#some of us hate certain things and some of us love it

[alexmasonistired]

Id like to start this off by saying that this is an absolutely lovely post; thank you OP for making it. Now I would like to share our own experience with the education system in general, and what our state called- “Critical minds classes”.

Now if you don’t know what that is- it’s a thing in our state where 30 kids are chosen by the state to go into these special critical minds classes. We in particular were put in critical minds math and let me tell ya- IT FUCKING SUCKED.

All the class was, was us sitting in a certain spot that we could not move from the ENTIRE OVER AN HOUR THAT WE WERE IN THERE in SILENCE while working on these list of MathXL links. And if you know how MathXL works- yeahhh it was absolutely awful. Some of the worst parts of that class though, was that we had to keep our bags up front the entire time and we wouldn’t get anything because we wasn’t allowed out of our seat, and worst of all- the teacher that lead the class, always seemed like she just didn’t wanna be there. She felt intimidating to us so we never were able to approach her with our getting insanely nervous. She reminded us of the bodies mother with the way she looked so that made it worse. (Also edit: I just remembered- I believe for a good chunk of the first half of the semester she was watching our computers??)

Btw- remeber those check lists of MathXL links that I mentioned earlier??? Yeah. There was like- 18-20 of those links on these checklists that we used to have a month to complete! But then it was shortened to only a WEEK because the semester was ending and she needed to get grades in ig.

We had a whole ass panic attack infront of our history teacher becuase we were on list SIX, and there was TEN of these things to do. And I swear it felt like each list just had more links- we fucking hated it. I believe we finally made it to list eight before we eventually gave up and let the burn out take us over and just wrote in our diary the entire period. Except for the days we had quizzes and did blookets, which was hardly ever. At that point we were just SO fucking done of just not being able to understand ANYTHING put in front of us no matter how hard we tried. We just barely passed that class with a D.

I also remeber that we went to summer school after seventh grade because our grades were so low our teachers didn’t know if they could pass us. It was the same with in fifth grade, the teachers were nervous to let us go into middle school because we were just barely passing. Our grades were that bad.

We got to this point(the whole critical minds math thing and giving up,) because ever since like- second grade, we had been having massive trouble with math and grades and over all just confidence in general. Especially in the math field.

I remember we began cheating on a lot of our assignments and tests in second grade because our confidence had been bumped down that badly, and we just couldn’t really understand it. Or at least I believe that we couldn’t understand it- I’ll get into second grade math in another post. Regardless, we ended up sizing cheating as a last ditch effort a lot in school because we got to a point where we felt like we didn’t have a choice.

We would try so hard at something in math, only for our brain not being able to remember it, how to do it, and for it to also not make sense in our brain. It absolutely crushed us one day when we ended up in an argument with the father one day over another bad math grade and we yelled: “Is my best not enough not for you!?” And he just yelled back: “NO!” That day crushed us. The father always says that we just weren’t applying ourselves enough, which hurt even MORE because we WERE applying ourselves more, we WERE trying, and as hard as we could too! But we can only do so much, but it honestly seems like the parents, especially the father, just cannot realize that. And it hurts us, so much.

We always saw our friends in school absolutely soar and it was fucking awful how they would be getting into honors classes, getting to go up a grade or even graduate early, and then we would be sitting here in what is supposed to be an “extra help” class when in reality it didn’t help us at all. Due to our mental disabilities/Illnesses, we weren’t able to learn like the other kids were able too. All we’ve ever wanted was to be smart enough to be able to fly through school like our friends, study efficiently, and get our diploma normally like any other kid, but no. We didn’t have that experience and we never will due to our life and the way that our brain works and we fucking hate it.

There was also of times where we felt stupid, useless, and pathetic for not being able to keep up with our allistic, and non-ADHD-having peers. It especially was rough considering that that was the standard our parents set us too all the time, and we just could not reach the standards that she and the father set for us.

We tried tutoring a few times, but it honestly didn’t help much either. We never ever got the help that we needed growing up and I know that we never will get the help we need. And I hate it. So many people failed us when it came to education and I look back and can’t help but feel bad for us. We were just a young, neurodivergent kid with a dissociative disorder along with many other disorders alone with it, and a complete mess too. A mess that no one really bothered to help with. It was awful.

What we needed back then was one-on-one assistance with someone who could understand us and what was going on with us, we never got that. And that was because everyone around us failed us. Either failing to recognize our needs, or just not thinking that we needed them because it wasn’t super duper obvious that we did.

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

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

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

[chocolatepot]

(This has been in my drafts for over a month [<- written in the summer of 2022 lol], let's just finish chewing this thing ...)

Part of the reason I'm obsessed with Our Flag Means Death is the magic of hyperfixation, but there's also something about it that just ... certain scenes, certain gifs, I see them and I absolutely melt. And I'm no stranger to romantic media, especially historical romance, so I had to ask myself why this, so much?

And I think the thing that really gets me about the romance in OFMD is that it's so entirely different from mainstream het romance (and again, especially historical romance) and that mainstream het romance is so often lazily written.

How often do you go to read/watch something where the protagonist and love interest immediately have a positive rapport, understand each other, smile at each other, admire each other, have fun together? And in contrast, how often is the love interest marked out by having immediate hostility with the protagonist, sniping, irrational disagreement, disapproval?

I watch Sanditon and Bridgerton mainly just to be aware of what's going on in them, because like it or not I'm kind of a Regency historian of sorts, but I can't really stand them. In the first season of Sanditon, the heroine, Charlotte was presented with two potential love interests, Sidney Parker and James Stringer. The former was the classic "we act like we hate each other because of our sexual tension," the latter was really adorable and full of smiles and care for each other. And ... Charlotte barely seemed to realize that Stringer was a real possibility, all narrative heft was given to her plotline with Sidney and of course they turned out to be in love. Then the second season rolled this back and brought in two new love interests, again with one having a positive relationship with her and the other constantly arguing and criticizing; the apparently positive one turns out to be a creepy Wickham while the one she initially dislikes turns out to be a good Darcy with manpain to deal with. (Same thing with her sister's love triangle.)

And there are loads of other examples where a potential love interest who is immediately pleasant turns out to be deceptive/meh while a potential love interest who spurs fights is endgame. Basically, this is because you need some kind of obstacle to stop the characters from getting together immediately. In historical romance written in the present day, social class and money aren't acceptable obstacles unless there's a pressing need for them written in (hence the prevalence of "father gambled away our fortune and you must marry well, my dear, to save us from the poorhouse" plots), and "we met in an awkward way and will not get over it" works, narratively, as an obstacle.

In contrast, what goes on in OFMD s1 is so much more complex - the characters liking each other but having internal reasons not to recognize their feelings or act on them gives more room for showing why they actually are good together.

[vintagerpg]

New year, new week of gamebooks, mostly! Let us begin with Steve Jackson’s House of Hell (1984) AKA Fighting Fantasy Gamebook 10. Many consider this one of the best in the series and I tend to agree, even though I kind of forget about it when FF faves come up in conversation. Which is crazy, because look at that cover by Ian Miller! How do I forget that exists? What a stupid brain this is sometimes.

My intellectual failings aside, House of Hell is kind of an FF outlier. For one, it’s set in the modern era (and possibly the only FF that does this). For two, there is a Fear mechanic, in which you accumulate points as you encounter scary things and if you hit a certain threshold, you drop dead — this is unique among all the books in the series. For three, you talk quite a lot and fight not very much (and when you do, you’re bad at it because you’re a normie and probably unarmed). Talking to characters who are clearly villains who’d like you dead is actually necessary for your survival and success. And there isn’t really an optimal path through the book. Rather, multiple deaths and playthroughs will inform you of aspects of a greater mystery to solve as you seek to escape the house. And it is extremely hard. Puzzle elements, including many secret passages (I kind of love and hate these, as they make the book very difficult), complicate navigation. I only wound up getting somewhere close to the ideal ending when I started to get very, very frustrated with the construction of the book, and because of that I am still not entirely sure I solved it. That was a couple years back, and I still don’t have the energy to give it another crack.

And that, too, speaks to its enduring appeal. I still think about it, and will probably play it again some day to see what, if anything I’ve missed. Precious few gamebooks keep calling me back like that.

It helps, too, that it’s genuinely spooky in parts! Tim Sell’s illustrations are gruesome in a camp sort of way, full of blood and screaming faces and Satanists (and certain Hammer mainstays). The book was released in the US as House of Hades, because we’re a big bunch of babies, I guess. On the other hand, my UK edition lacks the “scandalous” human sacrifice illustration, so I guess we’re all babies in the end.

[yierrem]

dating headcanons - zzzero men edition pt. 2 ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

ft. gn! reader x asaba harumasa, billy kid, and seth lowell ; a follow up to my previous dating hcs (which can be found here) and a response to a request ( ^ω^ ) first post of the year（≧∇≦）i hope you enjoy reading!!

asaba harumasa

very clingy. when you're not together, he'd be texting you random little updates or beg for your attention just for the sake of talking to you if calling momentarily isn't an option. sometimes he tries to use you as an excuse to get out of work, but after he's done it a couple of times, you've become immune to always bending to his whims and suddenly he's whining about how you don't love him anymore.

["wait i'll look at your texts later brb love u ^3^" "so you hate me."]

an avid quality time enjoyer, if i've ever seen one. he's content with lazing around with you or doing mundane tasks that don't require much physical effort. likes cuddling against you when you're just sitting engrossed in doing something with your hands and reading or watching something together.

even though he usually appears and acts lighthearted, deep down, he's genuinely happy with you and the relationship you share. he cherishes every moment you can spend together and wishes it could go on for as long as he lives. you're the person he refers to as family when on one of his much-dreaded doctor appointments.

alongside the nightmares he already has regarding his sickness, he'd have times when he'd wake up in a cold sweat from dreams of losing or leaving you and the people he cares for. thankfully, on the days you sleep over, he has you; he's comforted by the sight of your sleeping figure and clings to you for the rest of the night.

on a lighter note, sharing a bed with this man is probably a chaotic experience on a dreamless night; initially, you'd both fall into slumber comfortably cuddled against each other, but the following morning, one of you would be seconds away from suffocating in a vice grip.

billy kid

loves playing games with you. he's usually competitive when playing against you but when you're both on a team together, he's suddenly the biggest cheerleader there is. if both of you lose, that's totally fine! you'll get it next time. what matters to him is that you had fun together.

deeply appreciates it and enjoys when you match him nerd-for-nerd, even if you don't share a lot of similar interests. you take turns randomly info-dumping about any piece of media or activity you're into and both of you pay genuine attention to whatever the other is talking about. he loves listening to you passionately talk or share anything about any topic because you do the same for him.

adding on to the previous point: both of you make jokes about liking your favorite fictional characters or celebrities more, just to be playfully petty.

["if you had to choose between me or monica, who would you pick?" "...well, yes!" "..." "alright, then. between me and /insert favorite character/--" "that's unimportant."]

after spending so much time with him, you already know which maintenance products he likes for himself or his guns. kind of like how other people know what shampoo or body wash their partner prefers. when you see he's running out and you buy them without telling him, he'll notice and be weeping tears of joy.

if you take a while to open up to him about certain things, he's alright with that and will tell you to take your time or give you the space you need. he's been the same when it comes to sharing his past with other people and understands that some things do take courage to tell.

seth lowell

despite having been in a relationship for a while, he most likely still gets easily flustered from any vaguely flirty quip and intimate gesture that comes from you. you could use this knowledge to your advantage but do have mercy on the poor guy.

[there was one instance where you gave him a quick peck on the lips without giving much thought to it before leaving and all he could do was stay where he was with his brain buffering for a whole minute.]

even though he's somewhat shy about expressing his admiration or appreciation for you and sometimes stumbles through his words when doing so, he's sincere in everything he says and does for you.

you're one of the very few people he trusts with touching his tail and ears. it's come to the point where when you're both just laying together, he wouldn't mind the feeling of your fingers gently rubbing on a certain spot on his ears while you run your fingers through his hair.

he appreciates that you see him for who he is and acknowledge his efforts to get where he is now. your affirmations, whether spoken or unspoken, mean much to him and he feels like he can truly be comfortable when he's around you.

sometimes, he unknowingly acts or does very attractive things and it just blows your mind. he'd steer you by the waist from bumping into things or, if you're shorter, accidentally pin you against a wall/surface when trying to reach for something from a high place because he just wants to help! you should be more careful, you know. but you've already mentally imploded while your sweet, sweet boyfriend remains clueless.

[just-an-enby-lemon]

I'll try to be nice and polite about it because I really think you are coming from a good place: but the thing is you are just wrong.

At least based on my perspective as part of the Latam, all the factors you mentioned were struggles for you and others from the US to learn foreing languages happened here. The difference is that the average brazilian with no classes till maybe high school, the idea learning english is hard and boring and no incitive whastover still needs to know english to get okay-ish jobs, to study in certain academic fields, even to just deal with rude turists in some places. English is more and more becaming a skill that is unacessible but we still HAVE to get.

And this is by design. Is a way to keep us in our place, if we don't understand your language the oportunities created by the US egemony are closed to us and that makes less likely for people from Latin America, specially poor and native people, to get even remotedly close to an even playing field.

The problem isn't simply that you guys don't know our languages is that not knowing our languages means nothing. Doors aren't closed to you the same way they are to us. In that way the biggest problem is that we are forced to know yours.

In Brazil in theory we learn english starting at middle school. When I went to school it was starting when we were eleven. If you ever went to an english class in most public schools or even rural private schools you know that's not really how it works. We spend ten years on the "to be" verb. English was the grade people did because it was easy since we didn't actually had to do shit. The very marjority of people I know don't know english and all the ones I know that do did not learn it from school. But all of them feel like they have to.

In a more personal level I love english, I always loved languages and I would have loved to have learned english at school for fun.

But I learned english because my parents begged from relatives and took extra hours at work to give me some classes and the classes didn't even work as much as I noticed how hard it was for them and had to find ways to make it work for me. And my parents did all that because my cousin failed a bunch of job interviews for not knowing english. They did that because according to them "knowing english was becaming less a skill that helped someone in getting a great job and more a skill you needed to have to get most jobs." Neither of my parents speak english. But they did their best so me and my brother could (mostly via making me teach my brother cause they couldn't pay lessons for the both of us).

I had none of that to help me learn spanish nor italian nor any language I would love to learn for fun if I had the time.

I didn't learn english because it was fun. My brother hates languages. He still learned english after painfull horrible lessons that made me give up on my dreams of ever being a teacher.

The problems are way deeper than your shitty educacional system and it angers people like us because we had all the same problems and were forced to learn your language anyway only to see someone go "well we never had the chance" when neither did we. And I understand that not being incentivized to learn sucks, we didn't either, but the problem is way deeper. They don't want us to learn your language. They want us to have to but fail so that can be used as a justification to deny us oportunities. Is why imigrant characthers with broken english are still a joke on your media.

And this is what this post and this conversation is about. Not knowing other languages might be a result of bad education, might even be by design. But not HAVING to DESPITE the lack of everything is a privilege. And this is the point.

I rarely bring this up because it feels like fairly silly and low-stakes compared to all the other effects of american imperialism, but one of the funniest things when Americans deny that living in the imperial core and the center of global cultural hegemony confers them any sort of privilege over people from the imperial periphery is that like. In order for this conversation where you tell me you have no privilege over me to even be able to take place one of us had to learn the other's language, and it wasn't you.

I think the fact that by default the onus of learning the other's language to enable communication is always put on the other side is a pretty significant privilege on the cultural front.

[moonshinesonic-moonstarslight]

Bittersweet story notes:

God!Shang Qinghua works a little differently than usual here. Instead of having great powers, or memory of the plot, ect., Airplane is stuck with thoughts and ideas still affecting the world. Things get reconned and modified based on his ideas for new plants and beasts/plots or philosophical thoughts on certain subjects.

The catch? He's not the one who chooses these changes.

It's the System.

Who makes the changes as it wills while blaming Airplane for it should the idea not work to fix plot holes/worldbuilding. (No spending time to sit down and meditate on how the world should work doesn't please the System. Airplane tried. Only to get ignored and the System to take his random thoughts instead. He was so pissed about it.)

Airplane has found that there is three constants he has to keep regarding this world:

1: Porn (contrived, random, and apparently the biggest thing since the domestication of grain)

2: Misunderstandings and Miscommunication (which if avoided would have solved so many problems with the world)

3: Tragedy (though size of tragedy may vary)

And that the System has favoritism towards his random in-depth smut inducing ideas or taking his torture fantasies and making them reality on some random characters that Airplane has to interact with later.

It sucks and he's so very tired. (People long stopped being people to him, not because he thinks he is the only "real" person. But because the System doesn't treat them like people. Airplane has serious doubts that even he is real in this nightmare of a world. It's just better for his sanity if the people who has to suffer his contrived plots and fantasies are just canon fodder nobodies or fate bound puppets he is stuck watching move about to the script he wrote a lifetime ago.)

Shang Qinghua is a man of many masks. Even the "Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky" Shen Yuan meets and gets to know is one. (While people have many masks to go through life, Airplane treats each mask like a role to play and rarely lets his true personality come out. He's not sure who that is anymore, truth be told, and he's not comfortable trying to find out any time soon.)

One of the things Cumplane has to work through after the contrived smut at the beginning of the story is that Airplane's ideas do still affect the world. And that Shen Yuan hasn't actually been getting to know the man who wrote his most hated (*cough*and loved*cough) book over these last few months. But instead has been seeing his "persona of a hack smut author". Dragging Airplane out of his bundle of personas and masks is going to be a challenge...

Especially due to the fact that the idea that the System grabbed and used on them wasn't just a mere 'fuck it out and you're good' flower. Nope! It was Airplane's idea for a more romantic/consensual fuck flower. Basically it's a wedding flower. Used to help lovers get over wedding night nerves and used in some cultures (both human and demon) to elope. [Airplane hadn't figured out how it worked ecologically yet, just culturally and biologically/spiritually] The biggest thing about this flower is that it needs a kiss (on the mouth) and sex to have the marriage be complete and valid. It is possible to trick the senses into thinking that the "marriage rite" the flower promotes is done without actually going through with it. But it's a bit tricky to pull off as those who are under the effects desperately want to go through with it properly.

Because the flower doesn't merely promote sex, but honest feelings for their partner as well. (Can easily backfire, but in Airplane's defense he had just thought this up a few minutes before Shen Yuan ran into it. He hadn't had time to work all the details before the System went yoink!)

So yeah, Cumplane is married now. And getting a divorce from an elopement with this flower is extremely hard. Like you have a better chance fighting Bingge with no golden finger level hard.

Neither are taking it well to say the least.

[lovetreats]

jjk men and some valorant headcanons.

LOVETREATS .ᐟ navi. jjk m.list.

characters .ᐟ gojo, geto, sukuna, nanami, and choso!

content .ᐟ valorant is its own warning

a/n .ᐟ random headcanon but also this is for the smau im planning in my head

gojo is 100% a duelist you cannotttt convince me otherwise. jett, neon, iso, and phoenix are his options, with jett being his most preferred.

gojo can be a little cocky and sassy, but i’m also sure that he’s (unfortunately) really good at being a duelist. like he has such a huge ego BECAUSE he has something to show for it. give him a fucking sheriff and he’ll ace on the first round already lol.

gojo’s game sense is actually insane it makes you hate him. you think you’re two steps ahead of him ??? very funny. you’re already dead

gojo’s rank is radiant, the highest rank on valorant, in exchange for his sleep schedule 😭

geto has 3 roles he can work around with: sentinel, initiator, and duelist. sentinel’s his favorite role, loves setting up traps and making it harder for the enemy team to take control of ‘a’ or ‘b’ site lmaoooo he’s a menace

geto as a sentinel, he loves playing cypher, killjoy, and chamber (but only on certain occasions).

geto as an initiator would play kay/o, skye, sova, and breach. his second role, this one is mainly whenever one of them wants to play sentinel. he’s pretty good with his blinds, doesn’t blind the team (thank god) and, thanks to nanami, knows how to throw some absolutely nasty blinds that can make someone want to rip their hair out lmao

geto as a duelist is something you’ll rarely see. he doesn’t like playing duelist, it’s too aggressive for him. he only plays it because whenever satoru and he would duo, satoru would always ask him to be a duelist or be someone with heal. (if he plays sage, he’s 100% a battle sage)

geto’s rank is either high immortal or radiant. sleeps pretty good, unlike a white haired dummy

sukuna is a duelist and ONLY a duelist. you will not see this man play any other role, EVER. absolutely loves playing reyna and yoru.

sukuna plays reyna because he likes how selfish her kit is (he’s legit one of those annoying players who only play for kills, would lock in if shit gets too serious aka he’s losing and/or botfrag LOL)

sukuna plays yoru because his kit is cool as shit and loves messing around with his blinds

sukuna is, unfortunately, a good player in certain cases. his game sense is on par with gojo’s

sukuna’s rank is radiant now because he plays with the others every time and they all basically forced him to be a team player LMAO, has a shit sleep schedule like gojo

nanami is 100% versatile. initiator, sentinel, duelist, controller—he can play all of them and he’s great too. but here’s the thing:

nanami never plays valorant unless the others force him to play 😭😭😭😭😭

nanami plays beauuuutifully with initiators. his blinds are so fucking irritating if you’re on the enemy team, and a godsend if you’re on his team. is really great with gathering info for the team too

nanami likes playing as an initiator more than the others because he likes gathering info + he likes making the others do the rest of the work lol

nanami can play as a sentinel and controller if someone wants to be initiator, but if you want him to be a duelist… oh you’ll have to beg 😭 he dislikeeees playing them, same with geto, it’s too aggressive for him and risky.

nanami’s rank is probably ascendant or high immortal

choso is a controller main who is pretty versatile too, but doesn’t really dabble into them. he’s an omen girlie no DOUBTTTT

choso knows how to properly make sure that at least one site is in their hands.

choso uses omen so much he has so much tricks up his sleeve and he does them so effortlessly. if the map is bind and he’s waiting for the enemy to take, let’s say ‘a’ site, since from what nanami last said about how they were rotating from ‘b’ to ‘a’, he readied his teleport skill, pretended to use the teleporter and immediately used his skill to come back to ‘a’ site. now the remaining people on the enemy team thinks he’s ‘b’ site and BAM! they’re all dead 😭

choso’s rank is high immortal, got out of low immortal after playing with the others.

all rights reserved © LOVETREATS. all fanfics belong to me. do not repost or claim my content as yours. do not recommend on any other platforms any of the works seen here.

[hopeforchanges]

okay hot take here don't bash my head in ... Sauron and Galadriel ≠ Orlok and Ellen

idk am i the only one who doesn't see it? i stayed away from speaking on the topic cause i didn't feel i had all the information to engage in any meaningful convo but now that a good amount of time has passed and I have listened and read other people's arguably passionate stances on this (which is great! i love when people enjoy something, it gives me joy too!!) i must say .... i don't get it lol

let me explain myself:

I get that certain aesthetics or vibes might overlap (dark, brooding antagonist vs. a luminous, female protagonist), the comparison completely falls apart when you dig into their actual characterizations.

Ellen as a Symbol of Maidenhood vs. Galadriel as a Warrior

Ellen is basically a paragon of feminine virtue: she's all about purity, innocence, and ultimate sacrifice. She represents a kind of moral ideal that aligns with the trope of the "selfless maiden." Sure there is darkness in here but like ... where? lol in the words of one of my favorite complicated female characters of the silver screen: "I can't see it, I can't touch it, I can't feel it. I can hear it, I can hear some words but I can't do anything with your easy words."

Galadriel is a warrior, a soldier, a power-hungry monarch. She was born a princess into a life of great privilege. Galadriel is ambitious, vengeful, and actively pursuing power. She definitely embodies characteristics that are more commonly associated with male domination. I love both the feminine in Ellen and the masculine in Galadriel. They just don't overlap imo.

Orlok’s Selfish Awareness vs. Sauron’s Delusional “Vision”

Orlok is unapologetically monstrous. He’s a selfish predator who knows exactly what he is and doesn’t care. He’s not trying to justify himself or claim he’s “saving” anyone—he just feeds on people because that’s what he does.

Sauron thinks he’s doing the right thing. In his mind, his actions are about order, preservation, and the “greater good.” That lack of self-awareness is huge—it makes him a completely different type of villain. Orlok leans into his evil; Sauron justifies it - doesn't even think he's the evil force - definitely not in his story.

The Core Dynamic Feels Wrong

Ellen and Orlok’s relationship is built on fear and revulsion. Ellen sacrifices herself to stop Orlok—she lures him to his doom. There’s no room for ambiguity there; he’s the predator, and she’s the prey.

Galadriel and Sauron are equals. None of them can land the killing blow because they don't want to, not because they can't. Their dynamic is tangled up in grudging respect, power struggles, and even a weird sort of kinship. Galadriel isn’t diminished or destroyed by Sauron like Ellen was by Orlok; quite the contrary. Galadriel was empowered by Sauron, healed through him (at least in the show which is the medium i am basing my opinions on, not necessarily the tolkien legendarium). That's why it's so funny to me that in season 2 he can't figure out why she won't say yes to him when she used to drool over his mortal form and so he transforms into Glambrand as his big fix cause he thinks THAT is what the issue is lol you were her friend, dumbass, that's literally it. you supported her and believed in her when no one did and couched her so she could achieve her goals - helped her self-actualize.

There are no such layers and complexities in Ellen and Orlok's relationship. Plus, the fact that he came to her first when she was a kid gives me the ick, sorry. it's giving phantom of the opera. and i HATE phantom of the opera (the original book by Leroux, the musical kinda slaps tbh)

TL;DR:

Yes, Ellen calls Orlok a deceiver, but that’s where the parallels end for me. Ellen = pure, selfless sacrifice; Galadriel = complex, power-driven warrior. Orlok = evil and knows it; Sauron = evil but thinks he’s the hero. Their dynamics are fundamentally different, and the Orlok/Ellen comparison just doesn’t hold up under scrutiny.

If I’m missing something, feel free to convince me otherwise, but for now? Nah, I don’t see it.

[greenleaf4stuff]

Of Convenience

(Adar x Celebrimbor, some hinted Annatar/Celebrimbor in the background. Celebrimbor is in Adar's camp but the uruk have not started attacking Eregion yet - he discovered Anntar's deception early and got out of the city. And straight into Adar's arms, er, camp.)

Welp, got inspired by my own "marriage of convenience/political marriage" idea and silverscars edit and wrote a short snippet. Enjoy everyone!

“Give me your city,” Adar proposed – or rather, demanded. Celebrimbor felt himself freeze up at the other’s intent gaze. “Surrender it. Put your city into my hands, and I will spare your subjects.”

Celebrimbor swallowed. He felt as if he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Every minute he hesitated, the orcs were readying their weapons and advancing on his beloved Ost-In-Edhil, bringing with them the promise of death and destruction.

And on the other hand, there was he, and the danger he posed to everything the smith loved and held dear.

But he couldn’t just lay the keys to the city at Adar’s feet, could he?

“What guarantee do I have?” Celebrimbor replied, refusing to be cowed. “That you will not just take my surrender and do with it as you please?”

Adar stepped closer towards him – the smith tried to hold himself up straight, shoulders squared back, the very picture of the lord of Eregion, but he knew his own worry and desperation must show on his face clear as day.

He swallowed as Adar came to a stop directly in front of him.

“I have a proposition,” the orc stated, as if that were an answer to Celebrimbor’s question. The smith was about to ask what one had to do with the other, but Adar continued to speak and almost made Celebrimbor choke on his own spit. “A marriage.”

The smith blinked in disbelief. He must have misheard that. “What?”

“I propose a marriage – purely political, of course,” the orc stated, and began to round Celebrimbor, like a hunter circling its prey. “It’s an unconventional but sound solution – it would guarantee both our safety, and that of our people. A foundation for a peace, if we are lucky enough.”

Celebrimbor felt blood rush in his ears and he desperately wanted to grab something to steady himself. His day had gotten progressively more strange and distressing, and the marriage proposal he’d just heard was just the cherry on top of everything; of having discovered the enemy he’d invited into his own city, fleeing it, and then landing himself in the midst of an approaching army that was set on a path of destruction.

Destruction of a mutual enemy, but at the expense of all that Celebrimbor had ever built and worked towards.

“You cannot be serious,” Celebrimbor tried to declare. To his own ears, it came out as a question instead.

“Is the thought really so absurd?” Adar asked. He had now circled behind Celebrimbor’s back, which caused the smith to shiver and look over his shoulder cautiously. The orc soon stepped into his line of sight again. He seemed more curious than intimidating, despite how he stalked around the smith. “Think it through to the end. You will find there is nothing better I can offer as reassurance. Nothing that you would believe to be true, anyways.”

The smith sucked in a breath and just about kept himself from wringing his hands. He really just wanted to be petulant, to scream and angrily throw Adar’s offer back in his face, but-

But he had to think of his people. Who were in danger from not one, but two threats at the moment. If he could take care of one for certain, and use that chance to eliminate the other as well…

There was a long sigh, and the smith visibly deflated. He hated to admit it, but the other was right. They had few options, especially since there was scarcely any trust between them.

Sure, Adar had been treating him rather well as of now, all things considered – he’d told the orcs to handle the elf with care, had given him food and water, had not even chained the smith (though that could be because he didn’t consider Celebrimbor a serious threat, the smith thought bitterly).

The...foundation was there. And the reasoning.

As if he’d heard his thoughts, Adar stepped closer to Celebrimbor. This time, his look was not one of a hunter, but one of sincerity. “I promise you, I’d not make any demands of you safe for upholding the marriage and the peace. I would not separate you from your people, I will not demand rulership over your city, and-” and he paused for additional emphasis at that point. “I will not ever force you into anything but civil, honest conversation with me.”

It was clear what he meant. It was a...strange thought. Celebrimbor had not even considered it but- well. He had to admit that aside from the company he kept, Adar was...almost beautiful. Despite the pale skin and the scars and the darkness he lived in, he cut a striking figure.

Where before, the thought had not even crossed his mind, he now found his belly quivering with it. Not in a fearful way, but instead with...intrigue?

He mentally shook himself. Gil-Galad was right, he did have terrible taste in what – who – he found desirable. (He did not think of the fiend that was hiding in his forge. He would not. He’d been tricked, deliberately tempted. It was hard to remind himself of that, but it was true.)

The smith exhaled a shaky breath. He should probably demand more time to think on this, but time was something he did not have – ironic that as an elf, he was running out of time now, he thought sardonically.

Instead, he rose up to his full height again, and faced Adar with a steady gaze. With a small start, he realized he was actually taller than the orc. (‚Uruk‘, the other had called himself, hadn’t he?)

“Promise me you will do everything in your power to protect my people. I do not care what happens to me, it is my fault this-” he stopped himself and felt his face pull into a grimace, but he pushed on. “As the lord of Eregion, I will take responsibility. Promise me you will help me fulfill my responsibility to my people, and I will...I will give myself to you. And my city into your hands, until it is freed.”

The look in Adar’s eyes was intense, as if he was trying to find any hidden loophole, any flaw, any lie in Celebrimbor’s words. After a moment that felt near suffocating, the other nodded.

“Very well. I will find someone to officiate,” he said, and made to turn to the entrance of his tent, undoubtably to give his men orders. He paused, however, and looked back at Celebrimbor.

The look in his eyes was softer than the smith had expected. “And I accept your demands. The city will be yours again, once I have rid it of our foe.”

A pause. “And while you would give yourself and your life away with no regards to your own safety, I will not demand you to do so. I will not touch you or mistreat you – you have my word.” And with that, the orc went outside as he gave orders while leaving Celebrimbor alone, his head spinning.

Why was this so important for the other?

Why did it put Celebrimbor at such ease?

And though Celebrimbor barely dared to even acknowledge it – why did the thought of Adar touching him not fill him with fear, but curiosity, instead?

[lucielifer]

Bad decision, baby

Pairing: Dean Winchester/reader

Content warning: mentions of prodomal schizophrenia, suicidal ideation, dissociation, attempted suicide, fluff, angst (duh), hopelessness, no use of Y/N, mentions of violence. Slightly inspired by mandela catalogue if you squint.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn’t want to admit that she enjoyed that the melancholy was palpable. It made her certain that she was alive, if only for the weight she carried with each breath. The cold, silent winter breeze that just barely rustled the leaves around her if you really listened; the slight chill that tingled my bare arms. She should’ve brought a jacket; but it wouldn’t have changed anything.

Her eyelids fell closed as she sucked in the presence of everything around her as if she was trying to remember it which, to be fair, she is. Her head felt especially calm while she focused on her senses: the smell of the grass, stale cigarette smoke and asphalt; the sound of her breathing and the, occasional, alert calls of birds as they sat in the trees; the cold nibble of wind on her skin, the stickiness of the metal; and, when she parted her jaws, the taste of the night lingered right on the tip of her tongue-- the good things that tried to pull her backwards, back to the warmth and comfort of her home, back to him instead of this hellscape.

She left him while they were sleeping, resting on his chest, his hand cupping her jaw as they lay with their noses pressed against each other. She wasn’t asleep that night, staring at as much of his face as she could. He smelled like home-- like love and safety and a brightness that enveloped her whole-- like her most favorite memory. That’s what made it harder to leave, what made every bone ache as she slipped out from under his grip onto the soft plush of their carpet. He hated that carpet, but she fell in love with it, so he caved and bought it. It didn’t match anything in their room in the slightest; but to her, that just made it more special.

“De, look at this thing!” She barked with surprised glee, her hand shooting out to push the hangers away from the, frankly ugly light brown carpet. It was obviously old-- frayed and faded patterns etched into the carefully woven fabric-- but it looked very well-loved.

He had come up behind her, an arm draped over her waist because he just couldn’t stand to not touch her in some way, “What?” He had said into her ear, his head tilted down to press a kiss to the side of her temple while he peered at the carpet in her hands through the corner of his eye.

“Can we get this?” She asked, tilting her head backwards so she could look up at his face, her grin splitting her face the second their eyes connected.

“This is what you want?” He scoffed, raising an eyebrow as he used his free hand to grab her wrist, pulling the carpet back so he could take a better look, “Why this one?”

“Look at it!” She tried to defend, looking back down so she could grab the hanger and pull it off the hook, turning the fabric in her hands. The pattern, albeit faded, was charming-- the old feel of the woven fabric scratching against her fingers.

“I am looking at it, baby. It’s ugly.” Dean had said with a laugh, shaking his head as he gave her another kiss and pulled away-- his hand resting on the small of her back. She pouted, rolling her eyes as she slung it over her elbow.

“If we don’t take it, no one will.” Was all she responded with, giving him one of her grins while she stepped out of his grip and grabbed his hand, pulling him down the aisle. She could hear the rough exhale of his breath, his free hand moving to cup the back of her neck while they walked, squeezing her scruff and making her squeal with a laugh. She had turned to look up at him, meeting his smiling face with her own before she let go of his hand in favor of letting him lead their way.

The memory left a bitter twinge in her mouth while she went to slip on her shoes as fast as she could-- just so she didn’t have to feel the carpet on her toes. It’s astonishing how quickly things can go from good to bad. It was like that carpet was the beginning of a timer, counting down the end.

Nothing had caused it, per se; but, before she knew it, everything around her was just dimmed and diluted just like the carpet. She had this constant weight on her chest, hardening her breaths whenever she inhaled. The crushing weight of loneliness and sorrow. Everything just became further away-- just barely out of her reach-- isolating her from everything around her. Even his touch felt fuzzy, like it was imaginary even though it was, undoubtedly, very real. She stopped going to her classes and no amount of bargaining or pleading Dean could do would tempt her away from the cocoon of their bed. She was letting herself just fade, staying in bed and staring off into the distance.

Eventually, she knew it was starting to hurt Dean more and more. Every meal skipped, every question that would go unanswered.

“Just tell me how to help you.” Dean had said earnestly earlier that night. He made her tomato soup, the cup lying forgotten on the bedside table when Dean knelt to his knees, petting her cheek as he tried to get her to meet his gaze. She stayed quiet, constantly trying to look anywhere else but at him.

“Sweetheart…” He whispered, pushing her hair out of her face. He knew she wouldn’t talk, she hadn’t in weeks, so he just looked down at her-- pity and guilt in his eyes while his thumb brushed over her eyelid. She felt him pull away, heard the sound of him crawling into bed, the dip of the mattress as he slid into place behind her. She moved instantly, turning around so she could lay her head on his chest, her arm falling over his stomach while he turned his head to nuzzle into her hair.

She wanted to go back to him, wanted to feel his warmth chase away all the bad thoughts and feelings in her head. Shadows danced in the corner of her vision, in the spots where it was the darkest, and with it returned the gnawing presence that was permanently burnt into the back of her neck, gone when she tried to look. It was draining her-- the fear that just wouldn’t go away no matter what she did. She couldn’t sleep because of it, the second her eyes would close she’d either forget how to breathe, or her eyes would instinctively snap back open. She was afraid of sleeping, afraid of leaving the room, afraid of everything around her.

This happened sometimes, this state of depressive psychosis. It was worse every time, and always came about at the most unsuspecting moments. Tonight, though, it’s leaving her with a voice in the back of her mind that just screamed at her to run, run, run.

She didn’t even change her clothes, slipping on her slippers before ducking out of the room silently. Her mind was racing-- a hand pressed to her chest while she went into the restroom. Everything was so loud, so heavy, the need to just make everything shut the fuck up pounding on her head and heart as if she were trapped-- banging on the walls of this prison until her knuckles were bleeding and deformed. Her hands were shaking as she pulled open the medicine cabinet, grabbing something and pushing the bottle into her pocket. It sounded full, the low clatter of pills jostling around while she turned on her heel to leave. She couldn’t resist the cracked open door of their bedroom, pausing outside of it to glance in and watch the way Dean had moved to clutch at her pillow-- as if she were still there.

As soon as she got outside, it was like all hell broke loose for her. Everything just swallowed her whole, making her take in a sharp inhale as she pressed her hand against the wall to keep her upright. It all felt like a thick, heavy fog that choked when she breathed it in-- the endless void of cold air and darkness pressing in from all sides. Everything crowded her with cruel hands, forcing her to be even smaller than the world around her while she tried to reign in her breathing. The world was quiet, but the night wasn’t. It breathed around her, alive with sounds she couldn’t focus on for long enough to make sense of them, rustling and whispering noises that were too coincidental, too deliberate. It all just felt wrong, like it was all sentient. Shadows weren’t just moving as the wind rustled, they lurched and shifted and sent jolts of static skittering along her nerves with sharp claws that scratched down the skin of her bare arms and legs.

She paused, taking her hand off the wall so she could cover her eyes, looking at the floor to try and block everything but her feet as she stepped over fallen leaves and stumbled down the stairs. Each step reverberated off the walls, bounding around her skull and mixing with the blood pumping in her ears. Her breathing hitched as she missed the last step, just barely catching herself on the handrail as she hunched herself over it. She felt like she was going to gag, she was going to choke on the fog and everything she was trying to ignore-- for just long enough that she could get to where she wanted to go-- was going to tear into her with jagged teeth and screaming and silence all at the same time. The streetlights hummed louder than they should, an electric drone that pierced through the sounds and murmuring voices in her mind that she couldn’t quite make out.

Run. The sharpness of one voice cut through-- her voice, but not her voice-- commanding and piercing and making her cover her ears. It’ll hurt you, haven’t you learned already? Her nails dug into her scalp, grounding her with the dull sting of pain before she growled to herself and got up from the handrail-- her fists clenched at her sides while she walked faster. He’ll find you if you don’t run. Who will find her? Dean? Something else?

A flicker of movement accompanied the voice but, when her head snapped to the side as she stumbled and turned to face the noise mid-step, it was gone. She walked faster instinctively, her nails digging into her palms providing a constant throb she could hold onto. Things kept following her-- chasing her. The parked cars and their fogged windows filled with her dread, no longer empty; but empty. Like there might be something there if she looked. Nothing was worth the risk. Her breath quickened as she broke into a jog, her eyes facing forward but not really looking at where she was going.

By the time she reached the park-- her park-- her chest was heaving, everything was crowding her mind with overcrowded whispers and sensations. She didn’t even feel cold anymore, a bead of cold sweat falling down her brow, coincidentally, intentionally, right when she moved to rub at her face. Pulling it back, she hitched in a breath when she thought she saw something standing by the bench barely visible between the trees. It was gone when she focused on it; but she saw it, she saw something. Her feet drug her forward, toward the bench like they had a mind of her own. She felt dull, empty, like a passive observer. It was the only way she could shut everything out.

Don’t you know how this ends?

The voice whispered, it’s voice sounding like the combined, melodic tune of a choir-- with bass and alto and soprano and tenor, like every voice she’d ever heard was speaking at one time. Her heart pounded, but she continued on, her slippers brushing over the wet grass and ticking the skin on the sides of her feet. By the time she reached the bench, everything just shut off when her hand met the dew that seemed to move unnaturally, like liquid mercury pooling and spilling along its edges. The silence was more deafening than everything else. It cut off like the shut down of an old tv and everything felt louder; the crickets and birds and the vague drone of cars and sparse night-life. She recoiled at the noises, at the feeling of the metal on her palm that stung her skin like flame, but forced herself to sit.

Her head tipped backwards, mouth agape as her eyelids fluttered closed; but even behind her lids, the shadows swirled in patterns of kaleidoscopes that reminded her of the unsettling feeling of not being alone. The sky above-- the trees that blanketed over her-- was a suffocating abyss, making her feel like she was hovering just above the bench, not quite touching while the darkness was fractured by cracks of faint light she knew wasn’t real. She tried to pull herself back into her senses-- breathe, focus, ground-- but the presence stabbed the back of her neck, slowly growing heavier.

She knew the silence was intentional, like she came back to earth just enough so that everything would feel okay. She felt her pulse race again, felt the weight of the pills in her pocket burn like they were some protective charm-- activated by the theoretical presence of the stalker.

Do it. Don’t open your eyes. See it-- see him. Put it to an end. Don’t open your eyes. Look at him. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Do it. DO IT. DO IT. LOOK AT ME.

The voice cut in with a commanding, loud scream in her skull, making her whimper, pulling her knees to her chest while she curled into a ball against the corner of the bench, her breathing heavy and ragged while she sobbed. She couldn’t take it, everything was too much. She had never felt this terrified in her life. The distance of all her senses felt more foreboding-- like a threat. She could feel the presence right in front of her face now, breathing on her skin loud enough that she trembled-- every nerve pulsating with life and making her skin tingle. She couldn’t look now that she was certain the man in the corner of her awareness was right in front of her face. Watching her. She couldn’t look, she couldn’t risk allowing it to become real. She didn’t want to know whether or not this was actually happening, she didn’t want to be exposed.

Her hand reached into her pocket, wrapping around the pill bottle and holding onto it tightly, like it would protect her. The breathing in her ears was interrupted by her own, fast and desperate while she sobbed and whimpered. She did not want to see what was on the other side of her eyelids, but it was calling to her.

Open your ey-ey-ey-ey-eyes. See-e me.

She sat up, her eyes still closed while she pulled out the bottle-- sobs filling the silence. Her hands went to unscrew the cap, but then hands wrapped around her wrists.

“Let go of me!” She yelled, her body thrashing against a grip that was suddenly very real. “Don't touch me-- don't-- please--” She sobbed, sucking in a breath too large for her lungs while her back slammed against the bench and pinned her down. She needed to fight, she needed to keep her eyes closed, she needed to defend herself. But was she? Or was she stalling.

Look at me! Come on! Look at me! You're safe, I promise you you're safe. I won't hu-ur-t you. I’ll never hurt you. I love you. Baby, I love you. Open your eyes. You’re okay.

“SHUT UP!” She screamed, kicking her legs out and being met with a wall of flesh.

“No, no, no no no, no-- stop! Stop!” She howled.

“STOP!” The voice rang out, arms wrapping around her waist-- pinning her arms to her sides, sending the bottle of pills crashing to the ground. She was pulled closer, the large mass bending her knees inward until they were pinned to her chest with their bodies.

She sobbed, her head spinning with a white light while noises and sounds and feelings all crunched and malformed her bone structure against her will. She continued to fight, continued to try and scratch and claw anywhere she could reach; but it was too strong. This was it, this was the end. Nothing felt real, but the air had changed. She told herself it was all in her head—just stress, just the weight of everything building up—but deep down, the certainty that something had shifted, something fundamental, gnawed at her, impossible to shake.

Then she felt like she was floating, her ribs aching as she was pulled and thrown down to the floor, arms and legs wrapping around her frame. It suffocated her. The vague feeling of warmth on the back of her neck, squeezing at the scruff of her neck while another limb wrapped around her back and held her close. It felt like something was on her, weight sitting on top of her thighs and keeping her from moving while the hand on her neck tangled into her hair.

“It's okay..” The voice said, brighter than it was before, a hand rubbing over the sharp knuckles of her spine. The touch felt different, warm. The voice wasn't a pounding in her skull, it was soft and enveloping. Her mind tried to tell her it was wrong, a trick.

Don't you know how this ends already? He can't save you. You're going to be mine. There isn't enough room for the both of us.

She sobbed and spoke under her breath, quiet pleading for her safety.

“I know, Baby. I know. It's going to be okay.” It whispered back, the hand on the back of her head forcing her face into the crook of their neck. The scent was intoxicating, making her fall still and her eyes snap open as the familiarity washed over her. She felt their breath hitch, the large hand stilling its’ petting movements on the back of her head and neck-- like it was waiting for her. Then, her arms shot out, wrapping around and accepting the comfort wholly while she buried her face in its neck again. Her hand cupped where she thought the face would be, her thumb brushing over stubble before grabbing onto hair.

“It's okay. It's Dean. It's just me. You're okay. I’m here for you, baby.” It-- Dean-- cooed, making her melt in his arms while her chest wracked with sobs. She breathed in his scent: sandalwood and a hint of spice that made her nose tickle.

“I’m scared.” She whimpered, the limb around her back moving to hold the back of her neck while the other hand carded through her hair and caressed her cheek.

“I know, baby. It’s going to be okay.” He said, pressing a kiss to the side of her temple.

Everything was already starting to feel okay. She suddenly didn't hear any voices, didn't feel foreboding presences circling around her like vultures-- waiting for the moment she gave in to strike. All she could focus on was him, of his safety and warmth. He continued to whisper in her ears, moving his head to either side of hers so he could ground her while his hands continued to move over her body.

It took a while, a long while of whispered words describing the things around them, reasurances and praises-- “That’a girl. You're okay. You're doing so good, I’m so proud of you, Sweetheart.” Eventually, her breathing slowed to a manageable pace, her arm wrapped tightly around the back of his neck while her wide open eyes scanned everything around them. She didn't see anything, she didn't hear anything except for him-- she felt safe.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, a quick movement of the hand in her hair pulling her head backwards until she was face-to-face with Dean for the first time. His eyes were red-rimmed, thin scratches on his face and a small bruise on his cheek bone.

“It’s okay, honey. You have nothing to be--”

“I hurt you.” She whispered, cutting off his words as her hands moved to cup his face and be swallowed by guilt and fear.

“It's okay. I promise. It’ll heal.” He whispered back, pushing their foreheads together while they looked into each other’s eyes, “It’s you I care about right now. Are you okay, baby?”

She had to take a moment to respond, just looking at him as their noses pushed together. Was she okay? Could she be okay again? Did she look at the figure in the shadows? Would the voices come back now that they know she’ll listen? Would--

“Hey, baby. Look at me.” Dean said, moving his face back in front of hers the second things started to spiral again.

“Tell me what's going on,” He said, holding onto her face with both hands and forcing her to only look at him. At the green hue of his eyes in the darkness.

“Everything,” she said with a whisper, her voice breaking as her hands covered his own, “Everything scares me. Everything feels wrong and evil and I’m scared.” She whimpered, watching Dean’s face as his eyebrows creased.

“Tell me what you feel, baby.” He urged, closing his eyes briefly as he sucked in a breath-- she instinctively knew to copy him.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to copy the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“It’s cold.” She whispered, her lips parting as she tried to focus on her senses.

“Okay. It’s cold,” Dean agreed, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, “Am I cold?” He asked in a whisper, pressing a kiss on the bridge of her nose.

“N-no you’re-- you're warm.”

“Does that scare you?”

“No.” She answered honestly, breathing out a sigh and nuzzling her nose against his.

“What else do you feel? Can you hear me?” He continued, trying to get her to focus on him and herself.

“I hear you.”

“Good. I love you, you know that, right?” He spoke, pulling back a little bit so he could see her fully-- ignoring the way she just looked hollow, “I love you so much. Do you know that?” He said, pushing her hair off of her forehead.

“I don't care if you're broken,” he continued, “if you're scared. I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always be here to remind you you're okay.” He said quietly, his voice earnest while he read her face.

Her lips pulled back with a whimper, her face leaning into his hands, “I know. I’m sorry. I love you so much.” She said with a quiet sob, holding onto the backs of his hands for support.

“It's just so scary. Everything feels wrong and deliberate. Like there’s just always something there just waiting and watching me. And the voices I--” She cut herself off, her eyes fluttering shut as she flinched back from just the thought alone.

“They wouldn't stop.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, looking down at her with a look of helplessness that was just hidden under his tenderness. One of his hands slid over her cheek, down the side of her neck, her bare arms, until his fingers interlocked with hers.

“Let's go home, yeah? Let's get you warmed up, baby.” He said with a soft smile as he got up from her lap-- where he was straddling her waist to keep her from hurting herself or him. Her head still felt cloudy, she still felt dazed while fear tinged at the edge of her peripherals. She didn't fight back as he let go of her face, his free hand hooking under her armpit as he lifted her to her feet. Once they were standing, he pulled her into his arms again, pushing his face into her hair while he guided her arms around his waist.

“I got you now. I promise. We’re gonna make everything okay, okay? We’re gonna get you some help.” He reassured her with a quiet whisper in her ear while his arms enveloped her completely.

“Okay, Dean.” She agreed as her head tucked under his chin.

“Can you walk, baby? Or do you want me to carry you?” He said, his voice soft-- lacking any judgment or scrutiny. He was always so warm to her, softer with her than anyone else. He was so attentive, remembering all her favorite things, favorite spots to be touched, all the small things that made her swoon and moan and relax all at the same time. He always made her feel so loved. Especially at night, when his lips kissed every inch of her skin like he was trying to commit her to memory, every time finding something new that made her sigh or mewl.

She had to keep reminding herself of these things, saying them louder in her head the second things started to feel wrong again.

“Can you carry me?” She asked quietly, already letting go of his waist so she could stand on her tip toes and put her arms around his neck.

“Okay, baby. I’ll carry you.” He whispered, kissing the top of her head before his arm snaked around her back, his other hand moving to cup the swell of her ass.

“Come on. Up.” He said with a small smile, giving her ass a gentle pat until she jumped up eagerly, her legs wrapping around his waist and her arms pulling her closer to his chest. He held her effortlessly, his hand under her gripping her while he started to walk toward-- where she assumed-- was his car.

They stayed silent as they walked, her eyes wide as she watched his back-- trying to make sure nothing was following them. His hands occasionally wandered, but kept her pressed to his chest even as he let go to open the passenger door.

“Come on, baby. I’m gonna put you down, okay?” He whispered against her head while he grabbed onto her waist.

She whimpered at the thought, holding onto him tighter as she whimpered out her rejections.

“It's only for a second. I promise. Can you get down for me, Sweetheart?” He urged, pulling back so he could look down at her.

She worried her lip before nodding hesitantly before she unraveled herself from his grip with his help.

“Good girl.” He said with a smile as he gently guided her into the car.

Once she was sat, her ducked his head inside, holding the side of her face while he pulled her closer to kiss her cheek, “I’ll be right there, okay? Here--” He said gently, pulling back so he could shrug off his jacket and drape it over her. He pulled away after he ghosted his knuckle over her cheek, rounding the front of the Impala and sliding into the driver's seat before she even had a chance to miss his presence.

Thanks for reading 💕 tell me if you want more. I got at LEAST another chapter simmering in my brain--waiting for praise to be written, lol

[1hotmuyfunbro]

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if Laurent and Nicaise were the same age...

• Imagine both of them being 14, meeting each other with all their traumas and pasts. I think Laurent, still under the Regent's manipulation, wouldn't have developed the strong personality he has throughout the trilogy. For me, that started to form when he was 15 and began to create his own prince's guard, and the Regent abandoned him. So we have two naive 14-year-olds: one is smart but still naive (Laurent) and the other, besides being naive, is clever (Nicaise).

• So, we know that Laurent, in some way, "admired (?)" or cared for Nicaise enough to call him brother, which hits hard considering what the word "brother" means to someone like Laurent! I once read that the reason Laurent didn't "compete" with Nicaise but did with Aimeric, aside from the age difference, is that Nicaise represents what Laurent probably would’ve wanted to see in himself. Laurent hates the naivety of his "young self," but he admits that Nicaise was smarter than the others... that he knew the Regent didn’t love him, not like the others.

• This also makes me think (I'm taking a risk here) that because of their personalities and pasts, Nicaise is more likely to carry his trauma in a different way than Laurent. Laurent grew up with love for almost 14 years, he knows what family is, what it's like to have a roof and a steady meal. Nicaise seems to have been a poor kid who didn’t have many options, either to survive or to refuse the Regent or the adults around him—HE WAS BOUGHT, meaning he was sold first ("a bought whore kid" is how Laurent calls him), probably doesn't know what a family is, or selfless love, or the security of a stable home. They’re both super resilient, but in their own ways. I also wondered why Nicaise kind of noticed the Regent, while Laurent didn’t until years later... I think, aside from their past experiences, it comes down to the difference between intelligence and cleverness:

• "The astute child would be more likely to notice deceit or abuse because they are better at perceiving subtle cues and understanding others’ intentions, reacting quicker to potential manipulation. The intelligent child, on the other hand, might identify the problem through logical analysis but needs more context or clear information to do so. The main difference is that the astute child perceives threats instinctively, while the intelligent child understands them more rationally."

• I like the difference and similarity between them and their traumas. Laurent, less used to unexpected experiences that ruined his life, still carries self-hate, guilt, disgust, and also struggles with being touched by others; while Nicaise, more accustomed to betrayal and pain, probably handles things differently. This doesn’t mean it’s healthier, but his trauma started at an even younger age than Laurent’s, which may have made him normalize what happened to him and accept certain physical touches like holding Laurent's hand or letting him lift his chin with a finger, or Audin wrapping his arms around him, etc. If Nicaise normalizes it, even if it still harms him, he likely deals with it in a different way.

• Finally, I think if Nicaise had survived, he wouldn't have developed a post-abuse state like Laurent's—maybe similar but different. And if they had met and talked when they were 14, Nicaise might have totally owned Laurent, but it would have been cute seeing them together. Maybe they could have even had an even stronger friendship?

Tell me if you thought something while reading it!

[coraniaid]

I think I can, if I try, just about persuade myself that Xander and Jesse were friends.

Partly because the ways in which Jesse behaves unpleasantly [his treatment of women who aren't attracted to him, his obvious self-hatred about being " a loser" who nobody wants to date; various lines that were presumably written as jokes but just come across as disproportionately mean-spirited insults] echo the ways Xander himself is also sometimes (to a lesser extent) unpleasant (especially in the first two seasons of the show). In both cases, I suspect the writers didn't quite realize how badly the character was coming across (doesn't Joss Whedon say in the DVD commentaries that some of the way Jesse behaves around Cordelia is based on things Whedon himself did as a teenager? which suggests a certain obliviousness about precisely how sympathetic this behaviour actually is).

Also, well, because you can maybe assume that Jesse is going through a (non-supernatural version) of what happens to Xander in The Pack (in that he's "turning into a sixteen year old boy", as Giles puts it) and that he didn't use to be quite so unbearable to be around (or so obsessed with Cordelia). And because the closest that Jesse ever comes to being sympathetic is when he tells Buffy he wants her to feel at home "unless you have a scary home", which -- if you try really, really hard -- you can maybe tie into the (later) implications we get about Xander's own home life [and hence conclude that on some level Jesse is aware of and sympathetic to the reality that some people -- people like Xander in particular -- do have "scary homes"].

But Willow? President of the "We hate Cordelia" Club Willow? Shy and soft-spoken computer loving nerd Willow? "I can spend my life waiting for Xander to go out with every other girl in the world before he notices me" Willow? Yeah, it just doesn't make sense to me at all that she and Jesse would be friends. The only thing they have in common is hanging out with Xander.

Actually, I'm not sure there is a point in either of the first two episodes in which Jesse or Willow refer to the other as a friend, is there? Or even hang out together except at school with Xander? They both get captured by vamps while at the Bronze on the same night, but they weren't there together. Willow tells Buffy in Welcome to the Hellmouth that she's in the Bronze because she "thought Xander was going to show up ... we're just friends", and in The Harvest Giles will tell Xander that, when he sees Jesse again, he won't be "looking at your friend". And vamp!Jesse will address Xander as "buddy". But Willow never calls Jesse a friend, that I can remember.

After Jesse is captured Willow talks about "wanting to help [Buffy]", but she doesn't show any real concern for Jesse himself. In fact, when Buffy goes to try to rescue him, and Xander is about to talk himself into chasing after her, Willow reassures him that "Buffy'll be okay". Not Jesse, but Buffy. And what's her immediate reaction to Buffy and Xander coming back and telling her that Jesse is something "worse than dead"? She says "at least you two are okay". And that's it, that's the whole of her reaction. Xander tells vamp!Jesse he's sorry and gets angry and talks about disliking vampires, but -- even in an episode were Jesse's death is acknowledged -- we never seen any emotional response to his death from Willow. She reacts far more to the death of Cordelia's boyfriend Kevin in Prophecy Girl, and Kevin is a character who (1) only exists for one episode and (2) Willow herself never interacts with.

So, yes, it rather beggars belief that Willow would be friends with Jesse and I don't think there's any on-screen evidence that they actually are friends in any real way. I don't think Willow would even hang out with Jesse between classes at school if he wasn't with Xander.

obviously the out-of-universe explanation for why jesse's name is never mentioned again after "the harvest" is that (a) while joss was tickled by the idea of immediately killing off a character he had set up to appear important, he had no desire to make a show with the dynamic of 'the hero and her two friends who are in mourning and traumatized over the death of their third friend who the hero failed to save', and also (b) the writers forgot he existed. but in-universe, given how many times it would have made sense and been in character for xander and/or willow to bring him up (such as in wacky stories from their childhood, or times when they are throwing buffy's failures in her face), i am forced to conclude that the reason jesse is never mentioned again is because neither of them actually liked him very much. he was just unpopular because he is unpleasant and so they let him hang out with them because they were unpopular too. but secretly they were kind of a bit relieved when he died because, well, he sucked and they didn't like him. and i'm sure they felt guilty about being relieved. but that didn't change the fact that they were. which is why neither of them ever mentions him again and never will

[descendantofthesparrow]

at the very least-i hope its fun

[seaweedstarshine]

RIP Krakoa 🌹 I can’t lie I’ve been kinda behind since midway through Fall of X I’m gonna catch up before my first SDCC this summer but I hear Vulcan didn’t see much action anyway. Anyway my hand slipped and I found myself looking into the eyes of my canonically psychotic son the best Summers brother who’s never done anything wrong in his entire life, (he’s done lotsa wrong things but I love him more for it)

[unproduciblesmackdown]

come get your levitous sidekick / vicious bastard / funny little guys

[karashti]

I do believe they wanted to avoid political themes in season two, not knowing how to handle some of the themes that in the end were important part of the plot in arcane. (I believe that is why season 1 presents a plot where we as an audience can see moral ambuiguity and answer by yourself what "side" and what characters you think are right, but a good conclusion would not only need for them to answer it for us when that was never intended, but also fix wrongs things).

And I believe more than that is that they had limited time, and they did everything they could considering they wanted everything. They wanted to be able to add Warwrick, to add the prision cell sex scene, to add the Viktor becoming a god through his "glorious evolution", they wanted timebomb, they wanted mage Mel, they wanted Caitvi fallapart drama, they wanted Jinx as a big sister, they wanted a war against Noxus, they wanted Ambessa to be a main villian, they wanted Jinx to be a hero and have a grand entrance, they wanted a found family trope for both sisters, they wanted Jayvik canonly soulmates (platonic or romantic doesn't matter), they wanted everything.

"Did everything they could with limited time" is somwthing I said once about their series, both as a "defense" (I was mostly complaining about how of half critics in youtube were about Loris not being a second Vander, Warwrick design, not liking certain women characters being evil or not pure, etc when there are real things to criticize about arcane) but "everything they could" doesn't mean it was good. One can do everything they can and still be bad, in this particular case it's a still enjoyable to watch and can get amazing moments and details, which is probably the main focus as a series of Netflix.

With the lack of time they had to decide what to sacrifice to be able to put everything, and it doesn't really mean the chose wrong all the time or right all the time, they just had to choose knowing some would adore their choses (see how S2E7 is the most loved one of the series as a whole) and some would hate it.

"They didn’t had time to finish the story".

They didn’t had time for Jinx and Ekko's conversation, but they had time for a Mel's wasn’t even her real brother shenanigans.

They didn't had time for the Vi storyline, but they had time to write a whole affair scene between Caitlyn and Maddie.

They didn’t had time to talk about Sevika council seat, her reacting to Isha's/Silco's death or about her past, but they had time to turn Vander into Warwick just to kill him again.

They didn’t had time for the Ekko's community storyline, but they had time for an AU episode.

To me it sounds like they just wanted to avoid all of the political stuff from season 1.

But what do i know?