#saltfics

[flightfoot]

I saw someone refer to the fics that came out where Chat finds out about Ladybug telling Alya her identity in Gang of Secrets and gets upset about it as "saltfics" and... I guess? You could consider any of the "Adrien finds out that Ladybug lied about how Gabriel died and/or that he's a sentimonster and she didn't tell him and gets upset about it" fics to be saltfics as well, if you're defining saltfics to mean "any fic that criticizes a character's actions." Which WAS what it was taken to mean when it first started being used.

Thing is, when I use it, that's not what I mean? Just to be clear, criticizing and analyzing a character's actions, and even being negative towards them as a result, is generally okay in my book. When I say that I hate saltfics, I'm more talking about Ron the Death Eater stuff.

Like for me, what I have a problem with is more fics that

A. Criticize characters for shit they never did. Like having Alya ostracize Marinette, outright try to bully her, fics that make Adrien tell Marinette not to make a scene even when Lila's clearly maliciously, intentionally hurting Marinette right in front of him (as opposed to that possibly being just collateral damage of a non-malicious lie), stuff that didn't canonically happen, you know?

B. Inflict disproportionate retribution for things the characters did, whether it's canonical or not. A fic may only be criticizing Alya for asking for evidence that Lila's a liar or is at fault for something before jumping to conclusions, but if Marinette's response to that reasonable request is to cut off her friendship and revoke her miraculous, then that's still very salty.

But yeah. The vast majority of "Adrien gets upset with Ladybug for hiding things from him" fics don't qualify as saltfics by my own personal metric, because most of them are only faulting Ladybug for things she actually canonically did, and usually have a pretty proportionate response - especially for season 5 aftermath fics. Lying about to your boyfriend about how his father died, what kind of person he was, and not telling him he's a sentimonster IS fair reason to be angry.

I generally like fics to still have them make up, but I don't like putting those fics on the same level as the "Alya leads the class in beating up Marinette and yelling insults at her while Adrien just ignores her cries for help even while she's being physically hurt" fics, they're on such WILDLY different levels that it's comical.

[glitterpensupremacy]

What she says: “I’m fine.”

What she means: There is a whole subsection of the Miraculous Ladybug fandom who thinks one character having to sit by herself in the back of the class for a single episode (literally gets her seat back by the end) is worse than another character getting abused by his dad for five seasons.

[saltytothecore]

Rating: M

Relationship: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Fjord/Jester Lavorre

Tags: Whump, POV Second Person, Post-Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Magical Exhaustion, Essek Whump, Temporary Character Death

Summary:  Wish is the mightiest spell a mortal creature can cast. By simply speaking aloud, you can alter the very foundations of reality in accord with your desires. They find him. They kill him. This is the first wish you make.

[winxanity-ii]

REVELATION'S EDGE

ship: simon basset x fem!sister!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 3.6k a/n: Had to dive deep into the emotional turmoil for this one! Simon's story really hits a nerve for me and wholeheartedly believe Daphne should have had consequences for what she did, but I digress. Can't wait to hear what y'all think!

★·.·´🇧‌🇷‌🇮‌🇩‌🇬‌🇪‌🇷‌🇹‌🇴‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You lived in luxury your entire life, born into a world where wealth was as normal as the air you breathed.

Your family, known for its long history and great wealth, always moved in the highest circles of society. Aristocrats, nobles, politicians—they all knew your family's name as symbols of power and prestige.

The grand estate you called home was a symbol of generations of success. Its big gardens were always kept perfect, and the detailed, fancy architecture showed a legacy built carefully over the years.

Every corner of the estate felt like a part of history, reminding you of your family's lasting influence.

Every hallway you walked down was filled with history, as if the footsteps of those who came before echoed along with yours.

From the moment you were born, your life was set in a backdrop of fancy rooms and whispered secrets.

Your childhood was like a colorful, rich tapestry—filled with private tutors, elegant parties under sparkling chandeliers, and summers spent in grand villas overlooking the endless blue sea.

Your earliest memories were of people fixing your clothes to perfection, polite nods at gatherings, and the smell of roses always in the air from the beautiful gardens outside.

Yet even with all this luxury, you found yourself wanting more. Behind the fancy smiles and fake conversations of high society, you longed for something real—something that wasn't covered in velvet and gold.

You wanted to see the world beyond the polished staircases and perfect lawns, to find out what was behind the curtain of perfection that had always been pulled over your life.

Your father understood your curiosity. He noticed your distant looks during social events, the way you seemed to want something else when you thought no one was watching.

Seeing your dislike for the superficial life around you, he decided to give you something special. He had a room made just for you—a sanctuary, a quiet place where you could get away from the endless politics and shallow conversations that filled the rest of the house.

Now, you sat in that very room, remembering how it came to be. It always gave you a deep sense of comfort.

The room was spacious, with high ceilings that made it feel open and free, yet cozy enough to be a perfect retreat. The warm, welcoming feel of the room wrapped around you like a familiar hug. The walls were covered with bookshelves, filled with books you had collected throughout your life.

It was a collection that had grown with you—from the fun stories you loved as a child to the deep, philosophical works you studied. Each book had its own story.

Many of these books were gifts from faraway places, collected during family travels or brought by guests who stayed at the estate.

You remember the feeling of unwrapping a beautifully bound book, the crispness of its new pages, the promise of a new adventure. Some books were finds from your own explorations—rare books discovered in little shops hidden in the city—each one handpicked and cherished, with worn edges from your constant reading.

In the far corner of the room, large bay windows stretched from floor to ceiling, showing a beautiful view of the estate’s gardens. Through them, you could see the carefully trimmed hedges, the colorful flowers in full bloom, and the old oak trees standing tall. The windows were made to capture the natural light of the day, filling the room with a soft, golden glow.

On bright mornings, the sunlight warmed the floor, inviting you to stay a while. Sheer curtains hung gently, softly moving with the breeze that came in, carrying the scent of jasmine and fresh earth.

Your rocking chair sat in the middle of this peaceful space—a big, comfy chair, almost like a throne, covered with the softest blankets and pillows.

You couldn't count the hours you spent there, curled up, letting the chair rock gently while you read. It was your favorite place—a place where you could leave behind all the expectations, the responsibilities of your family name, and get lost in the pages of your books.

Here, you fought dragons, sailed across oceans, and discovered new lands.

Here, you loved, lost, and lived a thousand different lives, all while the real world moved on outside those windows.

The room was your haven—a place where you could finally breathe freely and be yourself. No grand halls, no watchful eyes, no heavy legacy—just you, the soft sound of turning pages, and the warm glow of sunlight, reminding you that there was beauty in simplicity too.

To your left, Kira, your personal maid, was a constant presence. Her Blasian heritage gave her a unique beauty, with reddish-dark auburn hair that cascaded in gentle waves down her back. Her light brown eyes were expressive, often reflecting her mood before she even spoke.

Her skin was a rich dark brown, sprinkled with freckles that added to her distinctive appearance. Tall and slender, she moved with a grace that belied her underlying strength, and her voice, airy yet slightly scratchy, filled the room with a comforting familiarity.

As she knitted you a pair of winter gloves, Kira spoke up, her tone carrying her characteristic brashness mixed with a hint of humor. "You wouldn't believe the latest rumor I heard from the market," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Apparently, Lady Edith was caught in a rather compromising situation with the Duchess of Wohrmans. It seems high society isn't as prim and proper as they pretend to be."

You couldn't help but chuckle at her comment, appreciating her candidness and the way she always managed to bring a slice of the outside world into your sheltered life. "Kira, you do realize that half of these rumors are probably just wild tales, right?"

Kira looked up from her knitting, a sly smile on her face. "Oh, of course. But it's always fun to speculate, isn't it? Besides, it's the only entertainment we get around here, given how these snobby lords and ladies turn their noses up at everything."

Her brash temperament, so carefully controlled yet so openly shared with you behind closed doors, was a refreshing contrast to the often stifling decorum of high society. Her rants about the various characters you both encountered were a source of much-needed levity in your life.

But in truth, Kira was more than just a maid; she was a confidant, fiercely loyal, and the only one who heard your true thoughts about the high society you navigated.

The tranquility of the room shattered when the doors slammed open, the sudden noise breaking the delicate calm that hung in the air.

You looked up, startled, to see Simon, your older brother, standing there.

Simon's visits were always a highlight for you, especially given the circumstances of your life. Your father's dying wish was that you reside in the family home until you were eligible to wed.

At nearly nineteen years old, you were yet to experience the onset of your period, a traditional marker of marriage eligibility in your society. This delay had kept you bound to the family estate, and though you often found the confines of this life stifling, Simon's infrequent but cherished visits were what made it bearable.

Ten years your senior, Simon was your half-brother, sharing the same father but born of a different mother. The tragic fate that befell your mother during childbirth mirrored the loss Simon experienced with his own mother, creating a bond of understanding, of shared grief between you two that had only grown deeper over the years.

As Simon stepped into the room, his presence filled the space like it always did, but today, something was different.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement—he was your lifeline to the world outside these walls, and you were eager to hear the latest news and gossip from town.

The last you had heard, he had attended the 1813 social season hosted by Lady Danbury, a significant event in high society, and you were curious to hear every detail.

"Simon!" you exclaimed, rising quickly from your chair, a wide smile lighting up your features. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Tell me everything. How was the social season? Any interesting gossip, brother?"

But something about Simon's expression gave you pause. He always had a commanding presence, his handsome features often drawing admiring glances—his skin, a deep, rich brown, perfectly complemented by his neatly styled black hair.

His eyes, usually bright and full of life, a striking contrast against his complexion, were different today. They were dim, devoid of their usual spark, and you noticed a wetness behind them that most others might miss. This ability to read him so well came from a lifetime of shared secrets and experiences.

Your smile faltered; the initial joy at seeing him now replaced with concern. His face was stony, but those eyes—they betrayed the turmoil within.

Quickly, you gestured for Kira, your trusted maid, to leave, understanding immediately that whatever Simon was about to share required privacy. As she slipped out, you felt a knot of worry forming in your stomach, tightening with each passing second.

Simon shuffled over, his steps lacking their usual confident stride, his shoulders hunched in a way that made him look smaller, almost like a child seeking comfort. His vulnerability struck you hard, and in almost a whisper, laden with concern, you called out, "Brother… are you alright?"

Suddenly, Simon's composure broke. His sobs echoed through the room, each one more heartbreaking than the last. The sound was raw, and it cut right through you.

Without a second thought, you rushed forward and pulled him into an embrace, feeling his body shake against yours. "It's okay, Simon. I'm here," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you cradled him, your own eyes filling with tears.

You had never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so broken. It stirred something primal within you—a fierce protectiveness, an ache in your heart that made you want to destroy whatever it was that hurt him.

The two of you stood there for a while, locked in that embrace, the room filled with nothing but the sound of his sobs and your gentle shushing.

Eventually, Simon's sobs subsided, and you pulled away just enough to look at his face. Gently, you lifted his chin with your hand and used a soft handkerchief to wipe away his tears. "Brother, what's wrong? Did something happen? You're scaring me," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady, though inside you were anything but calm.

Simon looked at you, his eyes full of anguish, the storm of emotions swirling there almost too much for you to bear. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. "Before I say anything… please promise me you won't do anything rash." His words sent a chill down your spine.

Perplexed but too concerned to argue, you nodded slowly. "I promise."

Simon took a deep breath, as if trying to steel himself for what he was about to say. "It's… Daphne," he finally admitted, his voice breaking on the name, a fragile whisper that left you cold.

Your heart skipped a beat, confusion and fear swirling inside you. "Daphne?" you repeated, your voice trembling. "What about her?"

He looked away, unable to meet your eyes, his expression one of shame. "She… forced me into… into having a child with her."

The words hit you like a physical blow. For a moment, the world around you blurred, and you couldn’t breathe. "Daphne… she… she what?" you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper.

Simon gripped your hands, his own trembling as he tried to ground you. "____, please. You promised. Just listen to me."

"Promised!?" you repeated, your voice rising in disbelief, your emotions starting to boil over. "How dare you ask for calm when I've just learned that… that she…"

"____, please."

But you couldn't hold it in any longer. "…raped my brother!?" The word came out like venom, filled with fury and disbelief, your chest heaving as you tried to make sense of it.

Simon visibly flinched at the word, his eyes closing briefly as if to ward off the pain it brought. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a silent plea, but you were too incensed to care. "It's sickening, Simon! She knew you didn't want children. You told her, and yet, she still…"

"____, I know," Simon said, his voice cracking. "I know, but please, don't do anything… don't make it worse."

You finally quieted down, the weight of the situation sinking in, the rage simmering under your skin. "She doesn't deserve you, Simon. She never did."

Through his tears, Simon looked at you, begging again. "Please, don't do anything rash."

You gave a non-committal nod, your mind already racing with thoughts of retribution. How could she do this to him? Your heart ached at Simon's vulnerability, but your anger towards Daphne burned fiercely. "How can she live with herself after doing this to you?"

Simon shook his head, lost in his own turmoil. "I don't know. I just…"

Realizing he needed comfort more than anything, you softened. "Alright, Simon. Let's just… let's just sit for a while."

You called for Kira, giving her a specific look that she immediately understood. "Bring us the Night's Whisper tea, please."

Kira nodded and slipped away.

Night's Whisper was a special blend you had created for your insomnia, known only to you and Kira; its calming effect was exactly what Simon needed now.

As she left to prepare the tea, you turned back to your brother, who sat beside you, his frame shaking slightly from the weight of his emotions.

"Brother," you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's always been you comforting me… It feels strange, being on this side."

Simon offered a weak smile, a ghost of his usual charm. "Yeah, roles reversed, huh?"

You sat together in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on you both. When Kira returned with the tea, the delicate aroma of Night’s Whisper filled the room, offering a brief respite from the heaviness of your conversation.

As you both sipped the tea, you gently probed, "Simon, tell me… how did it all start? That night with Daphne?"

He took a deep breath, his voice a wistful whisper. "It was a normal night, just like any other. We were both getting ready for bed; the house quiet around us…"

Simon's words transported you to that night, his narrative painting a vivid picture. "I remember the coolness of the sheets, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the room. We talked a bit, just mundane things… nothing out of the ordinary…" His voice trailed off, each word heavy with regret and betrayal. His normally animated face was now a mask of sorrow.

You reached out, placing a comforting hand over his.

The tea worked its subtle magic, and you watched as Simon's eyelids began to droop, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll. For him, it was enough to gently lull him into a much-needed sleep in the comfort of your chair.

You stayed with him, a silent guardian, as he drifted off, his breathing evening out until he was finally at peace.

Once you were sure Simon was asleep, you pressed a tender kiss on his forehead. Turning to Kira, your voice was firm, your eyes blazing with determination. "Get my horse ready."

As you rode through the countryside on your favorite horse, the wind whipped through your unraveling braids, your focus laser-sharp on reaching Simon's home.

You cared little for the dirt staining your clothes or the disarray of your hair; all that mattered now was confronting Daphne.

Arriving at the house, you bypassed the maid at the door, your steps swift and resolute. The common room was filled with light laughter, the sound of high society oblivious to the darkness lurking just beneath.

Daphne sat elegantly, her strawberry-blonde hair styled impeccably, her light skin glowing in the candlelight. Beside her were Penelope Featherington and another highborn lady; their conversation filled with hopeful whispers of pregnancies and futures.

You had only heard of Daphne through gossip and Simon's reluctant admissions of their "arrangement." An arrangement that now revealed its ugly truth.

Your steps were purposeful as you approached her, the room falling silent as you called her a "harlot," your hand connecting sharply with her cheek. The sound echoed, cutting through the air and drawing gasps from the women around.

Daphne recoiled, her hand flying to her face, her expression one of shock and indignation. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling between anger and confusion.

"You know exactly why I'm here," you said, your voice cold, vibrating with barely contained rage.

Her confusion deepened, and she shook her head, as if trying to shake away a bad dream. "I have no idea what you're talking about. How dare you assault me in my own home?"

"You've done far worse in this very house," you retorted, your eyes boring into hers, unyielding. "What you did to my brother…"

Daphne’s expression shifted, realization dawning slowly, her face paling as she finally comprehended why you were here. "Oh, this is about Simon?" she said, her voice tinged with a sneer, though there's a flicker of fear in her eyes. “He lied to me. He said he couldn't have children.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. "He never said he couldn't. He said he wouldn't. There's a difference, Daphne. Still, a misunderstanding on your part doesn't justify what you did."

Daphne's defiance was palpable as she straightened up, her chin lifting. "I did what was right. He needed to continue his lineage. It's what anyone in our position would do."

"Please!" you hissed, your voice dripping with distaste. "Don't lump me with the likes of you!" Your anger boiled over, and you took a step closer. "You had no right to take advantage of him! If you were confused, you should have talked to him, not… not violate his trust and his body!"

Penelope and the other woman watched, stunned into silence, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You're twisting the situation," Daphne argued, her voice faltering slightly as she tried to regain her composure. "Simon is my husband. It's my duty to—"

"Duty?" you cut her off, stepping even closer, your presence now towering over her. "Your duty doesn't include rape, Daphne."

She tried to meet your gaze, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, her bravado beginning to crumble. "R-Rape?" she stammered, the word barely leaving her lips. "You're overreacting. It's not like… not like I—"

"Not like what?" you snapped, grabbing her chin, forcing her to look into your eyes. "Not like you betrayed him? A violation of the deepest kind?"

Daphne's eyes widened as she gazed into yours, and for a moment, she saw Simon in you—the same eyes, the same intensity. The resemblance was uncanny, and it shook her to her core, the reality of her actions hitting her in a way that words alone never could.

"Stay away from my brother," you commanded, your voice low and dangerous. "If you��ever try to come near him again, or even attempt to justify your heinous crime one more time, you'll have to deal with me. And to the Gods above, that's a threat you don't want to test."

Releasing her chin, you straightened up, your gaze sharp and unyielding. The room, once filled with light-hearted chatter, was now heavy with the weight of unsaid truths and unveiled secrets.

Daphne sat there, her face a mix of shock and realization, the reality of what she had done finally starting to sink in.

You took a moment to smooth out your dress, restoring some semblance of poise to your disheveled appearance.

Turning to the other women in the room, you locked eyes with Penelope Featherington, her face a picture of shock and fascination. Beside her sat Lady Clarissa, a minor yet prominent figure in your social circle, known for her penchant for gossip and extravagant hats.

With a flourish of mock politeness, you offered them a sweet, yet blatantly sarcastic smile, executing a curtsey with exaggerated grace. "Ladies," you said, your voice laced with faux cheerfulness, echoing with underlying scorn.

Penelope seemed at a loss for words; her usual observant nature momentarily stilled.

Lady Clarissa, on the other hand, looked utterly bewildered, her eyes darting between you and Daphne, trying to grasp the full scope of the scandal unfolding before her.

Straightening up, you held their stunned gazes for a moment longer, letting the impact of your actions resonate.

Then, without another word, you turned on your heel and strode out of the room. Each step was measured and deliberate, echoing with the resolve of someone who had fiercely defended a loved one.

As you left, the room remained in stunned silence, the ladies left to ponder the events that had just unfolded.

Your heart was heavy with the burden of what you had to do, but it was buoyed by the knowledge that you had done what was necessary to protect Simon.

The walls of the grand house seemed to close in on you as you made your way out, the echoes of high society's hollow pretenses fading behind you, your mind now set on whatever came next—and the promise you'd made to protect your brother at all costs.

A/N: lololo i hope you guys enjoyed, my bby simon deserved more frfr 🥹❤️❤️

[flowerchildasriel]

something I love to see is like. How fandoms treat villains differently and I think you can really see it in miraculous ladybug and the villains of Lila vs Hawkmoth

(cw HP) like it’s analogous to Harry Potter and how the fandom treats the villains of Umbridge and Voldemort. I’ve seen others say that Voldemort is such a far away and cartoony evil that it’s hard to relate to and feel threatened by… but Umbridge? She is every single teacher that hurt us, the uncaring and actively malicious authority figure in our school or work life, and the bigotry in the education system and legal system given a face. So she represents a much more close evil than the end of book villain, which is why fandom fixates on her and projects everything on here

And that’s what I think is happening with Lila in salt fics. Why she’s so demonized in comparison to Hawkmoth in those fics. (This is not to relate it to the canon because the canon isn’t supposed to be projection fuel) but really, most of us aren’t haunted by a distant evil man in a tower, we’re just not going to relate to that part. But most people have had that middle school bully who seemed to have it out for us. We’ve had friends with lying sides who made rumors about us or hurt us with fake sweet words, and Lila is just a stand in for everyone that did those things. We can project all of our anger and hurt on her, making her a demon because that’s how we felt about our bullies. And genuinely, no one really got justice or closure. Zero tolerance policy hurt the bullied kids just as much as the bullies, if not more in how it never really put a stop to bullying.

Maybe that’s why Lila can be so over the top in fics, her comeuppance so grand, and Marinette so willing and able to cut ties with toxic friendships. It’s wish fulfillment. We wish our bullies got what was coming to them, we wish we were able to walk away from things that we once loved but now was hurting us.

Idk, I just love it.

[dizzying-faust]

*Sees an ml crossover*

🙂

*OP is a salter*

😑

*Sighs and blocks*

[princess-of-the-corner]

After cyberstalking Marinette, Lila learns how close she is to Chat Noir. And she's known about Adrien's fanboy crush on Ladybug for ages. As Adrienette gets together, Lila hatches a plan to drive a wedge between them and, if she's lucky, get one or both of them akumatized. Manipulating rumors through their classmates so neither suspects her involvement, she manages to convince Marinette that Adrien is only with her because he thinks she's Ladybug, and make Adrien believe she's only with him because she thinks he's Chat Noir. Fortunately Lila has no idea how close to home she's hitting and would never in a million years believe either of them is capable of being Paris' beloved heroic duo. And much to her frustration this ploy only seems to bring them closer together. But now we have Adrienette both interacting under the assumption the other has figured out their identity without actually admitting anything out loud. Both of them are much more relaxed around each other and keep making jokes or references, including in Marichat or Ladrien moments, that should be tipping them off if they were paying attention. Tikki and Plagg are making bets about who will accidentally make a reveal happen first, and both are surprised about how long it's taking their oblivious kids.

They're morons I love them

[plumsaffron]

The ML Crossover Methfics seriously are a whole different breed of insanity. Lmfao gotta love that insult of yours.

For people who claim to be Marinette stans they sure wrote a tonne of nonsensical fics making her out to be an abuse victim. A “poor me” or “woe is me” story.

I don’t really like Lila but I honestly hate the ML salt community even more. Especially what happened to that poor Lila fan… I mean she’s just a fictional character, they didn’t have to be that explosive about her. Miracucunts really do ruin everything they touch… and unable to see themselves for what they’ve done on the online spaces. Absolutely disgusting that they’d hate on an emotionally abused victim using the excuse that he wasn’t physically abused and that he’s just a spoiled rich white boy.

Yea, the DP phandom is usually chill even after I stopped following their users and tags to this day. For a mediocre show, they surprisingly came out with a civilized community. Even with the Sam Manson critique to hatred, I don’t see these people harassing anyone who likes her. It’s the Stans that sometimes do it despite the evidence showing that Sam is better off with someone else similar to her. Even with several crossover fics, they’re still quite bearable and civilized. Because some people actually did their fucking research. Or even if they didn’t do much in-depth research, their “OOC” fics are sometimes more “in character” than the ML saltfics.

Though I totally understand why some people are anti-crossover fanfic thanks to the miracubitches and other fandom twats ruining things with extreme character hate and assassinations.

This is my assumption but I think the TVTropes staff and their fans are lowkey control freaks not just oversensitive idiots. Maybe that’s why my scathing review was a “little too cruel” for their liking on the rated E franchise. Maybe only long time active users on their side are allowed to edit and add content. Yet mature dark canon stuff is allowed to stay on their site while opposing actual harmless criticism, opinions and reviews are silenced. Or users being suspended… I clicked on anti TVTropes here and saw a decade old post saying that the site doesn’t allow people to have different opinions. And I thought to myself, “Damn, I shouldn’t have signed up back then, should’ve listened to other people’s experiences on that wasted potential site.”

AO3 is literally the few places where you can get away with a controversial but still harmless opinion in your profile and fic notes/summary. And the chances of being dogpiled are very low but never zero if your work is inspired by a “controversial” person who did say something many years ago and/or didn’t handle a touchy subject matter that well in their works. But now ppl are bringing it up even though that “controversial” person isn’t really bad just had different views back then due to their upbringing or smth. Or the fic just seen as very disturbing despite the warning labels.

heh heh thanks.

Yeah lotta Marinette Dupain Cheng stans making or drinking them fics are oxymorons.

I don’t mind you not liking Lila but yeah the Miraculous Ladysalt community is deplorable (and a better thing to hate), along with their death driving charade. Still, despite that demise of that fan of hers, it just wasn’t enough to make them rethink how far they've gone.

Plaguedom’s plaguing dementality flourishes and there’s pretty much nothing that can be done to stop it. So many unfortunately may blindy eat their tumors, while next to none are there to warn them to not consume the plaque.

Ah these miracushits don’t know that his life sucks. Heck even in Miraculous Rise Of The Sphinx game, Max Kante told him exactly how little time he has during the day commonly. These miraculous roaches love jigsawing what happens to fit things into their own unfittable puzzle they believe fits now. They don’t know that that’s Gabriel’s money? Any decision he makes is if his father allows it or if it follows his father’s interests. Otherwise it’s gonna be a no or his father will find a way to make Adrien feel bad about it. They don’t know that he determines and pretty much controls his future or fate (yeah yeah currently it’s Nathalie, his other fugly controller now, but whatever).

How do these fools jump into the conclusion of reducing him to he’s spoiled rich white boy? Perhaps I should say, why do they do this to him and why are they like this to Adrien? Dude ain’t even someone to be truly or really triggered upon. Adrien, despite his sucky, and still currently sucky life, he’s not spoiled. And even if he was spoiled, why is that treated as an awful thing? Heck I’m still pretty spoiled. Is this really the best they can come up with? This the best Miracucks can do to someone that’s pretty much good to others and not a problem causers or not a person seeking to be in a realm of ramifications of future conflicts? Like hello, he is made to do a lot of crap he doesn’t like, and to be next to flawless. He doesn’t like being trapped in the mansion, he likes hanging out with his friends. Sigh miracuscabs always gotta find a way to reduce and arrange anything for putdown purposes to leech over. Man… I just searched him earlier on here and one of the results on the feed was a salt prompt for Adrien blog. *Sighs*

MMM research, ML Salt fics usually never never never never never

Yep and Miracubitches and them other fandung beetles like ruination while also not just harboring legendary levels of character loathing and assassinating, these buttwipes mastered the art of sniping their own character without even knowing.

Yeah it’s possible and unfortunate of them TVTropes Staff Members and their purposeful pathetic pickiness. Sometimes searching "anti something," can show something unordinary or a different perspective compared to the masses (or casuals that might be lucky). Maybe showing that you aren’t completely alone with such experiences or feelings of stuff. You live and learn.

Well at least A03 is safe sort of for now. But that is disgusting when people use someone’s past takes and rally up some virus to attack one in the present because they can’t handle it or maybe the current time in society sees this thing in the past as unacceptable. Or they just want to. It’s just sigh. Finding worth to cause problems on what was never worth it to begin with because ignoring is inconceivable.

Like ugh… Imagine someone calls a person a scrub 5 years ago in a story or whatever. Then someone 5 years later took offense and felt personally attacked cause of that word cause they see it as an offense to their self or their gender or whatever group of collective gender or whatever. And so the triggered one condemns this person that said scrub from the past and ganders a cult of clowns using the past against the present. Context don’t matter, the triggered ones feel victimized while ironically going out their way to victimize the one of the present. All cause they were offended so badly over a minor inconvenience. Bonus, these scabies treat who they attack as if that was always who they are or were or will be.

[selenestarmoon]

It would be fantastic and even fun if this happened in the show but taking into account the mediocre writing that the show has, I highly doubt that the writers would let something like this be done.

So is that just her own schedule and she was keeping it up to date with everything she knows about Adrien then? That’d honestly be a lot less creepy and a good explanation.

Still a bit stalker-ish having all that stuff about Adrien on there in the first place but it’s an improvement

Also that looks like the picture from the opening credits of Alya and Marinette where they have mustaches drawn on

[flightfoot]

For the record, I still think Alya telling Nino that she was still working with Ladybug in Rocketear, but just undercover, was something she had the right to do. Whether it was wise is debatable, given that Nino's not the best at keeping secrets, but that was primarily Alya's secret, and it was Alya and her family who would be in the most danger if it got out.

I was kind of happy when it happened, actually, because it showed that while Marinette mattered a lot to her, Alya DID have other priorities, other relationships she was balancing, and would make decisions for herself instead of just blindly following orders. I like it when Alya gets to be her own person, to take action based off of her own principles and convictions.

[saltytothecore]

Rating: M

Relationship: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast

Tags: Post-Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Pre-Campaign 3 (Critical Role), Torture, Modify Memory, Chronic Pain, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Whump, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mutilation, Gaslighting, Hostile Work Environment, Unreliable Narrator, Brain Damage

Summary:  

Essek is lucky to be alive. It can be hard to believe, with the scars he now bears. The Mighty Nein turned on him at the close of the war, and he barely escaped with his life. He defied fate to be here. At least, that is what Ludinus Da'leth told him, when he offered Essek shelter in exchange for his particular expertise. Essek's own recollection is— Fraught.

[confusedgoldenflower]

Lmao okay??? And I ain’t bothering with that mess.

Coming on my fic to waste comment because the summary made you angry? Son, this ain’t Twitter, and if I recall, there’s a current beef because someone is doing that shit in another fandom. If I did that on stories I didn’t agree with, half the tgcf and sk8 fanfoms would have me blocked just as a start lmao. Smthg smthg twenty second century? Uh, ok, don’t remember that in the anime but go off I guess. Glad you wasted time here, shame there’s no algorithm for it to help😂

Anyway, chap 2’s up, for anyone interested.

Overlord woulda been so much more interesting if the skeleton fuck’s morals had sekai-ed with him and he spent the story wrestling with his previous gamer’s mentality of “NPC’s don’t matter” to “FUCK FUCK FUCK THESE ARE HUMANS! THESE ARE PEOPLE! THEY HAVE THEIR OWN LIVES AND FEELINGS AND EXPERIENCES!” And needing to wrestle with all his bloodlusty subordinates along with his new undead’s “people are pests” feelings.

It would be an AWESOME internal and external struggle!!!!

And, hm… what have I neglected saying?… Oh, yes, the above SANS not being able to write fucking female characters!

Which would also fold into intersectional feminism (aka: having actual fem characters bc “cool fights” is an excuse only shitty people use, no specie-ism, have a specified goal for the LEAST life lost possible, least torment, and want actual lives for everyone, and justice, etc).

Yknow what, fuck the creator and y’all weirdo fans, I’ll do it myself. It’s the twentieth fucking century, we deserve actual stories for Ma’at’s sake.

[broadwaycutie16]

I guess the reason I’m so overly hostile to Marinette in salt fics is because I see her as a whole separate person from her canon counterpart. To me, the Marinette in the show, and the Marinette in salt fics like Karma of Lies and Two Letters, are two different people. I can’t reconcile the vengeful, self-centered wench SaltFic!Marinette with flawed but ultimately well-intentioned Canon Marinette. The gaping differences in their personalities, and the actions of Saltinette that are so heinous and beyond anything Marinette would even think of doing, have made it so I can’t possibly view them as the same person. I don’t want Canon Marinette to suffer too much, but SaltFic!Marinette, with all the horrible things she does, sometimes eclipsing even Lila or Chloe, is a entirely different story.

[dizzying-faust]

The "character gets blamed for something they didn't do" trope is my most hated trope that I hope dies off.

But Chameleon is one exception where I'm more annoyed with the backlash against the trope in the show rather than the trope itself.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Adrien: A "everyone goes as their akuma form" day? Really Chloe?

Chloe: Well, now they can really call us akuma class

OOP

[satirates]

I feel this post in so many levels. I stopped interracting with the TMNT fandom just after Rise started airing because people were continiouly using it as an argument to proove how 2012 was bad. I like both show, but I started to feel ashamed of liking 2012. So, I just stopped speaking about it and distanced mylself from the overall fandom. It make me happy to know that i'm not alone at least .

“TMNT 2012 is my favorite TMNT cartoon, despite it’s flaws and bad writing–”

Let me stop you right there. Everything has flaws and bad writing. Why do you feel the need to specify this when you tell people your favorite version of the turtles? Each iteration of TMNT is special and unique in their own right, and each one of them has flaws. You shouldn’t be ashamed of loving any of them.

TMNT 2012 isn’t just my favorite iteration of TMNT, it’s probably my favorite western cartoon of all time. If not my favorite, then it’s easily up there. I love this show to pieces. It was with me through some of the darkest moments in my childhood. And it held up shockingly well when I returned to it as an adult.

I adore TMNT 2012 to pieces and I’m not going to apologize for that. I don’t think anyone should feel the need to justify why they love something.