember all the reasons I love Emma. My real-life moments of ‘fluff’ that I cling to, become uncomfortable when they know the ‘angst’ to come.

And I don’t blame them. I’m not angry at them for not knowing what to say, for walking on eggshells. They’re not cruel for that, they’re not unsympathetic, it’s not that they just don’t try.

Because, if I’ve found so few real-world stories about this kind of grief, after looking so hard for so long, how can I expect them to have had much more luck?

If the only places I find stories about grief never focus on the reality of life after the funeral, and the process of not moving past, but learning to handle grief, then how can I expect broader fandom to know how to be comfortable around the ugly, boring, repetitive, not at all romantic parts of that grief?

Just, yes. Write, read, love your angst. But please just remember that ‘tragic love story’ happens to people, and while plenty of people might not want to read it because it’s just not their thing, or too depressing, there are those who see those dramatic prompt scenarios, and personally relate to them (I quite often say the events around Emma’s death read like a heavy-handed soap opera, or Queer Tragedy movie, and had had plenty of people agree, even before hearing all the details. And I have literally seen multiple prompts of ‘best friends secretly have feelings for each other, and then finally confess, only to get a short bit of happiness before one dies tragically’)

Write, read, love your angst, your tragic love stories, just please, be as respectful of grief (in any form, but this is mostly a shipping issue in my experience) as you would be (or should be) of other major trigger warnings. Gush and scream about the big dramatic ‘romantic’ tragedies, but don’t then ignore the raw, uncomfortable, vulnerable, cathartic explorations, or the real people dealing with real loss.

Because damn y’all, I’ve seen ‘I just love a good romantic tragedy trope, yes please rip my heart out’ said so many times, with the same tone as saying ‘That fake dating trope, that’s the good stuff’.

I’ve seen people gush over how much more interesting and beautifully cruel it is for young love to end tragically.

And I promise you. It’s not. It just fucking sucks. It’s not romantic or tragically beautiful or poignant. It’s devastating. And it goes on for so much longer than that last quarter of the story.

My grief is more than an angsty prompt. Our relationship, my love for her, is more than a dramatic sob story, more than just awkward sadness that kills the mood. Emma’s life, her memory, is more than my tragic backstory.

I want to be able to find my story in more than just fiction, I want to be able to get support from people who live with similar grief.

But I also want to see grief in fiction, in fandom, become more than a final character arc or Tragic love story; used for dramatic effect; grand and huge for a moment and then never fully processed, or mentioned again; just tragically romantic and heartbreaking and soooo good and angsty.

Grief is one of the only things we will all have to face throughout our lives.

I’m not just asking you to respect my grief or the grief of those around you. But your own future grief. I don’t want you to get there and feel like your grief is wrong, or means that you didn’t love someone ‘enough’ because it doesn’t manifest in a certain way.

Learning to accept grief; to be comfortable around raw, unpoetic, grief; to not hold up certain expressions of grief as Romantic or Poetic, but just honest, will eventually be personally useful for all of us, as much as I wish it wouldn’t.

I want my grief, everyone’s grief, to be seen, and understood, not just romanticized and dramatized.

My love story, Emma’s love story, isn’t beautifully tragic. It isn’t more interesting or poetic than a happy ending. The pain that I will carry with me for the rest of my life is not romantic.

But it is important.

[grubbyduck]

No Man’s Land - an essay on feminism and forgiveness

I have always proudly named myself a feminist, since I was a little girl and heard my mum proudly announcing herself as a feminist to anyone who would listen.

But I believe the word 'feminist' takes on a false identity in our collective imagination - it is seen as hard, as baked, severe, steadfast, stubborn and rooted. From a male perspective, it possibly means abrasive, or too loud, or intimidatingly intolerant of men. From a female perspective, though, these traits become revered by young feminists; the power of knowing what you think and never rolling over! My experience of being a feminist throughout my life has been anything but - it has been a strange and nebulous aspect of my identity; it has sparked the familiar fires of bravery, ambition, rage, sadness and choking inarticulacy at times, sure, but at other times it has inspired apathy, reactionary attitudes, bravado and dismissivness. And at other, transitive times, it caused me to rethink my entire outlook on the world. And then again. And then again.

In primary school, I read and re-read Sandi Toksvig’s book GIRLS ARE BEST, which takes the reader through the forgotten women of history. I didn’t feel angry - I felt awed that there were female pirates, women on the front line in the world wars, women at the forefront of invention, science and literature. I still remember one line, where it is revealed that NASA’s excuse for only hiring six women astronauts compared to hundreds of men was that they didn’t stock suits small enough. 

When I was 13, I tried to start a girl's rugby team at my school. I got together 15 girls who also wanted to form a team. We asked the coaches if they would coach us - their responses varied from 'maybes' to straight up 'no's. The boys in our year laughed at us publicly. We would find an old ball, look up the rules online, and practise ourselves in free periods - but the boys would always come over, make fun of us and take over the game until we all felt too insecure to carry on. I shouted at a lot of boys during that time, and got a reputation among them as someone who was habitually angry and a bit of a buzzkill. Couldn't take a joke - that kind of thing.

When I was around 16, I got my first boyfriend. He was two years older (in his last year of sixth form) and seemed ever so clever to me. He laughed about angry feminists, and I laughed too. He knew I classified myself as a feminist, but, you know, a cool one - who doesn't get annoyed, and doesn't correct their boyfriends' bulging intellects. And in any case, whenever I did argue with him about anything political or philosophical, he would just chant books at me, list off articles he'd read, mention Kant and say 'they teach that wrong at GCSE level'. So I put more effort into researching my opinions (My opinions being things like - Trump is a terrible person who should not be elected as President - oh yeah, it was 2016), but every time I cited an article, he would tell me why that article was wrong or unreliable. I couldn't win. He was a Trump supporter (semi-ironically, but that made it even worse somehow) and he voted Leave in the Brexit referendum. He also wouldn't let me get an IUD even though I had terrible anxiety about getting pregnant, because of his parents' Catholicism. He sulked if he ever got aroused and then I didn’t feel like having sex, because apparently it ‘hurts’ men physically. One time I refused sex and he sulked the whole way through the night, refusing to sleep. I was incensed, and felt sure that my moral and political instincts were right, but I had been slowly worn down into doubting the validity of my own opinions, and into cushioning his ego at every turn - especially when he wasn't accepted into Oxford.

When I was 17/18, I broke up with him, and got on with my A Levels. One of them was English Literature. I remember having essay questions drilled into us, all of which were fairly standard and uninspired, but there was one that I habitually avoided:

'Discuss the presentation of women in this extract'

It irritated me beyond belief to hear the way that our class were parroting phrases like 'commodification and dehumanisation of women' in order to get a good grade. It felt so phony, so oversimplified, and frankly quite insulting. I couldn't bear reading classic books with the intent of finding every instance that the author compares a woman to an animal. It made me so sad! I couldn't understand how the others could happily write about such things and be pleased with their A*. As a keen contributor to lessons, my teacher would often call on me to comment in class - and to her surprise, I think, my responses about 'women's issues' were always sullen and could be characterised by a shrug. I wanted to talk about macro psychology, about Machievellian villains, about Shakespreare's subversion of comic convention in the English Renaissance. I absolutely did not want to talk about womb imagery, about men’s fixation and sexualisation of their mothers or about docile wives. In my application for Cambridge, I wrote about landscape and the psyche in pastoral literature, and got an offer to study English there. I applied to a mixed college - me and my friends agreed that we’d rather not go if we got put into an all female college. 

When I was 19, I got a job as an actor in a touring show in my year out before starting at Cambridge. I was the youngest by a few years. One company member - a tall, handsome and very talented man in his mid-twenties - had the exact same job title as me, only he was being paid £100 more than me PER WEEK. I was the only company member who didn’t have an agent, so I called the producers myself to complain. They told me they sympathised, that there just wasn’t enough money in the budget to pay me more - and in the end, I managed to negotiate myself an extra £75 per week by taking on the job of sewing up/fixing any broken costumes and puppets. So I had more work, and was still being paid 25% less. The man in question was a feminist, and complained to his agent (although he fell through on his promise to demand that he lose £50 a week and divide it evenly between us). He was a feminist - and yet he commented on how me and the other woman in the company dressed, and told us what to wear. He was a feminist, only he slept with both of us on tour, and lied to us both about it. He was a feminist, only he pitted me against and isolated me from the only other woman in the company, the only person who may have been a mentor or a confidante. He was a feminist, only he put me down daily about my skills as a performer and made me doubt my intelligence, my talent and my worth. 

When I was 20, I started at Cambridge University, studying English Literature. Over the summer, I read Lundy Bancroft’s book ‘Why Does He Do That’ which is a study of abusers and ‘angry and controlling men’. It made me realise that I had not been given the tools to recognise coercive and controlling behaviour - I finally stopped blaming myself for attracting controlling men into my life. I also read ‘Equal’ by Carrie Gracie, about her fight to secure equal pay for equal work at the BBC in 2017-2019. It was reading that book that I fully appreciated that I had already experienced illegal pay discrimination in the workplace. Both made me cry in places, and it felt as though something had thawed in me. I realised that I was not the exception. That ‘women’s issues’ do apply to me. In my first term at Cambridge, I wrote some unorthodox essays. I wrote one on Virginia Woolf named ‘The Dogs Are Dancing’ which began with a page long ‘disclaimer for my womanly emotions’ that attempted to explain to my male supervisor how difficult it is for women to write dispassionately and objectively, as they start to see themselves as unfairly separate, excluded and outlined from the male literary consciousness. He didn’t really understand it, though he enjoyed the passion behind my prose. 

The ‘woman questions’ at undergraduate level suddenly didn’t seem as easy, as boring or as depressing as those I had encountered at A Level. I had to reconcile with the fact that I had only been exposed to a whitewashed version of feminism throughout my life. At University, I learned the word Intersectionality - and it made immediate and ferocious sense to me. I wrote an essay on Aphra Behn’s novella ‘Oroonoko’, which is about a Black prince and his pursuit of Imoinda, a Black princess. I had to get to grips with how a feminist author from the Renaissance period tackled issues of race. I had to examine how she dehumanised and sexualised Imionda in the same way that white women were used to being treated by men. I had to really question to what extent Aphra Behn was on Imionda’s side - examine the violent punishment of Oroonoko for mistreating her. I found myself really wanting to believe that Behn had done this purposefully as social commentary. I mentioned in my essay that I was aware of my own white female critical ingenuity. For the first time, I was writing about something I didn’t have any personal authority over in my life - I had to educate myself meticulously in order to speak boldly about race.

As I found myself surrounded by more women who were actively and unashamedly feminist, I realised just how many opinions exist within that bracket. I realised that I didn’t agree with a lot of other feminists about aspects of the movement. I started to only turn up to lectures by women. I started to only read literary criticism written by women - not even consciously; I just realised that I trusted their voices more intrinsically. I started to wish I had applied to an all female college. I realised that all female spaces weren’t uncool - that is an image that I had learned from men, and from trying to impress men. The idea that Black people, trans people, that non binary people could be excluded from feminism seemed completely absurd to me. I ended up in a mindset that was constructed to instinctively mistrust men. Not hate - just mistrust. I started to get fatigued by explaining basic feminist principles to sceptical men.

I watched the TV show Mrs America. It made my heart speed up with longing, with awe, with nerves, sorrow, anger - again, it showed me how diverse the word Feminism is. The longing I felt was for a time where feminist issues seemed by comparison clear-cut, and unifying. A time where it was good to be angry, where anger got stuff done. I am definitely angry. The problem is, the times that feminism has benefitted me and others the most in my life is when I use it forgivingly and patiently. When I sit in my anger, meditate on it, control it, and talk to those I don’t agree with on subjects relating to feminism with the active intent to understand their point of view. Listening to opinions that seemed so clearly wrong to me was the most difficult thing in the world - but it changed my life, and once again, it changed my definition of feminism. 

Feminism is listening to Black women berating white feminists, and rather than feeling defensive or exempt, asking questions about how I have contributed to a movement that excludes women of colour. Feminism is listening to my mother’s anxieties about trans women being included in all-female spaces, and asking her where those anxieties stem from. Feminism is understanding that listening to others who disagree with you doesn’t endanger your principles - you can walk away from that conversation and know what you know. Feminism is checking yourself when you undermine or universalise male emotion surrounding the subject. Feminism is allowing your mind to change, to evolve, to include those that you once didn’t consider - it is celebrating quotas, remembering important women, giving thanks for the fact that feminism is so complex, so diverse, so fraught and fought over. 

Feminism is common ground. It is no man’s land. It is the space between a Christian housewife and a liberated single trans woman. It is understanding women of other races, other cultures, other religions. It is disabled women, it is autistic women, it is trans men who have biologically female medical needs that are being ignored. It is forgiveness for our selfishness. It feels impossible.

The road to feminism is the road to enlightenment. It is the road to Intersectional equity. It is hard. It is a journey. No one does it perfectly. It is like the female orgasm - culturally ignored, not seen as necessary, a mystery even to a lot of women, many-layered, multitudinous, taboo, comes in waves. It is pleasure, and it is disappointment. 

All I know is that the hard-faced, warrior version of feminism that was my understanding only a few years ago reduced my allies and comrades in arms to a small group of people who were almost exaclty like me and so agreed with me on almost everything. Flexible, forgiving and inquisitive feminism has resulted in me loving all women, and fighting for all women consciously. And by fighting for all women, I also must fight for Black civil rights, for disabled rights, for Trans rights, for immigrant rights, for homeless rights, for gay rights, and for all human rights because women intersect every one of these minorities. My scoffing, know-it-all self doing my A Levels could never have felt this kind of love. My ironic jokes about feminists with my first boyfriend could never have made any woman feel loved. My frustration that my SPECIFIC experience of misogyny as a white, middle-class bisexual woman didn’t feel related to the other million female experiences could never have facilitated unity, common ground, or learning to understand women that existed completely out of my experience as a woman.

My feminism has lead me to becoming friends with some of those boys who mocked me for wanting to play rugby, and with the woman that was vying with me over that man in the acting company for 8 months. It is slowly melting my resentment towards all men - it is even allowing me to feel sorry for the men who have mistreated me in the past. 

I guess I want to express in this mammoth essay post that so far my feminist journey has lead me to the realisation that if your feminism isn’t growing you, you aren’t doing it right. Perhaps it will morph again in the future. But for now, Feminism is a love of humanity, rather than a hatred of it. That is all. 

[unlucky-rubber-ducky]

Attachment

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

1,252 words

Summary: Fluff. Really, guys, it’s always gonna be fluff. Mentions of a battle.

A/N: I would first of all like to apologize to anyone who has any skill at titling things, as this is an insult. I suck at titles. Without further adieu.

————————————————————————————————————————

Obi-Wan had never been spontaneous, per say, but whatever spontaneity he had died the day he became responsible for not just himself, but a powerful young boy as well. He had grown from sneaking around (or even out of) the temple in the middle of the night with other padawans to catching sneaky padawans.

You, it seemed, were the exact opposite.

You had always been on the fringes of his life, though it was only after Anakin had attached to you as another parental figure that Obi-Wan had the chance to actually get to know you. He had always remembered you as more of a stickler to the rules than even he, though he figured you would have to be rather uptight to be Master Windu’s padawan.

You were often left out of the other Padawan’s mischief, though, Obi-Wan noted, they never turned us in. While you were much happier following the rules, there was no denying you were at least trustworthy. You went through your trials just a few months after Qui-Gon’s death, and began hanging around Obi-Wan to prepare for (and occasionally help with) training a padawan.

It was about a decade later, and you had entirely shifted. Whether that was due to Anakin’s influence, or a coping mechanism for the war was a point of contention between Obi-Wan and Anakin. Ahsoka quickly decided it didn’t matter, as you were the only one aside from Anakin who understood her appreciation for pranks, and so were the perfect partner when she wanted to mess with her master.

“Obi-Wan!” A soft whisper.

It was as if you had known Obi-Wan was thinking about you, which honestly wouldn’t be hard to believe. You had made a habit of keeping him company the night after an especially tough battle, whether that be sticking close to his side as the clones rowdily celebrated around you, or quietly laying together on whatever sort of bedding that had lasted through blaster-fire, he found great comfort in your understanding presence.

“You’re a bit later than usual, my dear.”

“Mm, I was looking for something! Come on, I wanna show you!”

Your head was in view from where he was laying now- the usual bright quality to your eyes was dampened by the earlier violence, but your giddy attitude would never indicate a difficult day. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the smile you brought to his face.

He purposefully moved slowly- watching you bounce on your heels and pout in impatience was more entertaining than he would like to admit. Once he was finally stood up, rather than have him tease you by walking slowly, you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his tent and away from the camp.

“Darling, this hardly feels very safe.“

“Live a little, Obi! I scouted the area out earlier-“

“By yourself?!”

You looked back at him with a grin that definitely didn’t make his breath stutter.

“All by my lonesome.” You had slowed your pace once you couldn’t see the camp anymore, and linked your elbow through your companions. “It was perfectly safe, I told Anakin I was going out.”

“You should have told me.”

You waved your hand, dismissing the idea as ridiculous.

“It was a surprise.”

“What was a surprise?”

“Patience is the Jedi way, Master Kenobi.”

He snorted.

“You’re one to lecture me on patience, little one.”

Your head whipped to meet his eyes, and an innocent smile met a playful glare.

“I’m not little, Obi-Wan!”

“I beg to differ.”

“You’re short too!”

“But I’m taller than you!” His singsong tone put a smile on your face, but you were quick to look at the ground.

The rest of your walk was quiet, aside from the crunch of your boots on the grass, and the noises of the forest you were surrounded by. It was many different shades of red, and shimmered during the day. It was a lovely outer rim planet, and you couldn’t help but be saddened at the violence it had to witness before it even developed any of its own sentient life.

Having been there only a few hours earlier, it was easy for you to find what you were looking for. (The thunderous roar wasn’t hard to hear, either.)

“Close your eyes.”

“And why would I-“ Obi-Wan turned to you, who had anticipated his apprehension, and had already turned on the puppy-dog eyes. He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. “Fine.”

He trusted you to lead him along a safe path, and listened as the roar, of what he assumed to be water, became louder. He felt a breeze across his face, and felt your arm tighten around his as you stopped.

“Open!”

It was… stunning. You had led him to a little clearing in the forest. A dizzyingly tall cliff dropped off a few feet from where he stood, and he could see the moonlight shimmer off of the trees hundreds of feet below. The source of the loud noise was revealed to be a waterfall, whose river was flowing from a little ways across the clearing. Obi-Wan was speechless for a moment, and just a little relieved he wasn’t entirely jaded to the beauty the galaxy had to offer.

“That is quite the sight to behold, my dear.”

“I knew you’d like it! Me and Rex were out here a few days ago, just checking things out, and we stumbled across this place and I just knew you’d love it and I wanted to show you before we left and isn’t it just beautiful?” You had to take a breath after your tangent, your face a little warm at the explanation Obi-Wan didn’t really need.

“It is.” If your face was warm before, it was on fire when you turned to him and saw he was looking at you, rather than the scenery. To distract from the moment he had just created, Obi-Wan held out his hand to you. “I’ve always wanted to dance in the moonlight.”

You giggled and took his hand, smiling even bigger as he pulled you to his chest and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“How could I turn down an offer like that?”

You spun around the little clearing for what felt like an eternity, squealing when he dipped you unexpectedly. When you came back up your faces were much closer than before, and before either of you could back out, your lips were pressed together. (Future debates would argue who made the first move, but that hardly mattered to either of you in the moment.)

When you pulled back, your face was the shyest he had seen it since you had been nothing more to him than Master Windu’s padawan.

“Sorry, I promise I didn’t bring you out here just to seduce you.”

“I wouldn’t complain if you had.”

Your eyes, which had wandered down to his chest, snapped back to meet his in an instant.

“...What does that mean?”

“I care for you. More than the code allows. I am… attached, for lack of a better word.”

“I’m attached too.” Obi-Wan tentatively pulled you in for another kiss, leaving you space to back out if you wanted to. “Are you sure, Obi? This is, like, have your rank stripped if they find out at best kind of territory.”

His hands moved from around your waist to cup your face, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“I am all too willing to try, dear one.”

“So am I.”

——————————————————————————

Thank you for reading!

[missjosie27]

Year 3 Part 1- No Cursed Vaults Allowed

Hey everyone! I’m back with Year 3 for the adventures of my MC! This will feature some new characters including an in depth look at his parents. I have a feeling it will be the best year yet! Enjoy! Comments and feedback welcome!

Summertime was an ideal season for many things, muggle and wizardfolk alike: cookouts, nights out at the pub, parties, celebrations, holidays to the beach, picnics, visitations to relatives, etc. It was just too bad David Grant was given no opportunity to enjoy any of it.

The start of the summer break began badly and only got worse from there. Unlike the end of his first year, there was no hiding the truth of what he had been up to. Some junior reporter managed to get wind of the cursed ice story despite all attempts of the school to lessen its impact. Though he wasn’t mentioned by name, his parents had gone through this nightmare once before and it didn’t take a genius to know their second son indulged in the cursed vaults same as their first born. The result was not pretty.

His mother’s reaction was the most severe- she railed for hours about irresponsibility, jeopardizing his education, the fact she told him not to get up to the same type of foolishness as his brother and what that meant to the family. All the while, David winced and tried to resist covering his ears, though a small woman of only 5’4, her presence was no less intimidating by those who knew her. The piercing blue eyes and mother bear persona was enough to make even the largest man quake in their boots. Which meant he received no help from his dad in that regard.

His father, a man of about six feet with still solidly dark brown hair and a goatee, was not the type to scream and yell but he was the kind of man to take a person aside and issue them a soft but stern warning, which in this case meant wagging his finger and telling him to obey his mother’s wishes.

It was a dynamic that had been going on for four years now going on five. Ever since the disappearance of his older brother both parents took a turn for the worse in their behavior and attitude not only towards him but each other. As opposed to long dinner conversations, the family tended to eat in silence, where long walks in the backyard meadow were once common, David was forbidden from venturing even twenty feet outside the house, where affection and love once dwelled was now replaced by tension and distance.

His parents thought him naïve but the thirteen year old wasn’t stupid. One didn’t need to be a full grown adult to see how fragile things had become. To make matters even worse, all of this tension was redirected back on him. Both of his parents worked, his mother at the tea shop in London, his father in the Office of International Cooperation as the envoy to the United States, but when not occupied with these tasks they focused on him. And the summer of 1986 was filled with reminders about the upcoming year and what he was not to do.

If it wasn’t for his grandfather, Thomas Grant, he might have gone crazy.

“Mum and Dad aren’t happy, Grandad. They don’t do much really. Except feed me and occasionally yell.”

The slender, graying haired man gave a sad chuckle as pulled his grandson close to him.

“They’re going through a rough time now, David. Given the circumstances.”

“But I’m not like Jacob. I didn’t purposefully try to get involved in that vault stuff. It just…sucked me in.”

“I’m willing to bet Jake had a similar story,” Thomas laughed, deep and true. His sense of humor was well known among his family and peers.

“Grandad, I’m serious,” David responded though he couldn’t resist a smile himself. “They’re suffocating. How am I supposed to do anything with them always on my back?”

“There’s always Hogwarts,” came the witty response. When his grandson didn’t laugh this time around, the patriarch of the Grant family turned serious, cupping a finger underneath David’s chin.

“David don’t judge your parents too harshly. Just remember that you aren’t the only one who misses Jake. There must be sufficient time to heal. And when that happens, things will turn around. In the meantime, keep your head up and your ear to the ground.”

The young teenager nodded, knowing that if there was anyone he could trust, it was his grandfather, who often spoke plainly about topics such as these.

“I will.”

“There’s a good lad. Now let’s enjoy more of this summer sunshine shall we, David?”

“David?”

The sound of his mother’s voice brought him back to earth.

“David, are you listening?”

Snapping out of the flashback he quickly replied, “Yes mum.”

“You didn’t promise me,” she warned him as they sat at the table eating breakfast. She had made eggs, sausage, and picked an assortment of fruits but on the eve of going back to school, there was one more lecture to be had.

“Promise that I won’t try to touch the giant squid? Yeah, sure, I can promise that.”

But his attempt at humor was mitigated by a stern look from his father, looking down from his Saturday paper.

“We do not need our second son engaging in this dangerous cursebreaking business,” Heather Grant repeated for the umpteenth time. “It leads to nowhere good. Especially with Jacob gone. Please promise me you will not attempt to find more of these cursed vaults.”

“You’re mother is right, son,” the soft voice of his father echoed. “Your job is to further your education at Hogwarts, make some friends, and meet a few girls along the way,” he added with an uptwitch of his mouth.

“This is a time for you to learn and grow. Not put yourself in needless danger. Listen to your teachers. Listen to Dumbledore. Pay no attention to whatever temptations these vaults might have for you.”

If you had bothered to pay attention to my side of it, you’d remember I don’t CARE what’s inside of the vaults, David thought bitterly. I’m trying to find Jacob so we can be a family again. So YOU don’t have to cry every week about losing your son

In the end, the young teen held his tongue, buried his feelings as he always did on the subject and did as he was told. If it would save his mother that much grief to tell her what she wanted to hear, so be it.

“I promise I will, mum. Cross my heart and swear to die.”

“David!”

“Kidding.”

He was enveloped in an enormous hug, almost causing him to choke on his food.

“We love you, sweetie. Always remember that.”

Even as he acknowledged her words and reciprocated that love, David couldn’t help but feel bitter.

“I love you too.”

In a summary, this was why he hated the summer holidays. Hogwarts couldn’t come soon enough.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The arrival at King’s Crossing couldn’t come soon enough. Using an old Chevrolet that his grandfather collected on his travels in the United States and later passed down to his son, they drove to London on a lovely September day. For David, however, he was just looking forward to getting away from his mother’s smothering influence. Unfortunately, he couldn't get away from her without one last embarrassing hug and kiss on the forehead.

“Stay safe,” she said, as a few sixth years passed by and snickered. David would have hexed them right then and there were his arms not constricted and his wand in his back jeans pocket. “And remember…”

“I know, mum. No cursed vaults.”

“He understands, Heather,” his father spoke up, in a rare moment of support. He also hugged his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Be well, David. You know we’re always an owl away if you need us.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

With a last wave and a goodbye, the train whistled, and David hopped on. A sadness permeated through his heart as he looked out of the window one last time at his parents. Their faces were neutral, even distant as they turned and walked away, not even bothering to hold hands or give any sign of affection.

Sighing, the now third year Gryffindor wondered if things would ever return to normal in his family and what it would take to mend the wounds inflicted. In his heart, he already knew the answer. The problem was his parents had already forbidden it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It didn’t take long for him to find Rowan and grab a compartment. They were later joined by Charlie and Ben as well as Penny, who decided to spend her train ride with the Gryffindor boys this year.

“It’s great to see you again, David!” the pretty blonde greeted him with her usual hug. She did the same with the rest of the crew, causing Ben and Charlie to blush. “How was your summer?”

“Not good,” came the monotone, blunt response. “Unless you count not being allowed twenty feet outside of the house trapped with overbearing parents to be fun.”

Ben hesitated as he tried to formulate the words.

“Did your mum and dad…you know…”

“Find out about the cursed vault? Yes. And I have the Daily Prophet to thank for that. My parents saw the article and they put two and two together. So they know everything and made me promise a million times I would stop associating myself with the vaults.”

“Sounds rough, mate,” Charlie spoke sympathetically. “My mum saw it too but after I told her everything, she was very understanding.”

“Goddamn it, Charlie you told her what we got up to?”

David hadn’t meant to sound upset, but the last thing he needed was for his friends’ parents to think he was an obsessed nutcase as well.

“Dave, give me more credit than that,” the second eldest Weasley said raising his hands in the air. “I didn’t give her any specific details, just the gist. When Bill told her it was because you were trying to find your brother she immediately melted. I think she’s definitely going to send you a sweater this year.”

Not knowing what a sweater had to do with anything, David nevertheless relented.

“Sorry, Charlie. Didn’t mean to bite your head off. Things are just….tense at home. I’m very glad to be going back to Hogwarts.”

“Hey if anyone understands it’s me and Bill,” Charlie chuckled. “There are seven Weasley children in our humble abode. Family disputes are quite common.”

“Speaking of which, where is the lanky tosser?” David smiled. “He usually joins us by now.”

“Funny you should mention that. He’s out fulfilling his new prefect duties. Got the letter just last month. He’s getting himself acquainted in a fancy compartment as we speak.”

“He’s going to make an excellent prefect,” Rowan blurted out excitedly. “The best ever!”

“I suppose he won’t be able to help us out with the vaults anymore given his new position,” Ben suggested sadly. “Prefects enforce the rules, not break them.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Charlie said while munching through a sandwich. “Bill isn’t above breaking a few rules when it suits him. He’s a leader not a tattle tale.”

“That reminds me,” Penny perked up. “Have you given any thought to the broken wand and the book you found?”

That was an interesting question. David had not told his parents about the treasures that lay within the vault and locked them in his trunk to prevent them from being discovered. As to their true purpose, that was still anyone’s guess.

“Of course, I have. They’ve been stored away ever since I found them. But I can’t figure out what they’re for.”

“I wish I had been able to come with you into the vault,” Rowan lamented. “If I had, maybe we would have been able to translate more of that ancient Aramaic on the column. I’ve been doing a lot of research over the summer and I have some theories…”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” David assured him. “I’m just not sure we have much to go off of right now.”

“What about Merula?”

He leaned back in his compartment seat, as though wholly unconcerned.

“What about her?”

“You know she’s going to want revenge since you got to the vault before her last year. Not to mention the failed bubotuber prank she tried to pull.”

“Oh yeah, that was funny. Remind me to send her a biting tea cup for her birthday this year.”

“David.”

Rowan’s serious tone forced him to give a serious answer, even though his mind couldn’t be farther from his Slytherin rival.

“She’s going to try and provoke me like she usually does. It’s the best we can hope for. She doesn’t know a damn thing about the vaults and as long as we keep it that way, Merula Snyde won’t be anything more than a minor nuisance in potions class.”

“No offense, David,” Penny warned. “But Merula’s a lot cleverer than you give her credit for. She’s mean, but she isn’t stupid. If any wind of the next vault gets to the Slytherins, she’s going to be the first to jump on it.”

Bollocks, she’s right

David didn’t like to give any credence to any Slytherin, much less Merula but he had to acknowledge that the blonde Hufflepuff brought up a good point. She was not one to give up easily or at all and would not fail to brag about any progress with the vaults or information regarding his brother. He had not taken her up on that offer the previous year but if the flow of intel ran dry, might he have to make a deal with her?

No, never. Merula can piss up a tree for all I care

“I understand your concern, guys. But there’s not a whole lot we can do right now. I don’t even know if I can go after the next vault.

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Ben challenged to his surprise. “Since when does David Grant let rules stop him?”

David didn’t respond, instead choosing to close his eyes and take a small nap before arriving at Hogwarts. Those were questions he preferred not to answer at the moment.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of the train ride was relatively quiet. Penny had to wake up David and Charlie from their respective naps (Charlie also had a habit of snoring) to put on their robes but that aside, it was a peaceful trip without any hijinx.

Heading up to the massive castle was now a familiar routine. The familiar call of ‘Firs’ years’ could be heard above the chatter of the thousand strong student body as he waved a friendly hello to Hagrid who greeted him back. Invisible carriages carried them and their luggage up to the front hall where Peeves was waiting with an assortment of fanged frisbees and had to be cleared away by Professor McGonagall. Yes, being a third year did have one gigantic perk: routine. Being thirteen meant you were no longer a little kid and people showed you a modicum of respect.

They weren’t the only ones moving up in the world. As the respective houses gathered at their tables in the Great Hall, David spotted a familiar long haired, tall red headed Weasley sporting an impressive red and gold badge. It didn’t take long for them to embrace.

“Bill Weasley, you wanker. Can’t make time for us on the train anymore?”

Bill grinned in response.

“For you lot? As if.”

“Seriously, though. Congratulations on becoming prefect. I know you really wanted it last year.”

“Thanks, David,” the eldest Weasley thanked. “Mum practically died of joy when I got the letter. Really, I’m just glad Dumbledore believed I earned it.”

“Just don’t let it get to your head,” Charlie teased him as the group took their seats besides and across from one another. His brother rolled his eyes.

“You know me better than that. Percy on the other hand, God forbid he ever becomes a prefect…”

“Who’s Percy?” Rowan asked, clearly not aware of the numerous siblings the family possessed.

“He’s our younger brother,” Charlie explained. “Younger than Bill and I, but older than Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. He’s a bit of a wet blanket.”

“He comes to Hogwarts next year. You’ll understand when you meet him,” Bill said, his smile becoming more of a grimace. “By the way, I wanted to ask you sooner, but I couldn’t get away from the prefect training. Did you find any clue or hint about the next vault?”

“Don’t know anything more than you do, I’m afraid,” David said, shaking his head.

“You’re still interested in the vaults even though you’re a prefect?” Rowan asked Bill.

“Hey, just because I’m a prefect doesn’t mean I’ve lost my appetite for curse breaking. I just have to be more…discreet about it from now on.”

Charlie grinned at the rest of his friends as a way to say ‘I told you so’. Ben looked mildly surprised while Rowan was positively aglow with admiration.

“Do you think Dumbledore is going to punish us for investigating the vaults?” the sandy haired third year asked aloud.

David shrugged. “I don’t think so. He asked me to stay away from them, but he wasn’t upset.”

“No way that he could be. You saved the entire school from being turned into a frozen wasteland,” Rowan pointed out.

But before anyone could say anything more, the enormous oak doors burst open as Professor McGonagall entered the room with this year’s batch of first years in tow. The older students immediately quieted down as the protocol and procedure for the sorting began. Time for chatter on the vaults would have to come later.

In another instance of the inconsistency of time passing, David observed that the sorting always took longer when you were on the outside looking in as opposed to when you were the one being sorted. The hat’s song was entertaining enough as it always was, but just how many first years had last names beginning with the letter ‘D’? He was also quite hungry as evidenced by his stomach growling. The feast couldn’t come soon enough.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the sorting ended, and Dumbledore took center stage.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts!” the white bearded warlock boomed happily. “I’m pleased to have all of you new and returning students here for another year of magical learning and self discovery. To those returning pupils with empty bellies, I apologize for making you suffer through another one of my speeches, but I must address certain concerns before we dig into our sumptuous feast.”

David could have sworn the old man’s eyes twinkled at the sound of the groaning from the student body.

“First, as a reminder: The Forbidden Forest is strictly out of bounds to all students regardless of year. Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has also pressed me to tell you that the list of banned items at Hogwarts has increased to one hundred and fifty seven. A full list can be viewed on his office door. As always, Madam Hooch will announce the dates of coming Quidditch tryouts for your respective house teams.

“I would be remiss, however, if I did not mention the Erumpent in the room. As many of you know, last year, Hogwarts was afflicted with cursed ice caused by one of the long rumored cursed vaults. The curse was released as a result of an outside entity tampering with them. Therefore, I am ordering everyone in this room to stay away from the rest. It is said that each vault unleashes a unique curse and I will not have my students and faculty endangered again. And while it is true that some of our students broke the vault curse and saved the school, it is also true they put themselves and others at great risk by doing so. As such, I am forbidding any student from seeking out the remaining ones. The penalty will be severe, especially for repeat offenders.

“But do not let my warning damper your spirits. Please, enjoy the feast and rest well for your classes tomorrow.”

Dumbledore clapped his hands twice and the usual assortment of foodstuffs and goodies appeared in front of them. But his warning did take away some of David’s appetite and Ben was the first to address the comments as the feast commenced.

“So much for Dumbledore not being upset…”

“Do you think he knows we were all involved? Are we going to get detention?” Rowan said in a panicked whisper.

“Relax, both of you,” Bill lightly chided. “If any of us were getting detention we’d know by now. We just have to decide what to do moving forward. David, what do you think?”

That was the problem, however. He had no idea where to go from here. On the one hand, listening to Dumbledore and his parents did seem to be the wisest course. There was a lot to consider- his schooling, his reputation, not to mention the possibility of having his wand snapped by the Ministry. But deep within the pits of the fun and witty David Grant was a hole that he never let anyone see, not even his own parents. The hole that symbolized the loss of his brother and the burning desire to find him again. He didn’t want to disobey the headmaster or mum and dad, but how could he sit idly by with newfound information on Jacob and not act on it.

“Let’s heed Dumbledore for now,” came the muted response. “I need to think on this.”

Rowan and Ben looked at each other as if unsure what to make of the situation but they didn’t press the issue. Bill nodded, his perception much more adept than the third years also said nothing but nevertheless kept his good cheer.

“Hey David…catch.”

The turkey leg thrown at his plate nearly caused him to jump ten feet in the air, as memories of Merula and bubotuber pus came to the forefront of his mind.

“Wanker,” David laughed as Charlie snickered and Bill winked.

The rest of the evening was much more pleasant as they ate to their hearts content, joked around, discussed their holidays, classes, Quidditch, and various topics. As they were dismissed from the Great Hall and made their way up to bed (Bill had to lead the first years on their annual tour) Jae, ever the smuggler that he was, presented them with a new kind of sweet that Filch had failed to ban: Animal Augments. Basically, they gave one the temporary ability to sound like a random wild animal. Ben’s lion roar woke up the fourth years in the next dorm and David nearly pissed himself laughing at Rowan getting the donkey themed one. As Jae put it- “galleons well spent.” These were the moments that made Hogwarts worthwhile.

Cursed Vaults or not, it was good to be back.

[lady-divine-writes]

Stray

Crowley keeps bringing home strays even though Aziraphale tells him not to. They’re going to get in trouble. But this last one is the one that makes Aziraphale start thinking hard about his place on this planet - and whether it’s actual worth being a Principality or not. After all, he’s an angel, right? Shouldn’t he start doing what people - and demons - think angels are supposed to do? (1551 words)

(AO3)

It’s 2:45 on a Friday afternoon when the bell above the door in Aziraphale’s shop rings, and he freezes. He’d been happily cataloging his newest acquisition, his Tolstoy collection, and the time had flown by. But 2:45 is the hour he enjoys least, especially on a Friday – after final bell, when kids from the schools nearby come in with their mothers looking for used copies of whatever passes for classical literature these days.

The lynchpins of their latest assignments.

Why schools don’t seem to want to provide books for their students, Aziraphale can’t understand. It shouldn’t be too hard. After all, one doesn’t require a first edition of Chaucer’s works in order to complete a five-page essay. Aside from that, there are three other bookshops within a ten minute walk from his that handle the sale of mass market paperbacks.

Why does everyone feel the need to stop by his shop first?

Then they have the gall to get angry when he tells them he doesn’t have what they’re looking for and no, he can’t order it, because it’s not worth his time and trouble. What you see on the shelves is what you get, so please take your mediocre book list and your poor attitude and shop somewhere else.

Or call ahead. Save everyone the aggravation.

It probably doesn’t help that, in the grand scheme of the universe, he’s not that particularly fond of children, or their parents. He’s an angel. He loves people in the general sense, and some specific people more than the bulk. But for the most part, he’d rather just be left alone with his books.

If he’d known it was creeping up on 2:45 on a Friday afternoon, he would have closed up shop over an hour ago.

Without even knowing who they are or why they’re there, he considers this customer a harbinger of doom. Therefore he’ll see to their needs (if he can) and then close up shop immediately after.

Then he can enjoy his Tolstoy in peace.

In the silence that accompanies the ringing of that bell (since he’s holding his breath) he hears two sets of footsteps shuffling through the shop.

One he recognizes.

The other makes him roll his eyes.

He sets his shoulders, hurries out past the stacks and shelves, and without looking at his husband, he says, “No.”

“Aziraphale!”

“Crowley! This is the fifth time this month!”

“I know, I know, but this is different!”

“That’s what you always say!”

“But this time it’s the truth!”

“Crowley! You can’t keep bringing them home with you! We simply don’t have the space to keep them all!”

“Aziraphale …” Crowley tilts his head and cocks his hip “… that is the weirdest thing you have ever said to me. We’re supernatural entities!” Aziraphale hushes his demon, but Crowley doesn’t drop his voice a whit. “We can make space! Literally create space! Look! I’ll snap my fingers and make a new back room to your shop, easy peasy!”

Crowley lifts his hand, but Aziraphale puts his hand over it, fixing him with a deadly stare.

“Don’t. You. Dare. Crowley! It’s not just about the space! You can’t keep doing this! You can’t keep bringing in every single sad story you find on the street!”

“Aziraphale, you don’t understand …”

“Yes, I do! I do understand! But, I’ve told you …” Aziraphale stops when he feels his temper rising, knowing that his voice must be climbing with it. He can’t forget, they’re not alone, and the other one among them might be confused and scared “… parents raise their voices at their children. And sometimes they spank. I don’t particularly approve of the practice myself, but it doesn’t mean they’re bad parents! You can’t keep kidnapping kids from their parents and nannies! Someone’s going to be by with the police soon! Now take him or her home!”

“This wasn’t a misunderstanding!” Crowley pleads, chasing down Aziraphale as he storms off to the refuge of his private workspace. “You weren’t there, angel! You didn’t see what they were doing to him! They were yelling at him! A-and hitting him!”

“Spanking him?”

“Hitting him! Look at his eye!”

Aziraphale crosses his arms over his chest, decidedly unmoving, done with this argument before they’ve truly gotten started.

“Look, Aziraphale!” Crowley gestures toward a chair in the corner – a corner that was once a reading room sort of set up until it, too, became overrun by Aziraphale’s massive book collection, very few of which ever actually leave his shop. Sitting in the chair is a tiny waif of a creature; his body, curled tight over his arms wrapped around his stomach, thinner than it probably should be; his dark, straight hair matted over his face. He sniffles but fights to stay quiet, trying to keep from making a sound. Maybe he thinks if he makes himself small and silent, he’ll be invisible. Aziraphale knows this.

He’s seen it before.

“You know, there are authorities to handle this sort of thing,” he says, but with none of his usual fire.

“Yeah, and when’s the last time authorities have ever done anything worth two shits when it really mattered?”

Aziraphale isn’t trying to be purposefully cold. He’s trying to come up with a solution. As ironic as it sounds, angels can’t save everyone – not the way Crowley thinks they should. Aziraphale’s job is to inspire humanity, teach them to love one another, care for one another. He’s not supposed to interfere too much. Though now that taking on actual assignments from the head office are less of a concern for him, and he’s gotten the opportunity to pick and choose who he helps and how, he’s often wondered what good his overall job does anyway. Look at the accomplishments of humans by way of actual humanity.

Besides, the last person who came to Earth preaching kindness and compassion, they nailed to a cross.

Aziraphale approaches the boy, walking towards him slowly so as not to frighten him. The boy doesn’t look up, but he goes visibly rigid, and Aziraphale’s heart does a double thump. As Aziraphale gets closer, the boy begins to shiver, shaking so violently by the time he reaches him, the legs of the chair knock the floor. Aziraphale doesn’t touch him. Instead, he gets on his knees and looks up at him the best he can. The boy tries to hide his face, but before he does, Aziraphale catches a glimpse of his eye – along with the other cuts and bruises marring his face, one that quite vividly resembles a cigarette burn.

“Good Lord,” he whispers, getting back to his feet, backing away and leaving him be. He straightens his vest, glancing at his husband pacing beside him, too worked up to stand still. “And where, exactly, do his parents think he is?”

“I’ve made them believe he’sss run off,” Crowley hisses in agitation. “I wanted to rack them with guilt, but …” He scoffs “… they’re not even looking for him. Sonsss of bitchesss.”

Aziraphale dusts the knees of his trousers, fusses with his tie. “Fine, then. He can stay. And we’ll … we’ll figure things out.”

The boy stops shaking. He goes a little less rigid. A moment later, he starts to cry. It’s a sound that hits at the heart of Aziraphale because it’s neither good nor bad. It’s both, and that’s when he knows he’s in trouble.

Crowley isn’t wrong. They need to do something because, often times, no one else will. This isn’t an isolated incident. Aziraphale knows that. And as much as he goes on about Crowley’s newfound habit of kidnapping children (probably prompted, in part, by Warlock’s parents moving him to the states) there’ve been a handful that Aziraphale, steadfast in his convictions, felt uneasy sending home to their parents.

But that also means Gabriel, as much as Aziraphale hates to admit it, is also not wrong.

Being a Principality in this day and age is kind of a sick joke.

Inspire humanity?

Sometimes Aziraphale wonders what’s left to inspire. And good luck appealing to the faithful. So few people have faith nowadays as it is, and those who claim to tend to twist it to fit their own agendas.

It’s made him bitter, and somewhat hardened to the plight of men.

But he’d be a hypocrite to persecute them for that. Angels have done the same for millennia, and he’s not immune. He recognizes that he himself has quite a bit to atone for, and not with regard to the temptations he did on Crowley’s behalf, but for the work he’s done in the name of God.

Especially where it comes to children.

There have definitely been times when Crowley, a demon, has had humanity’s best interests at heart better than he.

Aziraphale walks to the front door, motioning for his husband to follow. He throws the locks and switches the open sign to closed, beginning to devise a plan for what will undoubtedly become they’re newest acquisitions together. He turns to his husband and puts his arms around him, hugs him tight until Crowley hugs him back.

“My dear?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Why don’t you go ahead and make me that new room. I have a feeling … we’re going to be needing it from now on.”

[utopiannamjoon]

Cheated [2/2]

Words: 1k

Genre: Heavy Angst

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

A/N:  Cheated became my most popular and fastest growing fic over night. It got such good comeback and several questions asking if there was a part two; so here it is. Enjoy

Masterlist in bio!

~

His POV:

Our son just turned three and our families came over along with few of his friends for a celebration. You stood by my side and wrapped your arms around me when your father complimented us as a family.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

To outsiders we seem like the ideal family, we’re all happy and smiley, both with good jobs and good salary but behind closed doors you refuse to look at me. You push me aside and hold me up to be this monster I don’t recognize myself as.

I don’t remember how many times I’ve apologized to you. It’s like you purposefully want me to feel this way. I know I hurt you and destroyed the possibility of us living like a normal family but you’re being unfair. I know you can’t pretend that I didn’t do anything but you could at least look at me and talk to me like a human being. You despise me and rightfully so.

It’s not going to take long until our son understands that mommy doesn’t love daddy like his friends’ parents do, even though I’ve never raised my voice to you or to him. I try my best to be a good father and a good husband but you face me with nothing but attitude and silence.

I’ve tried my best to prove to you that I want this. You said it yourself, if we loved each other we’d make this work. If it was up to me this would’ve worked - but it’s not. I’ve offered you dates and bought you everything you had your eye on to show you I’m sorry and I’m willing to do everything it takes. It’s not going to be enough,

because you don’t love me anymore.

I gave up around the time your eyes lost the soul they had behind them. Those glistening eyes that held the universe inside became nothing but grim and hopeless. That’s when I knew it was too late. I caused you to shut down and took your dreams apart piece by piece, I couldn’t help but watch from the side.

It doesn’t take a genius to know that our sex life has suffered immensely. The few times you’ve allowed me to come close to you I could see that you regretted it, you weren’t into it. It made me feel disgusted about myself. You would turn away from me and sniffle when you thought I fell asleep. It brought all of the insecurities back to your mind and it’s my fault but you wouldn’t say it. It leaves me just lay there, trying not to move while the tears leaving your eyes drilled a hole through my heart.

Why didn’t you just leave me? It would’ve been better if you had.

There were times that brought butterflies in my stomach just when you looked at me and let your eyes wander around me. Now those same eyes make me die inside everytime they landed on me.

It got worse. Way worse.

I know what you’re trying to hide from me. The stash of empty bottles has been stacking up and the prescription you’re on had to be refilled more often. I know what you’re hiding and I’m doing the best I can to pretend I don’t see it. It makes our son scared of you when you’re not fully there in your head and I don’t do a thing about it. I look the other way and distract him, fully knowing that you’re suffering from me.

I scrolled through the messages she had sent those years ago and fell in the temptation of sending her one.

Our fights got worse during the following months. You accused me of cheating again and I was speechless, you shouldn’t have known. Okay, granted, I didn’t bother hiding the signs but you don’t even look at me so how could you know. Our situation isn’t normal and I’m at lost.

You don’t tell me about your day and the small things that had happened like you used to - like she does. You come home and sip on your wine, sometimes doing a chore or too all the while avoiding spending time in a room with me.

I’m helpless and weak so I seeked for attention from someone else but this time I feel like you pushed me to it. I’m sorry I met her. Instead of a man who promised the moon from the sky, you got a pathetic man who couldn’t keep his word. The prince you read about in fairytales turned into the monster we both spat on. The monster who looks from the side with the knowledge that someday you won’t live through the night.

I became happier once again even while I saw you spiralling down with addiction. Well… I wasn’t happy per se but I got the best in this situation I molded around myself.

It had been years since I saw her but it didn’t matter - I couldn’t take this with you. She was beyond excited to see me and to be under my touch. She made me feel better than I’ve ever felt in my life… or for now at least.

But when I came from her apartment I’d have my son run to me at the door without the knowing how I had just hours prior hurt his mother in a way that couldn’t be taken back. He hugged my leg and was happy to see daddy.

I hated that.

I hated that my son calls me daddy and loves me regardless- you should’ve divorced me and taken him with you, to someone else who would be a better role model so all of this would’ve been avoided. I don’t want him to look up to me. I don’t want him to grow up to do this to a woman he loves.

He can’t become the monster I made of myself.

My son whom I love so dearly will grow up to hate me for being the death of you.

[afteriwake]

(Banner by @strangelock221b)

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures - It all begins with an invitation to Mycroft’s wedding to his PA and seven days at a resort in Jamaica, with the assumption that Molly pretends to be his girlfriend that his mother might be under the impression that he’s going to propose to sooner rather than later. It ends up being so much more than that…

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 5 | BUY ME A COFFEE?

It wasn’t until they had arrived at the airport that he realized just how wonderful an actress Molly really was. She was not quite as she had been the last two nights, when there had been plenty of “practice” for them to act as a couple, practice he had quite enjoyed, but she stayed close, always keeping a hand of hers in his or on his arm, smiling brightly at the assorted members of the families who would be traveling with them and, at least for a first impression, pulling off the charade quite nicely. Not that he found it hard to play along; with Molly being the lead in most of the interactions, he simply followed and reacted accordingly.

He was only thankful this group of guests were the ones from London and his parents were not among them. That was the introduction he was dreading the most, as while he was sure his parents would adore Molly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with the “impending” engagement questions just yet. His mother was as tenacious as he was when she wanted something, and what she wanted was the sons she was still talking to to give her grandchildren. She’d succeeded with Mycroft, so now all her attention would be on him.

They settled into their seats on the plane and Molly leaned over with her mouth near his ear. “That seemed to go well,” she said quietly.

“They were an easier audience to trick than my parents will be,” he murmured back.

“Oh, I think your mum will love me,” she said with a smile before kissing his cheek and then reaching for the book she’d taken out of her handbag to read. Molly didn’t quite realize that was among the problems with this charade: his mother would absolutely adore her and when it eventually came time to explain how the relationship had ended, he would be a disappointment in her eyes. Maybe not as much as his eldest brother was, but enough that it would make things decidedly more frosty between them.

Of course, as long as he wasn’t as despised as Sherrinford, he supposed he could tolerate a bit of a cold shoulder from his parents.

He settled further into his seat. It wasn’t often he thought of his eldest brother. There was usually no real reason to. The age difference between the two of them was considerable enough that Sherrinford had been nearly a teenager when he was born, and Mycroft not that far behind. He was considered a blessing by his parents, and a burden to Mycroft, but Sherrinford had never really liked him much, as far as he could tell. Sherrinford was the one in the family who had gotten the innate ability to make people at ease almost immediately, a skill his father had not managed to pass down to either he or Mycroft. It seemed his mother’s brilliance had skipped Sherrinford as a result, and he despised his younger siblings for being the one their mother was proudest of.

To this day he still wasn’t entirely sure of what had caused the rift between his parents and his eldest brother, but he knew it had to do with a large sum of money disappearing from accounts and Sherrinford scampering off in the middle of the night. It was never discussed even when he asked, time and again, and eventually, he simply stopped asking. It was the one mystery he’d decided not to solve in his entire life because, really, he was glad Sherrinford was gone. He had never liked the way Sherrinford treated him, and while his life was not necessarily better once he was gone, it was easier, at least.

He decided he’d done enough ruminating on the past once the plane began its ascent into the air. It had been some time since he was able to fully relax on a trip away from England, probably since early on in his association with John. The trip to Karachi had been fraught with danger and getting Irene to relative safety had been his tantamount priority, and obviously working on destroying the web Moriarty had woven had not been easy of safe. And then the last time he had been on a plane he had purposefully overdosed so that he could concentrate on the case in his head. Whether he had made it to Russia alive had been of little consequence, as he had more drugs on hand in case he’d had to finish the trip, but he was grateful for the second chance.

Not that he would ever admit that, of course.

He’d been surly when it was over, and only dropped the attitude when it had been decided Molly would be there during his withdrawal. He hadn’t seen her since before he had shot Magnussen, and the fact she wasn’t more angry at him for overdosing had been surprising, considering the scene in the lab. But she was there when no one else was, and he’d decided if she would be with him through the worst of it, he would make things better between them. And it was a promise he had done a good enough job keeping since they were in the position they were in now. He doubted even for a trip to Jamaica for free that she would agree to be his girlfriend and potential fiancee, unless possibly it had been for a case.

Still, he should have recognized long before the first night in Baker Street for this charade that his feeling had changed. When they had been curled up on the sofa and she had leaned in for their first kiss, he had been fairly sure he had made a mistake. And he knew he had for certain when she kissed him because he knew he wasn’t going to be able to go back to simply being friends, not after this week. Either he would try his best to convince her to make the fiction a reality, or he would lose the most important person in his life.

Of course, her mixed signals, vacillating between the breakup quip and then the simple kiss on the cheek now did nothing to help him figure out which direction she might go in. Logic was of no help, and they still had the entire week to go. He tried slipping into his mind palace to focus on things related to cases he had abandoned for the week, but he kept turning to look at Molly, completely immersed in her book. He knew that that image was going to be a sight frequently seen in his mind palace for a long time to come.

He hadn’t managed to settle anything in his head by the time they had arrived in Jamaica, and he was a bit cranky when they were deboarded and put into cars to get to the resort. Molly had barely taken her eyes off the book she was reading, and continued to read in the car they shared with his Uncle Harrington.

Of all the members of his family that he had contact with, this particular uncle was the only one he rather liked. His Uncle Rudy had favoured Mycroft, and no one at all had really liked Sherrinford, as far as he could tell, but it had been his Uncle Harrington who had fostered his love of deductive reasoning, sending hard to find books on any subject Sherlock wished from either his own private collection or those of friends and colleagues. There were books that were worth thousands of pounds at Baker Street because Harrington had never asked for them to be returned, always saying you would never know when you needed a good book, and as a literature professor at Oxford, he supposed Harrington knew that lesson well.

“You picked a woman who likes to read,” Harrington said, his voice laced with approval.

“I did,” Sherlock said, relaxing. This would be easy to talk about. He had found Molly’s sterling qualities were something he could expound on for quite a while if needed. He was sure John and Mary were tired of his talking about her, at least. “She has a personal library in her home. Not a large one, but the contents are varied.”

“Medical texts, classical literature, modern pulpy romances, and a few other goodies,” Molly said as she turned in the seat in front of them to join the conversation. She gave Harrington a smile. “Sherlock mentioned you gave him quite a few of the books he has now?”

Harrington nodded. “Mycroft and Sherrinford were interested in learning certain things. William wanted to learn everything. You don’t squander a mind like that by not feeding it with sufficient knowledge.”

Sherlock glowered slightly at the use of his real name but Molly simply nodded. “Oh yes. A beautiful brain like his would go to waste if it was starved in such an unnecessary way.”

Harrington’s smile back at her got brighter. “It’s good to see we see eye to eye,” he replied.

“We certainly do.”

Sherlock watched the two of them launch into a conversation about him and he listened with only mild embarrassment. It was one thing to think highly of himself, but it was another to hear two people discuss him in such high regard. He wasn’t used to that; while he knew Mary adored him, she didn’t have these kinds of discussions with her husband in front of him. Lestrade usually didn’t need to defend him anymore so he didn’t, and while he was used to Molly saying a few kind words, this was different. Perhaps he had made up for the trouble he had caused her after all.

By the time they arrived at the resort Harrington and Molly were quite deep in a conversation about the intricacies of Austen’s works, and it was because he had tuned out their conversation he saw his brother exit out of his car with a smile that quickly dropped to a scowl. It only took seconds for his attention to shift in the same direction, and he knew his own expression was similar.

“Brother dear,” Sherrinford Holmes said from where he had been smoking a cigarette. Then he spotted Sherlock as well. “And you too.”

“Sherrinford,” Mycroft said, his tone steely. “Why are you here?”

“Mummy invited me, as an attempt to mend some broken fences,” he said. “She’s getting settled but you know me.” He held up the cigarette. “Bad habit.”

“Bloody hell,” Sherlock heard his uncle say quietly as Sherlock reached over for Molly’s hand.

“Who is that?” Molly asked.

“My eldest brother,” he said, watching as Sherrinford’s gaze swept back to him and then to Molly. His eyes widened and then got brighter, and Sherlock decided then and there he would show Molly was not to be looked at in that way by anyone other than him. He turned to face her and leaned in, kissing her soundly, feeling her knees buckle slightly as he set his hands on her waist to keep her up. When she pulled away to catch her breath she looked up at him, speechless. “Why don’t you and Andrea go find out where we’re staying in the resort?”

Molly caught on quickly, giving him a dazzling smile as she went in for her own kiss, giving him one that was nearly as breathtaking as it was unexpected. “I’ll make sure the bed is adequate,” she said with a wink in Sherrinford’s direction before she and Andrea headed inside.

“So the tabloids weren’t lying?” Sherrinford asked with a smirk. “Wonder how you kept her under wraps. She’s got quite a nice...” His smirk widened.

“Go back to whatever hole you’ve been hiding in,” Mycroft said, his tone more flat and hostile than before.

“And miss out on the wedding of my brother? Never,” he said. “Get used to it, Mycroft. I’m here and I think I’d like to have a bit of fun.” He walked away from his brothers then, putting his cigarette to his lips and inhaling.

Mycroft moved closer to Sherlock as their uncle made his way in the same direction the women had. “He’s trouble,” Sherlock said.

“Oh, he always was,” Mycroft said. “I think we’ll need to put aside our pettiness and make sure he doesn’t do anything that will ruin this for any of us.” Mycroft held out his hand to Sherlock. “Agreed?”

Sherlock nodded, shaking his brother’s hand. “Agreed.” Just what neither of them needed, he thought to himself. Complications...

[migleefulmoments]

“she had to know she was making a sacrifice and all that comes with it. Not the same as a rape victim. gross comparison” I’m the one who initially made this analogy and it’s not what I meant AT ALL. I don’t mean the emotional pain is similar, some online bullying vs. sexual assault aren’t even on the same wavelength. I mean THEIR comments are similar. They blame her the same way people tell women they deserved unwanted attention because of what they were doing/wearing. Way to twist my words.

Like I can’t tell if they genuinely believe all of that or if they’re just that oblivious and/or dense. I was comparing them to victim blamers. That’s what they do.

**********************************

Your point was clear-Nonnie was either obtuse or purposefully trolling to stir things up. I will add that most of their followers are teens. The point might have been lost on them. 

Let’s start by with your original ask and my response:  

Anonymous Asked: “M put herself in the spotlight “dating” D. If she didn’t want that attention, she would have stayed in the background” this has the same energy as “you chose to wear that, you deserved to be catcalled”. Mia STAYS in the background for the most part. Posing on a red carpet gives us no insight into who she is. They literally seek her out on her friends socials. And they met well before his career took off so no, she probably didn’t expect it to turn into this

Me: Their attitude- that Mia deserves to be attacked and criticized because she fell in love with a man who then became famous and whom they have a crush on makes my skin crawl. It is like the “wear a short skirt and you deserve being raped”. It’s also how they justify their abysmal behavior. They went on to argue that Mia deserves criticism but Abby isn’t dating a famous man so she didn’t deserve the “awful attack”.  They like to bring up the Fame is Other People (X) interview Mia gave in 2016 where she says she never imagined herself with someone famous. They still ridicule her for not leaving Darren the minute he started getting famous.  It’s so fucked up.  

Now their conversation today

Anonymous asked: They're comparing people saying M chose to forgo privacy when she "fell in love" with D to people getting accused of deserving rape for wearing short skirts. Uhhh...NOT THE SAME THING but ok. I personally don't condone hating on anyone (I never publicly disparage M for example, despite my private thoughts) but by tying her life to a public figure, whether for love or not, she had to know she was making a sacrifice and all that comes with it. Not the same as a rape victim. Gross comparison.

cassie1022 answered: Nonnie, I’m not even surprised they went there. They’re vile, just like their kween. I don’t hide my feelings about M and I’m not going to, she absolutely knew what she was getting when she signed on to be D’s beard. She WANTS the attention, and as she’s a narcissist, she doesn’t care if it’s positive or negative attention.

Personally, I’ve decided I don’t care enough to look at their blogs anymore and when I get their mean as hell Anons, I’m blocking. They claim we’re obsessed with their blogs when they literally dissect every post we make. Someone’s obsessed. It’s not us.

notes-from-nowhere answered: Hold on. Why are we talking about M as if the notoriety had fallen on her head all of a sudden? It’s not because of D if she is known by others besides her parents. It’s because she pushes herself in front of him every chance she gets. She take away from him every merit often by making things looks like they come from her brain (Hedwig first for example) and she jumps on the red carpets even before he does. She shares her whole life through social media. D’s accounts, her friends’s accounts, enablers’s accounts. Her fake accounts. She tags in her posts every celebrity that crosses her path. Her only job in life seems to be open (and never close) social media accounts.

What are these people even talking about? Now we reached the point of denying even what she does so she can fits better their theories?

This is hilarious. I swear.

leka-1998 answered: Poor girl, forced to do all this.

I don’t even want to waste time thinking about how ridiculous it is that this behavior isn’t surprising.

flowersintheattic254 answered: I’m appalled at the comparison. God her fans are hypocrites. She wants notoriety via any means fair or foul and then screams victim if it’s questioned.

It’s the same argument that she is above criticism because she’s woman and therefore isn’t accountable for her actions.

Let’s remember V day. Nobody told her to get high with B in the PR house and post those pics. You reap what you sow. People smell fakeness and she reaks of it.

***************************

One thing I learned very quickly when answering anons is that due diligence pays off. Responding to an anon’s summary of what someone else said can backfire if they misrepresent what was said. If the anon reports something untoward was said- whether by design or by mistake- and I spent 2 paragraphs berating that statement that was never said then I am the fool. Taking 5 minutes to read the post myself has paid off many times and every time I have taken something I know nothing about at face value- it’s bitten me in the ass. Had any of the ccers bothered to actually read the post they would have realized that Nonnie misrepresented the point. They still would have written something angry and pretended to be so “shocked” by how “vile” we are but at least they would have had a shot at not being the fool.  

--------------------- My comments in Italics; they are in regular font 

Cassie:  

Nonnie, I’m not even surprised they went there. They’re vile, just like their kween. Nobody has ever said anything on my blog that could be construed as Mia is our kween. I don’t really understand the value of bringing up things nobody said as part of one’s argument. It’s proof of how desperate they are to be right and how easily they bend the truth to fit their needs. They wouldn’t know how to be authentic and honest if their lives depended on it.  

I don’t hide my feelings about M and I’m not going to, she absolutely knew what she was getting when she signed on to be D’s beard. She WANTS the attention, and as she’s a narcissist, she doesn’t care if it’s positive or negative attention. It’s hilarious that Nonnie claimed she doesn’t disparage Mia publically as part of their argument as to why they are better than us but Cassie being the charmer that she is, responds with “I don’t hide my feelings about M and I’m not going to”.  I could argue that Cassie knew what she signed on for when she started her crisscolfer blog-she even shares her cc beliefs on her Twitter!  

She WANTS the attention, and as she’s a narcissist, she doesn’t care if it’s positive or negative attention I find it so odd that Cassie is diagnosing Mia with mental illness yet just yesterday she was raging that Metaloma and I diagnose Abby. Hypocrite much? It is mind-boggling that she believes Mia is a narcissist but can’t see that Abby actually is. I bet the Abby-less Crisscolfer fandom will find Mia isn’t nearly as narcissistic and evil without Abby to write the storyline and talk about her nonstop. 

Personally, I’ve decided I don’t care enough to look at their blogs anymore and when I get their mean as hell Anons, I’m blocking. They claim we’re obsessed with their blogs when they literally dissect every post we make. Someone’s obsessed. It’s not us. Not reading my blog was a critical mistake because she would have realized that Nonnie was misconstruing the comment. Did someone claim they are obsessed with our blogs- I certainly didn’t- or is this another one of those claims that never happened?   

---------------------

Notes:

Hold on. Why are we talking about M as if the notoriety had fallen on her head all of a sudden? Nobody is talking as if notoriety had fallen on her head all of the sudden. Notes would have really benefited from reading the original post because neither Notes or I have a clue what post she is responding to.  

It’s not because of D if she is known by others besides her parents. It’s because she pushes herself in front of him every chance she gets. She take away from him every merit often by making things looks like they come from her brain (Hedwig first for example) and she jumps on the red carpets even before he does. I love the trope that she jumps in front of him on every red carpet because it proves how willing they are to outright lie to get their message across. She literally stands with Darren in front of the photographers for a couple of seconds at the end of Darren’s allowed period. Darren poses for dozens of photos and we see 2 or 3 pics of Mia and Darren-that is hardly jumping on the carpet before he does. As for taking away every merit- omg give it up. This is one of the dumbest tropes the fandom hangs on to. Mia WAS Hedwig before Darren was -the Halloween picture is around somewhere. Mia didn’t make the statement her friend did. We know the ccers don’t understand friendships but when they get pissed about the Hedwig comment they should refer to this post (X) where they declared “Just like I 100% stand with @ajw720,” and “I support @ajw720, I don’t believe Mi@rren is real and you cannot silence us!!!!”. Friends say things about other friends to connect with that person and show support. They weren’t trying to diss Darren. They never intended rabid Darren fans to even SEE the post-it was intended for their friends and nobody else.   

She shares her whole life through social media. THIS IS my FAVORITE comment of all. WTF? Where does Mia share her whole life through social media? Cuz I’d love to see it! The fact is, you are lying...you’re just outright lying. Mia shares nothing via social media. She stopped her Twitter when she quit playing music and she has a private IG account.  

D’s accounts, her friends’s accounts, enablers’s accounts. Her fake accounts. She tags in her posts every celebrity that crosses her path. Her only job in life seems to be open (and never close) social media accounts. Darren’s accounts? If Mia had control of Darren’s accounts, Mia would be plastered all over it but in reality, neither Darren nor Mia is active on public social media and they certainly aren’t sharing their lives. Nobody uses their friends’ accounts to plaster themselves. God, this trope is so stupid. Enabler’s accounts? Who the hell are her enablers? Where are these enabler posts just full of Mia’s every move? Her “fake accounts” is the best one though. Here we have some random person trolling the cc fandom and they Eat. It. Up. FetusMiarren hasn’t posted since August 11. Who the hell closes social media accounts? The reality is that Abby spent all day every day talking about MIa. The only person promoting Mia full time was Abby. The reason Notes believes that all these accounts are Mia sharing her whole life is because Abby stalked those accounts and then talked about each post for days. 

What are these people even talking about? Now we reached the point of denying even what she does so she can fits better their theories? I ask you the same question “What the hell are you talking about?” If you had actually taken the time to read the original post instead of working yourself up to a red-faced, foot-stomping rant, you would know what I was talking about and avoided this ridiculous, off-topic rant-fest. 

This is hilarious. I swear. Back at ya! 

--------------------- 

Flowers: 

I really love Flower’s response:  I’m appalled at the comparison. God her fans are hypocrites-I’m not sure how we are hypocrites because of a valid comparison.  

She wants notoriety via any means fair or foul and then screams victim if it’s questioned. Mia didn’t make the comparison- I did. Mia doesn’t know me, she didn’t dictate I made the comparison by “any means foul or fair”  

It’s the same argument that she is above criticism because she’s woman and therefore isn’t accountable for her actions. Wait...who in the hell made the argument that she isn’t responsible for her actions because she’s a woman? I’ve seen a lot of fake arguments like this in the last 3 days. Again, I don’t really understand the value of bringing up things nobody ever said as part of one’s argument. It certainly doesn’t lend credibility. 

Let’s remember V day. Nobody told her to get high with B in the PR house and post those pics. You reap what you sow. People smell fakeness and she reaks of it. Aaaaannnndddd she wraps up her comment with one of the fandom’s favorite gaslight moments- Valentine’s day with Ben.  

[newamericanaroleplay]

“I’m drowning in my own genius, that’s what I like to think — that’s the kind of attitude I’ve taken on these type of things.”

N A M E  → Quinton Livingston

S T A T U S  → ★★★★

A G E  → 28

PRONOUNS  → Male / he/him

N E I G H B O R H O O D  → Upper East Side

O C C U P A T I O N  → Promoter / Owner of Club Illusion

TRIGGERS: car accident, sex tape, heart condition

P A S T  →

Quinton was no stranger to wealth or the finer things in life. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Quinton hailed from a lineage he could directly trace back to JP Morgan, and his entire family acted like the tycoons they hailed from. Well, the entire family aside from his branch. Quinton, the only child, was part of a very tight knit family that valued philanthropy through their wealth. They prescribed to the mantra of “success with a servants heart” and spent most of their time trying to use their money and power to make the world a little better of a place.

His childhood was riddled with mission trips, traveling extensively and living on the same budget as the people they were serving to gain perspective. His father taught him how to be a good man, and his mother taught him how to be a caring and open person. All of that changed one snowy afternoon when his parent’s private propeller plane crashed into the fields of rural Iowa on a speedy trip to help some folks in their network. They had left Quinton with relatives on the notion that it was a short flight.

What happened next was textbook. He fell on the responsible shoulders of his uncle and their family. Younger siblings to his own parents, they treated money in a more vicious manner. He went to a private school. Slowly, his previous ways of life were chipped away at. It was a gradual pace. Quinton had hit puberty early, and without the guidance of his parents. it wasn’t long until the tabloids knew who he was. He was a regular item on page six, brushing shoulders with people exactly at his station. When he joined Instagram, he amassed over five million followers in two days.

Despite having all the money in the world, and a lifestyle most people would envy, Quinton had no idea what we wanted to do. Philanthropy was the thing that killed his parents, and was seen as a necessity among his relatives. He wanted to start a nonprofit, and become something true to who he used to be, the legacy his parents left, but he instead fell into the internet era — becoming famous on YouTube and Instagram for his nightlife guides. The money from this content, and paid sponsors quickly made him realize that he was a promoter of some sort. He was envied by men, lusted after by women, he was golden just like he always was. It was easy to slip into old habits.

That old habit was an on and off girlfriend. They were extremely public when they were on and extremely public when they were off. They quickly became known for their fighting, break ups, drama, and then big romantic gestures. However, pressure grew from his family to do something real. That was when he decided to open Illusion. Illusion was everything the night life world craved. It skyrocketed to one of the best places to party in the city. He was on the up and up, it seemed.

All good things end. And that was the case with his second club that he planned to open in Miami six months ago. Drama hit a new high when a sex tape of his girlfriend was leaked on the big screen of the club opening. Which fueled a massive and very public fight between the two. Quinton went home with her best friend and she never made it home. He found out in the morning that his girlfriend had gotten into a car accident and died on the site while attempting to drive to his hotel. A hotel he wasn’t at.

P R E S E N T  →

After the accident, Quinton dropped off the map for a month. The second club in Miami Quinton sold for a quick couple million. He was happy to wipe his hands of it and that night. When he returned to social media and the city, he returned with a bang. He threw a party to die for with A-Listers and no holes barred. Secrets were kept from that night but the photos that leaked to the press, quite purposefully, made the event to die for.

Illusion is his main club that he owns and oversees. He still maintains a massive following and often flies and parties. If anything, his party lifestyle has sped up since the accident. Where once he said that he promoted to make money, show people a good time, and make connections, he knows now that he’s doing it for the thrill to party lately. He’s been taking more risks lately, including dabbling in a society that allows his true visions for the club to come true — full debauchery at every aspect.

He’s started to take a step in. And he likes what he sees. Illusion has become a place for drugs, women, and Quinton? He’s the ringmaster of the most fabulous parties there ever was. He’d never admit he’s in too deep. He’d never admit that he’s hoping to really fuck himself. He’s not looking for redemption. He’s looking to die young. Which might be easy, because he’s been hiding a secret – his blackouts are getting worse and worse. He suspects what the route of the problem is, but avoids getting actual help for it, caught in this loophole of ‘it’ll save me some money and time to die that way’ and ‘it’s probably fine’. It isn’t though, because every so often he can feel the pounding in his chest, the light feeling of his fingers, even when he’s sober.

P E R S O N A L I T Y  →

+ charming, spontaneous, bold, friendly

- arrogant, apathetic, callous, detached

QUINTON LIVINGSTON (Nick Bateman) is written by W (she/her → est)

[lostbutterflyutau]

Sunset Carla (Part 3)

With the premiere of Not Without My Magic and Naomi Knows Best we’ve learned a lot about Carla, her parents, their dynamic and the effect that this dynamic has on Carla.

In Not Without My Magic it’s revealed that Ash had been gone at least seven years, meaning that she’s been absent from Carla’s life since she was about nine or ten-years-old -- possibly earlier since in Naomi Knows Best she said she studied dark magic for ten years. And this depends on when Carla’s birthday is. I personally headcanon Carla as being 17 at this point with a November birthday. (She’s a Scorpio.) But, I digress.

Shifting back to canon, since even their first appearance in King of the Carnaval, Victor and Carla are shown to have a really close relationship, which is to be expected after he raised her alone for so long. It’s very subtle at first, but as time goes on, we can see more and more of just how much he really cares for his daughter.

 Yes, they do clash sometimes because they’re both strong personalities. And, of course, he does get frustrated with and scold her from time to time – after all, he is her father – but even with the little hiccups they’re shown to genuinely care for one another. They look after each other and never leave the other behind. Ever.

 Until recently…

 Ever since Ash came into the picture in Not Without My Magic, there’s been a lot of tension within the Delgado family that was only recently confirmed. Victor, understandably, holds some resentment against Ash for leaving them and not saying a word for years. As he says, they waited five years and searched for two more. They believed she was dead until Snow Place Like Home. He’s aggravated that she has the nerve to be annoyed with him and rightfully so. Ash snaps that, “I didn’t get to see my little girl grow up. You took that from me!” Despite the fact that she is the one who left for years without sending so much as a letter.

On top of that, she seems to not respect Victor as an equal in general. When she defends the amount of time she spent away training, she tells him that, “Unlike some people I never gave up!” And insists that he should have waited for her to teach him dark magic. This tells us two things. One is that she wants to have the control. She wanted to be the one to have control over his (and by proxy, Carla’s) magical development. Wants them to know what she wants them to know and be able to do things her way. The second, is that along with control, she wants all the power for herself, something that is confirmed by her claims that Jewel of Night will make her, “The most powerful Malvago who ever lived.” When she says this, Victor cuts in, saying in Not Without My Magic, “You mean, ‘we?’” And later pointing out in Naomi Knows Best, “What about us?’

Both times he is brushed aside – kind of. The first time, she gives him a look and hesitates before answering. In that look, it can be seen that she is simply appeasing him. She doesn’t actually intend to share any of the power with him and whether or not she intends to share with Carla is another question. Because when Victor asks about “us” – as in him and Carla, Ash simply replies, “Yes, yes. All of us” in a dismissive tone.

 Speaking of the Precious Smol, Carla clearly looks up to and idolizes her mother, something that was suspected since her comment in The Race for the Realm when, after first being turned into a Malvaga, she says, “If only Mama could see us now!” Knowing what we do now, it can be inferred that Victor and Carla wanted to become Malvagos because of Ash. And, now that she’s back with them, Carla strives to please her. She wants so much for her mother to be proud of and praise her. Any time Ash acknowledges her skills and compliments her, her face lights up and her voice gets this happy, eager tone.

 However, while her mother’s praise is important to Carla, so is her Papa. She’s a total Daddy’s Girl, something that was only subtly hinted at until Snow Place Like Home. In that episode, both Victor and Carla gave the most obvious show of love and affection for each other up until that point. There’d always been a bond between them, it had just been presented through small hints before, mainly in the way Victor and Carla display physical affection. She grasps his arm, he sets hands on her shoulders, even once pulls her into him when they’re talking with Shuriki. When she reaches for the Jewel of Maru in the episode of the same name, he calls out to her when he thinks she’s in danger due to the spell Amalay cast to protect it. He doesn’t want to lose her, especially since, at that point, he believed Ash to be dead. He already lost his wife. He didn’t want to lose his daughter too.

As for Carla, she’s often terrible with her feelings and doesn’t appear to have a lot of trust for other people. She covers up a lot of her emotions with anger or annoyance – which is blatantly shown when she shifts from being upset to being annoyed when Ash confirms that, no, they’re not going back for Victor who is the one person Carla does seem to trust fully. The look of adoration and trust she gives him when he’s carrying her through the blizzard says everything. She loves him more than anything, in part because he’s the one who’s always been there for her.

Now, I’m not saying that Ash was ever a bad mother. It’s not known how things were before she left all those years ago. But, I will say that as much as Carla idolizes her, there also seems to be some tension growing between them. Carla is no dummy. And she appears to be picking up on the underlying tension between her parents. It’s subtle, but the confused look and awkward smile she gives after Ash comments about Victor holding Carla back and him saying that, of course he wouldn’t do that, followed by an awkwardly forced show of affection, says that she’s maybe…not so sure about everything. She’s thrilled to have her mother back. To be learning powerful magic and be told that she’s the “more powerful Malvago” with natural talent, but at the same time, she doesn’t like seeing her mother put her father down. Especially not when he’s done so much in raising her as a single parent. Granted, he doesn’t win the award for “Best Dad Ever.” He is raising a criminal, after all. But he does take care of her and it’s clear that they have a strong bond between them. One that Ash is trying to break apart, which leads me into how this fits in with and changes the Sunset Carla narrative.

I still believe that at her core, Carla isn’t evil. Something she’s shown more recently in the latest episodes as different sides of her personality are displayed. She clearly loves her family and revels in the attention she’s getting from her parents. More than anything, she has always wanted to be loved and wanted and respected.

Now, there’s no doubt in my mind that Ash loves and cares for Carla. Why else would she be upset over missing her daughter grow up? But, she doesn’t seem to be very good at expressing it and doesn’t like the idea of being second to Victor in anything. Her ego is the reason she won’t apologise for being gone for so long without so much as a word or acknowledge the fact that Victor did a decent job of taking care of their daughter alone for years. And it’s this attitude that has her purposefully driving a wedge between father and daughter by putting Victor down, pointing out his flaws and trying to make him look incompetent in front of Carla. When he dares acknowledge that she is, in fact, his wife, she cuts her eyes at him. She declares Carla the more powerful one, (which, in her defense, is true. Carla does have more of a natural affinity for magic) and wants her help in casting the spell with the Jewel of Night. To get rid of him, she orders Victor to take Gabe to the dungeon – “If you can handle that.”

She wants to be the favoured parent and show her superiority any way she can, even if doing so means that she has to manipulate her own daughter. In this case, she’s manipulating her against Victor. And possibly to use her in order to gain more power for herself. Like I stated above, it’s unclear if Ash intends to share any sort of power with Carla, considering the dismissive way she brushes them off when Victor asks. And if that turns out to be the case, Carla is not going to be pleased. She’s a master manipulator herself, but, as pointed out by one of my fandom friends, she knows where the line is. She doesn’t manipulate people she actually likes, and especially not her family.

 Carla has always been genuinely herself around both of her parents. Venting and whining her feelings to Victor in private, squealing and acting like a happy little girl when her parents are finally together again (seriously, that happy clap is everything!), showing pure excitement whenever her mother praises her…She’s not afraid to show them her true feelings. Finding out that her mother is possibly manipulating her and very likely keeping secrets would devastate her.

She’s already picking up on and showing displeasure the tension between her parents – the face she makes when Ash says that they’ll come back for Victor later says a lot. She doesn’t want to leave him behind. She’s never left him behind and he’s never left her. The idea of doing so confuses and upsets her. And she’s annoyed with her mother for not listening to her feelings. Their relationship is already likely strained from Ash being gone for so long and therefore, knowing virtually nothing about her daughter. This, I feel, is only going to worsen and is likely being set up as the catalyst needed to make Sunset Carla happen, just in a different way from how I initially predicted. While I still believe that Carla could benefit from friends her own age and being shown a better way to live, I also think that this isn’t going to be the path the canon story will take. Not completely. And I’m here for it.

 I’m starting to think that someway, somehow, she’s going to be put in a place where she’s going to be forced to choose between her parents. Because Victor isn’t going to stand to be pushed around for long, especially with Carla in the middle of it all. He cares too much for her to let her be caught in whatever problems he and his wife have with each other. In fact, I doubt that he opposes them having or reforming a relationship. He wants his daughter to be happy and if it makes Carla happy to bond with her mother, I don’t think he would mind them spending time together. His attitude comes from the fact that Ash is trying to put a wedge between his and Carla’s own relationship in order to form that bond.

 Though we’ve seen hints of it already, she’s going to realise that her mother is not who she always thought she was and is likely to end up heartbroken as a result. I can’t say when this will happen, but if the prediction that Ash is going to bring the ultimate darkness is true, it’s likely to be in the midst of her making plans and perhaps even being corrupted by dark magic herself. Carla will be put in a position where she’ll have to make a major decision about her future, her family and who she wants to be. She’s always been directed to one path by both of her parents, and I still hold to the idea that she doesn’t know there’s another way, but I also think that, rather than her breaking off on her own like I initially predicted, she’s instead going to be privy to the way power can corrupt and overtake people, which while already seen with Shruki, is going to hit harder when it’s someone she actually cares about being subject to it.

[wieldbrave]

THYME’S PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET!

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping-off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, and repost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Template here.

MUN NAME:  Thyme ( won’t lie, I chose this alias for the sake of making puns ) OOC CONTACT:   I’m available through Tumblr IMs & Discord for mutuals ( thyme#5669 ), although I’m slower to reply using the former!

WHO IS THE MUSE/S?

TOMIOKA GIYUU: Water Hashira. Lost his parents, older sister and best friend to demons. Depression given human form, cursed with a resting b*tch face, completely lacking in self-awareness and has no idea how to interact with people ( often resulting in him unintentionally insulting them? whoops ). He hates speaking unless he absolutely has no other choice, would literally give his life to protect the Kamado siblings ( don’t test him!!! ). Created his own unique style, “Lull”. Surprisingly kind and lowkey empathetic deep beneath his blank exterior. Has a soft spot for siblings, especially sisters, mildly projecting his own feelings onto them. Values the lives of others well above his own. Views himself as an eyesore, unworthy of his status despite his strength. Keeps others at arm’s length because of this. Quietly sentimental, his haori acting as a physical reminder of the loved ones he lost. Likes animals, but they don’t like him. Basically, he needs more friends, please help him he’s so lonely???

KAMADO TANJIRO: Demon Slayer, Dance of the Fire God breath user, full-time older brother and firstborn son with an amazing sense of smell that defies all logic. The personification of compassion and empathy. Has likely known you for 0.5 seconds and will now die for you. On the flip side, if you threaten or hurt anyone he loves, he will absolutely decimate you, don’t even try it. Adores his sister and close friends more than life itself and doesn’t even stop to think if they’re ever in any danger. Driven, dedicated, has made it his mission to befriend as many people as humanly possible no matter their backgrounds or lifestyles. Won’t tolerate mistreatment of others and will stand up to anyone he views as wrong/a bully regardless of someone’s status. Has a strong moral compass and won’t hesitate to kill demons who excessively harm innocents, but expresses empathy towards his fallen opponents in their final moments. Can talk to and understand birds ( and likely other animals ). He’s basically a Disney Princess. A tone-deaf one.

SABITO: Dead, but I do what I want, so he has an alternate verse. Technically a Demon Slayer ( takes on missions from time to time ) but acts as a Swordsmen Cultivator alongside Urokodaki due to an injury in his Final Selection which has affected his abilities to fight for extended periods of time. Water breath user. Rough around the edges, quick temper, does not tolerate any whining or complaining. Typically keeps his true emotions close to his chest, but in moments of extreme stress, they come rising to the surface, especially when someone he cares about is hurt/in danger. A harsh trainer, an advocate of tough love. Under the guise of an abrasive attitude and a slew of insults, he’s encouraging and motivational. Confident, precise, dedicated, efficient. Wastes no time putting himself in harm’s way to protect others, even strangers. Refuses to let anyone give up or waste their life while there’s still so much they can do with it. Will Not Hesitate To Kick Your Ass. Dogs love him and he loves them. 

RENGOKU KYOJURO: Also dead, but I still do what I want, so he has an alternate verse as well. Flame Hashira ( recovering / retired ), focused on training a Tsuguko to take his place and bolster the Demon Slayer ranks. Loud. Rambunctious. Enthusiastic. Passionate. The type to wear a smile to bring comfort to those he aims to protect. Follows his strict moral principles to a T, will not falter or compromise for anyone or anything. Cares immensely for his younger brother and father, wants nothing more than to make his deceased mother proud. Keeps his negative emotions to himself, rarely opens up to those around him, but his friendly attitude attracts people to him regardless. The type to take kids in need of a role model under his wing and will protect them fiercely as he views it as his duty to do so. Animal lover.

POINTS OF INTEREST.

GIYUU is instantly recognisable by his haori. The maroon half once belonged to his deceased sister, the cube patterned half belonged to Sabito, his best and only friend. Other than that, he purposefully does as little as possible so as not to stand out. He prefers to go unnoticed and will rarely approach/speak to strangers unless given a proper reason to.

TANJIRO stands out from the crowd for a multitude of reasons: he wears hanafuda earrings that carry a certain weight amongst demons ( or, rather, Muzan himself ), he bears a scar-like birthmark on his forehead, he wears a bright green and black checkered haori over top of his uniform and, last but not least, he is often seen carrying a large wooden box, where his younger sister sleeps during their travels. His bright smile and friendly personality will undoubtedly draw you in from the get-go — he thrives on interactions with other people and willingly seeks them out.

SABITO is instantly recognisable by the peculiar fox mask with a scar by the right side of its mouth that he is often seen wearing, paired with peach coloured hair that reaches past his shoulders. Beneath his mask, there’s an identical scar by the right side of his mouth, but it is rare for him to take off his mask by choice. He holds little regard for social status ( he’ll only ever express respect for Urokodaki or those who have beaten him in combat ) and can be quite abrupt, regardless of someone’s rank or standing, doubly so if he feels someone is needlessly complaining.

KYOJURO is a man who stands out, whether intentionally or not. Loud ( seriously, his volume is permanently cranked to the max ), rambunctious, wearing brightly coloured clothes and possessing even brighter hair, he is the epitome of ‘out there’. It is hard not to notice him.

WHAT THEY’VE BEEN UP TO.

GIYUU is embarking on missions issued to him by his Kasugaigarasu or attending meetings alongside his fellow Hashira. In his downtime, he keeps mostly to himself, either by training or meditating. His main motivation is to prevent innocent people from suffering at the hands of demons.

TANJIRO’S arc depends entirely on what point in the series I’m writing something for. His main motivation is to focus on finding a way to make his sister human again, defeating Kibutsuji Muzan and fulfilling his role as a Demon Slayer.

SABITO is either embarking on missions issued to him by his Kasugaigarasu, spending time with Makomo or working alongside Urokodaki as a Swordsmen Cultivator. His main motivation is to focus on keeping himself fit and healthy, coping with the lingering effects of his injury and fulfilling any missions given to him.

KYOJURO is focusing on his recovery and is eager to return to his status as Hashira ( or he’s in retirement, dependent on the partner ). His main motivation is to find and train a Tsuguko to take over from him in his retirement, preparing them for the duties and hardships a Hashira must face.

WHERE TO FIND THEM.

In between missions ( which is a very infrequent occurrence ), GIYUU can be found at his “estate” — a modest house by a pond at the edge of a forest that lacks any furnishing or personal touches. He views it as more of a place of rest between missions rather than an actual home and thus sees no need to decorate it. Typically, Giyuu is hard to pin down. He throws himself from one mission to the next, forcing himself to stay on the move. A lot of this is to help as many people as possible and fulfil his duty as a Demon Slayer, however, it’s also a form of self-punishment/self-harm. TW SUICIDAL TENDENCIES. By refusing himself proper rest, he can punish himself for his perceived failings, which is the least of what he believes he deserves. He wholly expects ( and, one some level, wants ) to die on his missions and fully believes it’s the best thing for him.

TANJIRO can be found all over the place, as he rarely stays still in one place for very long. He’s become a frequent visitor at the Butterfly Estate due to the injuries he often receives on his missions, but aside from that, he no longer has a place he truly calls home. He’s often on the move, his missions and duties as a Demon Slayer keeping him busy. Until he can help his sister become human again and defeat Kibutsuji Muzan once and for all, he’ll continue to fight for as long as it takes.

SABITO’S sole permanent residence is with Urokodaki at the foot of Sagiri Mountain, where he spends most of his time as he helps train budding swordsmen. However, when he’s called upon, Sabito will take to the road to fulfil his duties as a Demon Slayer.

KYOJURO frequently visits his estate to check in on his younger brother and ensure his father is doing well. Otherwise, he can be found all over the place, visiting his fellow Hashira, or any wounded swordsmen at the Butterfly Estate. When he’s called upon, he, like everyone else, will take to the road to fulfil his duties as a Demon Slayer.

CURRENT PLANS.

Arcs my muses will be going through already or in the nearby future.

GIYUU recognising that his lack of self-worth is harmful and trying to change the way he thinks about himself/interacts with those around him. Giyuu struggling with his attempts to change, frequently slipping back into old habits and slowly finding his footing again.

TANJIRO learning how to further utilise his Dance of the Fire God breath. Facing his feelings regarding everything he’s been through so far, as he’s never had the chance to truly acknowledge it all. 

SABITO continuing to work at his strength, despite many years having passed since his injury. Connecting with people rather than continuing to isolate himself due to his continuous struggle with depression. Helping to train other budding swordsmen or helping to polish the skills of already well-established Slayers.

KYOJURO building himself back up to his full strength. Depending on the partner, either returning to duty and training his Tsuguko or retiring from being a Hashira and focusing on bolstering the strength of any newbies to the Demon Slaying Corps while training his Tsuguko.

DESIRED INTERACTIONS.

**  If you have any ideas for any of my muses that aren’t listed here, I’m more than open to anything!! These are mostly things I’m thinking of off the top of my head.

GIYUU: I’d like to explore him attempting to connect with his fellow Hashira ( OC or canon ) following his chat with Tanjiro, overcoming his feelings of worthlessness and learning how to cope with his depression, or even forming an older brother/younger sibling dynamic with any of the kids ( OC or canon ). Experiencing symptoms of his PTSD. Any interactions ranging from emotional to lighthearted and fun would be great!

TANJIRO: I’d like to explore Tanjiro having a moment to properly grieve the death of his family and being forced to face the full weight of his feelings, especially around the anniversary of their deaths or any birthdays, particularly with a Nezuko, or anyone who may be interested! Tanjiro experiencing symptoms of his PTSD. Shenanigans at the Butterfly Estate/a house with a Wisteria Crest. Going on missions together. Having some downtime in a village/town. Someone educating Tanjiro on the more modern goings-on ( think his reaction to the train ).

SABITO: Having him meet other members of the KNY cast ( OC or canon ), whether helping them on a mission or offering extra training during the Hashira training arc. Sabito expressing vulnerability with someone, being able to smile and laugh with them etc. INTERACTIONS WITH A GIYUU!!! Sabito showing signs of struggling with the lasting effects of his injury. Experiencing symptoms of his PTSD.

KYOJURO: Expressing difficulty in recovering from his injuries after his fight with Akaza, verbally or otherwise. Struggling with his newly altered depth of field, expressing rare and mild frustration over it. Spending time with his fellow Hashira. Choosing a Tsuguko ( typically defaulting to Tanjiro, if fellow Tanjiros are okay with it, but this is open to other characters who would like to explore this!! ). Forming an older brother/younger sibling dynamic with any of the kids ( OC or canon ). Experiencing symptoms of his PTSD.

OFFERED INTERACTIONS.

AKA things my muses can offer to yours.

GIYUU: Extremely awkward, stunted, one-sided conversations! Yay! Hesitant attempts at friendship ( specifically for Hashira muses ), impassiveness, extremely mild contentedness around Tanjiro and Nezuko in particular. Sadly, without a solid plot/idea in place, Giyuu is pretty flat when it comes to interactions due to his personality. 

TANJIRO: Unconditional love and affection from the second your muse meets him for the first time ( and also if your muse already knows them, that much is a given ). Moments of reckless selflessness in which he tries to protect your muse, homemade food ( he’s really good at cooking ), endless and undying support, a friend who will stick by your side through thick and thin. He’ll stand up to your muse if they’re being an ass and tell them how it is while somehow being incredibly patient, earnest and kind about it ( well, mostly ).

SABITO: Training. As a Swordsmen Cultivator, Sabito is good at drilling in techniques to his unfortunate pupils. Backhanded encouragement disguised beneath insults and Sabito quite literally beating the stuffing out of your muse ( if talked over first, of course ). A friend who will aggressively support your muse, aggressively hype them up and remind them how worthy they are.

KYOJURO: AN OLDER BROTHER FIGURE FOR THAT MUSE! AN OLDER BROTHER FIGURE FOR THIS MUSE! EVERYONE GETS AN OLDER BROTHER KYOJURO!! He will take on anyone and everyone as his Tsuguko and offer to train them up. He’ll support your muse’s every endeavour, offer constructive criticism on how they can improve, make them hearty meals ( he’s an amazing cook ), a guiding hand against their back.

CURRENT OPEN POST/S.

N/A at present. I don’t typically post opens very often, as I’m more likely to throw out starters for people my muses want to interact with at random.

ANYTHING ELSE?

This blog is set to low activity! I’m a slow writer with extremely erratic bursts of inspiration because work kicks my ass and depression is a little b*tch. Some days I’ll write a lot, other days I won’t write anything at all. There’s rarely any in-between, but I’m working on trying to change that. I operate best with plenty of plotting and regular chats ( whether in the IMs/Discord/in the tags of threads ), as I find it extremely motivational to get to know the mun I’m writing with and maybe even plot out a relationship as we go!

I don’t mind if you favour a single muse over the others! I don’t mind if you want to write with every single one of them! I don’t mind threads with duplicates of my muses! I don’t mind multiple threads, even if we don’t always finish all of them and get hit with a new idea! I’m more than happy to go with the flow — so long as we’re having fun that’s all that matters.

My portrayals often involve the heavy use of headcanons, some of which haven’t been officially posted yet! Everything you see on this blog is likely a continuous work in progress, as my muses and ideas for them are always developing and growing.

For any extra info, please refer to my rules!! If you’re unsure of anything, hit up my IMs!