#tw: abuse minimizing

[emathyst9]

I'm nice so I'm sharing it here too because I finally remembered one of my headcanons I haven't posted

Yes William's a killer yes he likes to hurt people but. What if his love language was patching up the wounds of someone he cares about

Like he will stop everything and rush over to bandage the wound and make sure he knows exactly what he needs to do to take care of it

And try to internalize his panic for their well being, but William also wants to feel that he controls their fate a bit because he's the one stepping in to help

He's the good guy for doing that when he could have just been ignorant right? He couldn't prevent the injury but he can fix it, that makes him a better person, right?

I totally based this off that one angst Willry writing I've talked about here but um yeah

Like when he's not the one to hurt his kids, he'll try to fix them up

And if anything happens to Henry he'll tend to him right away too

It's cathartic for him to do this and he almost likes taking care of someone's wounds as much as he does inflicting them

Almost, that is (I love giving him duality sorry not sorry)

[uncanny-tranny]

It is okay if you can never forgive somebody who has harmed or abused you. You don't have to forgive them, but you deserve to find peace in other ways. If you can't forgive or forget, then do things for your sake. Find what fulfills you, if to make it easier for yourself. That is okay. Forgiveness isn't forgiveness if it is demanded or expected, and it isn't fair for you

[lunar-years]

when jamie tells roy about what happened in the red light district :(( he’s offended when roy suggests that it must have been traumatizing, insisting that the lady had a good time,, and then he stumbles on his words a bit when he tries to remember how his 14 year old self felt about the whole thing. so maybe it’s the first time he’s considering his experience in the situation, and he’s been subconsciously blocking out any bad memories.

any general thoughts? also wondering if you’re gonna include anything about it in your rjk fic (which i can’t wait to read btw!)

Yeah :( “I don’t remember” is like… haunting. Makes you think, well. That’s either because he disassociated while experiencing it, repressed it after the fact, or his dad got him drunk or high off other substances beforehand. Or possibly a combo of some or all the above! Just terrible and horrific and I truly still can’t believe the writers went that dark with Jamie’s backstory, and then the only other mention of James all season was the wonky rehab and forgiveness arc crammed into the second last episode and 2 seconds of the finale. Help!

The thing I feel most strongly about is that I really think Roy was the first and at that point only person Jamie had ever told about it. Also, I love Roy sm and that scene embodies why <3 His response is great and exactly what Jamie needed from him in that moment.

I’m not sure if it will come up at all in this particular fic (but if it does, it’s not going to be the focus.) however, I wrote my version of Jamie’s experience at the time and afterwards, and some extra scenes from the aftermath of telling Roy, in another one of my fics, all your cracked perfection ! Just keep in mind that I wrote it after the Amsterdam episode but before Mom City & the finale so some of the details about his mum in particular aren’t completely accurate (though I think I came pretty close!) :)

Also for a fic rec that I think touches on the subject really well and with the complexity it deserves, try take away the glass by @izzyspussy !!!

[bylightofdawn]

I am dealing with some interesting cognitive dissonance in this chapter and the struggle is REAL. Regarding how Rufus exhibits in canon itself some pretty big red flags for possessiveness and unhealthy attachments.

Not to go all armchair psychologists but from what we know of his childhood, it was awful. His father constantly berated him and put him down. We know he had a mother who died at some point but not real information into their relationship. So I think it's safe to assume he faced a lot of isolation, a lack of a caring support system and the only example of adult behavior he had to model after was his father who is a fucking monster.

So yeah, when he gloms onto someone they are his and you are not allowed to take what is his away from him and god help you if you get between him and what he views as his. Note how visibly peeved he was at Hojo getting his claws into Tseng post Tseng getting impaled by Sephiroth in Rebirth.

There's also an argument to be made about how Rufus prolly has some issues with potentially viewing people as individual people.

He straight up tells Cloud he is HIS/Shinra property on like...two occasions I think? I need to replay Remake to be honest. (also bless you delightful Rufus/Cloud shippers taking that and running with it, I <3 you)

So yeah, Rufus Shinra is a whole ass buttload of red flags and an sane person would run screaming into the night.

Which brings me to my dilemma of writing and acknowledging he's a garbage fire of a person and still trying to write a fucking romance pairing.

Example, he just found out Reeve and Tseng used to be closer when they were younger being of relatively the same age, came up in Shinra together and Tseng used to be bb!Reeve's bodyguard back in the day.

And here's Rufus being possessive and jealous of BOTH OF THEM at the same time. Because he views both of them as his in a way and he's being torn in two different directions because they have this hereunto unknown relationship.

Which again, huge red flag territory. And somehow I gotta be true to the character and find a way of pulling this bullshit out of a magic hat and not making myself and the reader want to crawl out of their skin and run away from said garbage fire of a man.

But not everyone has the same viewpoints and experience as myself. I grew up watching my mother go through a series of steadily more terrible boyfriends who were abusive to her and to us in a lesser extent so this sort of thing definitely makes my skin crawl while a different reader might find that jealousy akin to ardent passion and awww he really loves xyz. Because it's fanfiction and it's a safe space where you can indulge yourself without any real-life repercussions.

SO YEAH, suffice it to say I am all over the place emotionally in this chapter.

I'm going to step off my soapbox now, thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Pfffft.

[sunfaggot]

Travis really is just Father Michael, William, and Joseph's little puppet huh... They're all using him for some sort of end goal, grooming him (sexually or otherwise), and rely on him for things intended for grown men.

[healingthroughit]

I will not let them win

I will not let what they did to me make me miserable

I didn’t deserve it

I deserve to feel strong and loved and valued

I laugh at their pitiful attempts to drag me down and use me and make me complicit in cheating

I scoff at their shitty behavior like godDAMN DUDE u (perpetrator, stupid selfish arrogance lying cheating scum) needed to lie to someone continuously over and over to get them to have sex with you??? To get them to love you??? Because no one would love you as yourself. No one not me not anyone will ever love you like you crave. I certainly wouldn’t will not will never because you lied LIED LIED MANIPULATED COERCED to get me to fall in love with you. To get me to let you fuck me. To get me to think youre a good person. But your not. Youre a stranger. Evil. Disgusting. To sink so low. So desperate. So fucking selfish and greedy.

Bc you knew if you were honest from the beginning i wouldn’t have given you a single chance.

[flatstarcarcosa]

also beating women is already heinous but there's something that has me extra mad about this bc when i was like "what is that fucking banging" and leaned into the wall to listen i also heard him yelling "TRY IT AGAIN YOU FAT BITCH" and it's like.

salt in the wound, i guess? i know the psychology behind it all and yada yada but it's still just like. YOU started dating the thick girl you don't get to be mad about it because you're a piece of shit abuser!

[escapeaddict]

"r*pe is a big word"

One asked “When’s a man a monster?” ‘Nother answered “When no longer human The killer possesses a heart of stone The child rapist has no friends The abuser has no capacity for love All meet untimely ends.” “I see” said the first “it’s plain as day Man and monster are differing beasts We would never suffer the company Of one blighted by loathsome feats. The people I love are faultless My hero pure to the bone My judgment is soundly secure For all sinners wind up alone.”

[heroestales]

Birthday open

Jace Herondale was used to flying under the radar. Used to keeping people at a distance. Being an ass had worked out well for him, and still did. Yet, he was more in control of his life those other times. The blonde knew the shadow world around him. The Herondale could know things as simple as the expanse of architecture or the cuisine. Or maybe it was when you chose to leave somewhere. He had thought himself alone here until he ran into Clary who didn’t look at him like he was any more then a passing stranger to her. He’d flirted with a lot of people. But he’d never loved someone like he loved her. The harsh angle of the booth put his back in an odd shape. Height had never been a kind thing in a city. And it seemed some of the nephilim genes and years of training made it worse. Why was he throwing such a pity party? His father- or clary’s father- had certainly made it worse on many more days. Besides a few with Alec and Izzy and clary, birthdays weren’t something to celebrate. Maybe he just enjoyed being like a picked scab at the moment. Brooding. It wasn’t like he could get into a fight. And who knew that desserts could be good in England. Maybe it was because this was the land of Will. Of his past. Of some family he also didn’t fit in. “If you want some cake, you can say so instead of lurking like yoru Oliver Twist or something.” He bit out. Though he couldn’t get his usual gruff rejection out. Could he be going soft? Piano player fingers drummed against the table. Golden eyes blinking like lazy cats. A new leaf maybe. Not that he wanted to be anything other than a Venus fly trap. But any good hunter knew what the weight of eyes meant.

@walstarterblog

[mosspapi]

Local idiot had to wake his goddamn father up at 1:43am to deal with not one but Two blood-stained pillows because he was never told where any of the laundry stuff is Or how to wash pillows Or how to wash blood specifically out of things.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART THREE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of violence, blood, injury, 141 are still mean pirates, very brief mentions of death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The words of Captain Price weighed heavily on your mind. With little distractions to guide you away from them, they were all you were left with. They replayed on a consistent loop, like a broken record player. It was taunting, the way your own mind betrayed you after pleading with it not to think of the cold dose of reality the Captain had given you. It denied your requests for soothing calm and gifted you with roaring waves of chaos.

The Captain had been right. Every last word was coated in nothing but bitter truth, and you hated it.

Your village was nothing but unkind to you, and you knew it. You tried to defend them, tried to reason with why they could have been so cruel to you, but with only yourself and the sounds of the sea to fill the abyss in your head, your defense was bound to crumble.

It wasn’t your fault you were different, at least compared to the traditionalists you grew with. Being born in a secluded hamlet separated from the bustling mainland meant the people were just as isolated. Hermits, they were. They sought simplicity through actions shown by the book. Marriage, children, with women to remain in their place at home. It was a dream to some, and a nightmare to you.

You wanted more. There was a vast world out there for you to mark your claim on, yet your own people disregarded your desires. They turned on you, taunting you as the village outcast, one that many continued to torment well into adulthood. You were one against many, and you only had yourself in the long run.

You worked hard for what you had. Despite the consistent abuse your people had given you, you sought out adventure like a moth to a flame. It called out to you. Learning of medicines and practices to become more of the miniscule woman everybody saw you as was your safe haven. You wanted to explore the world and take your practices to a place where you’d be accepted as one’s own.

Then those pirates had taken that away from you. Not only had they stolen your dreams, but they had stolen your home, people, and passion. Everything was lost at the drop of a hat.

Being a medic for a scroungy group of thieving pirates was not in your cards. Before, you hadn’t even known pirates were existent. They were a simple folk tale, something to  share on quiet nights when the village had grown bored. Never did you think you would come across one, let alone four who had taken it upon themselves to make you their problem.

You feared that you would never achieve your dreams of being a proper medic. Of never escaping to the mainland where you could begin a tranquil life consisting of you and your studies. Now, it seemed that you would never experience peace or independence. Your dreams were embezzled, lost in the foamy waves that lapped against the side of the ship.

The grieving of your loss didn’t stop, even during Soap and Gaz’s visits. They kept it minimal, presumably under the Captain’s orders, or because they simply didn’t like you enough to further interaction. Not that you wanted them to, anyway, though it would’ve made the aching loneliness a bit more bearable.

They noticed, of course. The way your eyes began to sink in, casting a grim shadow across your face, or the way you no longer bared your teeth at them when they approached. Pirates like them didn’t care for people like you. You were a pawn in whatever game they were playing, and you didn’t know the rules.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the deck above you rattled you awake. The cot was fairly useless in providing you comfort, but you had succumbed to your eventual exhaustion over the course of your capture that you had grown used to it.

Unlike normal days, where their steps were more quiet and calculated, this time sounded like a frenzy. Uncoordinated, merging together in loud pitter patter. It was unsettling, lighting an icy chill in your bones. Even in the seclusion of the brig, the air felt thick with tension, as if the pirate’s suspense had crept through the crack under the door and spread throughout the ship.

The floorboards creaked menacingly from above. Your ears pricked at every stomp, every slam of the soles of their thick boots against the old wood. It was as if death was stalking you from the shadows, creeping in, jeering at you. You were in the dark, unaware.

You wondered if other pirates had invaded the ship. Perhaps this was your end. You’d be found by enemies and treated much more unkindly in the hands of men who only saw you as a mere woman and not the potential to be a medic.

Though your pirates were just as cruel, they hadn’t harmed you. They hurt your people, but salvaged you to make use of your knowledge. They weren’t as terrible as what may have lurked the waters. Maybe it was simply the fear talking, but if what you thought was true, then you prayed to whatever god was listening that you remain in the safe hands that had yet to pose a threat to you.

Your prayers were answered by the harsh sound of the door opening. It wrenched open, slamming up against the wall with a crack. Dim light poured through, down to your cell, illuminating a faint glow enough for you to see.

Atop the stairs, a large figure lurked, blocking out the light. It cocooned around him, casting an eerie shadow and successfully masking away his face.

Fear shot through your veins, burning like a raging fire, lighting you up from the inside. It threatened to combust, inching you towards a scorching agony. It clouded your mind, fogging over the logic and replacing it with racing thoughts of choking terror. You thought of death, torture, being swept away from this brig, only to be placed in a more torturous one with strangers out to harm you. To be used for pleasure and entertainment by a group of savage pirates unbeknownst to you.

“Get up,” a voice barked at you. It was rough and throaty, exuding pure authority. It was also familiar.

The sound of metal clanking on metal filled your eyes and once you had pieced together your mind enough, you realized it was the key unlocking your cell. The door opened, the figure stepping into your cell and closer to you, where you lay on the cot. It loomed over you, shielding you away from escape.

“Get up,” he ordered again. A hand reached out to you, cold, rough fingers wrapping around your bicep and lugging you off of the cot and on to your feet. There was no time for arguments. You recognized Ghost’s stony mask, and you knew fighting him would prove fruitless.

“What’s going on?” you asked, legs straining to keep up with his pace as he tugged you up the rickety stairs.

“Captain’s hurt,” Ghost gruffed, only the narrow of his eyes peeking through the eye holes of the skull mask, giving you a glimpse of his disgruntlement. “Need a medic. That’s you, birdie.”

Your heart sank to your stomach for numerous reasons.

For one, the smallest part of you worried for the Captain. No matter his actions thus far, he was hurt and required medical attention, enough of it that Ghost had prompted you out of your cell after residing there for the past month.

Then there was the fact that they were asking you for help. Sure, you technically were a medic. One in practice, but you knew the basics of medicines. However, the problem arose that you didn’t know much beyond that. If the Captain truly was injured to an extent beyond your skill, you feared they’d throw you over the ship and into the murky waters once they deemed you useless.

The misty air hit you the moment you stepped out of the brig and on to the upper deck. It was chilly despite it being summer, with the ocean breeze curling into your dingy hair and across your cheeks. The feeling was nothing short of relieving, to breathe in fresh air that filled your lungs, clearing them of the musty tang of brig air.

It was still midnight, but the moon was bright enough to have your eyes squinting, adjusting. Even the feel of it on your skin was like sweet kisses after a period of solitude.

That wasn’t what was important, though. Ghost had your arm in a chokehold, and he was urgently dragging you across the deck and towards the front of the ship. None of the other men were found, but you’d quickly find them when Ghost yanked open a door leading to the Captain’s quarters.

Inside, Captain Price was propped up lazily against the side of a large table, covered in maps and quills. A small pot of ink had been tipped over and spilled, tainting the papers with splotchy black. Drips of his blood had swirled into the mix, and the sight of it made you sick.

Price’s hand was smothering a gnarly gash on his side, fingers seeping over with crimson blood. Soap stood beside him with Gaz, the two of them seemingly anticipating your arrival. The moment they locked eyes with you, they stood up straight, expressions impatient.

“Took ye long enough, Ghost,” Soap boasted snarkily. Ghost huffed from beside you, pushing you by your arm and sending you towards Price.

“Fix him up,” Ghost commanded, stern. You blinked at him before switching to look at the Captain.

Price was a bit paled, skin clammy with sweat despite the chill in the air. He seemed more annoyed than pained, face pulled taut with a frown deepened beneath his beard. His eyes bore into yours threateningly.

“I don’t—“ you stared, stumbling over your words. “I don’t know how to stitch, I told you, I’m not a professional—“

“Surely you’ve had practice once or twice, haven’t you?” Price reckoned, cocking his head at you.

“Only on injured animals,” you defended. “I don’t know how to stitch on people.”

Price clicked his tongue, a hint of agitation gesred behind it. “Can’t be much different. Allow me to be your experiment, dove. You want to be a professional? Figure it out.”

You stared at him, bewildered. You knew there was no room for argument, nor was there any time. He was bleeding into the palm of his hand, wound sliced open from what you assumed was a sharp blade. You didn’t have the chance to think about how he possibly could’ve been injured in that way.

“Well? Go on, dove, it ain’t goin’ to heal itself,” Soap urged in annoyance, giving a light shove to your shoulder. Not enough to move you from your position, but enough to snap you into order.

“I need my supplies,” you explained. “Surely, you kept them.”

“Tch. Not stupid, dove,” Price snipped. With his free hand, he clumsily fumbled for one of the drawers of the table he leaned upon. Yanking it open, it was sent to the floor with a crash, sending its contents scattering.

The action was savvy and if you weren’t in a frenzied rush, you would’ve had the mind to be irritated. However, you remembered your place, as well as the people you were being forced to serve. It wouldn’t be wise to bark back at them for throwing around your work so carelessly.

You were quick to drop to the floor and begin retrieving what was necessary. Supplies were scarce, seeing as you weren’t fortunate enough to grow up on the mainland where demand was much more accessible.

Making a mental note to ask for them to collect more items for you, that is if this was really going to be your life, you clattered the items on the table Price rested on, making quick work of tugging stitching thread through the tiny needle.

The job would be sloppy, especially with the way your hands shook. You knew good and well that if anything were to happen to these pirate’s Captain, you’d be first one off the ship, sent to God knows where.

All eyes were on you. It was unnerving.

Soap remained next to Gaz, both watching you like a hawk. Their eyes studied every movement of your fingers as they worked through the threads, preparing to stitch up Price as requested.

Ghost stood near the door leading to the deck, arms crossed and eyes piercing into you like a warning threat. And really, you knew that’s what it was.

Price was awfully calm for a man who’d been stabbed, and you briefly wondered if this was something pirates were used to. Harming others was one thing. Gaining injury themselves was another.

Lucky for you, the Captain wasn’t wearing any fabrics. He must’ve taken his shirt off when he returned to his quarters, which made things easier for you.

“Remove your hand,” you said, before adding on, “please.”

Price huffed out what could’ve been mistaken as a laugh, though you highly doubted it. He carefully pulled his hand away from his wound, slippery with blood. The sight was quite gruesome, though you were sure it was just the blood making it so.

Taking a deep breath, you positioned yourself in front of the Captain. You dug deep in your memory of the times you’d operated on helpless animals you’d found in the outskirts of your village.

Animals were easier. They were more pliant and obedient. Some were squirmy, though being much smaller than you gave you advantage over them.

Price, though, was significantly bigger. And human. He was far from any animal you aided.

With his arm out of the way, you had a showcase of numerous scars scattering his torso. They were white, indicating they were much older, but some were still risen with pink tissue that revealed being more recent.

You had your hands full. Truly.

“I’m going to begin now,” you told Price.

“Don’t need to narrate the whole operation to me, medic. Just do it.”

Price’s tone was sarcastic and a tad bit mean. If he was aiming to offend you, he was doing a poor job. You’d taken ridicule all your life.

Brushing it off, you used nimble hands to make the first insertion of the needle, threading through the first stitch. Price showed no discomfort, though the eyes of the others didn’t help your unease. You felt like a lab rat and they were the ones operating on you.

The stitching became easier the more it went on. He needed quite a few, though the practice was appreciated. Your hands became more steady and your heart was no longer in your throat.

The room was at a standstill up until the very moment you tightened the stitches, tying them off and pulling yourself away from Price. Your work was far from perfect, but it was doable.

“Finished, are you?” Price hummed. You nodded in confirmation. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You bit your tongue to hold back mockery until the taste of metallic flooded your tastebuds.

“I’ve only worked on animals. It appears you are no different than one,” you bit back calmly, shiftingyour attention to organizing the supplies Price had so carelessly tossed to the floor.

Soap let out an obnoxious snort, while Price only cocked his head in faint amusement.

“You might want to watch your tongue there, dove. Ghost has taken out many,” Price informed.

That was enough to send shivers down your spine because you knew he was being truthful.

A quick glance to Ghost showed no indication of lies, so you quickly averted your eyes, opting to avoid him. You didn’t want to imagine the horrors Ghost had caused from his hands alone. He was a force not to be reckoned with, and you’d happily stay far, far away.

“I still need to apply an herbal balm and wrap it.” You changed the topic in hopes of forgetting your slip of tongue. You rather liked keeping it in your mouth.

“Very well,” Price sighed. With a gesture of his head, he signaled the other three men out of his quarters, leaving you alone in the room with him.

It was eerily quiet between the two of you while you worked a calming balm into the tender skin around his wound, careful not to touch the fresh stitches. The herbs were a mixed paste you had created back in your village from the supplies Mary had gifted you, and they proved futile now in a sensitive time.

You wished she were here to take you away from this nightmare fueled ship. Though, you couldn’t deny it any longer — you knew she was dead, just like the rest of the village. There was nothing you could do about it.

This was your life. This was your journey. Your opinion on the matter wasn’t valid.

“Quite the snippy one, aren’t you?” The Captain’s voice broke the tense silence, though it did nothing to calm you. “I heard from a little bird that some fortnights ago, you threw your porridge on to Gaz.”

Your shoulders pulled taut in a mix of embarrassment and shame. It was as if you were a child being scolded.

“I did,” you admitted quietly.

“And you do not feel bad?” Price questioned.

“No.”

“Hm.” A smile tilted on his face, lazy just as the other ones, as if he had no energy to display the true nature of a smile. “I will hand it to you, dove, he can be quite a brat sometimes. Perhaps he deserved it.”

You glanced up from his injury to look into his eyes. Your eyebrows tugged together in confusion.

You were fully expecting outrage, or perhaps the Captain to reprimand you for taking your anger out on his crew. Instead, he seemed almost like a jokester.

That couldn’t be. He was cruel and heartless, just as the others were. It didn’t matter how much Soap jested with you, or Gaz no longer glared at you. They were still pirates.

“I am all finished up here,” you explained, clearing your throat and taking a step back. “May I return to my cell?”

The cell was the last place you wanted to be in, but it was the only haven you’d found on the ship. You certainly didn’t want to stick around the other pirates for longer than necessary.

“Nonsense,” Price mused. “You have proven to have enough skill as a medic. You’re useful and resourceful. You won’t be able to work well in that dingy cell.”

You felt a pit of nervousness fill the void in your stomach. It did somersaults, making your mouth water with the need to be sick.

This was what you wanted, right? To be accepted into the crew so that you may plot your escape down the road when the time proved right. So why did it feel strange to be praised by the very man who had slaughtered your village?

“I will be staying in the upper decks, then?” you assumed, and he chuckled.

“We don’t quite have a cot set up yet, dove. We weren’t exactly expectin’ you to last, yet here you are.” He sounded almost prideful saying that, and you weren’t sure whether to feel comforted. “You’ll join me in my quarters for now. It only makes sense while I’m healin’ up, hm?”

That pit in your stomach turned into a canyon. To share a bed with the Captain of a malicious pirate crew, watching over him as his nurse? Perhaps this was your way out, or the start of your downfall.

Either way, you either ended up dead, imprisoned, or homeless on the mainland. Homeless, but free. You’d be an idiot not to play into the game.

You could do nothing but bow your head in silent agreement, unable to decide your fate once again. You were at the hands of the Captain and his crew, and those hands may be bloodied and mean if you said otherwise. hands may be bloodied and painful if you said otherwise.

[suzukiblu]

Day eleven of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems that causes for someone who was in that situation and hasn’t processed it trying to have a relationship with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Uh–is it?” he asks, not really sure what else to say. Or more like, not really sure what else to say that would not sound both desperately, desperately horny and desperately, desperately weird. 

“I dunno,” Kon replies, giving him a quick, sheepish little smile. “Just makes me feel good, that you think I’m worth, like–taking out and showing off, or whatever. Like–without the S-shield on, even.” 

“The S-shield would definitely make date night a lot harder to enjoy, yeah,” Tim says, torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to dissolve the entire entertainment industry and all of Kon’s previous romantic interests in acid from the ground up. Slowly. Kon blushes again, his smile widening. 

“And, uh–and that,” he says, glancing sidelong. “And that you wanna hang out with me without anybody interruptin’.” 

I want to hang out with you until I overthrow Gotham AND Metropolis and then I want to install a zeta between them and the biggest beachfront property you’ll let me buy for you and any little Kon 2.0’s you let me make you, Tim’s most insane self thinks and his slightly more rational current self does not say, because he has at least some small and tiny and miniscule scraps of self-control. 

Like, barely, and only lasting until the fifteen-year sidekick-to-supervillain plan goes off, but still. 

“I definitely don’t want anyone interrupting, no,” he agrees instead, and Kon beams at him again and then ducks in and kisses him again–just a quick little peck, but definitely still a kiss. Tim, belatedly, realizes that Kon might actually be getting more up in his space than he was before the whole . . . script issue happened. Just–standing closer, and leaning in a little more often, and things like that. Not in a demanding way or anything; just like he wants to be there a little more often. 

Like maybe he’s a little more comfortable being there, now. Or like maybe he thinks he can do it without anything being–expected from it, maybe. 

Tim doesn’t even know if Kon’s doing it on purpose or not, but he’s definitely noticing a difference either way. Just–there is very much a difference there to be noticed. 

He is definitely, definitely not going to be able to find out who any of Kon’s exes are before he goes supervillain. That’s just not going to work out for his timeline at all. 

Also Bruce would absolutely get upset if he found out about whatever he ended up doing about it, and he’s an emotional support sidekick, not, like, an intern or whatever. He is not here to cause problems, he is here to facilitate Bruce’s mental health, help him manage his paranoia, and minimize the amount of overkill beatings of petty thugs and small-time criminals. 

Admittedly Bruce managing his paranoia is not going great, but it’s a process, alright? He’s doing his best here. 

“So like, if we do go shopping again, wanna pick something out for me to wear for you next time?” Kon asks, still beaming at him. Tim’s brain attempts to reboot a couple dozen times before he manages to remember how to string a coherent sentence together. 

“Yes,” he says in an almost normal-person voice. Maybe. Theoretically. He . . . hopes, anyway. “Uh–yeah. That sounds, uh–like something I would like to do.” 

It’s a little harder to focus on the supervillain thoughts with Kon both wearing that expression and actually asking him to buy him something–especially specifically something he wants to wear for him–so that’s helpful for keeping to his timeline. But also, uh–embarrassing, kind of, because usually Tim is better at thinking than he currently is being. Like, his normal thought processes are a lot more involved than Kon’s so hot and Kon’s so CUTE and hurr durr pretty boy. 

He definitely still wants to ruin some people’s lives, but first he wants to get Kon dinner and dessert and buy out a boutique or four for him, and just like, a small suburb. Or town. City. Tri-state area. 

And also to pick out something for him to wear “next time”, since apparently Kon still wants there to be a next time that he sees Tim Drake and also just like . . . just the whole thing with the picking out something for him to wear thing, because Tim only has so much self-control, alright? He is doing his best here, but he’s only an emotional support sidekick, alright, he’s not made of stone. 

Seriously, Kon asked him to dress him and asked him to buy him something. Tim is not actually sure if he’s more thrilled about actually getting Kon to specifically ask him to buy something for him or frazzled over Kon offering to let him pick out something for him to wear. Just–god. Tim is just not even–Tim does not know what he’s feeling right now. Just–whatever it is, he is feeling it. 

He wonders if it would be, like, a little too pathetic of him to maybe get Kon another crop top. Or, uh, a little too thirsty of him. 

. . . probably, yeah. Probably definitely, in fact. 

. . . . . . but like, if Kon sees one he likes, it's not like Tim's gonna say no or–

Anyway. 

[crazykuroneko]

Claudia's Celebration of Life: Spark in the Dark

As the title suggests, this event is to celebrate the wonderful Claudia; her personality, her aspirations, her journey. The heart for the past two seasons of AMC Interview with The Vampire. This is to take the narrative back to her, proving she's not just a shingle roof for us.

The event will be held for 30 days (from Aug 11th to Sept 9th) with 15 themes. Anyone can join, and you can post whatever you like, from gifsets, meta analysis, fic recs, fanvids, web weaving, fanarts, fanvids, even poems. You can post them on Tumblr, or Tiktok, or AO3 etc. The rule is just one: make sure to tag "#Claudia's Spark in the Dark" and her character tags #Claudia and #AMC Claudia. Let's flood her tags with posts about her again! (plus, please give TW or CW when it's appropriate)

Important point: This event is AMC Claudia & Madeleine focused only. Please try to minimize inclusion of other characters or iterations except when it's on the theme.

Themes and dates are under the cut!

(The order of themes are generated randomly. Feel free to interpret each theme. For the themes with 'OR', you can choose which one you want)

1. Aug 11th & 12th: Hobbies

2. Aug 13th & 14th: Alternate Universe

3. Aug 15th & 16th: Quotes (From TVC books, other cast, Anne Rice about Claudia OR web weaving with other media)

4. Aug 17th & 18th: Family (Her relationship with Louis and/or Lestat OR with the concept of family itself)

5. Aug 19th & 20th: Claudia's Voice and Lack There Of (e.g. Claudia's diaries as her outlet and how they're used by others)

6. Aug 21th & 22nd: As A Caged Bird OR In Solitude (e.g. the limitations Claudia faces as a seemingly 14-year old Black girl OR bird motif)

7. Aug 23rd & 24th: Happiness (Anything as long as Claudia is happy. I just want to see her happy)

8. Aug 25th & 26th: Favorite lines or scenes

9. Aug 27th & 28th: Womanhood OR Childhood (e.g. Claudia's relationship with womanhood OR the still childlike or innocent part of her)

10. Aug 29th & 30th: The Actress(es) (Bailey Bass and/or Delainey Hayles with or without Roxane Duran)

11. Aug 31th & Sept 1th: Finding The X (Claudia's quest in searching for love)

12. Sept 2nd & 3rd: Enduring (e.g. Claudia relentless determination to "make the best out of it" with her vampirism or how the abuse she suffers and witnesses shapes herself and her views)

13. Sept 4th & 5th: Fashion or Costumes

14. Sept 6th & 7th: FREE THEME!

15. Sept 8th & 9th: Claudia & Madeleine

Special thanks to my mutual (you know who you are) who has helped me with the themes.

Update! I also made a submission page available during the event, if that's your preferred way to post.

Feel free to ask by replying under this post or ask me on my account or on my Twitter @itskuronekos

Let's go!

[evilkitten3]

bet

totally normal brotherly interaction

and then again four years later

in shippuden, kakashi explicitly states that what sasuke went through was entirely bc of itachi's bs

(thanks to @therecexz for the images; i would've linked directly to you but people on tumblr don't like clicking links, so sorry about that)

counting the time in shippuden, that's three separate times itachi has done this– once when sasuke was eight, once when he was twelve/thirteen, and once when he was sixteen. that's a helluva a lot of psychological trauma to go through in your formative years

itachi couldn't bring himself to kill sasuke. he had absolutely no problem beating the shit out of him and torturing him psychologically.

look, i don't hate itachi and i'm not even a particularly big sasuke fan– they're both fun characters, frankly, i think kishimoto wasted too much time trying to make their relationship #dramatic and not enough time showing itachi post-resurrection realizing how badly he'd fucked up (dw he has a secret magic bird he made naruto throw up and that makes everything ok i guess. sure the bird's purpose was to brainwash the little brother he traumatized but w/e)

honestly it all could've worked if the ending had been anything remotely close to satisfactory but g-d forbid we challenge the status quo

[thedreadpirateblogger]

So I watched "Quite on Set"

I keep hearing "Drake Bell was abused, but he's also an abuser" like these are remotely comparable offenses.

TW: sexual assault, child abuse

Not to minimize the psychological harm done to that girl, I'm sure receiving explicit messages from an adult at 15 was emotionally traumatic and violating. But when Drake was 15, Brian Peck took over his life, estranged him from his father, followed him across the country. He was stalked, raped, and tortured by a John Wayne Gacy fan with economic power over him. That's not just upsetting, that's an actual living hell.

And the only person in the industry there for him was Dan Schneider??? Of course he came out of that with a fucked up sense of what adult men can say to teenage girls. Therapy is where you unlearn that shit and he didn't talk to anyone for 20 years. How could he? He told the police what happened to him in gruesome detail, and Brian served 16 months before going back to work at Disney. Between that and all the support at the hearing, he must have felt there was no point in talking about it because no one cared.

Not to mention how easy it is to distance yourself from what you're saying and who you're talking to over text. Mix that with some dissociation and substance abuse, the cognitive dissonance wouldn't be hard to maintain. It was bad, but it doesn't make him beyond redemption. He's clearly trying to be better.

What I'm saying is cut Drake Bell some fucking slack, okay?

[yandere-daydreams]

Thinking about making a deal with Al Haitham to let you continue your studies just until you finish your final dissertation and then you'll go with him willingly to his house without a fuss and he agrees but you're now under so much surveillance from him it's near impossible to work at all on your essay

tw - implied non/con, manipulation, financial/psychological abuse.

i think alhaitham (al haitham? does anyone have a strong opinion on that?) is the type of controlling where, for whatever reason, he just cannot let you accomplish anything that doesn't lead you back to him. want to study a dead language in the desserts of sumeru? great, he's already planned and gotten permission for a field study on the same topic in the same area, you can come along as his assistant. want to get a job that might give you enough mora to get away from him? well, with your minimal experience and nonexistent connection, the only job you could ever hope to get is as the scribe's personal secretary and since your salary will be going through him, he might as well hold it on your behalf - just to make sure your childish whims don't get the best of you and leave you as bankrupt and as hopeless as some other scholars he could name. beg him on your hands and knees to let you graduate before officially making you his basement spouse? of course. he'll watch with a smile as you do your research and conduct your studies and write your papers, only to fuck you on the ashes of your hand-written dissertation the night before you defend your thesis. he knows what's best for you. he might indulge your little fantasies every now and then, but ultimately, he'll make sure you end up where you belong - in his arms <3