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luneemeritus · 1 month ago

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I’m so tired of this now they’re saying Blitz has stockholm syndrome

Oh my god I'm SO GLAD this anti mentioned Stockholm Syndrome, but wait let me just point out some things before this topic

1- I LOVE the "hellaverse is sexiiissssttt" crowd slandering Vivienne on every oportunity they have and blindly praising Brandon for writing the same funny, dramatic and erotic episodes that she writes. Oh-uh, projected misogyny there, uh-hu. SPECIALLY when Stolitz, the scary boogyman they fear so much, was mainly developed by Brandon. The way queer women are treated, even when they're not really doing anything wrong and just living their lifes/doing their art, is horrendous. It sure tells a lot about antis and their moralism.

2- Wtf the new merch has to do with the EP's quality OR with Viv's morality? Literally, ANYTHING they dislike is a reason to write an essay against Viv. What are these ppl's obsession with Viv???????

3- And now the big elephant in the room. Stockholm Syndrome, the thing that doesn't exist, it's not recognize by any professional and has no psychological diagnosis of a mental illness or disorder in the DSM-5. You've probably already seen people accusing Belle from Beauty and the Beast of having such Syndrome, claiming that she "felt in love" with her kidnapper/abuser, even though the Beast: didn't kidnap her, didn't abuse her, it was her choice to stay at the castle, he changed by his own will (she didn't "fix him", he fixed himself, she always fought back his assholery and didn't accept to be treated badly AND only felt in love with him in the end, when she came back to the castle by her own choice, after he changed. But why am I talking about all of this even though other people already covered up this topic in much better ways? (x) It's because antis use the EXACT SAME arguments about Blitz and Stolas. Antis ignore Blitz's agency and consent, they ignore him not accepting shitty things Stolas did/say, they ignore the fact that Stolas never abused his power nor forced Blitz do to anything. Blitz is not a victim (of Stolas), Stolas is not an abuser. Blitz's traumas are not Stolas's fault and vice-versa. The "Stockoholm Syndrome" speech was used to infantilize victims (mostly women) and speak on their behalf, notice how it's never about the alledged abuser being a bad person, it's about the alledged victim being "weak" and "insane" by "falling in love" with their abusers.

Yall want an actual coping mechanism/victim and abuser dynamic? Angel and Valentino.

"(...) but the most important faced that people miss about Stockoholm Syndrome is that it is *not* a diagnosable mental disorder, it is *not* on the DSM, Stockoholm Syndrome is considered a "contested illness", as a large portion of the psychiatric and law enforcement community do not believe it is a thing. So, honestly, this entire conversation is almost rendered moot, because Stockoholm Syndrome kind of belong in the category of "debunked pseudoscience" than an actual study-able psychological condition, or at the very least is it in the category of "more research needed".

#helluva boss #stolas #blitz #stolitz #vivziepop #brandon rogers #there's also this insane and dangerous idea that victims cant get out of their situation because they 'love their abuser'#when it's actually about lack of extern and financial support and also threatens against the victims's life and family

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bloodycassian · 9 months ago

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Enemy Lines - Reader x Azriel - reader is caught by the Autumn Court and Azriel saves her.

TW - themes of torture/death, gruesome violence, damsel in distress reader, savior Azriel

“I don’t want her going alone.” Azriel’s words were clipped towards his high lord. It seemed that the other part of Rhysand, his brother, would be unavailable for this matter. Azriel wasn’t sure if he blamed him.

“I understand your bond is new, but this is essential, Azriel.” He said calmly, hardly looking up from the maps atop the table.

He couldn’t help the way his lips pulled back in disgust. “So send Feyre, then.” He shot back, unable to contain the words. Rhys stilled, then finally, finally looked at Azriel.

Pity coasted his features, then hardened back into that mask of the high lord. “Feyre does not have the same gifts. It would defeat the purpose-”

“Send me, send anyone else. Rhys this is a death sentence!”

“Have faith in your mate, Azriel. She is talented, and smarter than you give her credit for.” His dismissal was not angry, nor was it painted with that pitying look he’d shown before. To his credit, he revealed no sign of budging on the matter, even while one of the few that could challenge him and survive raged at him.

Azriel saw the conversation going nowhere, and stormed from the room.

The robes were uncomfortable. You sighed and adjusted your position in the saddle again, wishing to the Mother you’d picked a different disguise for this role. The priestess uniform had made you look utterly delectable though, so there was no complaining there. Not as Azriel had whispered filthy things to you while he flew you to the closest stable where he was sure there were no Autumn cout guards or spies lingering.

You bought the cheapest horse they had, and it’d been a mistake.

The mare threw her head and nearly reared each time Azriel got within a few yards of her. It made the journey much longer without your mate at your side. You’d planned to at least say goodbye to him before you got to the Autumn border, but with such a fussy mare, it seemed that it wouldn’t happen.

So as the humidity and heat started to peak, you waved behind you, to the darkening sky where you knew Azriel watched from afar.

You had four days to get as much information as you could on Beron’s plans. He’d recently began acquiring more and more ships along his shoreline, and it’d caused a stir. Skiffs, warships and cargo boats clotted his waterways as you rode up the bridge to the bunker castle, nestled into the leaf littered ground.

Your pale robes stood out in bright contrast against all the red, orange and brown shades of this place. Guards closed in from the trees once you crossed, meeting you at the outer gates of the castle. Two males stood in front, spears sharp and at the ready.

“State your business.” One commanded.

The glamour over your face was essential now, and you made sure it did not slip as you spoke.

“The Mother sends you a Priestess, and you meet her with violence?” You called back.

Your heart quickened as you stepped down from the horse, a vulnerable time of dismount would be the perfect moment to kill. They could take it as a threat, and be justified in their murder.

“I am Vivienne, of the Kallos Sea. I understand your previous priestess has…” You paused for effect, knowing that she was on a very long sailing back to Valhallan. “Abandoned her duties.”

“How could you-” The leader began, but was interrupted by the enormous stone doors opening.

“Welcome, priestess.” Eris Vanserra welcomed you, waving you forward.

“I understand that the temple in Valhallan has been undergoing restructuring. Much overdo, in my opinion.``You hummed in agreement, made absent comments while you searched the walls and doors for any hint at where Beron’s office may be. Eris made kind smalltalk while he showed you to your room. The male was charming, but revealed nothing about the influx of ships when you hinted towards it.

Remnants of the missing priestess still lay about. The candles, gems and potions lined the shelves on the walls. Personal artifacts had been cleared, and you hoped the female wasn’t fond of the items left behind. Azriel was only able to capture her because her journey to the nearest temple had taken her out of sight of the court’s many guard stations.

“My lady?” Eris prompted, his forehead pinched. He’d been speaking. You cursed yourself, you feigned sadness, and placed a hand upon your chest. “I apologize my lord, it has been.. Distressing to say the least. With Liasia disappearing it is… unsettling.” You fanned your face, making sure that the false tears showed.

“You’re safe here.” Eris assured, with a squeeze to your shoulder. His hand left behind a tingling, heated sensation on your skin. A reminder of what he was? What power he possessed? He looked at you, his golden gaze darkening. “Just be sure you have someone with you if you exit the manor.”

You batted your eyes at him, playing the part of seductive priestess well. “I’d ask for you if I did, prince.”

That got him to smile. “Please do. I’d be more than happy to show you my court.”

A new idea sparked in your mind. Perhaps you wouldn’t need to make this a rushed, blind mission. If Eris was as paliape as he seemed to be for you, perhaps he’d give you the information willingly.

His gaze lingered on you, even as he bid you goodnight.

The rotting scent only seemed extreme when your torturers came and went. The fresh air they brought with them a curse more than a relief. All around the Autumn dungeons seemed to reek and ooze with the smell of decay and half eaten things. A bucket of rats in the corner, long dead was swarmed with maggots. The trays of food you’d not eaten had been thrown against the walls, food for more scurrying things to feast upon.

Eris did none of the torturing himself. He did watch though, and questioned while a hooded and masked male did the carving. You had two fingernails left, from what you’d been able to see through your swollen eyes. They’d had some kind of powder, an itching, burning thing that they used when they’d gotten sick of the blood.

But you hadn’t broken. The glamour was still in place, and you’d die before implicating your court.

“You smell of snow and wind and rivers. Not of the Ocean, Vivenne.” Eris had whispered, so close you could feel his hot breath on your ear. “There is no reconstruction the Mother’s Temple. The Valhallan sages think it to be distasteful.” He said smugly.

Though you cursed yourself for falling to such a trap, you worried more for Azriel, who by your estimation would be arriving in less than a day for your rescue.

“Perhaps you don’t know all that you think you do, Prince.” You strained for the words, little more than a whisper.

The hours were grinding on Azriel’s nerves. He had gotten the sense that something was wrong days ago, but he refused to act. The bond had remained quiet, diluted almost from the Glamour. He did not enjoy being so blinded from you. Without the mental link, he felt lost, like a ship without course.

Night fell, and he decided he could no longer wait. He did not warn Rhys or Cassian, because he know - deep in his bones - that something was wrong. Something more than just his mate being late to their meeting point. Something had gone wrong.

So, with a running start, he flew through the Autumn Court borders and vowed to the Mother he’d find you or die trying.

The pain was less than a pinch, each time they drew your blood. The blades and odd things they used were nothing, compared to the poisoned prods they’d put in your back. Fire rippled through you with every breath, with every heartbeat that dragged the poison through you.

Your eyes no longer wept from the throbbing, your voice was gone from the screaming. You held on faintly, to the glimmering bond deep inside your mind - your soul. The thick rope that seemed to be vibrating, warm and welcoming to your presence held you together. It was Azriel. It had to be, because if it wasn’t then what was the point of holding on any longer?

You could feel something like peace embrace you, every time you’d pass out. Darkness greeted you with open arms, enticing you to fall into the shapeless pit. But that cord, that part of you that loved Azriel more than it feared the pain… it was stronger. It helped you stay, to remain in this world for a few more hours. Days? How long had it been since Eris’ guards had ambushed you?

The question brought forth the violence of consciousness. The males before you came into focus again, and you body tensed. The fire along your back heightened, earning a broken sob from your chest.

“Tell me where you’re from, who you’re with, and this can be over.” Eris promised, his voice like honey in the darkness. And Mother above it was tempting. So incredibly tempting to allow the words to come out. The answer to what he wanted was only a few syllables. You could feel your hold on the Glamour beginning to shake.

There was a thudding sound, far above the prison cell. Dirt shifted and rained down from the ceiling above. An earthquake, hopefully - that would rid you of this pain faster than you’d hope.

Eris flicked a hand, and two of the guards left the room. When the door opened, revealing silvered moonlight from the windows in the hall, it also made that decaying scent swirl and vacate the room for a moment.

And when you’d normally cringe, and attempt to hold your breath, this fresh air was different. It was cold. Downright freezing, in fact. The guards hesitated outside the door, and the screaming began.

“Where is she.” Azriel’s voice was not his own. It was a growl, a demand and promise of wrath if the boy did not answer his question. The redhead stammered, and clawed at the shadowsinger’s hands, his eyes wide and horrified at what he saw before him.

He let the boy drop. It’d be more likely a guard would know. Azriel was having a hard time getting to the logic of things though, when he sensed the pain his mate was in. When he knew he’d been right all along, and Rhys should have listened.

The compiled rage leaked from him like a poison. Every guard who got close enough fainted or died on the spot from the intensity of the shadows, the nightmares they saw there. He reigned them in, his surroundings coming into focus. He took a breath, and it was as if his senses were heightened in this state.

There was a male hiding behind the next corner, beside a barrel of wine and stores of bread. Azriel was there in an instant, his shadows taking him so easily, like liquid from one space to the other.

“Where is she?” He said the words calmly, but they still came out through his teeth.

“W-who-”

“The priestess!” Azriel’s blade was at the male’s neck in the next heartbeat. There wouldn’t be survivors here, not tonight.

“The cells are down the next hall, the door on the left with the lock. The Prince is there as well-” With the teary confession, Azriel threw the male against the wall, flecks of bone chasing his shadows as he winnowed to the end of the hall.

The screams were growing louder, more frantic before ending abruptly. Eris flicked a hand again, and all the devices and pain actively hurting you disappeared. The torturer included. Had he been a figment the entire time? More shouts echoed through the halls.

A smile curled your lip, stretching the skin to the point of pain. Then, you couldn’t help but laugh. As much as you could anyway, it came out more like bitter coughs.

Eris was moving then, a swift backhand had you spitting up blood between laughs. He unhooked your legs, then your arms. He held you up by the waist, then decided better and let you fall to the ground. Your body sparked in pain, protesting at every movement. Something cold pressed to your neck, and you closed your eyes, blood tipping back in your throat.

The cold air flowing into the room stopped all together, and the silvery light of the moon faded. Your heart thundered, every joint in your body throbbing in time with it. Pain sang through you, a symphony of aches and split scabs being torn apart.

The guards at the door shuffled, holding their weapons at the ready, then abruptly fell to their knees. There was no sound, other than the clang of their weapons against the stone.

Azriel appeared in the doorway like a god, wrathful and wielding his power like a part of himself. Your tears stung your wounds as they fell. You mouthed his name, unable to make the word out around the knot in your throat.

“Not another step, Shadowsinger.” The knife at your throat pinched, and warmth flowed down your chest.

Azriel straightened, his jaw flexing. “What about her?” Azriel held up a hand, and a red haired female appeared, a gag in her mouth and tears in her eyes. You recognized her as the Beron’s wife, the Lady of Autumn. Eris’s knife relaxed at your throat, and his other no longer held you in place. Your body sagged, threatening to fall without the support of his other hand at your shoulder.

“You wouldn’t. She’s done nothing.” Eris spat, and a cruel smile played at Azriel’s lips. Truth teller laid a streak of blood upon the Lady’s high cheekbone, carving down, down, down-

“Enough!” Eris was shaking, you could feel it reverberating through his legs.

“Let her go.” Azriel’s eyes darted to yours, and he blinked quickly. “Release her Eris, or I’ll be sure she regrets ever birthing you.”

“I’m certain she already does.” Eris muttered, shame weighing his voice. He nudged you forward, and you nearly fell face first to the floor but Azriel was there - and you were gone. Cool shadows embracing you, circling you like a cat.

“What did they do- what hurts the most?” Azriel was asking before he’d even stepped from his shadows. You landed together in damp leaves, the moon’s light making you squint.

His hands shook as they grazed over your tattered clothes. His mind warring with revenge and healing. The glamour on your face was rippling and changing, shifting between the face he loved and the one of a stranger. But your scent. He inhaled deeply, greedily, even though it was tainted with blood and something darker, more sinister beneath the surface. It was still you. Still his mate.

“Missed you.” You breathed, smiling at him through swollen lips. His heart ached, his stomach threatened to spill out right there on the decaying autumn ground.

He tore off his top layer of leather, covering your shoulders with it. The siphons attached dulled but didn’t darken. He used parts of that glowing power to patch up the larger wounds he could see in the shadowy moonlight. Relief flooded him when that glamour finally shifted, and fell. Your face was a bloodied mess but he kissed you on the forehead anyway, as gentle as he could.

He felt weak, so very tired and weak after the encounter. Fatigue pulled on him, even as the night air bit at his exposed arms once he took off into the sky.

#reader x azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #acotar fic #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger

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chaifootsteps · 4 months ago

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This is an important thing for people to know, especially anyone who has been burned by Viv and is afraid to come forward. You have more support now than you ever have before. Viv’s castle is crumbling by the day. Her influence gets weaker with every new person who comes out. Even people who haven’t watched any of her shows know she’s a talentless hack and awful person.

If it’s legal blowback you’re worried about, then it might interest you to know that the worst she can do is file a defamation claim and in that case it’s HER responsibility to prove you wrong not your responsibility to prove yourself right. And Viv may be many things but I’m not sure she (or rather her lawyer) is dumb enough to think she’d win in an actual public hearing with a jury that isn’t stacked with dickriders. She’d lose, or the case would never make it to court in the first place. In either case, any half decent lawyer would tell her she’s an idiot for trying to take you on.

Maybe you’ll get a spooky letter, but as we already saw with Erin those are 100% hollow threats meant to scare you. Don’t give her that power. Someone is dead now because of her and her out of control fans and it’s passed time someone did something about it.

This is so important. It's not like when Ken and Erin first came forward. Post-My Name is Caine, I am Your Bitch era is a very different time.

Someone out there reading this has the power to end this, and they know who they are. Doesn't have to be now, but just remember, there's life after criticizing Vivienne Medrano.

#Anonymous #vivziepop critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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fleshwerks · 28 days ago

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Ugh, there's no end to it. Sorry, followers. ADHD hyperfixation says, and it won't stop until it's late at night and I'm crawling into bed, brain-tired, asking myself 'what the hell was the point of all that, Mari?' This time, we set our iron sights on Rook.

Relying on my reblogged post about pope Leliana, here's another problem. I think they kind of wanted another Hawke, but also wanted a blank slate. The Inquisitor received shrapnel for being 'bland', but you could still pretty effectively roleplay personality onto them with with the admittedly meagre dialogue options. The problem with Rook is that thy're ne ryba ne myaso. They're not a stand-alone character with existing personality + a lot of intense player-induced flavour. But they're not a complete blank slate with some vague history that leaves a lot up to the headcanon, either. Rook's just three flavours of friendly: nice-polite, nice-jokey, nice-stern. Rook is just... nice. Not burdened heavily by past connections of family and personal experiences, but not a complete blank slate like the Inquisitor, either. You can't really project onto Rook because there's just enough there for them to be a character separate from what you've largely personally created, but they're not interesting enough as a separate person for you to mould them to your vision. Some argue that the 'asshole option' and wanting it to be there just means that you, the player are an asshole and you want to be an asshole, and that means you're a bad person. But how about when you want your Rook to be nice, but have a breaking point? Where Rook's patience runs out and they just fucking snap? , but not too stern. It'd be nice to have an option to do that. And from what I gather from what I saw, the option simply isn't there for the most part.

Rook is built to be accommodating. Sacrificing existing personality and player-made personality for the sake of catering to solving the problems your companions.

It's a roleplaying game in name only. And you can do that thing well. Pathologic 2 does it well, it has a lot of flavour, though it doesn't affect the outcome. But the flavour matters. You can have a very distinct personality without it causing problems for the writers who have a certain story and outcome in mind. It starts to come across like Bioware's writers were either hamstrung by an inexperienced lead and/or financiers, or it's a crew comprised entirely of inexperienced people who don't know how to do good game writing, or the problem is someone who is experienced, but has a strong but incompetent vision, and is simply not willing to compromise. Still, one has to wonder what the brief by the investors was. Because right now it sounds like the brief was: "Offend no one. We need to cast a wide net and make some fucking moneeeey."

Looks like the fans are once more saddled with having to make their headcanon entirely from scratch, but this time with no support whatsoever from the in-game dialogue wheel. Which... honestly? It's my jam, when I'm not playing. But when I'm playing, I want to either play someone with established personality, or a total blank slate with plenty of room to build character in-game and support my headcanon that way. Not someone who's completely shackled somewhere in the middle, too afraid of saying anything wrong and thus reducing themselves to a single trait: "nice."

Where's Vivienne rearranging your castle furniture just to provoke you because she thinks you're a troglodyte who doesn't know their arsehole from their mouth based on your increasingly hostile interactions (if you go down that path. Her positive path is very rewarding).

Disclaimer: I could get the game and sit with Rook for several playthroughs, but I said it before and I say it again: a good game gives you most everything on the first playthrough. A poor game relies on subsequent playthroughs and a shitton of legwork by the player's own imagination to wring meaning out of this cold piece of smooth and featureless rock.

#datv rook #veilguard critical #i'm just polluting the tag now lol

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broodwolf221 · 4 months ago

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I love your writing and meta so much and have burned through most of your fic already, so I trust your judgment! Do you have fic recs I should check out? Thanks in advance!

oh no i cry 😭 pls this is so sweet.....

gotta start with the recent gift i got from arlathan exchange bc it is soooo good! sweater has a gorgeous, vivid writing style that i really enjoy. this one is spicy! 🔥but seriously her writing is just So Good? i love the way they set scene and tone

hunger by @fadedsweater / sweaterghost on ao3

In the moonlit dark of Mythal's palace there is a hunger that rumbles beneath the sprawling marble floors and shakes the foundation of each gilded pillar. It is a hunger that spreads like smoke and burns like fire. Solas has known this hunger for a long, long time. Solas visits Mythal’s court, intent to sway her from her current warpath. Meanwhile, Mythal can't help but notice that he has gone far too long without feeding. Ancient Arlathan, but with vampires.

my friend jazz has been getting into da and they've written so much lovely stuff for it, always with really excellent characterization and fascinating premises. one of my personal favs from their writing is this exploration of cole and vivienne's relationship

wellspring by @jazzmckay / desiredemon on ao3

Long ago, Cole promised, "I can protect you. If templars come for you, I will kill them." Vivienne never expected such a thing to ever take place.

i still need to finish this one and this is a nice reminder to get on that, but this writer has an extraordinary style and their handling of solas is so good?? i'm in awe tbh. seriously beautiful writing.

though my language is dead (still the shapes fill my head) by @darethshirl / mafalda_157 on ao3

She gazed up at him, silent and calm, green eyes unblinking. Outwardly she was the very image of tranquility, her expression as unmoving as the surface of a vast clear lake. If any thoughts or emotions lurked somewhere in those depths there was no way to tell. - This veiled world will always feel muted. Still, Solas tries his best to communicate.

another spicy one, but playwithdinos has suchhhh a vivid style and there's just something so lovely and profound about it. my first introduction to her writing is this one, and her depiction of solas is fascinating i love it.

the switch by @playwithdinos / @dinoswrites / playswithdinos on ao3

Lavellan usually lets Solas take charge when they're alone, but she's back from slaying the Fereldan Frostback and she's not in the mood to bow to anyone. Fill for this kink meme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13696.html?thread=53207680

anddd another spicy one (anyone else sensing a theme here?), this writer is... wow. wish i knew their tumblr if they have one so they can know i'm gushing about them beyond my comment. this is a delightfully messy and complex examination of how solas/andruil/ghilan'nain might happen, and i'm absolutely enthralled by the characterization of andruil and ghilan'nain here - and solas as well!

Power, Intrigue, Danger and Sex by Hezjena on ao3

When Solas later recalled the evening, he liked to imagine it was the result of careful manipulation, a triumph of his skilled diplomacy and a delicious trickery where he allowed himself to be underestimated… rather than the result of too much ice wine and morbid curiosity. *** That time Solas accidentally-on-purpose has a threesome with Andruil and Ghilan’nain in Ancient Elvhenan.

okay, rosie's writing is So Good? i'm always super impressed by how she describes scenes and also just... the layers. seriously. the foreshadowing is always amazing. her handling of solas is sooo good and also? an extraordinary artist? too powerful tbh <3

In the Blue Morning by @rosieofcorona / rosieofcorona on ao3

He wants to stay like this forever, wants the sun to forget to rise, wants the castle to sleep and sleep in an endless dream. But the light keeps coming, every moment. The castle will wake, and they will see. And this will cost them, in the end.

i could so easily keep going tbh but this is already getting long and i might've passed the @'ing limit already lmao

#this is so sweet tbh....

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