#stop telling people to have toxic and abuse people in their lives because its their parent

[zarnzarn]

i see all these comments talking about this after the new episode, but. i would like to state for the record that stolitz isn't. toxic.

first off, the concept of a toxic and a healthy relationship are such... vague terms. when you're online, drenched in language and tight moral boundaries, trying to put a nuanced story like helluva boss's into boxes is easy to attempt and impossible to do.

a toxic relationship is one where one or both parties is maliciously affecting the other. I'm talking fetid, nasty, rude interactions where there is more hurt than love. they're unhappy more often than not when they're with their partner, there's no respect or give from the other side.

stolitz is nothing like that.

Stolas actively cares about Blitz and actually has no fear or hesitation in ADMITTING IT OUT LOUD TO OZZIE. he has been calling, texting, commenting, laughing and finding ways to spend time with Blitz. he's throwing everything he has to the wind, finding the courage to move forward with the divorce, putting everything he has into trying to keep him. he's been alone in a palace since he was born, on medication, with such less people dear to him that he remembered the circus boy who spent a day with him DECADES ago- so when blitz comes into his life and brings back in laughter and color and sex, he's holding on with everything he's got.

and blitz does care!!! he cares a LOT, the whole series we see him falling in love with stolas through SHOW NOT TELL (his expressions, his choices, his fear, his lashing out) and utterly unable to process that stolas cares about him too when talking to fizz; almost a desperate kind of denial-

cause yknow. the first time he tried to confess something to someone he really liked, he accidentally killed half the people he knew and ruined the lives of the rest?

thats gonna leave just a teensy impact on the will to express your emotions in the future, methinks.

even before that, he clearly felt like on some level that he was unworthy and he's said twice that he despises himself for the accident even though it wasn't actually his fault. being self aware doesn't stop the emotions from emotioning.

he keeps insisting its only sex so urgently to anyone who doesn't ask because he can't even imagine it being anything else. he's both disappointed and relieved when he repeats that stolas sees him as a novelty, because what else can it be?

(there's a whole other spiel of how brave both Stolas and Blitz have to be to say it out loud even when asmodeus can't afford to, considering how publically and completely beaten down both were at the club.)

(there's also another whole spiel about how frustrating it has been for ME to see all these comments over time with such bad takes based on like,, 20 min worth of info of a show that takes months to release an ep. like godDAMN have some patience?? let the story UNFOLD MAYBE? IT WAS ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE AN EXPLANATION WHY WOULD YOU CRITICIZE THINGS THAT ARENT EVEN FINISHED ESPECIALLY AN INDIE ANIMATION- i digress)

mind you, this has NOTHING to do with abuse. an abusive relationship is one where one is actively harming the other with full awareness. Stella is an abuser and their marriage is abusive.

and stolitz isn't that; it isn't even unhealthy or toxic. it's a consensual, transactional fuckbuddy relationship that slid into something more for both of them.

but!!!!! one of the main reasons for the problems that everyone looks over is-

they're in a BDSM relationship.

I can't possibly delve into dynamics without making this a 10k research paper BUT even though we've gotten only hints and costumes and dialogue- they're very clearly and undeniably in a BDSM contract. Behind the scenes of this crazy show is a whole different story, of these two delving into the most hardcore kinks out there- knifeplay, painplay, bondage.

if you've gotten into the community, if you've read a couple dozen particularly good fics by authors who know what they're talking about, hell; even if your only experience is fifty shades or 365 or whatever- you gotta know that BDSM scenes are crazy fucking emotionally heavy. there's so much that has gone down between them during their full moons that helluva can't get into!!

but you know how in so many of these popular medias and fics, the dom in the relationship is also like,, the billionaire/mafia heir/prince, etc, the one with financial and physical power? this isnt that. it has been very clearly stated that stolas is subbing, blitz is domming.

now take a moment and think about how much that fucks up the dynamics.

in stolas' eyes, blitz is a confident, dangerous individual who's an old friend and cherished memory of his, who he's trusted wholly with his safety during sex and he's lucky to have; and he has been in an abusive arranged marriage for the past eighteen Years, he's probably not going to be pushing his luck with his dom that much in the first place. plus, blitz is never cowed by him during their conversations- think back to the first phone call right after he stole the book, completely unafraid.

and for blitz, it's someone trusting him again- but it's also a royal- a blue blood who's nearly untouchable and so much more powerful- who couldn't possibly like a piece of shit like him, apart from the sex he gets out of it. he only flirts once he gets some sort of cue from Stolas; he's desperately trying to view this as only a Goetia trying to get his rocks off, despite all the evidence to the contrary, because anything else is unfathomable to him, no matter how clearly Stolas shows it, because of the ptsd.

both of them thinks the other has the power. both of them aren't expecting the other to keep shut if something's bothering them.

and there's so much conflicting messages from the other too!

stolas calls him a plaything when trying to intimidate the humans; stolas cups his face gently and asks if he's alright

blitz asks him on a date and tells him to get better soon; blitz yells that it's only sex and doesn't reply to his messages

ya see?

bring it to fizzozzie for a second now; even though they do look all good on surface, you can still see fizz's trauma and doubt in all their interactions, they're still forced to keep the relationship secret. do you see his face when Ozzie says in hyperbole that he's never leaving the house again, or when someone accuses him of being a pampered house pet or when he got sexualized in the 7th ep? whatever happened in the interim between the accident with mammon, it fucked him UP. even though oz seems to be well aware of this when he tells him not to apologise and in their general interactions, fizz still visibly has trouble separating plaything/commodity from healthy relationship.

shout the fuck out to Ozzie btw, man knows whats UP. rooting for these two so much omg.

i forgot where I was going with this point, I'll edit it when i remember. but yeah! lovely fucking relationship, but damn what angst filled issues.

anyway, to sum up- stolitz is not a toxic relationship. the relationship is stuck sludging through misunderstandings and careless microaggressions and trauma responses, but it's not unhealthy or toxic because of the simple reason that most of the current hurt comes from... a misunderstanding. stolas didn't realise blitz would need reassurance about what they were and blitz didn't see stolas as someone who could get hurt.

unecessarily calling it toxic, even online, is more impactful than people think too. almost all spindlehorse ARE on all social medias; so MANY YouTube animators i know have found jobs there; they see your words, especially since a lot don't tag posts with "anti hb" correctly to keep them out of the main tag. there are Very few queer medias made BY queer people that haven't gone through heavy corporate revisions- helluva boss is practically a historical landmark in its success. it's very very very fucking easy to forget that not ten years ago some of the only queer videos on YouTube were butter lover (one kiss at the end post credits), dirty paws and welcome to hell (subtext).

the amount of "critical talk" helluva boss gets for what it is is very unprecedented. it's a beautiful show. can't wait for the next episode.

[fallrafwe]

,,CONVERSATION”

a/n: i just think dark!rafe is so hot, especially with a gun ☺️ also this was supposed to be short but i struggle with that because i like details and i also like paragraphs 😢 sorry for not posting for like forever btw

warnings: dark!rafe, toxic/abusive!rafe, gun play/gun kink, NONCON/DUBCON, humiliation, dumbification, strong language, overstimulation, somnophilia, unconscious sex, choking, passing out

summary: you have an attitude and rafe does not like it at all

Rafe followed after you when you stormed out of the living room and up the stairs, “Don’t fucking walk away from me!” he yelled as you practically ran up the stairs. You didn’t want to hear him yell at you for hours on end about dumb shit, you did basically nothing. All you did was talk to some guy who approached you at the beach, and you didn’t think anything of it, but of course, Rafe had to make it a big deal.

When you made it to Rafe’s bedroom, you ran your hands through your hair, groaning stressfully. “What the fuck are you doing? I’m.. I’m trying to have a conversation with you, you don’t get to just walk away from me whenever you feel like it!” He shouted, approaching you slowly. You were getting backed into a wall, “Why can’t you just listen to me?” he questioned you. His ringed hand made it to your arm, slowly twisting it.

You were quick to push him off successfully with your free hand, only able to do so since he didn’t know you would even try to fight back, so he never stood his ground. “Can you just stop? Stop trying to fucking hurt me every chance you get! I can talk to other people, can’t I, Rafe?” You screamed, you were so irritated, you were finally done with his bullshit. Your legs pushed you towards the door, but was quickly stopped when you heard shuffling and a click.

“Turn around.” He commanded you, expecting you to listen, and you did. You turned around slowly, not wanting him to do anything. Rafe had a gun pointed at you, “I could pull the trigger right now,” he said calmly, and his index finger was indeed on the trigger. Why was he so calm about this? Your heart rate was rapidly rising, causing your chest to visibly be moving up and down. “Rafe.” You whispered, and he just stared at you with his menacing dark blue eyes.

His hand dropped to his side, and he was starting to walk towards you. Puddles of tears quickly formed in your eye, but you didn’t want him to know you were on the edge of crying, even though he could probably tell from the glint coming from your eyes. He wasn’t done with you though, “Get on the fuckin’ bed, and take your clothes off.” he said this as he was pointing to where you should go with the gun, you rushed to the bed as he walked behind you, with the gun pointed to your head.

The tears made its way down your cheek, staining it with purpose. You felt yourself panicking, wondering if the pace you were taking your clothes off was quick enough. He was getting his point across, the bold, black item staring at your head. The gun could go off at any moment, and knowing Rafe, he could do it. Your thoughts got brushed away after a few seconds when he told you to spread your legs. And you did just what he said without a thought.

He walked a little closer, his eyes admiring your tits and their hardened buds. His eyes now traveled down to your cunt, and he was hard at the sight, he moved the gun to rest on your clit, the textured steel made you cringe as he moved it up and down. You let out a light gasp as you dropped your elbows that were propping you up, your head was tossed to the side as his movements eventually got quicker, making you eager for more. You start grinding your hips up and down so more friction would come from it.

The movements coming from his hand halted, making you whine from the sudden stop. You could feel the gun moving from your clit to your entrance, and that’s when you decided to speak up, “Rafe, stop, I don’t wan..” you were cut off by the fact you were now staring down the barrel of the gun. “I really.. don’t care what you want, so you’re gonna sit here, and take everything I fucking give you. Yeah?” He said, confirming it with you.

Your head nodded in fear. The gun then moved back to its original placing, making you groan a little. The burning sensation immediately hit you as the gun started to stretch you out, greeting your dripping walls. Rafe’s tongue met his lips, being moistened at the sight of you loving the way his gun feels inside of you. He let out a smirk as he eventually thrusted the gun in and out, he couldn’t do it super far though since the trigger guard stopped that.

Rafe then brought the gun to a more upwards angle to try to hit that sensitive spot you craved to be touched, and it did just that. You could feel the tip of the gun brushing against your g-spot every time Rafe thrusted it in and out, a loud moan rolled off your tongue, making you arch your back as you got a little closer each thrust. “Gonna cum on this fuckin’ gun, huh? Thought you didn’t want me to do this?” He said to you, smirking as you closed your eyes, but your mouth never followed, it was forming a circle instead.

“Y’know, it’s fucking pathetic. Just wanted someone or, something, to get you off, so you had to talk to another guy, right? And now here you are, about to cum all over a gun. It’s fucking disgusting.” He spat, he was emphasizing every word he could to make you even more embarrassed, and it worked. Tears eventually met with your waterline, making you feel humiliated. You told yourself how it was pathetic you couldn’t even make him stop, so you just took it instead, but now it doesn’t matter, because you were gonna make a mess all over his gun.

A rope eventually tugged at your stomach, threatening to tug itself loose, and it did just that. You spilt your orgasm all over Rafe’s gun, making him chuckle. He let you ride out your orgasm before he eventually pulled it out, it was wet, your orgasm was evident, with white splotches in every little spot. Your eyes met with his as he licked a long stripe up the gun, making sure to taste your arousal that was left all over his gun.

His free hand trailed down to his shorts, pulling them and his boxers down with ease. He started stroking his dick for a little before he brushed a finger over his tip, making him let out a tiny groan. Rafe let go of his dick and grabbed your leg, bringing it up to his shoulder. The gun was put on your stomach, and with the free hand he now had, he took his cock and slipped it into your stretched out entrance.

Containing himself was hard enough right now, and he didn’t wanna hold back at all, so he didn’t. He reeled himself back and thrusted into you while grabbing the gun, he wanted fear to enter you as he did this, you didn’t want to look at the gun, but you just had to. The gun made you feel vulnerable, scared, and you didn’t know if you liked that, but even if you didn’t, Rafe would make you like it. Moans escaped your mouth as he thrusted in and out of you in the harshest manner possible.

He smirked, “Your pussy is sucking me in, and you’re soaking wet, y’like this?” he laughed at the way you couldn’t even speak, his tip was kissing your g-spot every time he slid out and slammed himself back in. Your near orgasm was overpowering your speech, making you speak inaudible words, “You’re going dumb on my cock, huh? Taking every inch I give you.” you loved the way his dirty talk brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Your mouth opened as he towered over you, he tossed the gun to the side as he kissed your collarbone and held your left leg up to his shoulder. You loved the skin how his hand rubbed your thigh, and how his other hand traced your waist, the skin to skin contact made you form a smile on your face, quickly disappearing when he gave you one more thrust, causing you to go undone. “Fuck, fuck, just like that Rafe.” You moaned, letting your cum paint his dick white, Rafe’s lips pressed against your neck, sucking your skin to create a hickey. The mix of pleasure and pain got to you, “Rafe, s’too much, stop!” you whined.

The thrusts inside you only got rougher, and more sloppier. He took his mouth off you, “Fuckin’ take it then, be a good whore, okay?” he snarled. He let out tiny groans against your skin as his fingernails dug into your waist and thigh, the sound of skin colliding together was filling the room. Your natural instinct was to close your legs since he wouldn’t stop, but he didn’t let that happen, he detached his grasp from your waist, and moved it your right leg to pull it apart from the left one, his rings on a new area of your skin made you shiver.

It was too much for you to take, but the overstimulating sense got the best of you, and you were soon about to cum on his cock for the second time. He finally slowed his movements and let his white ropes of cum fill your cunt up, painting your dripping walls white. A long, low pitched groan escaped his mouth as he pulled out of your pulsating walls, a little gasp coming from you as you had a ruined orgasm. Rafe was panting as he looked down at you, cum dripping out of your ruined hole.

Aftercare was barely a thing for him, so he didn’t care how he left you like, even if it was in his own room. You can take care of yourself, is what he always said, and he never cares how you feel about it, the whole relationship revolves around him, and no one can change that, so you learned not to care. “You know, if I wasn’t here, who would be putting you in your place? Huh?” He questioned, and you were too bothered to do anything, so you turned to your side, revealing your ass and leaking pussy to him.

Your ass was gifted a slap, making you jolt upwards in surprise, your arms acting as pillars of support. “Rafe, I don’t know, okay?” You shouted, grabbing your thong, skirt, bra and shirt that were thrown to the side of you. He grabbed your jaw in response, “Do you need another fucking reminder of who you belong to?” he squished your jaw, you shook your head no, and he pushed your head back before letting go. You both started to get dressed, him being fully clothed before you.

The gun was just staring at you, but you assumed he forgot about it, and you didn’t wanna find out either. So you didn’t wanna stick around to see for yourself, after you finished getting dressed you headed towards the door, putting your head against it and your right arm rested below, while your free arm opened the door. It never got unnoticed by Rafe, he walked up to you from behind and grabbed the back of your neck, shoving you away as he let go. “You just.. don’t fucking learn do you?” He said, putting two fingers to his head before putting them back to his side. You turned around to meet his eyes.

His hand wrapped perfectly around your throat, and both your hands met his ringed hand. He was squeezing rather tightly, “Rafe—Rafe, stop!” you managed to choke out, he could careless about how you’re feeling right now, or matter of fact; any time, and it shows. “You clearly need to learn still, don’t you?” Rafe tilted his head barely as his face was inches away from yours. You could feel yourself begin to give out, black edges threatening to overpower your vision. Somehow, he found a way to squeeze even tighter, as if he wasn’t squeezing his hardest. Finally, your eyes became droopy, eventually coming to a complete close, your bodyweight sinking in his hand.

Rafe didn’t care, so he threw you on the bed. He was gonna take his time with you, he wouldn’t care if it hurt, whether you were asleep or woke up in the middle of it. He would make sure you felt everything he was gonna do.

[zeroducks-2]

Honestly I love the fanon families in DC but I very much acknowledge that the vast majority of it is not canon consistent. I almost feel like they’re two different universes in the way that Earth Two is different from Earth one. To me the media that supports the family feel good stuff like Wayne family Adventures is an entirely different continuity like Else world stories. They’re the same characters just written and played with in a much different way.

Wayne Family Adventure is indeed an elseworld, like the Lego DC movies or the Arkham videogames or the White Knight saga.

"canon" when it comes to DC is not a single entity because DC means many many things. Jason having been tortured by Joker and then allying with Scarecrow is canon for the Arkhamverse, but surely it isn't for the comicverse. Eobard pretending to be a scientist named Harrison Wells is canon for the CW Flash TV show, but not for the comicverse. Selina Kyle being Carmine Falcone's daughter is canon for the Batman 2022 movie, but not for the comicverse. And same goes for whatever happens in Wayne Family Adventures - the stuff in there is canon for its own context, not for the main comics canon continuity.

Now when it comes to "fanon" that's a different thing. I've seen people act like DC fanon is some sort of monolith with specific rules but it very much is not, fanon means various takes that are so widespread that people start to act as if they were canon, even if they don't come from the source material and they were born directly from the fandom. An example is Tim Drake being a coffee addict or Stephanie Brown loving pancakes. This is stuff which is either very loosely based off of canon or with no bearings with canon whatsoever, but a good chunk of the fandom acts like they were canon facts. Some folks are aware that they're not, some aren't, most don't care.

Now, the concept of Bruce Wayne being a Tired Sitcom Dad™ with all his sidekicks living in Wayne Manor like some sort of big family is a fanon concept. A few years ago people started acting like this was canon, and new people coming in would see it and also assume it was canon (Wayne Family Adventure both comes from fanon concepts and served to fuel them, because at some point people started using WFA panels as "proof" that all that actually happened). There has been and still is a pushback of people saying no, this is non-canon, stop acting like this stuff happened in the main comics continuity, but they pretty much get drowned by the mass of people who instead scream that "good dad Bruce is the only real Bruce" and that every instance of abuse or toxic behavior you show them is out of character and should be disregarded. (It is worth noting that many of these folks have actually never read DC comics, and if you suggest they do they will call you ableist and a gatekeeper when you're lucky - when you're unlucky they'll tell you to go kill yourself)

I want to add as a footnote that there are many cases (probably most cases actually) in which fanon stuff is awesome, and makes fandom experiences more enjoyable. The whole multiverse dynamic of the Undertale fandom is a fanonical masterpiece just to name one. There is a specific issue with fanon in the DC fandom in particular, but it's absolutely not the case for all fandoms - the existence of fanon dynamics is not a bad thing per se and it's a natural consequence of big fandoms existing and evolving over time. The problem with the DC fandom is that the fanon material doesn't work WITH and ALONGSIDE the canonical elements of the story. It is rather in extreme direct contradiction with the established source material, and people flat out refuse to accept that their "sunshine and rainbows" version of things isn't the real deal.

It's worth mentioning that when it comes to the Flash family we have a bit of a different situation. The abuse there is more subtle, it's less "Bruce punched Dick in the face" and more "these people are treating Barry's depression like an inconvenience". It's less "Bruce slit Jason's throat to save the life of Jason's murderer" and more "the moment Barry isn't the perfect picture of strength and happiness his family will act like he's doing it on purpose to spite them". It's way easier to dismiss because lots of people are unable to even pick up on it, and especially when it comes to Wally and Iris, 90% of the fandom does not allow them to be complex characters with dark impulses who are very capable of hurting the people they love and who love them. Wally because he's supposed to be a shining perfect hero, and Iris... well, Iris is a woman. Unfortunately most people refuse to even begin taking into consideration the idea that a woman can be a gray character, therefore women in fandom spaces are treated like either irredeemably unlikable bitches, or perfect angels who could never do anything wrong. Iris falls into the second category for nearly every single person in the Flash Fandom I've seen so far.

But anyway, I ranted enough. As I mentioned in the comments of my previous ask, I too have written fluffy "batfamily" dynamics or made Wally act sweet and protective towards Barry, but I am able to make a difference between what I like, what I'm using for my fanfiction and what actually is canon.

[scrollypoly]

.

Nothing is more fucking appalling and nauseating than finding out that the people that were spreading shit about me being "abusive and toxic" to someone that was literally toxic and unhealthy to me were fucking minors. When that person was also older than me. What the fuck was going on there

[vamp1reheart]

•°Shadow of light°• 02

Notices: This book contains violence, explicit sexual content, verbal and non-verbal abuse, war scenarios, Conflicts, depression and suicide, toxic relationships, obsessive themes, and others... This book is a Taehyung x female reader fanfic, However, I do not own BTS and I have no intention of offending anyone with this story!

Note: Initially this book was not supposed to become a fanfic, it is an original book of mine that is still being created. Turning this book into a Taehyung fanfic was a request from a friend of mine, so I hope you like it. I might be able to post the original version of the book, but it will all depend on how people react to this fanfic (the book is a bit different from the fanfic, don't worry ;)

Preview:"She was known as the sun, always with her bright smile and her admirable kindness."

"He was known as the moon, cold, dark and in his coat were the most precious stones."

"But the moon does not shine without the light of the Sun, and that is something he did not count on."

Have you ever dreamed that you were falling into a deep, dark hole?

That was the feeling I felt when I woke up.

I was in my room. The window was open and the sunlight lit up my room, like a cozy setting.

But then I remember what happened last night.

Was that a dream?

I'm not sure, but it seems like the man is just a distant memory.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by Aunt Miranda calling my name.

For the first time, I woke up after her. I think it's better not to tell Aunt Miranda about the dream I had, since she's paranoid she'll have me blessed.

Walking down the stairs in a fragile manner I see Aunt Miranda in the living room.

"Good morning aunt"

"Good morning dear, come with me to the city fair. I need some things..."

Leaving the house after that dream seems like a terrible idea, I don't know why I think that, but something tells me it's better not to go out.

Ignoring my thoughts, I decide to please Aunt Miranda and go to the fair with her. It's been a long time since Aunt Miranda and I spent time together, so I have to stop being selfish and please her at least a little. I curse myself for even considering the possibility of locking myself in my own house in order to hide from the dream I had.

I wish I could say that the fair is peaceful. But it isn't.

I feel watched.

Could it be because the fair was full of people? But it's not, the path to the fair was quiet, but the feeling that someone is watching me is constant.

I hate this feeling, maybe my subconscious was right...maybe I should have listened to my selfishness and stayed home.

Maybe I...

My thoughts are suddenly cut off when I see him in my peripheral vision. That's him, right there, in an alley, hidden in the shadows.

Without even realizing it, I stop walking, the pressure in my chest returning again, I can only look at him.

He was still frighteningly handsome. He gives me a smile, that same smile he gave me in my dream, and with his finger he calls me. He doesn't need to use words for me to come to him.

But what am I doing? I feel like I have no control over myself at the moment.

When I realized I was already very close to him, This makes me fear, my whole body trembles, with fear?

He grabs my hands in an attempt to stop them from shaking, and again comes close to my face to whisper in my ear.

"You look even more beautiful in the sunlight..."

He spins my body, making my back hit his chest. He brushes my hair aside and I hear a small chain noise.

Looking down I see a beautiful necklace, it was simple but certainly extremely valuable. It was golden like gold, and at its tip was a stone, Half bluish white that reflected the sunlight.

"Only the best jewels for my best jewel."

He says, caressing my arms gently, before his touch becomes like a ghost on my skin.

Turning around again, I realize he's already gone.

It certainly couldn't be a dream now.

In my room, I can't stop thinking about who he could be.

The jewel he gave me is definitely a diamond.

I may not know much about stones, but I know it's a diamond and its chains are gold.

This is not cheap at all, jewelry like this doesn't exist on this side of the wall.

He was rich, very rich. But how did he end up here on this side of the wall?

How did he find out about me?

Your appearance is raising more questions than answers for me.

The rich and the poor are not allowed to cross each other's side. This is one of the main rules that the former King Kim put in place.

But why is he here? If he's here, he must have a passage.

Looking at the photo of my aunt Miranda with a child me.

If he is a thief and got all this money, it means I can get money to give Aunt Miranda a better life. She always did everything to make me happy, even when she didn't have it. I need to give back, I need to show myself useful.

So if that scary man can help me make money, I'm willing.

When the sun is taken by the moon, my decision was already made.

Opening my window I don't think twice before jumping out, and heading towards the lake where I know I could find him.

I know he's dangerous, my subconscious says so. But I need to help Aunt Miranda.

Again I see the shine of the water reflecting the moonlight. Truly magnificent, but I have no time to waste.

Before I can fill my lungs with air and scream for the strange man, a voice is heard behind me.

"Don't you dare scream. Didn't I tell you that it might attract predators?"

I quickly turn towards him.

"You!" I say, pointing at him accusingly, realizing at the same moment that I hadn't planned what to say to him.

"Looks like someone needs me, were you looking for me dear?"

He says, approaching and circling me as if he were a shark about to devour his prey.

It's intimidating, and his gaze makes me shrink.

"Yes..."

His chest seems to swell with pride, or some similar feeling.

"You have no idea how good that makes me feel. Now tell me darling, what do you need me to do for you?"

He says with a strange smile, taking my hand and bringing it to his face like a loving hug.

"I need you to answer me, are you a thief from the other side?"

I ask him and his face looks shocked. But soon his expression turns into a mocking smile.

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes, that's what I think."

"And if I go, what will you do?" He says bringing our faces closer.

"I want you to teach me."

His face turns to shock again, and he lets out a loud laugh.

"My dear, I may or may not be a thief on the other side. But if you want to go to the other side, there is an easier way to do it."

How did he know? Anyway, it doesn't matter, he has the solution to my problems and that's what's important.

"As?" I ask distressedly, but I had already made up my mind.

"You can go to the other side, if you are mine..."

Continued :)

(Not reviewed! Sorry for any mistakes!)

[bonefall]

but what makes characters like fallenleaf and bb!brokenstar redeemable?

Choice. They were stripped of their power, put through extreme circumstances, and then made the choice to leave their violent histories behind them.

And you will note that it's VERY rare that I show these types of characters being redeemed. There's two 'redemptions' in a very long history of tyrants. Tigerstar, Dalestar, Skystar, Ashfur, Darktail, One Eye, Leopardstar, Mudclaw, Thistlestar technically if he had become leader. 2 out of 10 is a very small ratio.

(and fallenleaf isn't really 'redeemed' in my mind, so much as she simply stopped being a tyrant. There is no way for her to ever make up for what she did and that is a part of her character.)

And of them, Skystar is the worst individual. By far. He has no reason to want to change, nor would he ever. He loves power too much. He would look for it anywhere he went, because he hates listening to anyone tell him what to do. Having this is important to him than anything.

BB!Brokenstar is so different he's not a great comparison to Skystar, imo. He's a protector spirit, the embodiment of SkyClan's fallen 5th oak tree, and basically the logical conclusion of the "might makes right" mindset that defines Clan Culture in his era. So his redemption in finding his place as SkyClan's guardian is basically about "righting a cosmic wrong," and putting the magic to rest in its rightful place.

Brokey's a mortal when he takes the shape of one, but the story I'm trying to tell with him is that fury, righteous love, and protectiveness have their place. He comes to understand that as he watches SkyClan form, and realize that no matter how different they are from the toxic culture he was born into and molded by, he loves them, and he needs them to become what they want to be.

THIS is what that fury is for. To kill the rats and defend the besieged Clan, so they can live freely while he slumbers.

Fallenleaf's a better comparison. Both she and Skystar wanted to forcefully remake society in their own images, and would brutalize anyone who didn't live up to their strict standards.

(contrast to BB!Brokenstar who strategically took out only two cats. Raggedstar and Marigoldkit. He actually limited violence against his own Clan.)

But Fallenleaf and Skystar are very different people. Fallenleaf did what she did out of strict, obsessive dedication to the Code. She was fueled by what she'd been taught by Bramblestar, allowing Ashfur to physically abuse Lionpaw "for his own good." That you have to hurt what you love to protect it.

Still; I very much made it intentional that her punishment is SO harsh. The Lake cats HATED her. She ruined everything and she knows it. Sol gets bored of her, steals her body, and leaves her stranded 100 years in the past. She's forced to stay in those tunnels and cling to the mortal plane, just thinking about her family to keep her tethered, as civilizations rise and fall outside.

Now back in her home, she's almost unrecognizable. She's traveled so far and lost so much, and been forced to sit with her shame for a very long time. Not even StarClan is old enough to remember her crimes; and it's she alone who carries that burden. It's a weight she chooses to carry, to remind her of the worst version of herself. Something she could become again, if she isn't careful.

BB!Skystar's a venerated founder.

Nearly everything he did in life was to serve his own ends, his own ego, and he's lauded for that. His followers ate up his excuses like slop. He built the battle culture the Clans would come to know, by making a move to crush anything that mildly offended him

Of course he's not going to regret shit. Power gets him everything he wants. He's got a circling entourage of sycophants to tell him how smart and strong he is all the time, droves of warriors who pray to him for strength in battle, all of his enemies in life are now forced to treat him like a god-among-gods in heaven. And this is exactly the way he likes it.

Man got away with it, over and over. He collects his reward every starry night.

Any time where he WOULD be threatened with having his power taken away, he would simply gaslight/gatekeep/girlboss his way back to the top. What? You gonna stop him? He will kill you and then frame your murder like a grand triumph over the Great Unfairness of the world. He has the most prey in the forest. He has the strongest cats in the land. What are you, to him, besides an angry squirrel chattering atop the branch?

Why would he ever choose to be different? He wouldn't. Power gets him what he wants, and he loves getting what he wants.

[33446699]

Toxic relationships : How to end this cycle ?

Toxic relationships are in which your wellbeing ,safety and happiness is consistently undermined .These points are how to leave toxic relationships in general whether they are romantic ,platonic , coworkers, friends,family etc

Start loving yourself,in toxic relationships sense of self worth is destroyed and self love is at the lowest point ,stop blaming yourself,the most important step you can do is to gradually and slowly consciously tell yourself that it's not you who is the problem but the other person ,its a slow growth process which will eventually help you to realise how important you are

Stop believing that you can change the other person if someone is not making you priority it means they don't want to do it ,stop thinking that if they are hurting you continually they will change someday

Try to be financially independent or try to save money if possible, it seems difficult but it's very very important,most of the times people who are stuck in these relationships can't get out due to the financial dependence

Don't provoke the person you are dealing with in arguments and fights ,cause it will only be dangerous to you ,as it may start physical abuse or intense emotional abuse anyone who is toxic isn't affected by these things Infact they live on and enjoy these kind of arguments,fights

If you can't afford to live separately or faraway from these kind of people, minimize or atleast reduce the contact and interactions you can have with them

People who go back and forth in toxic or abusive relationships are mostly because of the disregulation of emotions and nervous system,for this maybe leaving suddenly that person won't be effective as you may find yourself going back to the same person again ( likely if you have done this previously) in this case slowly start detaching with the person

Slowly start regulating your nervous system and your emotions ,your brain got conditioned to the highs and lows of this relationship and as soon as your brain won't get it ,it will start craving it ,trauma bonding makes it very difficult to leave these relationships

Don't believe in words of affirmation if their words don't match their actions ,and they tell you they care about you but constantly do things which hurt you ,it's nothing other than manipulation

Create and be assertive of your boundaries,it will not only reduce the interactions but also will help you see their true nature

Don't invest in a business together,if possible separate your assets or bank accounts

Don't lose contact with your friends,relatives parents etc any person who is good or neutral to you ,so that you won't be left alone in dark when they decide to leave you

Try to involve yourself in hobbies or anything which helps you to reduce your anxiety etc and help you to shift your focus ,and make your brain condition to the new hobby that makes you feel peaceful and happy

Try to eat healthy if possible because the most important person in the end is you ,and the chances of getting sick are likely in these cases because body is constantly in a survival mode

Try to reach out to a professional if possible in case of depression and have suicidal thoughts ,if it's not possible for you to reach out to a professional due to any reason ,there are professionals on different social media platforms platforms who can help in this case

Don't take insults or abusive comments personally because they mostly say things what they think of themselves and what they do themselves

Start collecting evidence and have documentation of things ,in case you may need something in legal cases or you need to show therapist

Don't lose yourself and don't forget yourself,recall who you were and and how the relationship affected you negatively,instead of focusing on the rare happy moments try to remember what they did to you so that you don't lose yourself again

Stop blaming yourself for the things what happened to you or for allowing others to use you,for being nice ,sometimes we need to learn life lessons ,forgive yourself and start loving yourself

Ask yourself questions and analyse your behaviour that what is this person bringing to your life ,and if they are not making you happy adding some value to your life ,why you still want to be with this person,is it some kind of attachment issue you need to address and if yes then work on it

If you believe in the idea of twin flames and soulmates and that is the reason why you are staying in these toxic relationships, realise that your soulmate won't make you feel crap about yourself and if the relationship isn't giving you peace and happiness,maybe it's time to get out of it ,we don't find peace in places where we aren't meant to be

If you have a plan to leave ,don't tell the person who you are in toxic relationship with , as they may try to stop you from leaving ,or start gaslighting, manipulative techniques

After ending your relationship don't go to next relationship immediately,give yourself some time to heal and try to love yourself

Rebuild your life and remember if you don't believe in forgiveness the best revenge is your own happiness and success,so set your life goals and decisions accordingly

If possible go no contact,block or whatever suits you ,tell yourself that you don't need closure,you don't need a last conversation with them to know what went wrong ,don't need apologies and don't stay hopeful that that toxic people will change because they mostly don't

In the end I hope we find people who are good to us and good for us and be able to feel how beautiful life and love , relationships can be ,as much as being in a healthy relationship is important,getting out of toxic relationships is also very important ,don't allow anyone to walk all over you again and again ,you are a human being not a doormat

* I am not an expert and maybe not the best person to give advice in these conditions but if anyone who is going through these conditions and want to get out of these relationships find these tips helpful I will be glad , these points are based on my knowledge and experience while observing these kind of relationships in my surroundings

* This is just an attempt to help anyone suffering in these conditions,in any serious case please contact professionals , authorities which can help you or reach out to people who are close to you if you need help .

*if you don't find it helpful or find I am wrong , you can correct me and don't need to agree with me ,but while doing so please be kind

[002yb]

Dick and Jason have a STRONG brother-complex when it comes to each other. Canonically speaking, both "pairs" of brothers are about seven years apart. Dick is around seven years older than Jason, Tim is about seven years older than Damian. But. All things considered Tim and Damian have a pretty healthy (as healthy as it can get with protective Bats and uh, the whole "I tried to kill you" thing) brother relationship. In fact, Bruce, Cassie, anyone who knows them well enough, including themselves, consider their relationship the ideal type of relationship two Bat-bros can have.

Dick and Jason? They have never been normal about each other. Not once in their lives. The way they fight with each other is as though they cannot STAND the idea of the other being alive but they also can't stand the idea of anyone else fighting the other the way they fight each other. These two could say the absolute most heinous shit to each other, stuff other people would be TERRIFIED to ever even bring up to one of them. And afterwards? They act like that shit never happened. They could've just beat each other the fuck up and they'll just shrug it off and go get some lunch or something. No fucks given for what anyone else has to say.

Except, everyone else around them DOES have shit to say. And its along the lines of "You two are stupidly toxic to one another, stop interacting for a while and get your shit together". Its an intervention. But no. Anyone says this to either of them they are immediately defensive to the max. Like who tf are you to tell me what I should and shouldn't be doing with MY brother???

Let's make this wholesomely toxic. Where Dick and Jason's relationship appears volatile and abusive to outsiders, but for them it's nothing so cruel despite all the cruelties that get woven into all their interactions.

For them, their relationship is safe. Healthy? No, but that's not the point. Dick and Jason are controlled dangers to one another; a reprieve from bluster and bravado and professionalism, from too-close calls and the frustrations of not making a damn difference despite the effort made. Others might not understand, but they don't need to. Dick and Jason provide stability; they're a safety net, a lighthouse, a punching bag. Whatever is needed.

The both of them respond well to violence: both with taking it and doling it out, though if Jason is honest - one of them might like taking it a bit more; one of them might like throwing down a bit more, too.

That besides, Jason provokes fights when he needs to. Both for himself but also for Dick because Dick has appearances to keep up; the burden of expectations, golden boy that he is. He makes up for it by making himself available when Jason needs him though. It's a fair trade off.

Jason notices that Dick is teetering on that tightrope he walks, overburdened and overlooked - not so much buckling beneath the strain of the world's problems thrust upon him as he is flighty because with their line of work? It's easy to get discouraged and frustrated and angry because of disappointment and perceived failure because nothing changes.

And Jason? He's always been sensitive to the small tells - a defensive mechanism from childhood that never left him. So he notices that Dick isn't himself. He also notices that no one is helping him.

While that's not necessarily anyone's fault because Dick is notoriously (to Jason) controlled, it's sad. Dick is a showman at heart and he knows how to fool the people he wants to fool, but there should be someone else that notices besides Jason.

But there isn't, so Jason steps up.

Picking a fight just so that Dick can get angry and let go of some of that rage he clings to so tightly. Giving Dick something to be violent with and someone to direct all that wrath towards. And it's fine because Jason can take it. Jason takes it greedily, almost.

Because it's a sight to see Dick lose control and get angry and violent. It's something Jason taunts Dick about to rile him further, making jabs at how Dick is a golden boy tarnished ('better tarnished than buried,' Dick retorts and Jason barks out a laugh at the biting savagery in the quip, snarling with a busted lip and bloody teeth. Jason learns that he likes when Dick gets mean - he thinks he might have always, to be honest).

Jason can take a beating. He can take as much as Dick wants to give and then some. And Jason knows it's twisted, but it gets his heart racing: the fight, the thrill, the challenge and struggle, a back and forth that ends with bruised jaws and bared teeth and heaving chests regardless of who started what or who needed it.

It's just them with lifted chins and mean smiles at scathing words of accusation and degradation and it never fails that Jason feels electric afterwards, especially when he can see how he made Dick work for it - beating Jason's ass (and in a similar vein, with how Jason is the reason the tension in Dick's shoulders is less; how Jason is the reason behind how Dick looks warm and wild and wonderful after fighting tooth and nail).

[jamiesfootball]

After careful consideration and a lot of angry tags, I think I have pinpointed for me where Ted Lasso, especially season three, fails to succeed all the way at the themes it explores.

The narrative uses the deconstruction of toxic masculinity to paint their characters as being stronger for having let go of their preconceived notions of acceptable behavior - but the narrative also never lets their characters be weak or fragile without having toxic masculinity to blame. And there are a lot of situations in this show where you would expect someone to go ‘hey man, are you okay? Are you doing alright? because that was a shit thing that happened. it’s okay if you��re not okay.’

And it never does.

There’s an undercurrent in how scenes play out that suggests that the male characters should be strong enough to deal with hand they’ve been dealt. The narrative suggests that they’re the ones who need corrected. They can act better, but they can not be treated better themselves as a result. The male characters are allowed to express themselves, but they are not allowed to ask for anything back from the situation.

Which is why you can have a fight with your assistant coach, but when he comes back to apologize you don’t articulate how it made you feel. You don’t tell your friend how he hurt your feelings. You just accept it and move on.

The Diamond Dogs give advice on how to handle external problems with  emotional roots. They never discuss how they feel internally on its own merit.

The closest we got to a male character just having a bad one and expressing it without a clear source of external conflict? Jamie in the boot room. And that was played for laughs.

Which is why you could be in a deep depression over losing your career of twenty years and part of your mobility, I guess. But also maybe that’s a problem of you not being able to let go, and maybe you should apologize for not moving on sooner? We should pity Roy for getting so stuck in his own shit all the time. Not because the man has lived an incredibly stressful and emotionally isolated life in a high pressure environment for so long he doesn’t have the tools to deal with it, but because the narrative would like us to know if he just stopped getting in his own way all the time, this wouldn’t be a problem.

Is your ex-wife seeing someone else, who happens to also be the person who was your marriage counselor? I don’t know man, relationships are hard. Don’t worry about how hard that must have shaken your trust in a profession that already made you feel skittish. Maybe you should stop obsessing over her and move on.

Your girlfriend can tell all your friends and coworkers how you’re too smothering. Yes, this is the ‘learn how to communicate better’ show, but that was on you, really. Good on you for apologizing for smothering her.

The women may have worrying relationships with people who love bomb them or turn out to be controlling, but Jane and Beard are just a bit weird. Don’t worry about it, Higgins.

You can take accountability for your actions, but if it was your email who was hacked - who cares? You apologized, and everyone is very proud of you. We won’t ever bring up how incredibly mortifying that must have been for you to realize, because something more mortifying happened to someone else.

You can show your emotions, but not the angry ones, not the bad ones - those you should get a hold on, no matter how warranted they are. The stronger you are, the more divorced from toxic masculinity you are, the less those things should matter.

Struggling with your abusive dad and how his relationship with you has literally scared you so badly that you keep looking over your shoulder, afraid he’ll be there? That is clearly the anger talking. This is definitely not a situation that calls for your pseudo-father figure to put his hand on your shoulder, look you in the eye, and say, “i’m really sorry to hear that, son, but you know we got your back. Ain’t nothing bad gonna happen to you while we’re here.” 

No no, this is a you problem and you can correct it by forgiving that man who hurt you. In fact, you thank him for motivating you. It was the anger that got you this far. It wasn’t getting up at 4am every morning for extra training. It wasn’t your mentor, the one invested all his time in helping you. It wasn’t the coach who gave you a second chance when you blew your whole life up to get away from that man. It wasn’t your own drive and passion and love for the sport that pushed you towards succeeding in a career you only had a one-in-a-million chance of ever getting. No, it was the anger that carried you. You should let that go. And hey - what if hypothetically speaking, he might try to be better too one day? You can’t hold it against him. You should let that go too.

Breakdowns and displays of crying are fine, but expecting people to care or show concern afterwards? The narrative doesn’t know her. The narrative will not validate that. We don’t see what happened after Wembley. We don’t see what happened when Isaac came back to the locker room after blowing up. What the show will validate, however, is moving on. Just be a goldfish, or forgive and forget. 

And finally-

Embrace your feelings, but not too hard - you can’t be trusted with them, actually.

Can you imagine that we actually got a scene of Roy telling Jamie that he was worried if either of them pursued Keeley it might ruin their friendship? Can you imagine? From the beginning they have butted heads. From the beginning, Roy has struggled to actually articulate his feelings, especially to the people they involve. And here is Roy doing exactly what the narrative has been teaching him to do - he voiced a feeling that was bothering him to the person who was involved in the problem. Unprompted. He did that on his own. After three seasons of being told that is what he should do when he has a problem, that should have been the moment of narrative reward. That would have been the audience’s release of tension: they’re still at odds, they’re still the same bull-headed people they’ve always been, but they’ve learned to talk about it. No matter what happens next, at least, they’ve gotten this far.

Instead the narrative rewarded him, and us, by having them fight it out in a back alley. Because they’re idiots, and they can’t be trusted to handle their feelings without someone else in the narrative (Keeley) setting them straight.

Yes, people backslide in real life all the time. But when the narrative backslides at the very end of the story - that’s just nihilism. That’s what this felt like - all that progress and promise that you can be better, and two of the people who struggled the most tripped at the finish line. The audience don’t even get to see them pick back up. I mean they’re fine now, I guess. They went for kebabs. I have to assume it worked out. I guess after that they found a way to be happy, but I would have preferred to see them find a way to be happy by way of their own actions. Not in a fanfic. Not by way of imagining how it went afterwards. Not by what’s implied in a montage. By the story actually showing me they could get there on their own.

And the worst part about all of this is that when the show gets it right? It fucking sings. The team coming together to repair Ola’s? That sings. Ted’s ‘ain’t nobody in this room alone’ speech? Wonderful. Trent telling Colin that ‘some people need time to adjust; it’s not fair, but they do’? So delicately wielded, so painful. Beard’s speech to Nate about stealing a loaf of meth? Chef’s kiss. Ted forgiving Rebecca when he learns why she brought him to coach Richmond? The tears in his eyes when he tells her ‘divorce is hard’?

The hug at Wembley.

That’s what I wanted, from start to finale. When the show knew how to wield its empathy, it wielded it like a knife, cutting into the deepest parts of your heart.

Which is why when it does mess up, it hurts so much worse. Because by season three, the show has sunk so far into the deconstruction of things that it’s forgotten that what it fixed were not the only problems those characters ever faced. The show zoomed in too close on the themes. It forgot that at its roots, the its biggest strength has been its empathy. And that to me is where the show failed.

[fnaffancontentbutmostlyglamrocks]

This is primarily aimed at Security Breach fans in particular, not FNAF fans as a whole.

You all are so damn toxic sometimes.

Even worse is that people are just being mean to Monty fans right now

"Don’t get all angry because your favorite wasn't in the game," and I don't think they get that he’s the ONLY one not to be in the game.

I hate being a fan of Monty cause we had to deal with the Glamrock Bonnie fans harassing anything to do with Monty on Tiktok or Twitter. "MONTY KILLED BONNIE!"

FOR FUCK SAKES THIS SERIES HAS A LITERAL CHILD SERIAL KILLER WHO ABUSED HIS CHILDREN! WHY IS THE ANIMATRONIC ALLIGATOR WHO MIGHT. LET ME REPEAT THAT. MIGHT HAVE KILLED ANOTHER ANIMATRONIC MET WITH THE SAME ENERGY AS SAYING SOMEONE SIMPS FOR DAHMER?

Not only that, Monty fans have been playing each game hoping Steelwool will treat him better. Expand on his character a bit more. Instead his negative personality traits and "evilness" being played up more and more cause Steelwool and Scott saw some people hate him, and thought it wasn't enough.

In Ruin there's not one moment Cassie shows any concern for him. It's that Monty thing, it hurts to look at. Than they made him just the worst off of the trio, and fucking killed him.

Now even in a game he rightfully should appear in. He's the ONLY one cut.

Monty fans get the short end of the stick.

We are harrassed by fans

Our boy is treated worse and worse each game. Physically, mentally, and even in narrative.

Now, he’s just fucking gone with little fanfare.

Its like why are you obsessed?

Honestly, because Monty speaks to me. This is mostly head canon, but based on how he acts.

I used to have really bad anger issues in elemantary and middle school. Even worse, I had to deal with a mentally abusive teacher telling me I wouldn't amount to anything. I was bullied relentlessly because they knew that when I reacted with my outburst class would be delayed. I even lived in the same neighborhood as them so I couldn't escape. It got so bad I attempted suicide. What saved me was after so long of being harrased, after so long of people only judging me based on what they heard. Never defending me. Someone finaly went to the principal and told them to look at my bullies before I reacted. Suddenly, the bullying stopped. What's sad is, it's not like I didn't try. I went to the principal and guidance counselor every dat. In the end to them I was that punk kid who would snap at any moment. Not a person.

With Monty I see someone who was like me. With anger issues because he hates himself as much as he thinks everyone hates him. I wonder if in universe he's constantly reminded he's not Bonnie. He sees fans clamoring to see Freddy while ignoring him. People always bring up the Missing message and his Arcade game to judge him. Then seemingly forget about the message that states he will skip shows to be over Monty Golf. You know the same shows he apparently killed Bonnie to appear in. What I see is someone who needs to work on his anger issues and get better, but isn't evil. They're dealing with the fact that one day their anger got the better of them, and they did something they couldn't take back. Something that I think many people with mental health problems can relate too.

My anger issues didn't just get me bullied. I was an embarrassment to my parents. I hurt people I loved. I was violent. I didn't hurt anyone, but I threw books and flipped tables. I was in this loop of feeling like everyone hated me because of my anger issues, and that only made things worse and worse. Even now I have a hard time loving myself.

That's why Monty means so much to me. I saw someone who was like me. I saw someone with anger issues but was more than that if people gave them the chance.

All I wanted was to see Monty one last time before he was retired when the new band is announced.

I couldn't even get that.

Before you make fun of me, this is what a comfort character is. I'm sure there are fans who relate to Roxy’s insecurities. Who have an eating disorder and feel for Chica. Who felt lonely and wanted attention like Sun. Who lost a loved one like Freddy.

I just wanted people to understand why this is just more than "my favorite didn't make it" for some people

I really hope Steelwool sees how much people really love Monty and not only put him in HW2 fully. They also treat him better

[adallinda]

A small talk about the creepypasta Sally williams and the fandom itself.

( TW: OPINION?!?!?! )

As we all know the creepypasta fandom was never perfect, it had its ups and downs. Thus I wanna talk about a character that we all love. Sally.

Sally was created in 2012 and she is a young girl at the age of 12. She firstly was 8 but her creator changed her age to 12 to reasons that I don't want to discuss since they're messed up. Her backstory is truly heartbreaking. She is represented to be a lively, happy and caring young child. She has a teddy bear that's she loves and loves sweets and the color pink.

Now that you know a little information about her, what I wanna talk about is the fandoms problem. The fandom has always been broken, there has always been questionable and wrong stuff in it about litterly anything, even about the characters themselves. And Sally is a victim to that.

From the first time I came into the fandom I saw weird stuff about Sally, questionable art, weird headcannons, wrong ships and the list goes on. She is a child, a minor, she's 12.

"She's a fictional character! " she's still a minor, her being fictional doesn't excuse your weird posts about her nor your weird ships.

Also the ships, she shouldn't be shippen with anyone.

"Sally x Ben" "Sally x toby" "Sally x Jeff" all of those are problematic and any ships with Sally is problematic. Be better and do better and actually make this fandom be an enjoyable place because it can also influence new comers. If a new person joins the fandom and they see wrong stuff they're gonna think it's normal when it's not.

Some people need to realise that "Sally x Ben" is extremely problematic since there is an age difference and also any ship with her is. Also some people need to stop condoning and supporting people that do these stuff, it's sick and wrong.

This isn't a thing that happens to only Sally, it has happened to more characters sadly, it is one of the reasons people leave the Fandom.

The fandom has became a toxic place and there are a lot of new people coming in, mostly children, that want to be in a friendly fandom but all they get is a hit in the face with the cruelty of it. It is not the first time it has been toxic and won't be the last but can we at least try to make it a place we can enjoy? New fans are mostly children, like I said, if they see this kind of behavior and these kind of posts they're going to think it's normal and that'll be a bad influence on them. I know every fandom has its ups and downs and not everyone can be pleased but the fandom used to be so lively and so open minded.

I've seen people judging one another for "wrong headcannons" like... That's what a headcannons is, what YOU think the character does. According to the fandom:

Toby can't be happy ( or any happy emotion )

The creeps can't have a stable relationship

The creeps are abusive

You're not allowed to ship characters that aren't canonical partners

If you don't add Toby's stutter and tics ( in a fic or somewhere else ) apparently you're äbléist

^ BUT if you do somehow you're cringe

If you don't laugh at the fanon jokes you aren't a real fan

You aren't allowed to remind ppl that Sally is a killer too

I'm sorry but what. All of these things are ruining the fandom and that's why many people leave. We wonder why the place is so bad but no one is speaking up nor doing anything about it and the people that do get torn to shreds ( not actually ) by the "fans".

Like I wanted to start this small rant with Sally cuz sadly she is one of the most séggsualized characters in the fandom.

I also want to bring awareness to the MASSIVE BULLYING IN THIS PLACE. Like I said a thousand times already, literal children join the fandom and instead of being greeted warmly they get bullied. They are new, they aren't going to know everything from 2016 to now because frankly I wouldn't know either in a new fandom. Instead of bullying them why not help them? Tell them fun facts about their fav char or help them not spread misinformation.

[hot-take-tournament]

Yanderes aren't for everyone, so I've included a content warning.

HOT TAKE TOURNAMENT!

PRELIMINARY #223

Submission 720

yanderes are good, actually

i know for a fact this is hot because the inverse take was validated earlier. but i'm also gonna justify it just because.

the yandere trope is good and cool. people bash it for being a glorification of abuse or "toxic" or basically... bizarre and disturbing. but have you ever stopped to consider consensual yandere tropes? because the problem isn't ACTUALLY the "yandere" behavior, it's that in "classical" yandere media, it's portrayed as unwanted or frightening to the recipient. the problem is that it's portrayed as unconsenting. but that isn't a problem that's UNIQUE to the yandere genre.

whereas, if you were to consider a consensual yandere relationship...

what if the recipient WANTED someone to be a little obsessive, controlling, devoted to them? what if, in all their devotion, the yandere LISTENED to feedback and catered to their partner's wants and needs? what if "yandere" is simply a trope designed for the weird, the broken, the overinvested, the traumatized? what if to be loved possessively is not a sign of abuse, but a metric of security? what if a yandere is simply a person who is too broken to be well adjusted to the conventional levels at which society expects them to love? what if that love is so WARPED by their lived experience that it appears bizarre and shocking and frightening to the public, but warm and intense and unrelenting, unyielding and securely present, to its recipient? what if, such a person could exist, that would only feel at ease with such a devoted and intense form of love? what then? what if being a yandere were about jealousy and selfishness and possessiveness and control, but moreover, about devotion and care and dedication and conviction to never leave, to care deeply and passionately even when it doesn't seem acceptable, to love in a way that feels safe and ensured.

the yandere trope represents intense and broken lovers and i unironically love it. i WILL die on this hill.

Can I... tell you a secret? It's kind of embarassing, so... keep it between us, okay? I said this poll was for everyone, but really, it was only for you... so I hope you liked it!

Maybe this is a little too forward, but I'd love it if you posted propaganda! B-but you don't have to, if you don't want to! Just being seen by you, being able to be near you... that would be enough... for now, that's enough...

And it's okay for you to reblog our favourite polls for exposure... it feels weird sharing our special things, having everyone see my love for you... but it makes me happy! I want them to know - to know that you're mine... But if you don't reblog them, that makes me happy too! It's like I get to keep you all to myself...

[RESPONSES TO THE ORIGINAL TAKE BELOW]

[olderthannetfic]

I wasn't sure if I should share this experience because it feels a little mean but it genuinely gave me a laugh and I've been wondering how common it is in 2023.

A few months ago a group of people on Twitter began harassing me because I wasn't updating my fic enough. One of these girls had started by... I guess live tweeting her reactions to my fic? That had gotten her a lot of interaction and now that my updates were slowing down, so was her popularity within the fandom. Not that she'd ever admit that was why, but that was absolutely why.

Anyway, I rather pettily left an author's note on my next chapter about children and entitlement and... you get the point. Twitter did not take that well and that same day the call-out posts started cropping up. Shit like '[me] has ALWAYS been problematic' and screenshots of parts of my fic that are apparently gross and toxic and 'Please stay safe, everyone!'.

It's funny how only they realised my fic has 'abusive themes' (eye-roll - the main pairing just argues sometimes instead of immediately sitting down for a chapter-long therapy session) after I hurt their feelings.

So I get this hate for a good three weeks, mostly championed by this guy who's known for being in its edgy era and having absolutely zero self-awareness of that. It constantly asks others to send it names of people they're too scared to call out because it actively wants to bully people and champions sending death threats and suicide bait because 'Pedos deserve them' (Pedo in this sense means any adult that tells it to fuck off). Then, suddenly, edgy guy disappears and the hate fizzles out. I'm very much on a blacklist now, but most of these kids have gotten bored and have found someone else to obsess over.

This brings me to today. Turns out, edgy guy disappeared because its mother checked its phone, saw how it was behaving online and it's been grounded ever since. No phone, no laptop, the whole shebang.

I guess I'm telling this story to ask: how many people have had their harassment stopped in its tracks by some kid's snooping mom confiscating their phone? With the way children behave in fandom spaces these days, it's got to be somewhat common. I refuse to believe I'm alone in this, LOL.

--

[hyperfixating-rn-brb]

I think i realized part of why I love good omens so much. because not every love story happens when people are young. and not every love story is fully realized.

aziraphale and crowley are thousands of years old, and they found love. we don't know how long they were angels before the invention of time, or how long they existed before they met. and they found each other and they found love. they may have denied it for 6000 years, but they felt they had no choice. Heaven and hell would destroy them, and it simply wasn't safe. when the time comes for them to be almost fully comfortable in their relationship, they're torn apart again. but they found love and they will reunite and have their happy ending.

gabriel and beelzebub found love after millenia of leading their separate sides, sticking resolutely to the idea of the great plan. until they stopped. what if there was no armaggedon? what if you said you liked this song and now its the only thing that will play here? what if I loved you? gabriel and beelzebub cut ties with heaven and hell, and dissappear together. we don't know where they went and its likely we'll never know, but they're happy and together. it took them millenia, but they found love.

nina and maggie probably still aren't together, but I personally believe they will once nina is in a better headspace. they've both been in relationships before, nina is presently in the process of a breakup with the emotionally abusive lindsey. but they are able to enjoy each others company and maybe someday have a beautiful and healthy relationship. they're both adults who have been in relationships and broken up, and they're finding love.

as much as i love many of the storyline, sometimes it hurts to see so many stories where all these people my own age are getting in their first relationships and are suddenly together forever. they find love almost immediately and live happily ever after. we never see what happens after the first few chapters, and most of the time we don't know if they ever break up or if every character ends up living a happy life with their high school sweetheart. that storyline is so much of what these books and shows tell us, but not everything is like that. people break up and deal with toxic and abusive situations and sometimes just don't work out. most people don't end up with the first person they like. they might not even fall in love with that person. as a teenager myself, so many adults tell me that high school relationships will never last and jts easier to wait until adulthood. but if that's what they tell us, why constantly tell this narrative of perfect young love? sometimes watching this same story makes me feel like I'm falling behind when I see these characters my age being so happy and in relationships while I'm stuck alone and anxious.

good omens is a wonderfully diverse show, but one of my favorite parts is how essentially every romantic storyline takes place well into the characters lives, with lives and past relationships. people can grow and change and not be made to feel as if they have to live happily ever after with the first person they like. they take their time figuring things out. they live close but barely interacting until they are drawn together later in life. they work nearby and come together during a chaotic time and bond over the stressful situations. and they find love, no matter where they are in life, what they've been through. they find love because love isn't just something limited to teenagers.

[aimfor-theheart]

Chapter Two: Anything, Everything

Masterlist | <- Chapter One: Swallow | Chapter Three: Anew -> | Read on Ao3

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x f!reader

Summary: And the form leans down, closer, as their voice drops to a murmur, all honey and thorns, the promise of something far greater than you. A storm to come. The future that you will bear upon the slant of your shoulders. And when they speak, you know they’ve cursed you;

“I will teach you how to make a God.” 

(Arranged marriage, angst, hurt/comfort, dark content)

Warnings (specifically for this chapter): Parental abuse (emotional and physical), possessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, toxic dynamics, relationship abuse (the reader strikes Gojo in this chapter), mention of death, and manipulation. Please be wary of overarching story warnings, too. Let me know if you think I should add any other warnings! **Please mind warnings overall and for each chapter**

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: here is chapter two!! as always, thank you so much to @lorelune for beta-ing this and helping me out so much!! i would love to hear any and all reactions to this chapter!! now go bully me to get chapter 3 done so i can get it out on time lol

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

“You haven’t kissed yet?” Ieri asks, stretching her legs out on the blanket you’d laid out beside the creek. 

You shake your head, lying on your stomach with a book half-hazerdly lying open to your current page. There’s a bowl of berries between you two, the fading sun slowly slides away from where it’d warmed your back, now leaving a chill in its wake. The sky is bruised and tender. 

“Aren’t you going to be married–” she does the math in her head, “–in two years or something?” 

You turn onto your back, looking up at the tops of trees, a little vignette of your world. 

“Yes,” you sigh, “as soon as I turn eighteen.” 

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” Ieri then asks and she eases down so she’s on her side, elbow propped up, hand holding up her head. 

You can feel heat prickle your cheeks. You think about lying for a moment. But the pause must give you away because Ieri’s brows cock upwards in surprise. 

“Has he?” you dare to ask. 

“You haven’t asked him?” She questions, “I just figured you two were so close–” 

Anger is a sharp, mean little thing inside of you. You’ve never asked because you’re not sure you want to know the answer and you are always telling people not to ask if they don’t actually want to know. 

But now that you’ve acknowledged it, you know it will not let you rest unless you know, unless you force yourself to swallow around it. 

“Has he?” you demand now, stubbornly fixing your eyes on the sky, blue as his eyes, slipping away into night. 

“He’s an eighteen-year-old boy.” Ieri responds with a shrug. “He’s not as bad as Suguru but,” she reaches for a berry, pops it into her mouth and you watch as it blossoms purple red against her tongue and teeth. “He’s certainly not as chaste as you.” 

Jealousy curdles in your gut, the feeling of it sickly and sour. Inadequacy drops like a stone inside of you, too. Why wouldn’t he want to kiss you? Be with you? 

“Do you consider it–” Ieri chooses to rephrase, “are you two even dating? Or just–engaged?” 

The irony isn’t lost on either of you. It’s so backwards. You’ve never really talked about it before, always just assumed (known) that Satoru was yours. And you were his. In your mind, that’s all there has been, all there will ever be. 

“I don’t know.” You answer, but your voice has gotten thick, childishly, tears prick at your eyes. 

“Don’t cry over him yet,” Ieri tells you, “it’s not like he’s ever really seen anyone. I think you mean more to him than any little kiss would.” 

“I don’t care. I want to–” it comes out of you before you can stop it, “I want to kill him.” 

Ieri barks out a laugh, “I’m sure it won’t be the last time you feel that way about him; you have your whole lives.” 

When you don’t laugh with her, she nudges you, “I’m serious.” She says, “I know you mean the most to him. Suguru knows it. Everyone knows it. If someone wants to get under his skin, they bring you up.” 

“I still want to kill him. I want to–I want to trap him, so no one else can have him.” You say, but it has less heat, a little more subdued. Placated by what she’s said. 

“You should talk to him about it.” Ieri says, “if it bothers you so bad–if you don’t want to do the same.” 

“Do the same?” 

She leans over you, lazily smiling, “you know, kiss someone else–be with someone else, before him.” 

“I could never get away with it–” you answer, “it would have to be someone who my father allows me to see here.” 

Ieri’s smile turns more into a smirk, “I know Suguru would–” 

“I would sooner kill him, too,” you tell her and she laughs again, throwing her head back, “besides, that would really hurt Satoru.” 

“Would it? Might be his wet dre–” 

You lurch upwards, throwing yourself into tackling Ieri before she can finish the sentence. Your book lands in a heap beside you. Her laugh gets choked on as she struggles with you, as you roll around on the blanket beneath the growing stars. You bite her hard enough to leave a ring of teeth bruised into the skin of her bicep. She’ll show Satoru tomorrow. She takes you in a headlock, letting you squirm and kick and struggle against her. 

Eventually you both settle and she’s still got her arm thrown around the back of your neck, your shoulders. You are still half atop her, curled up at her side, head tucked into the crook of her neck. 

She reaches blindly for her pack of cigarettes. Slips one out with deft fingers. 

“Hand me my lighter.” She says and you know it’s in her right pocket, so your hand slips easily down into the folds of fabric against her hip, against her thigh. Your little fingers close around its smooth shape, fish it out, and hold it up to her. 

 “Light it for me,” she says, the cigarette dangling from her lips. 

You sit up a little, enough to bring the lighter up to the end, strike it, let it catch. Her free hand cups around yours, around the flame, and you can feel her slim fingers brush over your knuckles. She breathes deeply and you settle back into her side. You become aware of the dips of her body that you fold yourself into.

Smoke unfurls slowly from above you. 

You don’t know what possesses you–

(Maybe the knowledge that you already know this conversation, as if you are reading lines from a script and you suppose you could swallow them down if you wanted to, change the script now but–but you love this part with Ieri. You wouldn’t change it. You’ve come to find that there are just some moments that you would never, in a million years, change. You understand now why they happened. How. What you felt. How she felt against you. You don’t just see the outlines but feel it. So you don’t know what possesses you but you say–)

“I sometimes wish I was more normal. I don’t feel like a teenager at all. I don’t feel like myself at all.” Your voice is soft, hushed against the column of her throat. 

Her fingers slip into your hair, against your scalp, you can feel them tangle and soothe. 

“That’s the most teenager thing I think you’ve ever said to me.” Ieri responds and you pick your head up to see the curl of her lip, her heavy eyelids smeared with mascara. 

And she laughs at the look on your face, smokey and soft against you, laughs when her hands move and flex in your sides, tickling your ribs to send you squealing and laughing with her. 

To make you feel like a teenager again, to remind you why sometimes seeing the moment isn’t enough to know, but feeling it, being in it, is what gives you most understanding. 

***

The rain comes down cold and hard, slanting in its harshness, beating down on the earth and drenching it. Your garden bends and drips with it, all blue-dark leaves curling with the rain’s torrent. 

Satoru calls your name. 

You shiver in the branch of your favorite tree, watch him from above, see the halo of his head as he wanders further into your garden. 

You’ve been out here all day. Your mother must’ve called him. She’s taken to calling him when she’s worried about you. You don’t know this because he’s told you, rather, you know this because you know your mother’s path as it lays out before you. 

You will use it to change everything one day. You will use it to carve a new path into the future. 

But for now, you let him look. 

He’s taken his glasses off, face uncharacteristically bare and his Infinity is not up, so his hair sticks to his forehead, the nape of his neck. He drenches himself in the rain for you, comes to you with his hands empty and his walls down. He comes to you open, ripe for the taking. 

His eyes slide up towards you, until you can tell they’ve picked you out. 

And still, he smiles, “come down from there. Come down to me.”  

“No,” you answer, “I don’t want to see you.” 

“What have I done?” He asks and he seems genuinely surprised this time, “should I have bought you flowers? Jewelry? Have I been neglecting you?” 

“Yes,” you answer stubbornly. 

Satoru wipes the rain from his face, “come down from there so we can talk.” He says again, a little smile still playing on his lips. He’s amused by your temperament. 

You turn your nose up at him and then lift yourself up onto the next branch. It creeks and sways with your weight, with the wind. The rain is cool and a little prickly as it hits your skin. 

“Aw, don’t be like that–” he coos, “what’ll it take for you to come down?” 

“Depends,” you call down to him, “how many people have you kissed?” 

There’s a furious heat in your cheeks, you feel so juvenile, so petulant, and yet, it still takes the smirk off of his face for all of ten seconds. It’s replaced by surprise. His eyes widen, his pink lips part. 

“Did Suguru mention it to you?” He asks, “you two are always–” 

“Ieri.” 

Satoru goes quiet again. 

“They really don’t mean anything. I don’t–I didn’t think we were actually–” 

“Dating?” You sneer, “no, just engaged.” 

“We’ve been engaged our whole lives!” He protests, “you’re being purposefully stubborn, you know it isn’t like a genuine engagement–” 

“No, it’s only worse, we’re divinely bound to each other!” You snap at him. 

“Come down from there!” He snaps back “come down from there so I don’t have to shout up at you!” 

“No!” Your voice is a little more hurt than you’d like, a little more wobbly, and then you lie to him for a second time, “I don’t want you near me!” 

He goes quiet. 

“I won’t touch you.” He promises after a silent moment that the rain fills. 

You make a strangled noise, “no, I–I want you to touch me!” Warmth flares so bright and hot in your cheeks, over top your ears, your chest, “why will you–why will you kiss others, but not me?” 

He has the audacity to smile a little, “come down from there.” 

“Come up to me!” You bite, white-knuckling the bark of the tree, letting it dig and scrape into the tender parts of your palms. 

In an instant, he’s in the air, not very far for him at all, to hover in front of you. His hands, grown so large since he was a boy, grip the branches near your face to steady himself. His lips quirk at the corners when he reaches you and you pull away from him ever so slightly, duck into the tree, suddenly shy. 

“I didn’t think you’d be upset by it,” he admits. 

“Would you be upset if I had done it?” You counter. Water drips into your eyes, on your lashes, the slope of your nose. You’re getting chilled finally. 

His eyes darken, all cobalt and thunder blue, “I wouldn’t want people to hurt you. I don’t know what I’d do if someone—” 

“I feel the same about you!” You hiss, and it flies out of your mouth before you can think about it, “The thought of it makes me—I’d kill someone for you.” 

It sounds like your own damnation. 

He catches on.

“Will you?” He asks. He wants to know.

“Yes.” You breathe. And then, “so will you, for me.” 

He swallows around that. Tries to decide on the taste of it in his mouth. Digests it. Then he nods as he accepts it. 

He asks, and he doesn’t want to know now, “so you’ve—you’ve looked into my future?” 

But you shake your head fractionally, just the barest movement.

“No?” he murmurs and you almost don’t hear it, more just watch his mouth form the word, the slight noise. “You haven’t-?” 

You shake your head again, more certain this time, “not yet.” 

“What are you waiting for?” He asks, a little taken back, surprised that you hadn’t already torn into his future. 

“Courage.” You answer, “I don’t know if I can take it.” 

“I’ve never known you to be scared.” He says softly and tentatively, he reaches out to peel a strand of your hair away from your cheek, smooth it back behind your ear. He draws in a slow breath. Lightning flashes faintly, illuminating him in a neon shock, a brilliant light. Heavenly. Godly. 

When you don’t pull away from him, when you can’t stop looking at him, he asks, “then how do you know? About us?”

“Others,” you answer. “I have a tapestry of futures that have given me glimpses into our own.” 

“Will you ever–” Look into mine? 

“Yes,” you answer, “when I can stomach it, when–” it won’t break me. 

He pauses for a long moment, studying you, rain coming down on him, slicking his silver hair to his forehead, to his cheek, to his neck. 

You can tell he understands you, in ways that only he has been able to, in ways that you have only been able to understand him. You look at each other the way children do, very honestly, wholly, and unhindered. The rain washes most of your anger away, maybe, and leaves something larger, more encompassing. 

As if he can feel it, he finally speaks and when he does, it is in a tone you have perhaps never heard; a certain fear in being vulnerable, a waiver of imperativeness–that you must know this, that he has to tell you, that he’ll wrestle it out of himself for you, force it still, lay it before you. Spit it out at your feet. 

Distantly, thunder rumbles. 

“You must know it’ll only ever be yours.” 

Your heart stutters, young and naive, and you try to be tough, “you better be.”

His lips lift at the corner, but he presses on. 

“You must know that all my future will ever be–is yours.” 

(It’s a little startling, to be told the future by someone else. You think maybe you won’t even need to peer into his future anymore. Maybe this is all the glimpse you’ll need.) 

You shake your head fractionally, the barest movement. 

“Let me do the future-telling for once; I’ve only ever known you.”

You don’t dare stop him now–

“When I see myself, I always see you with me. I don’t have a version of me without you. I don’t have a future without you. You have always been and will always be the fate that I walk towards.” 

He lets the words unspool him, let the rain drown his voice, “I’ve thought endlessly about it and I used to despise you maybe but now–now I know–all my life points to you.” 

And then he smiles, a little sheepish, a little regretful, sad at the corners, “I just thought you knew. I thought you’d–you’re so high above everyone that I’d thought you’d understand…they’re nothing compared to you.” 

(To be above the highest is its own complement and curse.) 

You stare hard at him, search to see if he might be lying to you, might be trying to placate you. You have the sudden rush of bravery to peer into his future now, as if to test him. You don’t, you hold back like a dog on a leash, you watch him carefully, and he watches you back. 

Finally, you say, “I’ll kill you if you kiss anyone else again. I’ll never let you leave my sights.” 

He barks out a laugh, short, and sharp and sweet. A little wet. “I won’t. Cross my heart.”

And finally, you touch him, reach your finger out to draw the cross across his heart. You have half a mind to make it hurt a little, to sink your nail in and really draw it, half a mind to think of that cross permanently on his skin for you. 

(You think he’d let you–he’ll let you get away with murder. You think he’d let you do anything, everything.)  

He catches your wrist, fingers slipping over your pulse, over the lines of your palm. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks. 

You don’t have it in you to be proud now, “yes,” you answer, hungry, greedy with him. 

His lips slip up into that boyish grin of his, far too charming for his own good, so handsome that you never want him to share it with anyone but you, “all you had to do was ask. If I had known–” 

“Toru–” 

“I would never have kept a lady in waiting–” 

“Kiss me.” 

Commanded, possessed, he lists forward. His hand finds your jaw, bringing you halfway, bringing you into a slow kiss. Gentle. Appeasing. 

His lips are warm compared to the rain, almost feverish. 

I’m sorry, he seems to say, you have me, he nudges further into it, I have the rest of my life to give you, he hums against your lips. 

Strange, you think, with heat licking up your neck, how soft, how wet, how warm–

Your hand on his chest tightens into a little fist of the fabric of his uniform. Maybe you’re trembling. Maybe you’re putty in his hands for once, subdued, gentle the way the world wanted you to be. 

And tucked away in your garden, hidden from the world, you kiss a god, and swallow it down. 

Tucked away in your garden, hidden from the world, you burn and burn and burn at the taste of his divinity. 

And in your garden, hidden from the world, Satoru thinks he just might be kissing a god, too. Because he burns and burns and burns almost as bright as you. 

***

“You seem tired.” 

Your mother’s voice is gentle. She smoothes your hair from your forehead as she approaches you. But she startles when she feels you, before turning her hand over to lay the back of it along your forehead. Then her palm again.  

“Oh, that’s why–you’re burning up.” 

“‘M fine.” You tell her, “just tired. I was training late into the night.” 

You’d been scouring through the future of your amulet, searching it’s corners to try and find someone on the other side, to try and find the person you’d encountered the first time you’d ever peered into the amulet–

The blurry face. The melodic voice. You’ve dug for it ever since, more than anything, you’ve sought them again. You’ve met previous users, learned from them, sat through their lesson out of time, on time. 

But the first was never like the others. Not quite. You’d hardly slept. 

Your mother’s eyes skip down to the amulet at your throat. She eyes it suspiciously, almost glares at it, before she looks at you again. “You’re running a fever.” She replies, “come on, I’ll help you to your room.” 

She dotes on you. She makes sure you’re comfortable in bed. She fluffs the pillows. She retrieves a thermometer to confirm it. She treats you like a child and you let her. Maybe some part of you will always feel a little like a child around her. 

She moves a little skittishly around you now, a little unsure; she knows you best. She knows what you are becoming. You wonder if she always knew. You wonder if she hoped for it or if she hates it. 

Still, she mothers you. Still, despite what you are becoming, she loves you. But she–

You don’t think she likes you anymore. 

She’s never said it, only indicated it in the small moments, only looked at you a little too long like she can’t believe she raised such a–such a–

Monster. Abomination. Wretched girl. 

When she gets a cool cloth to lay across your forehead, you say, “I’m fine. I think it’s just overuse of my technique–” 

She goes quiet, busies her hands. You watch her mouth turn down in a splinter of a frown. Distaste, disgust, that she tries to bury quickly. 

“What?” you snap, because you know her face, the first face you ever saw, blurry in your infant vision. 

She shakes her head–nothing, she seems to say. 

“What?” you say again, tilting away from her touch. 

It’s quiet for a moment, just the sound of birdsong, the little chimes outside your window. It’s a beautiful day. 

When she has the courage, she asks, “what are you searching so frantically for?” 

And she’s pulling on something that few have guessed at, that even Satoru seems to dance around, “I feel like I–I feel like I lost you somewhere, to everyone else, to time. I feel like–”

I don’t know you anymore.

She won’t quite look at you. 

“Are you scared of me?” You ask, careful to ungrit your teeth. Careful to not start growling and biting back so soon. You try so hard with your mother, to be more than your father’s daughter, to be more than they wanted. 

Your mother shakes her head, short and quick, “no,” she says, almost coos, “no. Never. I’m scared for you.” 

“Why?” 

“You make everyone nervous with your technique. And you’ve stopped hiding it as much–how strong you’re getting. They’re getting scared and when they get scared–” 

She tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. Her eyes finally find yours. 

“Well, it’s a little like your father–they’re all a little like dogs. If they get scared, they may bite. And I don’t want to see you bitten.” 

Torn to shreds, maybe. 

And when you look at her face, it is crestfallen but attempting to be brave, there is a wobble in her lip. A tightness in her throat. Her eyes are blurry with unshed tears and you know that all mothers must look like this in front of their daughters at some point; attempting to still be a mother, to still be your mother, braver than you, stronger than you, but not. Not anymore.  She sniffles with it, tries to keep all her grief for you carefully tucked inside. You look at your mother and see her wrinkles and her gray hair and her worried face for you. You look at your mother and see a woman who has tried her best, but maybe it wasn’t quite enough. 

Who never could bite back enough, avoided their bite so long that her own teeth fell out and her back curled and her skin grew thin and saggy. Easy to hurt. Easy to break. 

You swallow tight around the lump in your own throat. 

“Mom,” you whisper, and you reach out to smooth her brow now, too, to trade places with her. Your turn to soothe, to comfort, to tend. And you get out, your own tears caught the crux of your lashes, heart in your throat;

“Mom, it’s okay–” your voice is just a breath, trying to keep out the sob, just a gasp, “it’s okay– I have the bigger bite in the end.” 

***

When you look into Satoru’s future, it is a cloudless day, and it is as easy as his head in your lap. 

You don’t even pause from carding your fingers through the silky strands of his white hair. You don’t tense or gasp or scream or cry. You settle into his future like you were always meant to be there, carved your own path long before you even knew it, and made it yours so when you see it–

When you see it, it feels more like coming home. 

You don’t even miss a beat. You don’t stutter or misstep. Satoru is none the wiser, eyes fluttered shut as he enjoys the breeze, white lashes like moth wings against his cheek. 

“Satoru,” you say his name in a new way, in the way of reverence and adoration, in the way of ownership and pride. 

“Satoru–” 

“Hm?” 

He cracks an eye open to peek at you. 

“What?” he asks with a slight laugh, at the look on your face. 

You tug at his hair and he yelps a little. 

“Satoru–” you laugh when he sits up, when he tackles you back into the wildflowers. “Satoru, Satoru–” you sing his name like a bird, high on the rush of your technique. 

He must notice, maybe, the residuals of cursed energy, because he looks at you underneath him for a moment. He stares hard at your face. But it isn’t suspicious just–

“Is it good?” He asks, “is it okay?” 

You smile at him, lovely and so warm that he’s almost taken back, torn asunder by the radiance, the love. 

“It could be great.” 

“And you know it? You know how to–” 

“I know what to do. I know what I have to do.” 

And when he kisses you sweet and hard and excited, you laugh a little, dazed, shocked. 

Oh, God, you know what you have to do. 

***

It begins the day before Satoru and Suguru are to receive their mission to protect the star plasma vessel. Satoru visits you. 

And before he leaves, you snag his wrist, pull him back to you.

You say his name with a heaviness he recognizes instantly, worry pulling at his features, at just the tone of your voice. He knows you so thoroughly at such a young age that you almost fear he could pull the thoughts from your head–take comfort that he could recognize any part of you anywhere. Your voice. Your steps. Your bite. 

And somehow, you think you know him more. 

“Don’t be scared of it–when it comes.” You tell him gently, like it’ll somehow soften the blow of what he has tried to fight his whole life. You know he has run from this in the same way that you have run straight towards it, faced it with brashness, perhaps too much harshness. 

Divinity is something that you wrestled still and tamed, bit down into it until it became all yours. 

Divinity is something that he has hid from and denied and ran from like prey. 

Soon, it will catch him by the throat, by the quivering heart. 

“When what comes?” He asks and he draws back to you for comfort. So you touch his face. You cup his cheek in your holy palm. 

“You’ll know,” you soothe gently, “and you have to accept it, when it does.” 

“You’re making me nervous,” he tries to laugh. It’s hollow. All hollow. 

“It’ll be okay.” You murmur, and then you lean up onto your toes to kiss him with a sweetness he isn’t ready for. One that you rarely use on him. “I’ll see you soon.” You say against his lips, before slowly parting from him. 

He blinks at you. 

“Can’t I stomach it?” He asks. 

“You’ll be forced to.” You answer. “And I’ll be here to help you through it.” 

He stares hard at you; you can tell he doesn’t like what you’ve said. He doesn’t like how cryptic it is, but you know if you tell him now, he’ll only fight it harder. 

If you tell him now what any of the future holds, he will die at the hands of a non-sorcerer. 

So again, you remind him, you almost beg, “just don’t be afraid. Accept it when it comes. Promise me?” 

And something in your face must frighten him, it must seize him, because he nods quickly. Sharply. Resolutely. 

“For you? Anything.” And then he smiles in the way that you think heaven made, “I promise. I promise–besides,” he tilts his head down so you see the flint strike blue of his eyes, “have you ever known me to be afraid of anything?” 

***

Satoru stumbles into your arms after everything. A God realized returns to the arms of his own God. 

“I’ve got you,” you say and it almost seems like he’s running a fever, “I know.” You hush. 

And as you hold him in your twilight-dark garden, the lush fauna shrouding your forms, your brush your lips against the shell of his ear. You tangle your hands in his hair. You touch him and soothe him and say over and over again in a thousand different ways, just like you have all your lives;

“It’s just you and me and what we have to carry. I have you. I have you–you have me. It’s okay–I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” 

And he takes it and swallows it and stomachs it as true. 

***

Satoru presents you with two children before you’re even married. 

Megumi and Tsumiki Fushiguro stare up at you with wide eyes. 

Megumi is wary and jaded. Tsumiki is overly polite and helpful. You realize both are attempting to protect themselves in their own way, protect each other. 

“This is my fiance,” Satoru tells the kids, “I’m sure you’ll get to know her well.” 

Tsumiki bows politely and thumps her younger brother on the back of the head when he doesn’t. You glance over top of their  heads at Satoru who grins fondly at them. 

It strikes you very suddenly that you never asked if he wanted children. If you two were ever going to–

You knew about Megumi and Tsumiki, of course. 

Children favored by Gods. Raised in your care. 

Megumi, the son of one in his own right. 

But as you watch Satoru look at the kids now, you realize perhaps he did always want this. Children. Them. You think maybe in another world entirely, he would’ve wanted a big family. You were both only children. Too blessed to be anything but alone in your childhood. 

You try to imagine yourself as a mother, as your own mother, with a daughter sitting between your legs, clinging to you, reaching for you. 

You try to imagine yourself with a daughter like yourself and the image curdles and sours. 

You don’t think you could do it–

You wonder how your mother did it. You wonder how it didn’t break her heart, rip her apart, you wonder how she stomached it, how she didn’t despise you. 

But then one evening Tsumiki sits in front of you and you comb her long hair out. And you ask her to pick a beautiful clip from your vanity. 

She picks a light blue one, the color of the sky, and you begin to understand. 

(And over the years, you’ll realize, you’ll think, I suppose I really would do anything. I suppose she really could become anything, and I would still love her.)

And Megumi, oh Megumi–

He seems to despise everyone but you. He sidles up to your side and he nudges his small head against your ribs, makes his hair staticky and mussed and clings to you the way he must want to do with his mother.  

 You begin to understand how she could stomach all of it, how every mother must in some way. How she could do it a thousand times over–

When they doze at your sides in the sun, on a blanket in your garden, and you know their futures, and all the tragedy and all the love, you begin to understand it all. 

***

Your amulet shutters in your vision, before pushing you into–

Into the future. You know it’s taste now. Sulfur and ash. Bitter and heavy on your tongue. The past is sweeter, like rotten fruit, sickly. 

Your vision swims with your successor. 

This time, they are veiled, because you can see clearly now. 

It’s the one you saw when you were younger, the one you’ve searched for countlessly–

You jolt. 

Their face is a wash beneath the shimmering veil, adorned in silks and gold and jewels. They look half phantom, half-god, the hues of their world too-bright, lush like Eden. 

“It’s you,” you say this time. 

And they must be smiling beneath their veil.

You wish you could pull it from their face, reach all the way through time, and rip it from them the way you pull away Satoru’s blindfold. You wish to see them clearly, for who they are. 

“We meet again finally,” it’s a feminine voice. Silky. Lovely in a way that is otherworldly. A shiver rips up your spine because–

“I’ve searched for you since–” 

“I know.” 

“Will you teach me?” You ask, you nearly beg. 

“Aren’t you the one from the past? Shouldn’t you be teaching me?” Their voice is almost teasing. 

“No,” you say defiantly, “you know this. You’re supposed to teach me.” 

“Yes,” 

“Then–” 

“But I have little teaching to do. You know it.” The figure cants their head beneath the veil, twitches ever so slightly, “I know you do. It’s been festering, hasn’t it? The dreams, the thoughts, the plan that has unspooled inside of you.” 

“It’s horrible.” You admit, “it’s–” 

“Unforgivable?” 

“Yes,” and then suddenly the pressure of tears that you weren’t prepared for, “I don’t want to do it. I didn’t–” want this. 

Stillness.

“It’s worse if you don’t.” The voice like god says. 

“I know,” you gasp, “I know–but it doesn’t make it any easier.” 

“It will be easier than you think,” it’s a coo, like a mother’s voice, “for them. For your love.” 

You fight the sob that crawls its way from the depths of you, a whimper coming out in its stead. Tears blur the heavenly vision in front of you so that it sways and swims in flushed pinks, tangerine, all gold light, honeydew greens and melancholy blues. 

“What would you do for it? For love? For the future you want?” 

“Anything,” you gasp, “everything.” 

The figure raises their chin beneath their veil and you think maybe they’ve damned you. You think maybe it’s all their fault, from the beginning, it was always them, this god, leading you down the path they have created. Was it ever yours to begin with? 

Like a curse, they condemn you;

“Then you know exactly what you have to do.” 

***

When the day comes, you begin with breaking a plate against the wall. 

You throw it near your father’s head so hard that it bursts on impact into thousands of shards that go pinging across the room in little flames of colorful ceramic. 

Your mother gasps your name. 

Your father reaches across the table at you in a fury, “you little shit–” and he grabs you by the collar hard enough to haul you halfway across the table. The other plates and glasses go crashing to the floor, clattering around. 

Your mother tries to stop it. 

But the moment your father has got you, you put your hands around his throat. 

“Shall we do this now, father?” You hiss in some strange voice that does not feel like your own. “Running straight towards your fate, are you?” 

(He is not–he has several years still. But the look on his face, the fear that shadows his eyes briefly is enough to make you start laughing.) 

“What has gotten into you?” He growls, “I made you–why do you turn against me?” You squeeze at his throat, testing, testing–

“Satoru says you’re scared of me.” You whisper, “he wants to take me away from you. I think it would save your life if he did–” 

Your fingers flex tighter. Your father grits his teeth. 

Your father curses, cuts out the name Gojo so viciously from his mouth you wonder if blood will fall out onto you. “I’m not scared of you,” he spits, shaking you, wrestling until he’s got you over the table entirely. Your feet barely touch the floor with how he holds you up. 

“No?” You ask, “I don’t haunt your dreams? I’m not driving you mad?” 

(You know you are, it’s why you say it.) 

“Shut up,” he snaps and when he slams you to the ground, it is enough to knock the wind out of you. “Shut up! You are my daughter and you will respect me–” 

The peeling laugh that scrapes out of you sounds more hyena than human. It splinters off into a screaming, grating sort of laugh. 

(And even still, you tremble like a child in his grasp. But you press on–)

“You are my father and you will respect me.” You tell him, “you are my father and you will fear me like I used to fear you.” 

He stares down at you hard, searching frantically in your face for something, anything–

“I want Satoru.” You demand. “I want to go with him and maybe it’ll change everything.” 

“No.” 

“I want Satoru!” You snap, thrashing in his hold now, twisting and arching. He bears down hard enough to make you bleat in pain, to make your chest ache and compress hard underneath the weight of his forearm. “He’d kill you if he knew how you treat me–if I told him–” 

Your father seizes the top of your hair so cruelly that it wrenches all the words from your mouth a moment. 

Your mother is begging. Neither of you hear her. 

You look hard at your father, searching frantically for something, anything–

“I am your daughter and you have made me. I am your daughter and I will be your death. I am your daughter and you have made your own death.” 

You think the look of fear that transforms his face must be what you looked like as a child. 

“You babble insanities–this is what I get, then, for pushing you too young–they say Foresight users always lose their mind and–” Your father tries to get it all out before you can say more, pushes the words out like he’s angry, like he’s trying to drown you out. 

“Am I not the prophet you begged for?” You ask on a half-sob, almost pleading, “didn’t you wish for me? Pray for power? I know you did, at the shrines of our ancestors–” 

“Stop it!” He snaps, horrified that you’ve touched upon a memory. That you know him, know it all. “Enough!” 

“It’s why you chose my mother!” You crow, tears catching, “because you thought she would bear you a powerful child! Because you read the journal of an earlier Foresight user and–and what did it say?” Your voice drops, “what did it say, father? About which wife to chose?” 

He is trembling now, you can feel it all over, like he’s a frightened child. 

“You chose her because a Foresight user told you to in a journal from two-hundred-years ago–because it would give you me–” 

Because I told them to put it down. Because I am my own maker. I am my own God.

When he hits you this time, you go howling like a beast, crying and crying and crying. Your mother pulls him off of you. But you don’t stop turning and twisting and holding the blood in your mouth and in your hands and feeling it all slip down your chin. The sob catches and surprises you, works it’s way out of you on a raw, animal note. 

“I want Satoru–” 

You wail at what you’re doing, what you will do, what you have always known to do. You wail at what’s been done to you, what will be done to you. 

Your head swims; when did it all–how did it all come to this? How did it get so twisted up? 

You were innocent once, weren’t you? 

You lurch away from your mother when she tries to comfort you. You throw more glass at your father. You scream and kick and destroy the dining room. You break china and splash water and hot tea everywhere. It burns your hands. It cuts your bare feet. 

You look at the sky out the window for the time. You can’t stop now–

So you go down the hall, running and howling, flitting to and fro like a trapped, shrieking bird. You break a window. You bloody your palms. You scratch at the wallpaper until it tears beneath your ruined fingernails. 

You do this for hours. Your mother can not calm you. Your father has gone away. 

“Please, please–” your mother begs, “how can I help you? What can I do–anything–I would do anything for you–I would–” tears trek down her cheeks as she pulls at your skirts, as she tries to stop your bleeding or soothe your cries. 

And finally, you say again;

“I want Satoru.” 

You breathe hard. Your mother’s hitching sobs quiet. 

“I want Satoru.” You say again, and then you shout it, “I want Satoru!” 

And you sound like a child, you sound like a warbling little curse saying the same thing over and over again. 

But that is who your mother finally calls. 

And that is who comes flying into your home, into your room.

(“Where is she?” He’d asked the moment he got there, the moment he saw your mother, hand over her mouth, still crying. 

“Her room–” your mother hiccups. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–”)

And your room is where he finds you in hysterics still. Your mouth is swelling, blood sticky and half-dried all over your lip, your chin, your whole body. 

You glance out the window, at the sun in the sky, to see what time of the day it is. 

You need more time. 

Still, you collide into his chest, let him immediately pull you from your torn up feet to be cradled in his arms. “What have they done? What’s wrong–” 

“I called for you for hours–” you whimper, arms tightening around his neck, “where were you? Where were you-”

You sob hard into his shoulder, so he shuts the door behind him, sealing you away from the world before he moves deeper into the disaster of your room. His large hand pets over your hitching back, over your spine, as if he’s trying to iron out all your trembling. 

“I came as soon as I was called.” He responds, holding the back of your head, pressing you into him. “I’d never lea–” 

“But you did leave me.” You realize and you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him, “you left me to go to school. And now you’re gone and I’m stuck here–” 

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Something tightens and then bursts inside of you. 

When you strike him, you do so with your nails against his pretty, unmarred face. Blood swells to the little cut. 

“And it wasn’t soon enough.” 

When you reach for his face again, he doesn’t even flinch away and you think he would accept anything from you at this point. Regardless, you pull his blindfold off. His eyes are glazed, watery. 

“I’m sorry,” he hushes. 

Your face twists up in pain, in hurt, “no, you don’t–” understand. The tears come harder. Years of your agony come rushing forward, “I never wanted–” this. “It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair–”

Your voice hitches on a sob. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, even as you begin fussing and twisting in his arms, as you begin to fight him. 

You push and shove and scratch and bite.

And he never puts up his Infinity. 

You throw glass at him and yell at him about how he’ll never understand, how he left you, how you hate him and resent him and need him. You beg him to take you away. You yell at him to stay away. You cry until your dry heaving, until you’re near sick with it all, with what you’re doing. 

Someone knocks. Your mother’s wobbling voice, “someone is here for Gojo–they say it’s important. That he needs to go–” 

And then you grab him and you beg him not to leave. You’re going to be sick. You grab his wrist, you fall to your knees, you push your head into his thigh. You sob into his stomach, clinging desperately, fingers tightened like a small child’s fist. You beg him to forgive you. You beg him to stay, stay, stay. 

“I won’t leave you,” he soothes, coming down to your level, letting you crawl into his lap. He’s all torn up from you, but he still lets you nuzzle your damp cheek to his, lets you cry and whine and whimper into his shoulder. 

(And some part of you knows that he loves this. Needs you to need him—like all gods do.) 

He holds you as someone pounds on the door and begs for him to come. You dig your nails into him as if it might keep him still, keep him in your arms. 

“I’ve got you now,” he whispers, over and over again, “and I’m going to take you away from everyone–” he vows the words into your throat, along your pulse. “And then it will only be us and you’ll always have me.” 

The knocking never seems to end. 

(It’ll pound in your head the rest of your life—)

You look up at him, in all your raw bloodlines, your tears and your fever hot godhood. 

“You’ll always have me.” You repeat. 

“And I’ll always have you.” He soothes, hushes with such love that you start to cry harder. 

(You know it’s coming. So you hold tighter. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me—)

Until finally someone says through the door;

“Gojo! Gojo–Haibara is dead. A first year is dead–they need you–” 

Suguru Getou stands in a morgue over the body of a fifteen-year-old as his world turns on its axis, as everything shifts onto a new path. A thought burns into his mind the way they will soon burn Haibara. 

(Shortly after, he will massacre one hundred and twelve people. You have seen that number in your mind a thousand times. You hold Satoru when he can’t stand anymore, when he admits he couldn’t kill his best friend. You soothe him, you tell him that this is the only way forward, there was nothing he could’ve done, you tell him–you did everything right. 

You recognize your third lie to him the way you recognize his heart; easily, readily, simply.)

All because Satoru Gojo was too late to save Haibara—too late because he simply just wouldn’t leave you. 

“And I’ll always have you.” 

***

Masterlist | <- Chapter One: Swallow | Chapter Three: Anew ->

[freyjas-musings]

I am sorry that you had a terrible experience today, this fandom has normalized being harassed, no one deserves that, people have been receiving threats and harassing messages on a daily basis,

If we try to say something against it, we are silenced and mocked

You today did the right thing of telling us to report it, that person is using someone's hard work without their permission and has the audacity to act as a victim,

Thank you for not only giving us great content but also staying with us and helping us report these people,

I am not a shipper but personally i hope elriel or bryceriel do not become canon because of all that shit they throw at other people

i have seen people take their lives because of online bullying and it needs to be addressed and stopped,

I visited all anti tags and the lucien and gwyn anti tag is vile, people there really need to touch grass

I hope you get to hear something so good that all this negativity caused is cancelled out,

Hope u have a great day ahead <3

Hi Anon,

Thank you for reaching out. I will say this once you are allowed to request people to report a post that breaches copyright, hate speech and community guidelines irrespective of the platform. This whole let me play victim and say they are doxxing me is an act to stop people from calling them out ... its not doxxing ... it shouldn't stop people from doing the right thing.

This person tried both .... said she was being doxxed when she wasn't... the context is important , no one put up her username to target her to harassment I was merely protecting my content that I have a right to. She also tried to deny taking responsibility by trying to divert attention to my supposed toxic behaviour? I will repeat this over and over again I did not dox anyone in the past either , if people are convinced then they should take it up legally and I shall meet them head on. I am over people's attempt to malign who I am as a person and how I have conducted myself so far . I am not saying I am perfect , I have made errors but I have always made amends and taken responsibility thats what adults do.

Also , requesting to report a post with stolen art is different as opposed to people flashing my username across multiple platforms with the sole intent to intimidate, silence and subject me to bullying which is what happened during Gwynriel weeks.

I am not going to generalise and say all Bryceriels are terrible because I did have someone reach out and apologise for what happened. So, clearly there are decent people too. It all comes back to shitty entitled people in the fandom vs people who behave with dignity.

As far as these things happening yes it does upset me because every artwork I commission is dear to me , a lot of thoughts ,time, effort and my hard earned money has gone into it. It takes me a while to process and let go when it comes to people abusing my art. I am not going to lie and say I am ok , I am not .... but thank you for the kindness , it's all of you that will always draw me back to the fandom 💜