#the author says THE SAME THING EVERY TIME. 'man of his time'. convenient way of not having to deal with it

[monstrousdaughter]

it's always "oh he was a man of his time" when a white brit from the early 20th century was a huge fucking racist im so tired of that. this way of engaging with it is so surface-level. say something meaningful I beg of you.

[7-wonders]

Give Me Everything You've Got

Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x GN!Reader

Summary: After a fight, you learn that Morpheus does not have the best coping skills. Like, at all.

Word Count: 4.7k

Author's note: This is based off of a scene in Brief Lives where Morpheus dramatically stands on his balcony in the rain. Not going to say more, or else that will spoil the comics completely.

No relationship is perfect; it’s a fact as immutable as which direction the sun rises from. The first fight, though, is always a stark reminder of this. That the person you care so deeply for and have shared so much with over the past days, weeks, months isn’t perfect and has faults. The first fight, though nobody wants it to happen, will, inevitably, happen.

And your first fight with Morpheus is a bad one.

It had been three months since you and Morpheus had shared a heated first kiss in a crowded bar, three months since the man of your dreams turned out to be both real and still the man of your dreams. Those three months had been bliss, to put it simply. You looked forward to falling asleep every night, for that meant you could spend uninterrupted time with your love in his realm. He’s insanely busy, of course, being the anthropomorphic personification of dreams and nightmares. Even just being in his presence, sitting on the Shores of Creation and watching as he creates new dreams and nightmares or reading in the library in your own chair and listening to him and Lucienne discuss matters related to the realm, was a gift that you don’t think you’ll ever take for granted.

But then, of course, the other shoe had to drop. The beautiful bubble of a honeymoon phase that you were living in was bound to pop, suddenly and harshly. Foolishly, you had hoped that things between you and Morpheus would always be like this, with both of you on the same page. That, of course, was nothing more than a mere pipe dream, because two people (or, one person and one eldritch being) will never be completely on the same page for every single thing. 

The first time you had seen the raven, perched on the overhang of the cafe you were currently waiting for your friends outside of, you had thought nothing more than “oh, it looks like Matthew,” before going back on your merry way. After all, ravens are pretty common birds, and Matthew seemed like a pretty important raven. Surely it wasn’t him; surely he had better things to do than to trail you. It was simply just a coincidence.

Over the next week, however, you kept seeing a raven everywhere you went. When you left the store carrying bags of groceries, one was circling overhead. When you took your lunch break outside on a particularly nice afternoon, there it was, staring at you from another picnic table. When you were finally getting around to loading the dishwasher, it was sitting on your windowsill.

It was like that mental exercise when someone tells you not to think about a yellow car and then you see yellow cars everywhere. Only, you were certain that this was the same raven, and that this raven was Matthew, due to the fact that this raven tried a little too hard to act like a normal raven. As long as you weren’t directly looking at the raven, then it would just stare at you in a way that gave you the creeps. The moment that you turned to look, then it would suddenly start pecking at the ground or preening itself. Convenient. Too convenient, in your opinion.

Finally, you decide that you’re going to confront him. You go out onto your porch to water the little garden that you’re trying to cultivate, and there he is, sitting on the railing and staring right at you. As you go about your watering, he continues to just stare. Once you’ve finished, you whip your head up, fast enough that he doesn’t have time to pretend like he wasn’t watching you.

“Matthew, I know it’s you,” you say to save him the embarrassment of having to keep up the act.

Though the raven tries not to look at you, eventually he knows that the jig is up. He hops closer to you and still doesn’t look at you, but now due to the guilt he’s obviously feeling. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi. You've been following me around.” It’s not a question, because you know that he’s been doing exactly that.

Matthew looks about as sheepish as a raven can possibly look. “You caught me.”

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re stalking me?”

“Do I have to?” You glare at him to tell him that yes, he very much has to. Realizing that he has no choice, he acquiesces. “Orders from the boss man, y’know? It’s kinda what I do.”

You can feel your blood beginning to run hot in your veins from the sudden surge of anger, and you have to breathe to keep yourself from yelling. “Morpheus is making you spy on me?”

“I wouldn’t call it spying.” Matthew can sense the beginnings of a storm brewing, and quickly goes to work at trying to mitigate the impending disaster. “Just…making sure that you’re safe, that’s all! He really cares about you, and it’s tough for him to not be able to be with you whenever he wants.”

“Okay, well, you need to stop following me.”

“I—I don’t know if I can. I’m really not supposed to disobey direct orders. I already got in enough trouble for the whole business with Hell!”

Though you’re mad about the whole situation and, by extension, Matthew himself, you don’t want your feathered friend to get in trouble when he’s not the one that’s at fault. If he’s going to get in trouble for abandoning his post, then you’ll just give him a task instead that happens to take him back to the Dreaming. After all, Morpheus had told you that you could use Matthew to reach him if the need arose.

“Fine, then,” you say. “Will you go back to the Dreaming and tell Morpheus to meet me when he gets the chance? I’d really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, I can do that!”

Matthew prepares to take off, but before he does, you stop him. “And, Matthew?”

“Mm?”

“Don’t come back.”

By the time the first month of dating had passed, you had both already exchanged declarations of love. It felt entirely natural, and you were both thrilled at the next step. Now, the true next step, that of disagreeing with your partner on a fundamental level, is here. You’re far less thrilled about this step.

When Morpheus appears in your living room, you’re already prepared to say what you’ve been practicing in your head since Matthew left. Morpheus has a way of making you forget words, and you’re not about to let that happen this time. Instead of giving him the chance, you jump to your feet and glare at him.

“What the fuck!” you spit. “How dare you!”

Morpheus simply watches you, as cool and collected as always, which only serves to piss you off even more.

“Matthew told me that you are…upset,” he says, “about my having him watch over you.”

You look at him in disbelief. “‘Upset’? I’m furious right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re stalking me, without my permission, through your raven!”

“It is not stalking,” he retorts.

“Really? What would you call it, then?”

Rather than answer what it is (because it is stalking), Morpheus defers to his reasoning behind his actions. “I just want to make sure that you are safe when I cannot be with you.”

In his mind, this likely makes complete sense. Of course he wants you safe, and naturally that means sending his raven to watch you at all hours of the day. Perhaps, in his eyes, this was even seen as a romantic gesture. Who this would charm, though, you’re not sure. 

“I don’t need a babysitter, Morpheus. I’m an adult.”

“Yes, I am aware of that. Regardless of the immature way that you are currently acting in.”

Oh, you could hit him right now. You have to dig your nails into the palm of your hand to keep the urge at bay. “Then why did you think that you could invade my privacy in such a major way?”

“Because you are human, beloved. If something were to happen to you, if one of my enemies were to take advantage of my absence, I would never forgive myself. I cannot allow that to happen, hence, Matthew watching out for you.”

“I’m more than able to take care of myself. Especially in my own home,” you stress.

“It is for my own peace of mind.”

“Then you have him drop in every once in a while to say hi! You don’t have him playing James Bond and spying on me every minute of every day!” 

It’s obvious that Morpheus doesn’t understand your anger towards him right now, and that’s probably the most frustrating thing about this whole mess. You have to close your eyes and gather your thoughts, lest you lose your cool and say something that you really regret.

When you feel just a smidge calmer, you look at Morpheus again. “I can’t deal with this right now. We physically can’t have this conversation until you can actually see why I’m so mad about this.”

His face grows stormy, and his eyes go straight from blue to black, starless pools. “You want me to leave?”

“Have you figured out why I’m mad?” He remains still, challenging you. “Then yes.”

This is just a way to call his bluff. He’s not going to leave, not in the middle of an argument. You just want him to think for a moment about his actions and their effect on you, and then you can talk like civilized adults about a little something called boundaries before making up.

His jaw clenches, as do his fists, and you realize that you may have overestimated his rationality. “Then I suppose I shall take my leave of you.”

“Wait, what?” You take a step towards him and go to grab his arm in an attempt to stop him. “Morpheus!”

He’s gone before you can even feel his coat under your hand, and you’re left staring in shock at the empty space where Morpheus just stood.

You’re distraught about just how wrong your argument with Morpheus went, enough so that you don’t visit the Dreaming that night. It's not on purpose, though. Rather, you’re so upset about the whole situation that you barely sleep, and the sleep that you do get is fitful. 

You’re exhausted when your alarm goes off the next morning, and find that all of the anger of last night has dissipated. Now, you’re just sad. Sad that Morpheus couldn’t understand why you were upset, sad that he didn’t stay to finish the conversation, sad that you couldn’t go after him to try and make things right between you.

You slog through your day, so noticeably sad that multiple people ask you what’s wrong. Though saying that you had a fight with your boyfriend doesn’t really begin to encapsulate everything that Morpheus is, it’s a common enough occurrence in the world that those who you share this with immediately nod in understanding and leave you to your misery.

Sleep tries to elude you for a second night, but you refuse to go any longer without seeing Morpheus. Instead, you scrounge around in your medicine cabinet for the bottle of melatonin that you know is back there. When you find it, you down as many of the artificial berry-tasting tablets that’s safe before crawling into bed and hoping that it works.

When you do finally fall asleep and open your eyes in the Dreaming, you’re immediately thrown off by the rain. No, calling it a simple rainstorm would be underselling it. A veritable hurricane has descended on the Dreaming, and you have to brace yourself against the wind somehow blowing through the palace to keep from being blown away. Rain lashes against the windows, which are rattling heavily, in rough sheets, and lightning crackles through the sky. 

Growing up around storms has you instinctually looking for a basement or cellar to get to before you remember that nothing can actually harm you in your dreams. The thought doesn’t do much to settle your nerves (you’ve never been too fond of storms), but you keep repeating to yourself that it can’t harm you in some sort of frightened mantra as you make your way to the library.

The library, unfortunately, is in worse shape than the entryway, and you immediately feel a pang of sympathy for Lucienne. All of the bookshelves have been raised on individual islands via dream-magic in an attempt to save the books from the flooding that’s beginning to encroach from the doors and windows. Even so, sandbags are being piled up at the base of each island by a variety of dreams as a failsafe. 

Knowing Lucienne, she probably has a backup failsafe for the failsafe.

Dressed in a rainbow parka with the hood up over his little raven head, Matthew stands atop one of the bookshelves and directs the dreams who have been tasked with helping to protect one of the Dreaming’s most precious assets. When he notices you standing awkwardly just inside the main doors, he lets out a squawk and flies to the bookshelf closest to you.

“Oh thank God you’re here,” Matthew exclaims. “This place is gonna get washed away if he keeps up at it!”

“What’s going on?” you ask, both of you flinching at a particularly loud clap of thunder.

Lucienne appears from around a corner, stomping through puddles as she steadily marches towards you in a way that makes you worry that you’re in trouble with her. She’s wearing bright yellow rain gear, and water streams off of the plastic hat in steady rivulets. 

“Has Lord Morpheus explained to you that the Dreaming’s weather is tied to his emotions?” Lucienne demands to know.

Morpheus had briefly mentioned this to you once. It was a month or so into your relationship, and you remarked on how beautiful the weather always was in his realm. In the midst of a brutal winter, the reprieve was especially appreciated.

“I am glad that you think so. After all, I am the Dreaming, and the Dreaming is me.” Morpheus replied from behind you. 

You were standing on the highest balcony in the palace so that you could properly take in all of the Dreaming, and Morpheus had his arms wrapped snugly around your middle so that he could pull you into his firm chest.

“So you control the weather?” you asked.

“Yes, but I do not do so consciously. It is…like how your own heart continually beats without you needing to think about it.”

At the time, you were satisfied with the explanation. Now, you’re wondering what the hell kind of autonomic nervous system Morpheus has.

“He did,” you say. “But why is the weather so bad?”

She stares at you like you’re an idiot, and you shift uncomfortably under her pointed glare. “Because you had a fight.”

You’re going to ask how she knows such a thing, but you assume it was pretty obvious to Matthew what was going to happen when you told him to have Morpheus visit you.

“It was an argument, not a fight.” Great, now you sound like your parents when you were a kid and would catch them fighting. “Is he that upset about what happened?”

You know that Morpheus is able to hold a grudge better than most. Even though you haven’t seen him, and the storm is fierce, you can tell that this isn’t caused by some petty anger; this is genuine distress, and you’re starting to think that he’s never had to deal with his emotions in a healthy way. 

Lucienne nods and says, “You have only ever seen our Lord Morpheus at his best. He—well, I will not divulge that which is not mine to share, but there is a precedent behind what has led him to react in such a way.”

Good lord, what had happened in Morpheus’s past for this to be a normal reaction for him? While you’re also still a little upset over the ‘disagreement’, your hurt comes more from the fact that he left and that you were unable to finish what you had started. Furthermore, if this is normal for him, you hate to see what an abnormal reaction from him is.

Something needs to be done, and you’re going to have to be the one to do it. 

“Alright, then. Do you have any idea where he is?” you ask.

Lucienne doesn’t even need to think. “In his chambers, most likely.”

You don’t believe you’ve ever had to find your way to Morpheus’s chambers without him. The hesitation must show on your face, because Matthew flies down from the bookshelf to perch on the back of a chair.

“Just think about him while you’re walking, and the Dreaming should do the rest,” he advises.

“I’m on it.” You give your friends a mock-salute before turning and heading out the door that you came through, mind focused on Morpheus the entire time.

The way that the Dreaming works is interesting. Sometimes, you need to walk a good distance to get from one place to the next. This is often true of when you trek down the Shores to visit Morpheus, or when he takes you to Fiddler’s Green. Other times, you need only blink and take a step before reaching your destination. 

This is one of those times, thankfully, because the anxiety coursing through you as you worry about Morpheus and if he’s okay is making every step that you take a shaky one. You’re standing outside of the library one second, and the next, you’re staring at the large, carved wood doors that conceal Morpheus’s chambers from you.

Will the doors be bolted, like how you would lock your own when you were an angsty teenager and wanted the world to know that absolutely nobody was privy to your misery? Will he be mad when he sees you? Mad that you sought him out, that you consulted his own subjects about how best to approach this crisis?

Though you don’t mean to lean against the door as you lose yourself in your thoughts, you do, and it swings open easily. You hope that this is Morpheus’s way of letting you know that you’re welcome here, with him. 

He’s not in the large sitting room that first greets you when you enter his chambers, nor is he in the bedroom that he does not sleep in. That means that there’s only one other place that he could be, so you backtrack into the sitting room and go the opposite direction from his bedroom and towards the balcony that you stood on, with him, what feels like so long ago.

There he is, leaning steadfastly against the balcony railing like some sort of Byronic hero as the rain lashes against him and the thunder and lightning create a show for the ages above him. No matter how harshly the wind blows, he refuses to move, instead taking the full brunt of the storm as he stares out into it.

It’s his own version of self-harm, you realize, and you won’t allow him this vice any longer.

You walk out onto the balcony to stand next to Morpheus and try not to get blown away by the gale force winds. Immediately, you’re assaulted by the rain, and it quickly begins to soak through your clothes; you end up turning your back on the brunt of it and directly facing Morpheus so that you can actually see him.

“I suppose Lucienne sent you my way?” In an entirely un-Morpheus move, Morpheus scoffs.

“She told me where to find you, but only because I asked.” You have to raise your voice just to be heard over the storm. “So? Why are you standing out here?”

He laughs dryly. “As if you do not know? Before today, I did not know you to be so needlessly, brutally cruel.”

Is he on drugs? You’d check his pupils, but in the Dreaming, he doesn’t have any. “What are you talking about?”

“You no longer love me!” His voice booms around you as loud as the thunder.

This is news to you, and you’re about to tell him so, but he continues before you can. 

“I have transgressed against you, terribly so, and you rightfully sent me away as a result. Now, you have come to tell me that you wish never to see me again.”

To say that you’re completely thrown for a loop would be a gross understatement. “No! What gave you that idea?”

All of the fight, all of the righteous indignity, suddenly deflates out of him, and he looks at you with a defeated look reminiscent of that of a guilty puppy. “Prior experience, I suppose.”

“Oh, Morpheus.”

This is one of the saddest things that you’ve ever heard. His prior relationships involved his lovers spurning him after one little fight? Since he obviously doesn’t know how wrong this is, your heart hurts on his behalf as you reach a hand up to cup his cheek. 

“I’m not going to break up with you, and I’m sorry that you’ve been in relationships where that was something that happened.”

The relief on his face is immediate. “You still love me?”

“Yes, you silly, silly anthropomorphic personification. I still love you.”

“You still love me,” he says again in disbelief.

“It was a little fight. Just because fights happen sometimes, doesn’t mean that it’s the end of our relationship.”

“I am…sorry, for invading your privacy in such a way, and further for not understanding why you were upset with me.” It’s obvious that he’s not used to apologizing for anything, but he’s trying, and that’s what matters.

“You understand why I feel the way that I do about that?” You try not to get your hopes up, but utterly fail at it.

He nods. “You feel as though I’m attempting to exert control over you, that I don’t trust you.”

He does get it! You could cheer right now. “Exactly.”

“I do,” he says earnestly, “trust you. To make you feel otherwise was never my intention. You are just so precious to me that if something were to happen to you and I was not there to help you or come to your aid, it would kill me. That fear led me to become possessive, in a way that is healthy for neither of us. For that, I sincerely apologize.”

“Thank you, Morpheus. And I’m sorry for not properly conveying my feelings before I told you to leave.” You shrug. “You’ll have to forgive me for not really understanding; this is my first supernatural relationship.”

“Your last, too, if I have it my way.” 

You smile at him and push the wet strands of hair out of your eyes, which seems to alert him to the fact that it’s still storming at a cool “wrath of God” level. He immediately lifts his hand to stop the rain from coming down around you, and an invisible umbrella forms over your heads. It’s obvious that he’s not done there, and he tries to school his face into an expression cooler and more passive than that which he’s currently sporting.

“If you will give me a moment to rein in my emotions…”

“No,” you cut Morpheus off. “Don’t. I like the rain.” 

Maybe not this much rain, but you won’t tell him that right now. Because right now, you can already see him trying to slip back into the role of Dream of the Endless, who takes care of everyone and everything and lets nothing affect him. He can pretend that’s the real him all that he wants, but you’re seeing firsthand how detrimental it is to Morpheus. Not Dream, but Morpheus.

And Morpheus deserves to feel emotions, regardless of if it upsets or inconveniences the citizens of the Dreaming. Morpheus deserves to have somebody take care of him for once, instead of taking care of everyone and everything around him. Morpheus deserves a hell of a lot more than he’s previously gotten, and you’re going to be the one to give it to him.

“You do?” he asks.

“Yeah, I do. And if people don’t…then, fuck ‘em!”

His lips twitch. “I’d rather not.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He thinks that joke is so funny every time he uses it, and you’re determined to not let him know that it is kind of funny.

The wind begins to slow down, and the thunder starts to grow fainter. Still, the rain continues, but it’s more tolerable now that it’s falling straight down instead of directly pelting you.

“C’mon.” You grab his hand and start to lead him back inside. “Let’s go lay down for a bit.”

Morpheus immediately begins to protest. “But–”

“Shh. Tomorrow, you can ensure that everything’s back to business as usual. Today, though, I think you’ve earned the right to feel a little sad and upset.”

Though Morpheus doesn’t seem too happy about you telling him what to do, by the time you’re sitting him down on his bed, you’re both completely dry. He watches silently as you take his starry coat off for him, followed by his heavy boots. You take your own shoes off before climbing onto the bed and settling against the pillows. When you hold your arms out to him, he simply raises an eyebrow to challenge you. In response, you wiggle your fingers and try to beckon him over to you.

He begrudgingly allows you to hold him, and kiss the top of his head and try to stifle a laugh in his soft hair. Morpheus’s body begins to relax against yours, and you smile triumphantly as you run a hand up and down his spine. After a few minutes of sitting in silence and listening to the rain against the windows (now less brutal than it was when you first arrived in the Dreaming), you realize that Morpheus is matching his breaths–that he doesn’t need–to yours. Your insides go all warm and fuzzy as a result.

When Morpheus finally feels ready to talk, he picks his head up from your chest to look at you. You smile at the sight of the stars having finally returned to his beautiful eyes, and he asks, “Is this truly how humans cope with their emotions?”

“Mhm. Cry and feel sad a bit, then pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep going.” He hums when you begin to gently card your fingers through your hair, and you file this away as a form of care that you’re definitely going to use for him in the future. “If you’re lucky, you’ve got somebody right there with you to take care of you and help you weather that storm.”

“Sage advice.”

It really is. You just won’t tell him that it’s advice from a children’s show.

Morpheus nods and chooses to relax in your embrace for longer than you would have thought. Honestly, you were expecting more of a fight from him as he tried to plead his case to return to being Dream. Eventually, he does say what’s truly on his mind; he’s been getting better at that, the whole communication thing. 

“I am not. Used to being taken care of.” Stating the obvious here, but what matters is that he said it.

“I know,” you say. “Which is why, in addition to the normal care that one gives their romantic partner that you’ll be receiving from me, I’m going to make up for all of what you should have been receiving for so long now.”

“Are you?” Morpheus smirks, amused at your determination.

“Yep. Why don’t we take a nap? That’s always helpful.”

Morpheus doesn’t sleep, per se; rather, he drifts, following you through your various dreamscapes and allowing himself to just be. As he’s described it to you, it’s rather relaxing to him, the same as napping is relaxing to you.

“That sounds…” Morpheus thinks for a moment. “Nice.”

“Good. Then after that, perhaps a warm bath?”

“You are just doing all of the things that make you feel better.” Though he says this, you can tell that he finds the concept intriguing.

You smile. “We’re starting from scratch with you, my love. Everything’s on the table at this point.”

“Very well. Nap first, then bath.”

With you by his side, Morpheus quickly learns how useful the human lesson of “cry and feel sad a bit, then pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep going” actually is.

[deceitfuldevout]

A Woman Like You

Tommy Shelby x WOC!Reader

Word Count: +1,215

Warning(s): Angst, Sexist remarks, Societal pressure, Sterotypes.

Author's note(s): I've recently been using writing as a form of therapy. This goes to all the ladies that can relate.

You've fallen head over heels for Tommy Shelby, but now you're questioning if his intentions were sincere or not.

GIF by nofckingfighting

You made the mistake of falling in love. You should've seen the signs sooner. You started working at the Garrison as a bar maid with Grace, eventually moving up to being their sole entertainment. You were an exotic bird who had caught to wandering eyes of drunken Englishmen. Some folks would say you had these men in a trance, with your rare features and seductive mannerisms. Some even say you're a witch. But there was only one person who saw you for you. Tommy Shelby.

It was refreshing, being seen as a soft, delicate thing. His demeanor would shift when talking to you. He's much kinder to you that with any of his men. That was until another, prettier face had caught his eye. You of all people knew the truth: Tommy Shelby would never love you. Instead he'd fallen for your coworker Grace. She's everything you weren't. That may have been the reason why. Of course, you should've seen the signs. How he'd look at her with such tenderness.

Eventually his entire personality completely changed with you. Perhaps they were his true colors. After her death, things went south. Tommy returned to you, but only for physical intimacy. He was rough, unapologetic, and at time, downright cruel. He hadn't spoke to you like a lady, with basic respect. It almost hurt knowing men will never speak to you with kind remarks. As soon as you found a better option, you let him know right away. When you close the pub for the last time, Tommy was there. It was strange, having an Englishman waste his previous time on foreign blood.

You turn around to find Tommy sitting on a barstool, not paying him mind. Then something strange happened. He isn't usually this tender, not even in private. So why on earth was he telling you to stay? After every humiliating thing he'd put you through. How Tommy would shimmy you off his arm in front of his business associates. It only got worse when he'd flirt with women right in front of you, then ask for a fuck because it was convenient. Perhaps it was the liquid courage, maybe even the hormones that made you tear up with anger. But for some reason, you wanted to let him know he hurt you, "Enough, Tom, you need to stop doing this,"

He tilts his head up, genuinely surprised that you'd spoken up. His eyelids are hooded, "If you've got something to say..." he lights up a cigarette, "...say it now," how predictable. Tommy's cruelty had no limits. You were tired of being his little plaything, "I deserve better than this, better than you," letting him know how you truly felt, "You're fucking selfish, you know that?" tears already streaming down both cheeks, "You could've told me you were seeing other women, Tom," your vision blurs. Tommy objected, "You knew who I was when you met me--"

"Yeah, yeah I thought I did, until you decided to to make an acceptation with that blonde whore!" you knew what it would take to get his blood boiling. You wanted to hurt him the same way he hurt you, "I've wasted most of my life waiting for you to love me back, I wasted my good years on a man who wouldn't care if I bled out on the floor!" voice now shaking. You were filled with regret, pain, and anger.

He doesn't even know what the weight of his words did to you, "I know how you English men see women like us, we're always sexually desired but never loved, enough for a good fuck but not enough to make a wife," a chuckle escapes your tips at the thought of it. How could he marry someone like you? His name and status that he's worked so hard for would be tainted. Because who could ever love a woman like you? He had the audacity to roll his eyes, "You were entertainment, to bring customers in," someone pretty enough to keep company around.

"Everything, Tom, everything I've been doing, the act, because I am not allowed the luxury of being seen as innocent," after pouring your heart out, he still hadn't believed you, "Don't act like you haven't been seeing other men," he scoffs. You started to laugh at that remark. Had he really been that clueless? Tears stream down both cheeks. You wipe at them, smearing your mascara, "Now that's incredible," a deep grunt is trapped in the back of your throat, "You really think I'm a whore, don't you?" in an almost hushed tone, "Tommy, you were my first and only, do you really not believe me?" nothing felt worse than being betrayed by the one you trust the most, "All I ever wanted was for you to love me," since the beginning you were there. Even when he was mourning Grace you were there to keep him comfort. How foolish of you.

"Now you never told me--"

"I know who you pretend I am, who you want me to be," you roll your eyes, sniffling for a moment, "I'm not like you Tom, I can't pass, I can't change the color of my skin or features-- I will never be the white woman you've always wanted me to be, the kind of woman you'd keep on your arm without feeling embarrassed, why can't you just accept that?" a faint pause, "You told me...you told me she wasn't your type," barely a whisper, "Was everything a lie?" when he doesn't say anything, it was the only answer you needed. At that moment you snapped, "Please! Look at me!" you smack his arm, "Tommy!" when he does you're given only a cold stare.

Of course, it was never going to be someone like you. There are tears brimming your eyes again. It hurts, knowing that you will always be second best. Always an option but never the first, "At first I was confused, your infatuation with Grace didn't make sense, and now I see that it never mattered who she was," your breath hitches for a moment, "You were always going to choose someone like her..." now rambling about the obvious, "Prettier, blonder...whiter," you taunt.

Each word felt like venom on your tongue. You should've been used to the poison by now, "You don't know how long it took for me to trust a man again, after the pain I've been through--women like me, Tom, we don't have pretty blue eyes that get us what we want, not without a price," that remark made your skin crawl, "Always the seductress, never seen as pure," a dark chuckle erupts, taking up all sound from the bar. Tommy only stares back at you, with that same cold expression. You lean against the counter, looking down at the wood before returning to glance at him, "Did you ever love me?"

If there's one thing about Tommy, is that he would never lie to you, "No," a short, simple answer. You give him a soft, faint smile. Saddened by the loss but also relieved that you were free at last, "Thank you," with that you left, never returning to the Garrison again.

[calypsocolada]

213 DAYS | f. dostoevsky

(click here for part two)

synopsis: you seek out a demons help not realizing just how long he’s waited for you.

authors note: LOL this was completely out of left feild. I binged bungo stray dogs in less than a month and CANNOT stop thinking about this man (and every other character) who would definitely manipulate me to death. LOL anyways enjoy this mess, i didn’t have much of a plan just kinda wrote.

cw: suggestive, soft!fyodor, lovesick!fyodor (he’s literally obsessed with you), manipulative, fluff, making out, cussing, plot convenience lol

wc: 3.9k

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Your hands were shaking terribly so you clenched them tighly as you followed a guard down a long, long hallway. It’s lights sickly, everything looked the same, the doors, windows, ceilings and flooring. All without a single identifiable difference. You took a steadying breath as the guard a few feet in front of you slowed. He turned slightly to talk to you over his shoulder.

“No one comes to visit this guy, your the first since he’s been here.” He says. You knew a lot about said prisoner. A bit of a complicated past, very, very complicated. “He doesn’t have any existing family, or so I’ve heard.” You could tell with the way this guard was talking he was sweet on the prisoner. That didn’t surprise you, the man you were about to see for the first time in months had a lot of things under his belt. He was manipulative, he could trick the soul right out of your body. The guard rounded one last corner and you knew which padded cell was his. Your hands shook even worse as the guard approached the door.

“I’m sure you know how dangerous he is.” The guard starts as you give him a sharp look.

“I do. Do you?” He looked caught, like the jig was up. He cleared his throat.

“Of course, ma’am. Our city thanks you for capturing him.”

“Just open the door. Oh and,” you take a step towards the guard. “Whatever he’s promised you, I advise you to not take it, or you’ll have me to deal with.” You threaten, the guard's eyes go wide as he slowly nods his head. “Good boy.”

The doors swung open and you saw him just mere feet away, locked tight in the middle of a room.

Fyodor.

There were countless scraps of paper littering the white walls. A various drawings of you. You walked forwards, eyes catching each piece. He started to not remember your face after some time so on some papers there were just hazy outlines but you knew it was you.

Your heart sped like crazy, his sharp snake like eyes met yours and a wicked grin spread across his lips. HIs eyes dragged every inch of your body, probably thinking this was a once in a lifetime visit and he had to memorize your features all over again. He told you you’d come back to him someday, you didn’t think it’d be so damn soon.

All alone the giant room seemed small. You walked forwards, feeling all sorts of things, sickness and anxiousness from seeing Fyodor again. You’d been driven right into the hands of a demon. You could feel his grip beckoning you to come closer. A dangerous energy swirling. You'd felt that since you first met him, unexplainable and new.

“213 days was all it took for you to come back to me.” Fyodor greeted as you walked the distance towards him. He’d counted the days, it wouldn’t surprise you if he knew it all down to the second.

“That’s quite some time.” You answered and Fyodor cocked his head to the side just barely, coal black hair falling over his shoulder.

“It is, my love, too long if you ask me.”

“Not long enough.” You quipped. Fyodor’s eyes locked onto yours. He was devilishly handsome, whatever pull to him back then you still felt in the pit of your stomach when you were around him. Like a magnet or a string tied from you to him. Everywhere you went didn’t matter because it all led back to him. Something kept you thinking of him for those 213 days just the same as him.

“You say that but your eyes tell a different story.”

“Mhm, is it the same story you so crave for me to want.”

“You will want it in due time, my love, but until then a new story is being written.”

“What story is that?” You ask. Fyodor grinned, eyes lighting.

“Well, the story of us.”

“It looks a lot like a tragedy.” You said and Fyodor sighed, amused with your comebacks.

“Now it does, but that’s just the first act. Can’t have a resolution so early on.” He’d wave off if he could. He was currently in a straight jacket, chained to the floor beneath him. He was a dangerous man and this was the only way to keep him from trouble.

“You’re smart, I’m sure you know why I’m here.” You say, you were now mere feet from him, his coal back hair looked like silk, his red crimson eyes looking up at you with something like amusement. You knew he was going to play dumb just for the sake of you talking more to him.

“I’m sorry, you might have to catch me up.” You needed his help and there was little Fyodor wanted in this word, but the biggest, most glaring thing he wanted was you. He’d been infatuated the moment he saw you fighting alongside the detective agency, he’d even foiled some of his comrades plans just to make sure you weren’t hurt in the process. Still, he was a highly dangerous criminal and should be treated as such. You needed to remember that. You slowly sat on the chair across from him.

“Dazai’s been captured and has been missing for three days now. The kidnappers have given us a week. If they were smart enough to trick Dazai they’re well over our heads. I’ve exhausted every avenue, I can’t sleep, I’m scared they’re going to kill him. I'm alone in all of this. If anyone is close to Dazai’s level it’s you.” You explained, Fyodor’s face morphed into something you hadn’t seen much except in your loved ones faces. He looked worried. “What is it?” You asked, scared that he knew something you didn’t and that he couldn’t help you, this was really a last resort.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” Fyodor asked, genuinely concerned. Your lips parted in surprise.

“What?” Was all you could say, he’d surprised you.

“How long have you not slept, my love?”

“That’s- that’s not what’s important here, Fyodor.” You dismissed.

“That’s what’s important to me. How long?” He asks, a bit more commanding this time.

“I- I don’t know. Two days at least.” You answer. Fyodor’s face goes serious.

“I will help, but you will not. You will sleep.”

“We’re working this together. Faster you solve the faster I can sleep.” You counter, wondering if this really was the only stipulation he needed in exchange for his help.

“Deal, we should get started at once.” He says, hastily working something behind his back until suddenly his damn straight jacket clicks and falls to the floor. You gasp, shocked. He could’ve broken out of that this whole time. You wondered what other measures put in place to keep him here were really just laughable to him. If he could escape so easily why hadn’t he before now? Was he really just waiting all this time for you to come back to him?

“That’s- that’s it?” You stutter as Fyodor stands, holding a hand out to you to take.

“Your precious company is more than enough to repay me for my services.” He beams and you know he means it. You're not sure what is it about you that has him to utterly captivated, whether it's all a lie and a part of some plan of if he really, truly cares for you.

Cautiously you take his hand and gently he pulls you to your feet, tugging you against his chest, long white fingers tucking hair behind your ear.

“You’re still as beautiful as the day I met you.” He says and you feel a traitorous blush creep across your cheeks. His eyes look hazy this close, you could feel on hand ghosting your cheek and another around your back. "Now, listen closely love, I own three out of four of the guards outside my door, plus the warden. You use those powers of yours on the last one and we can escape peacefully." He says, hands sliding off your body as he knocks a serious of knocks on the door, most likely some sort of code. Your mouth drops open.

"You what?" You burst out. He really was just relaxing here, not confined at all. Fyodor cocks his head at you, confused as though he hadn't just told you he practially owns the prison.

"I like to play games, dear, you know that. As long as I'm back in the morning no one will know." He says. Your jaw ticks as you strut across the floor, closing the distance between you two. You grab him by the front of the shirt.

"I'm not bringing you back here just so you can break free behind my back!" You growl, he looks at you as though you claimed the stars in the sky.

"I'm quite content here for now, but here, I'll make you a deal." He offers as you furrow your brows.

"A deal?" You echo and he nods his head. You let go of the front of his shirt.

"You visit me once a month and I'll stay put."

"You're crazy." You breath out, but the conviction on his face was real. He'd rather see you once a month than be free. It was fucking insane. You bit your lip in contemplation. "You give me the names of every worker here under your payroll as well." You say and he instantly nods his head.

"Do we have a deal?" He holds out his hand for you to take, and for the second time today, you take it. His cold hand envelopes yours, fingers gripping you gently as a smile spreads across his lips.

"We gotta go." You say and Fyodor nods his head.

"Swipe your card and put the guard with the blond hair to sleep." Fyodor says and you nod. You do as told, the door sliding open. There were four guards, three with dark hair and one women with blond hair. She looks up and smiles when you walked out. You smile back.

"Sleep." The power drips from your voice and the other guards are startled when the girl falls to the floor snoring lightly. They jump up, guns at the ready.

"Gun's down," Fyodor directs coldly, walking out behind you. The guards do exactly as told.

"Sorry, boss." The guard from earlier says, eyes meeting yours. You felt like an idiot, warning him earlier to watch himself around Fyodor and now here you were aiding his escape.

"We're going on a little date, keep things quiet while I'm gone." Fyodor says as the guards salute to him. You stroll out of the prison, Fyodor a step behind you.

“If you had an ounce of malice in your body you could destroy anyone that you ever came across, you know.” Fyodor said when you loaded into your car, the look in his eyes like a kid looking at their favorite superhero. Like he truly admired you. You had a hard time believing that but he was here and if he tried anything you could shut it down with your powers quite quickly. You had the power to control anyone with just your words. You were the one who captured him all those months ago, you could do it again.

“You're over estimating me.” You say as you turn down a backstreet that led towards the agency. Everyone else was out on various tasks, you were on this job alone. Everybody else just assumed he’d find a way to save himself, you didn’t like taking that chance. Dazai had saved you millions of times and you’d try your hardest to repay him.

“I think you’re underestimating yourself, dear, your agency friends would agree. You could be completely devastating.” Fyodor says as you roll your eyes.

“Well you must all be so lucky.” You wave off, pulling into the agency. You met Fyodor at the front of the car. Giving him a serious look.

“Don’t try anything, I really don’t wanna have to kill you.” You say tiredly, too tired to stop his hand from crossing the space between you two, tucking your hair out of your eyes. You freeze at the contact.

“To die by your hands would be bliss to me dear, but you won’t be rid of me yet.” He says, the look in his eyes like admiration, he looked at you the same way your father looked at your mother. It makes you feel unwanted things.

“When will I be rid of you?” You ask, but it was a loaded question and you weren’t sure what you meant. If you meant physically or mentally because you thought about him all the time when he was gone. Fyodor’s eyes slide down to yours, his hand lingering on your cheek.

“Dear, when we’re done here you’ll be begging me to stay.”

“In your dreams.” You challenged and he just smiled.

“Yes, those too.”

You swallowed and waved Fyodor forwards. As you walked, Fyodor turned to speak with you.

“You could’ve used your powers to bring me here.” Fyodor points out as though you didn’t know that.

“Yes, I could’ve.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Maybe I did, then I told you not to remember.” You jest.

“Oh dear, how I would love you to manipulate me. But alas you are nothing like me, but that’s what I like the most. The purest of intentions.”

You slide the key into the lock, pushing the door to the office open. Fyodor gives the place a once over as you lead him towards your desk.

You slide into your chair, taking out the letter that was sent to the agency about Dazai’s disappearance. Something you’ve looked at time and time again, it almost made you dizzy with exhaustion seeing it again.

Fyodor leans against your back, face close to yours as he reads the note over your shoulder. Your heart speeds at the contact. Fyodor’s hand slides down your shoulder to the note as he points to something.

“Dazai sent this himself.” Fyodor says quietly next to your ear. You snap your head to the side to look at him. He’s so close as he slowly slides his eyes to meet yours.

“What?” You force out.

“Look there, love,” you look at where his finger is pointing. It’s small so you bring the note just a little bit closer. A smile smiley face. You hadn’t noticed that before.

“What the hell?” You ask.

“Some letters are darker than the others, it reads out, ‘be back in two weeks, Dazai’.” You feel like a complete idiot. Anger builds fast in your chest. You rip the note in two and push yourself up from your desk.

“I just helped break a highly dangerous criminal out of a maximum security prison to find out Dazai’s on vacation.” You huff, falling back down into your chair. You hear a soft chuckle behind you. “Screw this.” You growled, storming out of the office towards your car. In your anger you totally forgot Fyodor but that didn’t matter because he followed you just a few steps behind. It was later in the day now, you were so tired and so angry as you stormed to your car. “Get in.” The power slipped into your words as Fyodor tripped over himself to get in the car, you hadn’t even noticed you did it, sometimes that happens when you lose control of your emotions. This was still so new to you. When you slipped in beside Fyodor, you pressed your head against the steering wheel, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot.”

“Don’t say that, dear.”

“But it’s true. It took you seconds! I haven’t slept in days, searching that note night and day.” Frustration built in your chest as angry tears formed in your eyes.

“Dazai’s lucky to have a friend like you, someone who would lose sleep to help. Doesn’t matter how fast I figured it out, you would’ve gotten it out.”

“The note said a week till he was dead.”

“And you still had four days. Stop being so hard on yourself.” You slowly lifted your head off of the steering wheel, eyes fluttering to Fyodor’s. His voice was so calm, so non judgmental, it was messing with your head. You clear your throat.

“It’s too late to take you back now, we’ll have to go in the morning.” You say, trying to snap yourself out of whatever spell Fyodor was casting onto you. His face softens.

“Okay, dear.” He says, settling into the seat. You were hesitant bringing him to your home, he could kill you. But some stupid part of you thought differently of him, some part told you he wouldn’t hurt you. And that stupid part, driven by exhaustion had you driving back to your place, leading him inside and locking the door behind you too. You turned to him in the dim light of your hallway, his eyes shining red.

“Do I have to make you behave yourself?” You ask, the tightness of the hallway had you two quite close.

“You do whatever you like to me.” He whispered, his pale lips smirking in the dark. You swallow against the dryness in your throat, something tugs in your stomach. This was a terrible idea. The way he was looking at you was more dangerous than anything. The space between you both was barely existent. He was so tall, so handsome, all dark and magnetizing. You felt it all washing over you now. A invisible pull. A terrible turn. You let out a breath in your chest, eyes locking with his. Your hands had their own mind, reaching for the front of his shirt, his eyes watch over you. Your fingers knotted in his shirt and you stepped in his space. His lips parted. “Love, you’re crossing a line.” He whispers and you pause, drunk on something you weren’t sure of. Clearly you weren’t thinking straight but sobering up felt like going against yourself. It was strange.

“Should I stop?” You ask. His hand slides up your arm to tuck under your jaw, cold fingers pressing there.

“Never.” He says huskily. “But if you kiss me now then throw me in prison in the morning I’ll be quite hurt.” He jokes, his accent thickens. The air in your chest that you didn’t know you were holding exhales. You leaned into him and watched his eyes drift close, felt his body slack in anticipation. He was completely whipped, he was the one under your spell.

“You thought I was going to kiss you?” You ask, gaining a bit of attention back. Fyodor cocks his head just a bit, eyes fluttering open.

“You weren’t?” He asks, his lips slightly pouting. You grin sharply, slowly rocking on the tips of your toes to pull him down to your lips. A soft press, an answer. Something shoots through your body at the contact. You wanted this. You’ve wanted this since meeting him. He’d wanted the same. You pretended it away the best you could but you couldn’t fucking help it. He wasn’t a good person but he was to you. It was like he was two different people. One made for you. Fuck, you couldn’t help yourself any longer. Your hands dragged up into his hair, tangling. He groaned into your mouth, letting you walk him back into the front door, pressing your body against his, pinning him. You pulled back, kissing his jaw down to his neck, he whimpered at the contact, melting against your touch. “Love, you— you can’t,” he panted, unable to form a coherent sentence. Your cold hand slide under his shirt, feeling warmth beneath it, he gasped at your touch. His hands held you softly, as though you’d realize who you’d be kissing if he held you even tighter. But you knew who he was, what he’d done. But fuck it. You kissed him all over, his neck and jaw and cheeks and lips, you couldn’t stop. He shivered and his fingers slowly dig into the fat of your hips as he pulled you closer to him. He sighed, head falling to the side to give you better access. You kissed softly at his open throat and he made a low sound.

“I’ll show you to my room,” you whispered into his neck, hand sliding into his. When you went to tug him he didn’t move, you turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t.” He says and your heart dips.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” you say, dropping his hand but he catches your fingers, shaking his head.

“You misunderstand me. I want to. But not right now, you’re not- you’re tired and it’s been a long day, I’d rather you sleep then keep you up all night.” You find yourself blushing at his words. You swallow.

“What if I want that?” You barely whisper as though your words held too much gravity. You watch his jaw tick, something flashing in his eyes. It was clear what he was thinking about.

“Love, please, I have just a shred of chivalry left, don't test it.” God you wanted to test it so badly but you felt light headed, exhaustion plaguing you now.

“Alright,” you say softly, he closes the distance between you both, pressing a soft and quick kiss to your lips. When he pulls back he pauses a hair’s width from your lips and when he speaks you feel his breath tickling you.

“Let’s go.” He says. You fumble through the darkness, Fyodor’s arms around your body, pressing soft kisses to you shoulders and neck as you push open the door to your bedroom. You strip down, changing into a large t shirt, letting Fyodor borrow something to change into. Something an ex left at your place, you decided not to tell him that. You both fell into the bed together, exchanging tired kisses in the dark. His body on top of yours, the weight of it heavy, you brought your hands to his sides pulling more of him on top of you. “For someone who hasn’t slept in days you have a lot of energy.” He mutters against your neck. You shutter.

“I want you so badly.” You say before you can stop yourself.

“Trakhni menya…” he groans softly, rolling off of you. You roll to face him, blushing and hot. “You have to sleep.” He says, his hands sliding around you to pull you into his chest. You settle in his arms, his heart beating steadily against your back. He presses a kiss to your shoulder. You close your eyes, listening to his steady breathing. How things escalated was beyond you but you’d never felt more comfortable in your damn life. He pulled a cover over the both of you, reaching to flick off the light. He brushed your hair back out of your face as you wondered what the hell you were going to do in the morning. Taking him back made your stomach twist. You realized for those 213 days you were looking for a reason to seek him out. That when an opportunity fell into your lap you grabbed and ran with it because despite everything you tried lying to yourself about, you wanted him badly enough to break him out of prison. You settled closer to him, sleep slowly tugging you deeper. You tangled in bed with Fyodor, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

One last thought formed before you were taken by sleep.

You weren’t taking him back. He was yours to keep now.

[maxdibert]

Hey I want to ask you something. I read your blog a lot and have seen information you give about people in certain disadvantaged positions (morally/socio-economically). I am not someone who blindly supports Snape. I simply understand him as a flawed human who tried his best at some atonement. But sheltered as I am, I sometimes wonder is people can truly change? And if someone's atonement is enough?

Snape tried to save everyone, most importantly, but he emotionally scarred him. He attacked a child who had no context about any triggers plaguing Snape. JK Rowling has said on record Snape loathed him, Harry, till he died. But why? How did his immense guilt, which made him save everyone, not be at least neutral with a small child? How is it possible for a human being to be self aware about his grand mistake but then not self aware enough to bring any meaningful day to day change? Spitting on the ground when Gryffindor wins....a 30 year old man. Did only Lily matter and so the mistake he made with her was the only thing he felt guilt for? Not the mistakes he made with others. Isn't that why people say he was obsessed?

Second, Lily is dead. No amount of his "atonement" (which she will never know) will bring her back. So is there any use to atonement or is it just people trying to fix the knot in their throats when they do something bad. Because of Snape's mistake, Lily dies. She will never see Harry grow, never have a career, never have another child, never grow old. So what exactly Snape was trying to do? And for what? For Lily? She is dead and he doesn't seem to care for anyone else. So sure, he saved her child, saved the world....but what's the point. They both probably lay in separate graves, and by the time Severus even began saving Harry, Lily's flesh may already started to fall off her bones in her coffin. So what is the point?

Sorry if its too much; I am 23 and this growing and maturing stage is making me hella confused about everything.

People can change, but they must have the opportunity to change, along with the resources and support to do so. This is something Severus never has. He doesn't decide to change; he feels guilty about how his actions negatively affected someone he cares about, and at first, all he wants to do is try to prevent that mistake from turning into a tragedy. The tragedy happens anyway, and he feels that he owes it to himself and to Lily to somehow avenge everything that has happened in order to make up for the damage. It's not rational, of course Lily isn’t going to come back, but all revenge stories begin when the harm is already done and irrevocable. So, really, it's just a way for him to deal with his own feelings of guilt, his anger, and his sorrow. But still, he doesn't have the space to heal his emotional and psychological wounds. He sells his soul to Dumbledore, who conveniently uses him because he knows Severus is capable of anything to gain the validation of the moral authority (that old man) so that he can feel like he is on the right path. After selling his soul, he stops having his own life. He doesn't have a future plan beyond being useful to Dumbledore and his plans, it’s like a self-imposed sentence. He becomes a teacher, even though he doesn't like it or like children, in the same school where he spent the worst years of his life, where he suffered systematic violence, where adults ignored him and now he has to treat them as "colleagues," where he made his biggest mistakes. You can’t heal in the place of the trauma. He goes back there, and ten years later, a kid shows up who, every time he opens his mouth, reminds him of the person who tortured him nonstop. It's not rational. Severus could rationalize his antipathy toward Harry if he had received psychological help or had been given the tools to heal. He could dislike the kid or simply ignore him because he doesn’t like looking at his face, but not go beyond that. But it’s impossible because, psychologically and emotionally, he is trapped in his teenage years, which are where all his major traumas lie, and Harry’s face sadly makes all of that explode in his head every time they see each other. And since Severus is a deeply dysfunctional adult with terrible emotional control, totally deregulated when something reminds him of his traumatic past, he behaves like an idiot.

He doesn't see Harry as Lily’s son; he sees him as a version of James. And this isn't something exclusive to Severus, Sirius sees him the same way. Sirius also projects his trauma, loss, and guilt onto Harry, but the difference is that Sirius loved James, and Severus hated him. But Sirius is a good example of how Severus isn’t the only one who depersonalizes Harry in favor of James, because he even tries to make him like James, or behave the way James would have. What both of them have in common is that they are adults stuck at a point in their lives that doesn't match their age and are also emotionally unstable. Severus decides to save Harry multiple times because when he really stops to think about it rationally and doesn’t have him in front of him, he knows Harry is Lily's son, and his goal is to keep him alive. But this is something he has to remind himself constantly because his rational side is not the one that acts first; it’s a part he has to force.

I’ve always thought that Severus never forgave himself for being indirectly responsible for the death of the person who had been his attachment figure throughout his life. Deep down, Severus is one of those guys who, if you give them a little affection or acceptance, will follow you to the ends of the earth. He shows this with Dumbledore and even, why not, with the Malfoys. He’s the abused stray dog that, if you give him a bit of food and a home, will sink his teeth into anyone who comes near you to threaten you. The thing with Lily is his unfinished business, regardless of whether the past changes or not, but he feels it that way. I also think that as the years go by, it’s not all about Lily anymore, but he really develops a sense of responsibility toward the magical world. He truly wants to help and genuinely wants to defeat Voldemort, not just because of what happened with Lily, but because he believes that Voldemort needs to fall for genuine reasons. He shows this when, despite knowing that Dumbledore's plan involves sacrificing Harry, instead of refusing and telling him to go to hell, he agrees to move forward. If it were just to protect Lily’s son, he would have stepped away from the plan, but he continues because he genuinely wants to do the right thing, and the right thing is saving as many people as possible, even if it requires sacrifices.

[thanatika]

yeah i agree with your point about survival mechanics and i feel the same way about the lack of combat mechanics. "why would an educated city doctor need a weapon" because shit is hitting the fan in every way impossible and pretty much everyone is walking around armed... also why am i supposed to believe the the fact that he's a man of intellect will somehow provide him with food? i don't think anyone is going to be too eager to share food during an outbreak intellectual or not...

+ follow up for the previous ask but actually my favorite quest from the original pathologic is the day 11 bachelor quest that involves shooting down soldiers. i think it really drives the point home about how this random fuckass guy who is supposed to be battling a plague doesn't even have the time to do that anymore because the people in charge are asking completely irrelevant things of him now and he's at a position where he cannot refuse what is being asked of him. like i think it was good storytelling that even as the guy who lowkey wants to deal with the plague and solve its mystery you still have other, more pressing, less interesting and or pleasant tasks to complete

i agree! honestly, i feel this way about the combat mechanics even more than i do about the physical survival (food, health, illness, sleep) mechanics. because sure, i can see how it makes sense for daniil's position of authority to mean that his basic needs are somewhat provided for -- although i don't think it makes more sense than what we got in the original game. i've never seen anyone bring up "isn't it kind of unrealistic that the bachelor isn't given lots of food during a massive food shortage?" as a plothole that needed to be resolved. the townspeople generally don't like him much, and most of the people with power don't either, except for the kains. sure, maybe it's kind of weird that you can go see the kains while broke and on the verge of keeling over from hunger, and they won't do anything to help you, but... the kains are pretty self-centered, and they're so goddamn weird that maybe they forget that you need to eat food to live anyway. and it's half-implied that the powers that be are ultimately giving daniil this role as a convenient way to kill him, so it makes sense that they would put no pressure on the town authorities to keep him alive.

(and honestly, artemy is taken under the olgimsky's auspices as much as the kains take daniil's under theirs! which is to say, selfishly, with ulterior motives that are more important to them than the well-being of their healer, but... the olgimskys are set up as the wealthiest of the 3 families financially, as well as the ones with the most access to food, given their control over the meat industry. so if anything it's "weirder" that artemy isn't more materially provided for, though to be clear i don't think there's an actual plothole there either way.)

but anyway, you could handwave it and say that daniil's position of privilege and authority gives him more perks than he got in the original game, but the amount of fighting you have to do to get through town is... kind of an unavoidable physical reality? like you're given so many sidequests that you often wind up walking around town after dark, and that's when the bandits come out. is the idea that the bandits would be too scared to attack him because he's so important? because that doesn't make a lot of sense to me, and even pathologic 2 establishes that he's seen as a valuable target by the bandits:

and then there's the quests where combat plays a more direct role in the story itself, like getting involved in saving andrey from the firing squad, or killing guards to break artemy out of prison, or the quest where you have to kill var in attempt to stop the arsonists (which i include on the same tier as the other ones because i really like the quest journal entry he has if you complete it where he blames himself for willow's death. it's a good character moment.)

hell, even in pathologic 2 itself, one of the biggest Bachelor Moments is on day 11, when you have that big dramatic convo with him after he killed a soldier for the papers he was delivering. plus one of bad grief's idle dialogues in patho 2 is commentary on the bachelor being "quick on the draw" and that he "already shot someone". like he just straight up is not living a combat-free existence. and overall, combat isn't just a good tool from a mechanical perspective, heightening the stakes and placing pressure on the player (though it is), it's also pretty important for him on a thematic level imo, almost as important as artemy and his "rivers of blood". in patho classic, daniil has this early interaction with the inquisitor:

which, thinking about it from a doylist perspective, was probably the writers' attempt to make it sound more plausible that this random medical researcher from the big city was competent with multiple types of guns. and i appreciate them coming up with that hint of backstory to cover their bases a bit, but with those bases covered, i think the fact that daniil ultimately spends more time shooting people than he does prescribing medicines for them actually does a lot for him thematically? i mean, if his whole thing is that he's this "tempted destroyer", someone who frames his career as a combative battle with death rather than a quest to save people's lives, whose "default" solution is to raze the town with artillery because he's too limited by his rationalist worldview and military upbringing (and bitterness over being manipulated and sabotaged) to come up with a solution that saves the any remaining infected survivors on his own. plus the way that clara frames artemy and daniil as two sides of the same coin in being violent destroyers and killers, who without player intervention will immediately devolve to running around chasing each other down in what's either an insanely dedicated tom and jerry LARP or some really elaborate foreplay. imo, that whole dichotomy (which is pretty core to the game, as the idea of dichotomies are core to it in general) works so much better with the way they're both presented in classic, stalking around with gun/scalpel in hand. hell, not to mention the effect that spending 12 in-game days trying not to starve and getting killed by bandits or guards or worms or soldiers every day would have on the player, and the way it would make them feel about the town and their natural projection of those feelings onto dankovsky, who is a perfectly fitting vessel for them as the avatar actually undergoing those virtual experiences.

ultimately i think they are mainly going this direction out of a desire to do something more creative and original, which is fine... it just seems a bit silly to me that they keep saying "well obviously that doesn't really work for the bachelor's scenario", when, well... even as recently as patho 2 in 2019, they seemed to think it fit his narrative pretty well! i'm also guessing that a lack of combat won't be that bandits are just no longer roaming the streets at night. it sounds more like pathologic 3 is set to be more of a nonlinear experience, where you'll probably fast travel from place to place instead of having to walk across town so much? so you'll be avoiding bandits just in the sense that the gameplay will be avoiding them. i guess i'm hoping that at the very least, there's still the implication of the crunch of not getting enough sleep or food and the threat of being stabbed to death while trying to get through town occurring to dankovsky in the background, even if those mechanics are deemphasized in favor of more macro-level town resource management, time control, and sherlock holmes fruit ninja or whatever the hell they were on about back in 2022 lmao.

[eroticomens]

(i wanted love, i needed love) most of all

in which Logan casually says 'i love you' and Wade talks about The Lion King a normal amount. set after my fic Empty With You but works on its own as just stupid cute fluff~ Wade’s always envisioned the first time Logan says ‘I love you’ would be a dramatic declaration, most likely mid-nasty, at which point they would switch from nasty and shift gears to making love. It’s a pretty common fantasy in his brain. Never fails to leave his hands sticky and his heart even stickier. 

He doesn’t need Logan to say it. He wants him to, more than anything in the world, but he’s learning how to be less of a brat these days. …Trying to, anyway. So he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod. He just tells Logan that he loves him every chance he gets, and takes the kisses, hugs, and affectionate smiles he receives in return. 

Logan’s headed off for work. It’s a stupidly early shift. It’s 5 AM, the actual asscrack of dawn, and he’s lacing up his boots while Wade makes him coffee in a thermos (definitely not spiked with whiskey) and stuffs it into his lunch box, along with a turkey sandwich that’s mostly meat.

Wade plops the sticker suffocated lunch box down on the couch next to Logan, leaning against the armrest and wrapping Logan’s bathrobe tighter around himself. He’s got his own, of course, but Logan’s is just comfier. 

“Whatcha buildin’ today, Peanut? Casino? Old folks home? Walk-in STD clinic? Combination of all of the above? Blind Al will be thrilled.” Wade chatters. 

A single soft laugh. “Same thing we been workin’ on all week. The overpass down by Jacob’s Convenience.” 

“Are they, though– convenient? I’d categorize a thirty minute walk as a Hassle.” 

“Maybe not. But they got good cigars.” Wolvie shrugs, standing to leave. 

He makes his way to the door with Wade in tow, as usual. “Don’t forget your lunch, sugar tits.” Wade rattles the box behind him. 

“Thanks, angel.” Logan says with a smile. His fingers are warm and rough and familiar as they brush Wade’s to take his lunch. Then he cups Wade’s cheek in his free hand and gives him a chaste kiss. “I’ll be back around 6. Try not to miss me too much.” 

“I’m not making any promises.” Wade stands on his tippy toes to give Logan another kiss. The only time Logie gets to be taller is when he’s got his work boots on and Wade’s barefoot. Wade might enjoy it a little too much. “Love you.” He says as he pulls away like he always does. 

But today, Logan replies: “Love you, too.” And even though it’s the middle of winter, his world blooms like spring. He swears he smells flowers and sunshine, like the words themselves have taken root in his soul. 

[Hold the fuck up. Was that a typo, author? Are you fucking with us right now? We will fucking gut your pumpkin seed munching ass–]

He must look as flabbergasted as he feels, because Logan tilts his head. “…Y’okay there?” 

“You said it,” Wade says flatly at first… then with much more enthusiasm as it sinks in. “You said it!!” He squeals and leaps into Logan’s arms, long limbs encircling Logan’s shoulders and waist as he buries his face in the other man’s neck. 

Logan’s deep, rich laughter vibrates through every bone in his body and makes his dying cells feel alive. “Yeah….Guess I did…” 

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. Wade tells himself, but it’s too late. He’s already sniffling into Logan’s shirt as the other man rubs his upper back soothingly. “Don’t go to work,” He says softly. Logan’s quiet for a minute, clearly weighing the options in his head. “Wade…” “Don’t go,” Wade pleads, kissing his neck and nuzzling into him. This draws a long, resigned sigh from his lover, and Wade grins against his skin triumphantly. “Stay home with me. Say there was an emergency. Say your father died and you had to move to the jungle for a few years and eat bugs, but you’re back to reclaim the throne from your uncle Scar–” “Wade.” Logan interrupts. “Yeah?” “You’re an idiot. …and I love you.” Wade’s feet wiggle and his toes curl in uncontainable excitement, like Logan’s words are electric. He grips the other man tightly with his thighs and leans back to grab his face and pull him into a kiss– a real kiss, with tongue and a greedy little nibble of Logan’s bottom lip at the end. He can feel Logan trying to smile. “Why now? Why today?” Wade can’t help but ask. There’s a short pause while Logan assembles his thoughts. Wade’s used to giving him an extra minute to articulate his feelings, so he just strokes his kitty cat’s hair affectionately, earning a soft rumble. 

[It’s a goddamn purr.] ((But Wolvie doesn’t like when we call it that...)) [Can’t stop us from saying it inside.]

Wade stifles a tiny giggle.

“Think I been sayin’ it back in my head for months. Just…actually came out today.”

Wade wrinkles his nose and blinks fresh tears from his eyes. “Stop. I’m losing my fucking mind right now. God, I love you so much, you big beautiful bastard. Please tell me you’re gonna stay home so we can roll around in the grass and fuck like lions?”

Logan laughs again, hugging him close. “Alright, alright. I won’t go to work today, Red.”

“Oh, you’re going to work, alright, Simba.” Wade grins, still watery eyed. ”On this ass.” 

[gummygowon]

sage green | jeong yunho

word count: 633

request: congrats on 500 followers bestie‼️ may i request sage green + fluff/coffee shop au + yunho?

warnings: yunho and y/n are so stupidly in love with each other

author's note: you are so sick for requesting this babes (no you are not i actually died from the amount of fluff in here) hope you enjoy heheheh :D

it was absolutely ridiculous how often you visited the coffee shop that was conveniently located five minutes away from your campus and ten minutes away from your apartment. but who can blame you when the cutest man worked behind the counter.

"small vanilla iced coffee?" the cute barista asked, a warm smile on his face. oh did you mention that said cute barista knew your coffee order? that's how freakishly often you went.

an awkward giggle left your mouth as your cheeks warmed. "yes, please. i probably should take a break from all this cafiene"

you were too busy fishing your wallet out of your sage green tote bag to notice the cheeky smile growing on his face. "do you want to try something else without any cafeine?"

"excuse me?" you ask, the question throwing you off guard as you realize that this was out of your usual conversations with the barista.

"i can make you something without any cafeine if you prefer." he offers, the sage green sweater peaking through his coffee brown apron.

"sure, surprise me." you smile at him before sifting through your tote bag to look for your wallet.

"it's on the house, don't worry about it." the barista dismisses, shaking his head.

"are you sure?"

"yeah, don't worry your pretty head about it."

a slight blush forms on your cheeks at the word "pretty" and him using it towards you. he thought you were pretty? you were too wrapped up in the small win that the cute barista had some type of mutual feeling towards you that you didn't realize him visibly cringe at his words.

he meant to call you an endearing nickname or at least call you pretty but he didn't mean to say "pretty head". like who says that? head???

whatever, yunho tried to not think of the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to him just a few moments ago. he carried on behind the counter, crafting and perfecting your non-caffeinated drink.

after a couple of minutes, yunho called out your name for you to get your drink. even though he says your name every time you order, the butterfly feeling truly never goes away.

"what's the drink?" you ask before bringing the cup to your lips.

"take a sip and i'll tell you." he teases as he wipes down the counter, making his eyes look somewhere else before he dies from the bubbly feeling in his stomach that he gets whenever he sees you.

"oh my god," you gasp, "this is delicious! what is it?"

yunho heart beats ten times faster seeing you light up with excitement over something he made for you. "it's a uh s'mores hot chocolate. the sugar will keep you going for a little bit."

"it's wonderful! thank you..." you pause mid sentence realizing that you never knew the cute barista's name.

"yunho." he answers with a warm smile on his face.

"thank you, yunho." you finish, with a grin.

there was an awkward pause between the both of you. one of those, i don't wanna leave you but i don't know what to say type of situations.

"you, uh, wanna grab dinner later?" yunho quickly asks, his words almost slamming into each other from how fast he was speaking. "i know a pizza spot down the street and they have deals for two slices for a dollar on tuesdays."

"sure, yeah i would love to." you answer, the blush on your cheeks growing with every second.

"i'm off in thirty minutes."

"perfect, i'll wait for you then."

"perfect." yunho mumbles as he watches you walk to an empty booth. the sage green sweater he was wearing was making him sweat as he finally realized he made a move on you after taking such a terribly long time to.

who would've thought that the cute barista who knew your order felt the same way? ;)

[queen-dahlia]

𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐯𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧

𝗠𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗥𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗥𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗘𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲 + 𝗟𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿

🔞🔞🔞

Note: Translation is not 100% accurate. Expect grammatical errors.

// : alternate translation | ⫘⫘ : flashback

It has been a while since I started living in Obsidian, but there is still a lot I don't know about Gilbert.

For example—

Gilbert: "… And then, what did you just say?"

Obsidian nobleman: "I'm... sorry... sir."

Gilbert: "Forget the apology, just say it again… okay?"

(... I didn't know...)

A bullet pierces the wall of the castle.

It passed by a nobleman who had been summoned by Gilbert to make a report,

It was emitted from the pitch-black cane that he usually carried around.

(I knew it wasn't a normal cane because it was strangely heavy, but I didn't realize it was a gun.)

The end of the cane was a cap, and when the cap was removed, the barrel of the gun was revealed.

The handle has been replaced by a trigger, and you can put your finger on it.

Gilbert: "You've got to tell me something soon, I'm not that patient myself."

Obsidian nobleman: "… We have been… illegally exploiting… the collection of… taxes."

Gilbert: "I agree. That's what the report says."

Gilbert: "It looks like you were collecting three times the normal tax and putting a lot of money in your pocket."

Gilbert: "Did you think I couldn't see you just because you're in a rural area? Ahaha, you're so naïve."

Gilbert: "The spies I raised are scattered everywhere. We are constantly doing spot checks."

Gilbert: "You let your guard down, didn't you?"

Obsidian nobleman: "I'm sorry... I'm sorry."

(Obsidian is a land of deceit and corruption... The center seems to be mitigating that, but not the provinces.)

Not all of the vast Obsidian territory is healthy, according to Gilbert,

The further away from the center, the deeper the corruption remains.

(… Gilbert had arranged for weapons to reach all exploited people in anticipation of his death.)

(But now that the Emperor is alive, there is no need for that yet.)

(… This is how Gilbert had to become a "Trampling Beast".)

Gilbert: "That's just it, little rabbit. What's the one thing I hate the most?"

Suddenly, I am asked to speak, and I straighten my back.

Emma: "… Lies."   //   "… A liar."

Gilbert: "Yes, I hate liars. I'll tell you how much I hate it—"

Gilbert changed his bloodlust into a smile, putting strength at his fingertips…

Emma: "Please wait!"

Without hesitation, I grabbed his hand tightly.

Gilbert: "What's wrong?"

Emma: "… The Earl seems to be very sorry for what he did."

Emma: "Isn't it an act of excessive authority to even take a life?"

Gilbert: "You're so naïve. This kind of person who can only think of himself will do the same thing over and over again."

Emma: "Then why not punish him in a way that he won't repeat it?"

Emma: "It's too short-sighted to take life for anything."

Gilbert: "Hmmm...?"

Gilbert's red eye does not smile, and I gasp.

The Emperor has no mercy on me, even though I am his lover.

(I feel like I'm being tested every time.)

Gilbert: "Then will you take responsibility for his rectification?"

Emma: "Rectification…?"

Gilbert: "I'll throw him in jail for a while, and if you reform him during that time, I'll consider letting him live."

Emma: "Please do so!"

(… Maybe he was planning to do this all along.)

Otherwise, he would not have dared to have me, who hates killing people, in his presence.

Lately, Gilbert has been trying to trust me to do things my way.

It may be a convenient interpretation, though,

As a matter of fact, I was glad to see that people were listening to me more than before.

Gilbert: "… I don't like it."

For some reason, however, his neat face is distorted into a grim expression.

Emma: "Gilbert, you suggested..."

Gilbert: "Yes, but I can't believe you would willingly take the opportunity to talk to a man other than me."

Emma: "… I can't talk to anyone when you say that."

Gilbert: "That's a good idea."   //   "That would be nice."

(Not good, not good...)

Emma: "Gilbert, you are different from the rest of them."

Gilbert: "I can say as many words as I want."

(... It's getting troublesome again.)

Gilbert approaches me while ignoring the frightened and trembling nobleman.

He was no longer interested in the Earl, and his target was narrowed down to me.

He lifts his chin and gives me a big smile.

Now that we have been together longer, I know what he wants from me.

(... I don't have a choice. People's lives are at stake.)

I close my eyes in the shame of being in front of others and kiss his cold lips.

Emma: "… I only do this to you, Gilbert."

Gilbert: "Hehe… Well done."

(Ah... the bloodlust has disappeared.)

Gilbert, smiling with satisfaction, kisses me back as well.

He then put his gun away in his cane in front of the nobleman who had been left behind.

Gilbert: "Good for you. She saved your life."

Obsidian nobleman: "… Thank you very much. Thank you."

Gilbert: "Yeah, yeah. Don't ever forget that gratitude, okay? Your life is in the palm of her hand."

(Sometimes… I wonder if Gilbert is threatening me to win over my allies.)

(… You may not like me, but you don't let me be…)

The kind of malice had changed from when I was at Rhodolite, and that was somewhat sad.

Gilbert: "Take him away."

Roderich: "… Yes sir."

Roderich, who had been waiting by the wall, drags the staggering man, gasping for breath, out of the room.

The tension that had dominated the room finally dissipated into a mist.

Emma: "… You can't be that mean."

Gilbert: "It's love, love."

(I feel like I should protest...)

Whenever I see Gilbert looking so happy with just one kiss, I can't say anything.

(... I'm pretty much the same way.)

I cleared my throat and blew away the embarrassment that was clearly out of place.

Emma: "And by the way, that cane... it was a gun."

Gilbert: "Do you want me to make one for you?"

Emma: "No, I don't need it."

Gilbert: "Eh, you're cold..."

Emma: "I don't need a gun, but... like that cane, there's still a lot I don't know about you."

(… And the best example of that is, of course—)

I stare at Gilbert's face.

Although I have lived at Obsidian for a fair amount of time now, I have yet to see beneath Gilbert's eye patch even once.

I wonder if there is a scar under the black eye patch or if there is another reason.

I had avoided asking until now, thinking it might be a topic I shouldn't touch, but Gilbert seemed to see right through my thoughts.

Gilbert: "… Are you curious?"

Emma: "Very..."

Gilbert: "I can tell you."

Emma: "Are you sure?"

(That’s surprisingly easy—)

Gilbert: "However..."

Gilbert hugs my waist and puts a bewitching smile on his lips.

Gilbert: "At night, on the bed...?"

══════════════════

After Walter diagnosed that Gilbert was doing well after the surgery, he began to bring me into his bed more often.

At first it was just light kissing and sleeping, but then the clouds began to lift...

Gilbert: "Well, what do you do when you get in bed?"

Now there are more days when a kiss is not enough to get him to forgive me.

Emma: "… I'm embarrassed every time."   //   "… It's embarrassing every time."

Gilbert: "I just want to see you embarrassed."

(Really, I've never seen anyone as bad as Gilbert.)

Smiling, Gilbert sits on the bed and looks at me.

I wanted to cry at the look that was not going to be turned away at all, but I emptied my mind and dropped my negligee on the floor.

Gilbert shakes his head as I am reduced to a thin piece of cloth.

Apparently, I have to take it all off to get under the eye patch.

Gilbert: "Take it off, or I will take it off anyway, right?"

Emma: "… It might be less embarrassing if you took off your clothes."

Gilbert: "I doubt that."

(…?)

I was beckoned to come closer, and Gilbert stood up and mercilessly stripped me down to my underwear.

(Uwaaa!)

I quickly crouch down on the ground to cover my body.

My whole body was burning because I was not prepared for it.

Gilbert: "You're embarrassed when I undress you."

Emma: "… It was so sudden…"

Emma: "Anyway… Why am I always the only one naked—"

Gilbert: "What, you want to see me naked? No, Little Bunny, you're shameless."

Emma: "Which one of us is the shameless one!?"

Gilbert: "Ahaha, I'm only going to make love to you, okay?"   //   "Ahaha, I'm only naughty for you, okay?"

(… I am not pleased. This is exactly what Gilbert wants.)

Laughing, Gilbert picks me up and rolls me onto the bed.

When I got down on my back and hid my body, his tongue crawled on my back.

Gilbert: "Turn around, Emma."   //   "Look at me, Emma."

Emma: "… I don't want to."

Gilbert: "Then I won't take off my eye patch either."

Emma: ". . . . . ."

Gilbert: "In the first place, if you look that way, you won't be able to see me, right?"

(It's all about the end result…)

I was kissed repeatedly on the back and occasionally bitten sweetly.

The frustration gradually outweighs the embarrassment of being naked.

(… I want to see what's under his eye patch…)

(I want to know the Gilbert I don't know.)

When the rain of kisses stopped, I made up my mind and turned my body up...

Gilbert: "Ah, finally our eyes met."

Emma: ". . . . . ."

He has a beautiful ultramarine eye that I cannot help but admire.

Emma: "… It’s blue…"

Gilbert: "I was born with it. It's my complex."

Emma: "Why? It's so beautiful."

(Red and blue... I've never seen one with such a distinctly different eye color.)

Unlike red, the color of blood that seems to destroy everything, blue is gentle and full of affection.

My impression of Gilbert changed drastically from the right side to the left side.

Emma: "I love it."

Gilbert: "You may love it, but I will never love it."

(If you're going to go that far, there's something traumatic—)

Gilbert: "I mean, don't I look like a baby?"   //   "I mean, don't I look like a child?"   //   "I mean, don't I have a baby face?"

Emma: "…… Huh?"

I just couldn't keep my voice straight.

Emma: "It kind of… makes you look younger when you have both eyes showing…"

Gilbert: "I feel like it's more appropriate for my age if I hide it with an eye patch. I don't know."

(Oh, the reason is more than I thought.)

(… It’s sincere...)

I instantly turned my face away, but it was too late.

Gilbert: "… You smiled just now."

Emma: "N-No… I'm not smiling."

Gilbert: "I hate lies."

Emma: "Ah... nnh—"

Gilbert puts his fingers in between my legs with a look that makes me wonder if he's disapproving or amused.

Emma: "Don't…"

The cold fingers caressed my sensitive spot, and gradually, an obscene sound of whimpering and moaning assaulted my eardrums.

Gilbert: "Oh, I haven't even touched you that much yet—"

Emma: "… I-Is that really the only reason… for the eye patch?"

I forcibly interrupt the words that incite shame and then go further.   //   I forcibly interrupt the words that incite shame, and he goes more deeply. **

Gilbert: "No? There are other reasons, but you don't need to know them."

Gilbert: "Because it's no longer necessary."

(What does that mean—…)

Emma: "Ahh… mmm…"

Fingers penetrate deep into my body, and my hips lift.

I didn't have the time to ask the questions that came to mind.

Gilbert: "Hehe… Since I told you a secret, I deserve something in return."

Emma: "… W-wait—"

Gilbert: "Hey, you're not going to try to run away from me, are you...?"

I tried to escape, but Gilbert was expertly holding me down,

Without a moment to catch my breath, I had no choice but to take the stimulation given to me in stride.

(… I feel like… I'm being trampled…)

Eventually, his cold fingers and the heat in my body assimilate and become one.

No matter how many times I shuddered, he wouldn't let go, and the feeling of wetness was uncomfortable.

(A heat... in my belly...)

When I grabbed the black shirt, saying I couldn't do it anymore, the eyes of different colors responded in different ways.

It is really strange because the red one looks mean and the blue one looks like it is smiling gently.

Gilbert: "By the way, there's a lot more I haven't told you."

Gilbert: "I'm actually writing a book…"

(… Huh.)

Gilbert: "I've been drawing designs for the dress I gave you…"

(Eh…)

Gilbert: "Oh, and then..."

Gilbert suddenly remembers and pulls something shiny out of his pants pocket.

It was an insignia of King Chevalier with a white tiger emblem.

(When did you...!)

Gilbert: "This is terrible."

Gilbert: "I can't believe you have a man like me and yet you have something that belongs to another man."

Emma: "It doesn't mean anything strange!?"

Gilbert: "For you, maybe."

Gilbert: "But it's Chevalier's way of harassing me."

Emma: "I don't think—"

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Chevalier: "There will come a day when you can use it if you want to establish a friendly relationship with Rhodolite."

Chevalier: "… Besides, I want to get revenge for being pushed around by Eyepatch, too."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(… It might have, it might happen.)

Gilbert: "I'm jealous."

The moment the villain turned up the corner of his mouth with a smirk, my body was penetrated all of a sudden.

Emma: "Ahh—ahhhh…"

Without a shred of gentleness, he roughly gouges the heat out of my stomach.   //   Without a shred of gentleness, he roughly and violently hollows out the heat in my stomach.

My vision flashed, and my breathing became violently erratic.

Gilbert: "All you need to worry about is me…"

Gilbert: "The mere sight of another man makes me want to kill him, okay?"

(… It's more of… a threat than jealousy…)

Gilbert's "like" is dominance.   //   Gilbert's "love" is dominance.

Domination was an expression of his affection, and perhaps that has not changed.

(But... he doesn't take away my freedom, and he respects my heart.)

The occasional contradiction between what he says and what he does is evidence that he is wavering between beast and man.

My nails dig into Gilbert's perilously unstable back.   //   I dig my nails dangerously into Gilbert's back. **

My body heaved more, and I felt a tingle in the pit of my stomach.

(Gilbert now has… a human side as well…)

(So, I—...)

I let go of the violent pleasure with my breath, so much so that it almost took away my sense of consciousness.

Emma: "Just a little bit more... Please trust me."

Emma: "… I will never, ever betray you."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Emma: "… What is this "betrayal" you speak of, Prince Gilbert?"

Gilbert: "Well…"

Gilbert: "That you are no longer you."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(I'm… staying me.)

No matter how many more secrets about Gilbert I learn in the future,

I know that his underlying wounded heart is filled with love for others.

Gilbert: "I see..."

A pair of flickering eyes covered my vision, and my lips were sealed.

His lips, which are usually cold, are now so hot that they almost burn.

Gilbert: "I'm troublesome, difficult, and tough, but do your best...?"

The reply was charmingly lost.

(—I wonder if he's aware of that.)

Just as there are things I don't know about Gilbert, there are things he seems unaware of as well.

(Someday, I'd love to teach you.)   //   (Someday, I want to tell you.)

(Why I love you, even if you're mean, even if you threaten me…)

Gilbert, who does evil things to me without seeming to take offense...

He always had sincere love in his eyes——

𝗟𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿:

To my beloved Little Bunny   //   To my darling little rabbit

I thought it was a good idea to lock up the little rabbit, but I guess not. I need to think of other ways to love you… If you have any good ideas, could you write me a letter? I will seek a compromise with your input as well.

Come to think of it, there's been a lot of talk about letters since I came to Obsidian. Before, I couldn't write anything without a question from you, but now it seems that's not the case. I have so much I want to tell you and share with you. I wonder... I haven't wanted to write a letter to someone like this since I was a child.

I used to love to write letters. Since I am frail and have spent most of my life in bed, letters are the only thing that connect me to the outside world. There were also a few friends who I never met face-to-face, only through our exchange of letters… My brothers, mother, and friends all taught me so much, and it was something I looked forward to every day.

I stopped doing any of those things when I became a beast… Hey, Emma. Write to me when you have time again. I'll keep writing to you too.

Oh, and by the way, you have no right to refuse this. Write a letter, or be forced to write one. You have a choice between those two options...?

Gilbert von Obsidian

[princessconsuela120]

Chapter one: A Well Respected Man —✧

Series masterlist

Chapter Warnings: mature themes, cursing, mentions of sex, mentions of pregnancy

Author’s Note: I’m so excited for this you guys, I can’t wait for it. Details will be up soon, explaining certain things like why Mr Garrison works at a convenience store and why they were on a science trip out of school! Keep an eye out!

—✧

“WELL, WELL, WELL, IF IT ISN’T LITTLE MISS MARSH. Back for another test?” The man at the cash register spoke, taunting me for the third time that day. Ironically enough, the face of my 4th grade teacher wasn’t the one I necessarily wanted to see at a time like this. Why I had to come to this store of all places was beside me, but hey, at least Garrison gives me half off prices. And considering this was the third test I was buying, I think I needed the boost.

He simply smirked, a smirk so evil I wanted to slap it off his face. He’d never understand, who could ever understand. He’d probably seen so many teen girls come here with the same tired eyed look on their faces, the same nervous attitude, and the same passive aggressive glare given every two seconds to remind him he was staring with too much curiosity once again. So instead of answering his question, I just shook my head, grabbing another box off the shelf and turning over to him.

“I think the first one was defective, the plus sign looked more like a division symbol. So I’m not convinced.” I said, deciding to be civil enough to speak, seeing as he was the only person who had spoken to me all day, and is probably the first person to find out that I was actually having the worst intervention of my life.

I reached onto the counter to grab the bathroom key, the one I had already used three times today, only for it to be pulled away from me. As I looked up, I met a tilted stare from Mr Garrison, who was holding the keys out of my grasp.

“That’s the third test today, mama bear. Your eggo is preggo, no doubt about it.” He taunted, spitting words at me as if they were nothing. I tried to pretend my heart wasn’t beating a mile a minute. It was probably beating even faster than that, I felt like I was about to throw it up with how high it was in my chest, but I didn’t dare admit that. See, if no one saw the fear, I didn’t have to acknowledge it either. Besides, Stan would be here to pick me up any minute, and I couldn’t risk that confrontation of how nervous I must’ve looked.

“It's really easy to tell.” A girl beside the counter said adding to the conversation, though it was the first time I had even noticed I wasn’t the only one in the store. “Is your nipples real brown?” She asked, earning a concerned look from both me and the cashier. I just rolled my eyes at the comment, holding my hand out as a silent signal I needed the key now.

“Yeah. Maybe your little boyfriend's got mutant sperms.” He teased, wiggling his eyes brows. “Knocked you up twice.”

I only scoffed, not wanting to even bring up the fact that the father wasn’t in fact my boyfriend, and the possibility of him having mutant sperm wasn’t expectantly low considering our colorful free time as children.

“Silencio, old man.” I rolled my eyes and shook my hand to remind him I was waiting for the key. “Look, I just drank my weight in Diet-Coke, and I gotta go pronto.”

He looked down at my hand, then over to the half-empty coke can in my hand, the 10th one today, I’m sure he knew that.

“Well, you know where the lavatory is.” He said, handing me the key as I rushed to the bathroom.

“Pay for that pee stick when you're done! Don't think it's yours because you marked it with your urine!” He shouted after me, but I was too focused to answer.

I still remember the day we did it, like it was yesterday. I remember all of it, every second. I remember how it made me feel, how he made me feel. I remember the euphoric feeling that came with it, the way he smelt, the way he looked. I remember the chair, it was leather.

I remember the things he’d say to me, the way he held me as if I was the most fragile thing to walk the earth. Like I was glass. Like I would break if he held me wrong.

I remember the music. Fleetwood Mac. Mostly. Dreams played almost on repeat for the majority of it. I had never even heard that song until that day, he had told me it was one of his favorites. It's one of my favorites now too.

I remember the bed. How it was just a mere few feet away from where we were, but he wanted the chair. I remember him saying, how it was closer with the chair. How I would be completely in twinged with him on the chair. Because he wanted me to be close, he craved the touch.

I remember the way he made me feel, and I hate that. Because I loved it. I loved it so much, I never wanted it to end.

And now here I was, sighing as I splashed some water in my face to dry and get rid of the dread that lingered on it. Hoping that maybe if I splashed enough water on my face, maybe the bags under my eyes would glow down the drain with all the water.

It didn’t.

I shook my face, letting off all the water that was in my hair, and grabbed both the now used test and the keys and headed back out to the register.

“What's the prognosis, Fertile Myrtle? Minus or plus?” Garrison asked. I shook the test, letting out all the air that was building up in my chest and slamming the keys down onto the counter

“I don't know. It's not seasoned yet. I'll take some of these.”

I grabbed a licorice rope from beside the counter and set it out with the empty pregnancy test box to pay.

“No. There it is,” I sighed again, scrunching up my face in disgust while shaking my head. “That little pink plus sign is so unholy.” I grumbled, shaking the test. Getting more and more violent with the shaking, hoping that maybe if I whole hard enough, it would disappear.

“That ain't no Etch A Sketch. This is one doodle that can't be undid, home skillet.” Mr Garrison said, reading my mind, the bastard. I just rolled my eyes, quickly paying before tossing the test in the trash on my way out.

Three tests, three damned home pregnancy tests, and all had to be positive. As if my life as little miss princess of South Park wasn’t enough. I wasn’t even ‘princess’ I didn’t wanna be. I guess with my perfect track record, and my amazing ability to fish my brother and our friends out of trouble, that made me a princess. I sort of was in a way, to my dad at least. His little girl, his Junebug. I could only imagine what he’s do if he knew.

I think when it came down to it, telling my family had to be the worst part. Stan would probably kill Kyle, or at least try to before getting drunk and probably end up hurting himself. My dad would most likely do the same, which would also end in him being drunk. And my mom, I could only imagine the look of disappointment she’d give me, the kind of look that sears into your heart and stabs and stabs, until you're utterly numb from the pain. Or who knows, maybe I’d never tell them.

—✧

“I’m a suicide risk.” I sauntered, mumbling into my small phone, making sure no one was around to hear. Even if I was home alone, you could never be too cautious.

“Juno?” Kenny’s scratchy morning voice rang from the other side of the phone.

Kenny McCormick, I swear sometimes he was my saving vice. He’s been my best friend since kindergarten when we used to get slushies together at the 711, until our brains were frozen and we almost puked our brains out. I could talk to him for hours on end and never get tired of it. In our group dynamic, sure we all loved each other, but when it came down to it we all knew Kyle and Stan were best friends. It was always silently known that Kenny was my best friend, Cartman floating around somewhere between the cracks. It was as if all the words I said, Kenny already knew.

“No, it's Morgan Freeman. Do you have bones that need collecting?” I remarked, rolling my eyes at him as if he could see me through the phone. I heard his airy giggles through the phone.

“Only the one in my pants.” He joked, still laughing at his own joke. I could feel my heart almost drop as I went over the words in my head. Who knew saying two words would be so hard. And to Kenny. I just stood there, collecting myself, sitting in my agony for another 20 seconds before blurting it out.

“I'm pregnant.” It was almost a whisper. Like even if no one else was home, somehow, someone would hear me.

“What? Actually?” He asked, all of the sudden eager and attentive, probably sitting up and now engaged in my words. Of course he was, this was almost as exciting as having died every day for his entire middle school experience. For Kenny, this was probably even more exciting.

“Yeah. Yeah, it's Kyle’s.” He didn’t say anything, I could see his eyes raise in my head, the one he did when she was shocked. He was probably sitting on hid bed, mouth open slightly with his eyebrows raised.

“Kyle Broflovski?” He asked, not to anyone in particular, seeing as he already knew he was the only boy I had ever done anything with.

“It's probably just a food baby. Did you have a big lunch?” He asked, making me roll my eyes.

“No, this is not a food baby, all right? I've taken like three pregnancy tests, and I am for shiz up the spout.” I rambled.

“How did you generate enough pee for three pregnancy tests?” He chuckled, I rolled my eyes. “That's amazing.”

“I don't know.” I grumbled, rubbing my forehead in frustration. “I drank like 10 tons of Diet-Coke. Anyway, dude, I...I'm telling you I'm pregnant, and you're acting shockingly cavalier.” It was quiet again, then he sighed.

“Is this actually for real? Like you aren’t just fucking with me? Cartman didn’t put you up to this did he? Or are you actually telling me the truth?” He asked, making me sigh even louder than before.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He paused again, then a nervous chuckle left his lips.

“Oh, my God.” I shook my head, slapping my hand on my side, rolling my eyes at how he was just now acknowledging it. “Oh, shit. Phuket, Thailand.”

“There we go. That was the emotion I was searching for on the first take.” I said, making Kenny scoff on the other line.

“Does Stan know? How are you not dead yet?” He asked, making me roll my eyes again.

“No, Stan doesn’t know. And I’m planning on ending this whole thing before he even finds out.” I shuddered, still afraid of what Stan’s reaction would be. Ken’s right, he would kill me. No, he’s my brother, he would never kill me. He would however, get as close as humanly possible to killing me, without actually laying a finger on me. And then he’d go and actually kill Kyle. Cause let’s face it, he’s a boy, he needs to take his anger out on someone and it sure as hell ain’t his baby sister.

“So, are you gonna go to Unplanned Parenthood or Women Now? Cause you know you need a note from your parents for Unplanned Parenthood.”

“Yeah, I know. No, I'm gonna go to Women Now

just because they help out women now.” I shook my head, still running my hands down my face. This wasn’t real. To me, this wasn’t real, this was shit. This was complete and utter bull shit that would wash away in the morning.

“Want me to call for you? I can say you’re my girlfriend, it always works?” He asked, as I shook my head.

“No, I can call, and I’m slightly concerned that you have enough experience to know it's worked before.” I glanced out my window at my truck, squinting my eyes to calculate whether or not it was the appropriate size or not. “But I do need your help with something. It's critically important.”

—✧

“You know, heavy lifting can really only help you at this point.” Kenny teased, making me roll my eyes. We were both currently trying to lift and shove the most magnificent discarded living room set I had ever seen, into the back of my truck. It was tough, and I was doing most of the work, but we were getting there. It started with the chair, just like most other things. The chair was first.

“Seriously.”

“You were bored? That's how this miracle came to be?” He asked, gesturing to my stomach that wasn’t yet pudgy. I shook my head. No I wasn’t bored, I wanted it. I wanted him, Kyle. It’s weird to say it, that that was what I actually wanted. At first I thought it was a rebellion thing but, I really liked him. I mean I really really liked him. And he was sweet. To me he was. The boy who held my hand the whole time, and made sure I was 100% okay for the whole of it. I didn’t go into it wanting to care about him, but I didn’t go into it bored either. But I came out with a baby, that was the problem.

“No. No, no. The act was premeditated.” I said, sighing with relief when we finally fit the chair in the car. “I mean the sex, not the whole, like, "let's get pregnant" thing.” Kenny nodded, having understood where I was going before we both slumped against my car, taking a break before we drove off.

“So when did you decide that you were gonna screw Kyle?” Kenny asked, wiggling his eyebrows at me teasingly. I smiled, remembering fondly when it happened.

“Well, like...A year ago, in Science class.”

I never paid attention, ever, he did though. See, even before the sex I had always been friends with Kyle, ever since we were little. Due to Stan being my brother, and Kyle being his best friend, I basically grew up with him. Class was never dull with him. He always tried to pay attention, I always tried to take that attention away. It always worked. It was the only class we didn’t have with the rest of our friends, and Kyle was unfortunate enough to sit next to me. Something was always being thrown at him, either my pen, my paper clip, I was almost always targeting him with paper planes. But it was different that day. It was the day before the sex, we had been sitting idly by in Science class when I got a note. It was odd, Kyle never was the note giver, but who was I to argue. It was a small notecard, where his notes should have been instead was a makeshift drawing of me, Kyle, and my brother. It was a remade picture of one from when we were little, me in the center with Kyle kissing my left cheek and Stan kissing my right. It was adorable, and when I looked over at Kyle to smile at it, it was almost as if he could read my mind. I think that’s when I knew, when he smiled at me.

“You love him.” Kenny said, raising his eyebrows at me. I scoffed, shaking in disagreement.

“It's... no, it's actually...it's really complicated, okay? And I don't feel like talking about it in my fragile state.” I said, pretending to be worn out and tired. Kenny and I both chuckled before he smirked again.

“So, what was it like humping Kyle’s scrawny bod?” He teased, but I didn’t roll my eyes this time. I just smiled, god the memory is still so vivid in my mind.

“Magnificent.”

—✧

One thing Kyle took way too seriously was the way he looked. His parents always coddled him with love, he could never tell the difference between seriousness and bias. So he took very very delicate pride in his appearance.

After Kenny and I had taken the living room set and successfully moved it out front of the Broflovski household, he took off while I sat outside, waiting for the Ginger’s ultimate appearance.

“Hi, how are you sweetheart.” Mrs Broflovski said, a sweet smile on her face as she excited the house, not saying a word about the full living room set on her lawn. She knew about the chaos that surrounded her sims friend.

“Mrs Broflovski, hi.”

“Oh darling you know to call me Sheila, please don’t be ridiculous.” She said cheerfully, slightly calming my nerves.

“Right, Sheila. Is Kyle home?” I asked, fiddling with my fingers, remembering why I’m here in the first place.

“He’s actually just upstairs getting ready for Basketball practice.”

“Oh okay.” She smiled again, sending my nerves.

“That’s a very pretty chair.” She said kindly, about to get in her car. I nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I thought so.”

“Well you have a good day sweetheart, don’t get into any trouble.” She said kindly, waving goodbye.

“Bye Mrs Bro-Sheila.” I said, which made her smile even more.

—✧

*cue A well respected man by the kinks.*

If there was one thing Kyle Broflovski was best at, it was his appearance, though he never would think it was. You’d think with the amount of time he took getting ready he had pampered himself to death, but he spent most of the time staring in the mirror, fixing his hair. He cared more about his appearance than most things. Due to the small mixup in 4th grade when he was deemed ugly by the female study body, he was always more conscious about himself. I felt bad honestly, I ranked him 1st on the list, but the girls didn’t listen to my bias based on my friends group. Now the poor boy spends all of his time carefully catering to each quality of himself that may be an imperfection. I don’t know why, I thought he was beautiful.

I still remember the day it happened, Kyle had me wear his t-shirt, because I had forgotten to bring pajamas with me and he didn’t want me to be uncomfortable. I think those were the sorts of things that made me like him so much, how he cared more about others than himself.

He wore almost the exact same outfit everyday, you’d think he had 6 identical orange jackets. He probably did, but that wasn’t the point. He wakes up in the morning, always showers before school. Whenever we’re at school I can always feel the dampness of his hair, which always smells like aloe Vera, in the best way possible. And I swear, he must wash that jacket everyday, it always smells like laundry detergent. He shakes his hair out, makes sure all his curls are in place, then pulls on the same outfit. His curls loosely hang out of his hat. The epitome of beautiful, who knew a boy could be so pretty.

“Hey, Ky.” I chirped, sitting in the chair that I stole.

“Hey Jo, cool tiger.” His eyes locked with mine and I couldn’t help but look down, chuckling nervously which he didn’t yet pick up on.

“I swiped it from Ms. Rancik's lawn.” I said proudly, making Kyle smile back at me. “My, your shorts are, like, especially green today.” I said, making Kyle chuckle as he looked down at his basketball shorts.

“My mom uses color-safe bleach.” He said awkwardly, making me nod.

“Go, Sheila.”

“I'll tell her.” He chuckled, smiling slightly as he looked at me.

“I got,” he gestured in front of him. “I’ve got basketball so…” I didn’t let him finish, figuring I’d rather rip off the bandaid quickly then drag this on any longer.

“So guess what…” I asked, making eye contact again. He raised his eyebrows, chuckling nervously at my own nerves.

“What’s up Jo?”

There it was again, that same silence that came before I told Kenny. It was almost painful to tell him, I could feel his stare stabbing into my chest. So I took one last deep breath, then I ripped the bandaid.

“I'm pregnant.”

He did say anything for a bit, just stared at me blankly while I chewed on my lip. He pointed to himself, and I nodded, confirming it was his. I could feel the shock he was going through. I expected him to run. I’m not sure why but I did. He didn’t run, instead he raised his hands, only to slam them back at his sides. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, and began to stutter.

“W-What should we do about...?” He asked, stuttering. He was petrified, Kyle was rarely petrified. And he was stuttering, Kyle could always keep his composure, in fact he articulated his words so much you could almost always hear every single detail of a word he said.

“Well, you know, I was just…” I shook my head, shifting in the chair. “I was thinking I'd just nip it in the bud. You know, before it gets worse. Because they were talking about, in health class, how pregnancy...It can often lead to an infant.” I remarked, and Kyle nodded along, almost still too stunned to speak.

“Usually, yeah. Yeah. That's what happens when

our moms and teachers get pregnant.” He said, making me nod. Then the silence came back, awkward silence. I hated it, that never happened between Kyle and I, but then again neither did this. He seemed too stunned to speak, to look at me even.

“So you're cool with that, then?” I asked, making him quickly jolt to look up at me.

“Yeah, yeah. Jo, I mean, you know, just, I guess…Do whatever you think you should do, you know?” He said carefully, and I could practically see the sweat dripping down his forehead. He looked at me, I looked away.

I know it shouldn’t have, but his okay mess with the fact I was getting rid of it make me sort of disappointed. We were to young yes, but I guess I kinda wanted him to fight me on that. You know, that maybe he’d want to keep it, just because it was something that would bond us for life. I know that sounds stupid in retrospect, we were 17, 18, we weren’t ready to be parents. I knew he was right.

“Well,” I said, getting up from my chair. “I'm sorry I had sex with you. I know it wasn't, like, your idea.” I started collecting my things, Kyle still staring at me in shock.

“What? Whose idea was it?” He asked, but I ignored him. Honestly I wanted to be anywhere but here right now.

“I'll see you at school, all right?” I gave him a pat on the back and began walking back to my truck. A pat on the back, I gave him a pat on the back as if I wasn’t pregnant with his child.

“Whose idea was it?” He mumbled quietly, before I got in my car, and drove off. The shame was on me if I thought that that was the hard part.

[velvetvexations]

TERFs are so bad at making bottom surgery sound bad. Saw one say "--- (read: trans woman "vaginas" and trans man "penises") is something only erotic to a necrophile". Which was obviously intended to be off putting but i dunno I think it sounds kinda metal???. N there's one i just ran into calling neovaginas "axe wounds" which I KNOW is meant as an insult but oh my god it makes them sound so badass to me

lmao it was bad enough I felt compelled to censor it but yeah we're all about reappropriating TERF conceptions of trans people here

I'm white myself but I've been noticing more and more that white trans people have such a victim complex and believe themselves (ourselves) to be the most oppressed group ever. An acquaintance of mine (a famous trans activist) recently said that "trans people are the only people that face hate for how we dress". Like??? what about ethnic and religious minorities??? what about All Women including cis ones??? She also loves using antisemitism as an example of what "could" or "is going to" happen to trans people while treating it as something that was resolved after ww2 and is not very much still rampant

People are drawing swastikas on Synagogues and calling it praxis!

Idk if you ever saw this comic, but about a month ago, a trans man made a jokey joke comic about making an appointment at the gyno where the receptionist was confused. The ultimate punchline was that he's trans, and thus is the one who needs the appointment. It's v clear that the main point of confusion is that the receptionist thought she was talking to a cis man, who would have no real need for gynecological care. In the "I'm upset when not about me" crowd of TRFs, they decided it was transmisogynistic bc no *actually* the receptionist thought the trans man on the line with a deep voice was really a trans woman. Because sometimes trans women are mistaken as men over the phone. Idk if they just missed that it wasn't a primary care provider or what, but it was v clear to me that the idea was confusing a trans man over the phone for a cis man. Cis men generally don't need gynecologists. Trans men can need gynecologists. It had fuck all to do with trans women on a subtextual level. I can't fathom how they thought that.

TRFs CANNOT fucking read holy shit I hope they fucking apologized to the author

sorry to bring up PT AGAIN ik you are probably tired of hearing about it, but one of the last posts.i read before unfollowing was a comparison of transandrophobia believers with James Fucking Somerton. and its ironic as fuck to me because alot of critiques of Somerton can absolutely apply to them. equating any critique as harassment based on their identity is a big one and its been driving me nuts to see trfs envoke a James Somerton comparison when they are doing similar shit to him

James Somerton is a convenient lightning rod to compare every bad queer person for the rest of time

As a trans male I hate the weird, white knight shit that i see so many other men doing rn, like shut up will you?? Trans boys are not "cowards" or "incels" for not putting themselves in harm's way for (ESPECIALLY) CIS WOMEN Or trans women/girls. I'm so sick of seeing that stupid shit. Those guys are on the same level as military recruiters in my opinion. Just as predatory and fucking dangerous. Like not to be a dick but why do they seem SO convinced that trans boy must be naturally so much stronger then the average trans girl? Hello???????? Hello???

Man is the Strong Gender.

honestly of it wasn't for the lesbian separatism shit i would think that some transfem TRFs want some kind of tradwife-style "macho manly man protects his wife who is a delicate flower incapable of both violence and self-defense who will die if you look at her too hard" thing with a transmasc partner or something, given the way they actively applaud transmascs who talk like that. which would be totally fine if it was a weird fetish thing but this seems to be an actual expression of their politics (also am i just old or does anyone remember when the dominant feminist rhetoric was "women are just as strong as any men and can protect themselves")

it sure feels like that doesn't it lmao

IN WHAT UNIVERSE ARE WHITE PEOPLE INVISIBLE lmaoooo that post was too much

seriously lmao

I really dislike "trans women are the women of women" cuz once again we're using woman to mean the lowest position in a hierarchy

as always

Just something I wanted to share bc it made me really happy: when the forcefem blog made that post about how forcemasc isn't revolutionary and makes no sense or whatever the fuck, one of my transfem mutuals talked about how stupid the aforementioned post was and expressed her support for forcemasc and transmascs in general. I had no doubts that she was supportive of transmascs but that made me super happy!

Hell yeah, I'm really happy for that anon!

Happy Christmas eve if u celebrate ^^ hope ur havin' a good evening [or whatever time it is over where u live]

you as well <3

Logging into Tumblr after a chill movie night with the family only to see you've murdered a guy, holy shit

my tits were too heavy once more

saw another transandrophobia denier, this time on my dash specifically

terrible

Hell yeah it's always nice to find a casual history enjoyer online who's not racist

I do my best.

[darklinaforever]

If you think Daemon cheating make no sense you didn't pay attention and i can see you watch the show only with shippers eyes cause Daemon being unfaithful is set up there from the beginning. Rhea ok he hated her but then he leaves Mysaria for Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra for Laena at the wedding and again Laena for Rhaenyra. Daemon is fickle man, when he gets something, he gets tired of it faster and desires something new, that's cause he's that chaotic that can't stand to be stucked with one only thing, one only person, he needs new emotion to feed his fire. “fucking is a pleasure, marriage is a duty but that doesn't stop you from fucking who we want” he wasn't talking exclusively about Rhaenyra, which set up with definitely the possibility of him having affair with Nettles in the future, if they want, it wouldn't be random nor surprise cause would make perfectly sense leading to that, and to be honest, i don't think they portrayed Daemyra to be goals. Rhaenyra thinking they're soulmates it's cause she is his victim and he made her believing that. It's the consequence of grooming. She sees him as her only support, he made himself to her necessary, that makes her easily vulnerable and eventually manipulated. They're not healthy. They never was and never will. It's not about hating, you're no rational just attacking some people who don't think the same way as you, cause fairly they see the abusive side of the relationship that you conveniently ignore with your own headcanons. Not only you, all the Daemyras lack of rationality making up stuff that nor cast, writers or the author ever said.

This dialogue in episode 4 is literally just there to show that Rhaenyra can do whatever she wants in a marriage that is supposed to be a DUTY at the time instead of a pleasure. A way to find comfort and freedom in a forced relationship. I doubt anyone with a functioning brain would have thought that this was proof that Daemon was a fundamentally unfaithful man in any type of union he had in the future. That's an overinterpretation to fix your biased vision of a horribly villainous Daemon.

Then Daemon didn't leave Mysaria for Rhaenyra. It's not even clear how they actually broke up on the show. (In the book, it's mainly Viserys' fault) Probably because he was away at war for 3 years maybe? You don't know anything about it. I do not know ? It's not specified in the series what exactly happened between these two.

Then, Laena flirted with Daemon during the wedding in episode 5, but Daemon had originally come to look for Rhaenyra, except that we learn in episode 7 that he wanted to "spare" her for stupid storyline reasons. Rhaenyra apparently being a child when she was 19 years old, an adult by our standards and those of Westeros. When I say that this show is written haphazardly... Whereas in the book, after asking for Rhaenyra's hand, Daemon was simply exiled by Viserys under penalty of death if he ever returned to Westeros.

Then, as already said : for a man who apparently all of season 1 has been preparing him to be a future cheater for season 2, it's a bit stupid that we've never actually seen him cheat and in reality faithfully to every woman he's been with in couple in a consensual manner. Wow. What an incredible set up indeed.

You can complain all you want, but it's a fact that we've never seen Daemon cheat on his companions in the series. And it's not this quote that you take out of context that proves anything, and even if Daemon cheated on Rhaenyra in the rest of the show, it would still be a shitty set up, and in fact, not one set up at all. And even less the stupid shit excuse that the writers came up with to explain Daemon's departure for years, even though they literally had the book on hand for that.

Also, I'm repeating myself, but the show canon will never interfere with book canon or you'll never be able to know for sure whether Daemon cheated on Rhaenyra or not.

And I never denied that there was a toxic aspect to Daemyra in the show. (impossible that this is not the case with the OCC strangulation scene of episode 10) On the other hand, in the book, apart from saying that it may seem problematic in view of the differences in modern morals that we have, there is nothing fundamentally unhealthy / problematic / toxic about Daemyra's relationship in Fire and Blood. (Besides, @horizon-verizon did an excellent post on this specific subject that I recommend if you have the courage and open-mindedness, which I doubt)

And once again !

Also, I highly recommend @horizon-verizon educate you on all things historical context, daemyra + grooming bullshit, daemon being a predator of young women, with Daemon seemingly being a pure villain instead of the gray character he is, Daemon and his relationship with Nettles and much more.

[emeraldspiral]

So like, one thing that kinda bugged me about Jane Eyre from just knowing the plot from pop-cultural osmosis that the movie doesn't address but the book to some extent does, is that Jane's happy ending is kind of a deus ex machina that falls into her lap without her having to change or make an active choice. Like, Bertha just dies conveniently to remove the one obstacle to Jane and Rochester being together so Jane doesn't have to choose between giving up the love of her life forever or compromising to be with him.

In the book it's clear that Jane actually did go through a character arc. She went from someone who claimed she'd get kicked in the head by a horse to make someone love her and being warned against that by Helen, to someone who resolutely refuses to compromise her morals when tested by the love of her life. In the story's climax, she also rejects St. John Rivers's offer of a loveless marriage, despite the temptation to accept him in the vain hope that maybe someday he might love her after all if she caves and continues to obediently cater to his every whim.

It's also explained in the book and not the movie that the reason Jane is so adamant that she can't be Rochester's mistress isn't just because it would be "sinful" but because she believes that to make such a compromise would make Rochester lose respect for her, which would doom their relationship.

However, even then, the idea is still kind of puritan and leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It's the same thing the guest speakers preaching abstinence only at school would always say. That any man who asks you for sex without putting a ring on it first or wants you to move in before you're married doesn't really love you and will cheat on you and give you STDs and get you pregnant and then abandon you. Even if he thinks he really cares about you, giving in to him will make him see you as a whore he can take or leave on a whim because the lack of a contract makes it easy. But that definitely won't happen if you wait until marriage. Because who would spend all that money on a ring and a wedding and risk a messy divorce and alimony payments to cheat on you? It's not like there are zillions of other reasons why people cheat that have nothing to do with a lack of financial deterrents. No, married men never cheat. Especially not on good Christian women who were virgins when they married. Just ask my mother.

So it does still kinda bug me that Bertha just conveniently dies so Jane can get what she wants. It's a narrative cheat that happens in other stories too. It's like when the writers don't want blood on the hero's hands, so the villain just conveniently falls of a cliff or something. The authors know they've written themselves into a corner where there's no way to protect the hero's secret identity/save the people they care about/prevent the villain from doing more harm/etc... without the villain dying, but they think it would be immoral for the hero to do it. It's not always super egregious. Sometimes it's framed more as an unnecessary tragedy that the villain couldn't be saved. Or like, in ATLA, the only reason the pacifist option worked for Aang was because, like Jane, he had the willpower not to compromise.

But it feels kinda hypocritical because as the author you're essentially god and you've decided that a character can't take a course of action you yourself have decided was necessary. With Jane Eyre though, I think it's like, actually intentional. Like, within the text itself, god is real, god is omnipotent and all-powerful, and god decides when it's time for people to die. God explicitly blinded and maimed Rochester to punish him and then called Jane back to him when he renewed his faith. God created the problem of Rochester and Bertha's marriage that prevented him and Jane from being together in the first place and then god killed Bertha to remove that impediment.

And that's another sketchy aspect of Christianity. The idea that it's not okay to do certain things, but it's okay to pray for god to do it for you. Also, the idea of crediting someone else's misfortune that benefited you to a benevolent god who loves everyone equally. I guess that's where the belief that misfortune is god testing you or punishing you and good fortune is god rewarding you comes in handy.

[mychemisgay]

Yeah reddit is disgusting, the sad thing is how they conveniently ignore gojo getting buffs from Utahime and the old man to buff his surprise attack on Sukuna, or the fact that gojo had prepared a lot of fighters to attack sukuna at the same time or him hiding the last finger

And even if sukuna didn't "cheat" they would just call Sukuna a Gary stu and the authors pet, or if Gojo used binding vows they would say that's valid since Gege said sorcerers are cheaters (something reddit conveniently ignore lol). But hey, I wish kenjaku was the one who killed gojo in a less respectful way, watch them say they rather sukuna killed him

Luckily I want to think anime onlies will be less obsessed, I even remember a lot of them saying to want to go back to the present with Yuji during the Gojo flashback, or how even some of them skipped and jumped to the present episodes

But yeah sadly a lot of gojo fans =/= fans, every character must be reduced to be gojo's student or gojo's enemy. Funny, since they used to make a lot of theories about gojo teaching sukuna about love and recruiting him for the good side, and sukuna wasn't less evil then XDDD

You're so right anon. Idk what is it about Gojo that makes his fans completely irrational and rabid, Gege created a monster lmao. I'm glad they had the balls to kill Gojo off.

Gojo could commit mass murder with no reason and his fans would still find a way to say he's not morally wrong.

I'm keeping the faith in the anime onlys, as you said a lot of them skipped the flashbacks because they actually like Yuji lol and I even remember many of them on reddit (and some anime only youtube reaction channels) asking where Sukuna is lmao.

[bellaaldamas]

The anti Kratos and Freya romance types are increasingly turning into Whedon cultists in their pseudo-"progressive" rhetoric and it's amusing. Like the latter, they appoint themselves as an authority on whether or not liking something is "immoral" (of course they'll condescendingly mention they don't think that about Freytos shippers but the implication is clear: they're the ones who have enough "intelligence, depth and knowledge" to decide that).

Meanwhile, they're supporting media, ships and characters every inch of which is problematic and/or that are produced by problematic creators/companies. Except in their cases it's "we separate a creation from the creator" (even if the "creator" is not merely problematic but an outright sociopathic maniac straight out of the horror genre who mentally tortured women on set, like Whedon) and/or "what we like in fiction does not reflect what we approve of in real life".

Needless to say this standard only applies to them and not to those they target. Also needless to say that their "progressive" alternatives to ships they dislike are offensive on every level.

In that vein, it'll never cease to be ironic how those who actively hate Kratos and Freya romance because of it's controversial elements (or because of a sexist stereotype that if a man and a woman become involved they automatically lose respect for one another and start viewing each other as sexual objects and that's why "they better stay friends"; even though this very thinking normalizes unhealthy romantic dynamics - both in media and real life - by treating them as inferior and sex based by default) unironically and with a straight face ship Freya with Sif.

Sif is my favourite GowR lady after Angrboda and Freya and deserves infinitely more respect than she gets from the fandom (where both alphas and "progressives" reduce her to her looks, proving for an umpteenth time they are one and the same). Sif needs - and post Ragnarok, hopefully, gets - a chance at a healthy future alongside self fulfilled and self sufficient people. That is, after years of vainly trying to put her self destructive husband on the right path, only for him to keep falling back into dependence upon his genocidal father and his own alcoholism.

But Sif is also many other things and some of those things are neither good nor "feminist".

Sif is someone who stood by Freya's abusive husband Odin when he terrorized and tormented her (on top of his genocidal actions). Who never countered Odin's brainwashing of her own daughter Thrud who came to confidently label Freya as her grandfather's "treacherous ex wife" (because evidently, Sif never tried, even in private, even after deciding to raise Thrud the right way, to deconstruct that notion and stand up for another woman who had been a victim of domestic violence on part of one of the man in their family).

It's irrelevant - to Freya first and foremost - that Sif did that out of self preservation and to keep her family together. Or that Sif eventually came around to see Odin's true nature, also strictly for the benefit of her family and mainly her daughter (as confirmed by Mimir and, eventually, Sif herself). Sif still tacitly endorsed powerful man's abuse of Freya because it was convenient to her at that point in her life. Both throughout Freya's marriage to Odin and after that, when he sent Freya in exile and effectively imprisoned her in isolation.

Sif made no effort to convince Odin to release her or to help Freya break free (we do know who canonically did). Not even Freya's brother - much like the rest of her people - cared to see her side of things or at least offer his aid and support (and we know who canonically convinced Freya to forgive Freyr anyway and opened up to her about his painful and traumatic memories of his own brother; sharing with her how the pain of never seeing your sibling again will always be greater than any bad blood).

While I'm vehemently against projection issues and advocate for media analysis as unbiased as possible, since the anti Kratos and Freya types have seemingly adopted a classic manipulative tactic of appealing to emotion and guilt tripping, I'll go out of my way to say that, as a person with a massive experience with abuse, I could never reconnect with (let alone befriend) the women who picked the side of the men who abused me and the women in my family. Furthermore, any attempts at making truce with those women culminated in them turning their backs on me for the benefit of men (and for their own convenience) yet again.

There is nothing "progressive" about pairing Freya with someone who, for years, had remained on the side of the man who ruined her life; the man who bears a far bigger blame for Baldur's death than Kratos does. Freya and Sif can develop a tentative mutual respect, as indicated in post-game scenes, but even then Freya will always keep Sif at arm's length, as she should (and the emotional distancing was also highlighted in their post-Ragnarok interaction). Because Sif is a part of the life where Freya was belittled and humiliated. And because it wasn't Sif who openly stated said life and the name Frigg, imposed on Freya to alienate her from her heritage, "doesn't suit her".

The tragedy of Freya is that no one was ever completely and unequivocally on her side (be it Sif, Freya's people or her brother), besides Hildisvini and Kratos. For an abuse victim the most important part of healing is consistency of support - optional and selective support will not do it. So far Freya has only be getting that from Kratos and responding in kind (she defended Kratos to the Norns about killing Baldur to save her - "it was not out of hate!" - when Freya would not even defend herself and Baldur; recognizing that the two of them as well as Odin are more responsible for Baldur's tragic fate than Kratos is).

To summarize, people are entitled to any interpretation and preference that floats their boat. But if they attempt to frame said preference as intellectually or morally superior they ought to consider that A) their own favourite is problematic and B) the Whedon scenario is not going to cut it this time and in this house.

Also not tagging this with anything (unlike certain anti Freytos posters) and any trolls will be promptly blocked.

[weebnotheree]

A Winter Night | Enjoyment [Genshin] Trailer

Play the song as you read the trailer. {Words: 1040}

{You gave them all their nicknames(the ones in the parenthesis bar thing "[]")}

A hellfire butterfly flew its way through the ice stormy wind.

A soft melody of a girl singing could be heard. Soon hearing a soft whisper in her ear "Still singing beautifully as always. I can hear it all the way from here." She smiled more and sang a little louder. 

Columbina[Damselette] {Secret Little Girl}

The butterfly landed on a black fallen chess piece. There, a man stood. "The sage think themselves to be all-knowing. But we alone are wise to the virtues in those acts of folly," he says as he then began moving the white horse piece with telekinesis, knocking over the other. "In this war, not even a single pawn may be spared..." He held out his hand as the hellfire butterfly landed on the fallen chess piece. "Because on this chessboard, 'checkmate' is not where the game ends."

The Little Girl continued to sing. (tbh idk who they[he] was talking abt but imma put m/n in it)

Pulcinella[The Rooster]

"We are gathered here today to remember our dear comrade. And in honor of our other dear comrade, her sacrifice, all work should have a halt for half a day as the nation mourns their passing."

Chuckling could be heard.

The man had a closed eye smile grasping his hands together.

Pantalone[Regrator]

"Hehe, merely half a day... People say the Northland Bank's true currencies are blood and tears... But mayor, even speaking as a banker and against his word, that seems a little unconscionable."

A girl moved forward a step clearly annoyed at the Mayor's wording.

Arlecchino[The Knave]

"Rosalyne died in a foreign land...Perses was sealed away by that despicable Lord. But you heatless businessmen and dignitaries-- Always with a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland... Not wanting to help. You couldn't hope to understand. So why dont you keep your mouths shut! We dont want to make the children cry.."

Chile sitting down in one of the seats(they're in a cathedral) chuckled.

Childe[Tartagila]

"Hey, c'mon now, even I dont think this is the right time or place for a fight. I'm sure we all know he's not actually gone..just..out there somewhere."

A little girl(or small woman) was sitting in a (compared to her)giant metal hand, that was holding her.

Sandrone[Marionette]

She scoffed. "Utterly risible!"

The guy next to the two began speaking as well.

Capitano[The Captain]

"Though her methods tarnished her honor and his dimed ways, Lohefalters sacrifice is a great pity. Her loss shall not hinder our progress. We already found indications on Perses. But Dottore... What of Scaramouche and the Gnosis from Inazuma? And any other traces on Perses?"

Dottore[The Doctor]

"Conventional wisdom holds that Divine Knowledge cannot be rationally comprehended. After conquering the Divine Gaze, he will make his next move..with a little help of course," he said as he lightly kept mixing the liquid in the capsule.

Another, seeming to be the head of the group walks out of the shadows, stepping up to the coffin.

Pierro [The Jester]

"It's time to end tonight's foolish theatrics. Right now, you have no captive audience. Let every worthy sacrifice be carved in ice, and with this nation endure for all time."

There was a space between Childe and Arlecchino. No one ever got in his spot ever since he was gone..I mean except for a newcomer harbinger that was too disrespectful that one of the harbingers ended him.

"In the name of Her Majesty and God of Destruction, the Tsarista and Perses, we all seize authority from the Gods..."

"Absolute peace"

"Such as the gift from Tsaritsa, such as Her Majesty's benevolence."

"Now you rest in this coffin, encased in layer upon layer of ice." 

The same hellfire butterfly flew down towards the coffin and landed on the corner of it.

"But, Rosalyne, I promise you... We will find him for you. And your resting place will be the entirety of the 'Old World'," the butterfly vanished.

"I must say, you're looking very young today, Doctor." a girl's voice was heard. A male voice agreed in a flirting tone.

"You're right he is pretty gorgeous for his own good isn't he?~"

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment." Doctor responded.

"Oh, come on Doctor, dont be like that. It's the truth~ Right C҉o҉l҉l҉e҉i҉?~" "Yeah![pauses]So, where's the Segment in the prime of his life, then?" A flashback of a tree burning –fire everywhere with him standing nearby.

The Doctor huffed. "Heh, he's busy with...a little experiment in 'blasphemy'. The other...following right along.[grins]"

Somewhere else. [GASPS] . . . ."Collei, time to head out on patrol" Tighnari called out. "Ah,[stands up]okay Master Tighnari!" she answered back..before looking at her hand. "What was that...?"

Another place. M/n looked in the direction of The Doctor..before he grinned.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Guess you found me~"

A curtain purple-haired boy stopped and looked back at the white-haired male not saying a word.