#where like. you always have Victims and Perpetrators

[aeide-thea]

[witcherposting ahead—nb that this is all totally lighthearted and it's fine if you feel differently!]

anyway what i'd started to say before tumblr ate my post was that like. disclaimer that my approach to netflix witcher canon is that i fully reserve the right to cherrypick, because some of the changes they made were good but others were character assassination, and that obviously i get that if one isn't cherrypicking one does have to actually Grapple With Certain Things 🏔

but like. that said—the more 'Geralt Must Grovel for Weeks and Probably Scourge Himself, Look at What He Did to Poor Sad-Eyed Woobie Jaskier' fics i read the more i'm fucking grateful for the tiny handful where jaskier's just been like, yeah, i never bought that bullshit tbh, he was lashing out and he owes me an apology for sure but a single angry outburst does not in fact scupper an extremely well-established relationship of literally twenty years' standing in one fell swoop???

like i just. idk. imagine remembering that jaskier's a cheery irrepressible little shit and not actually as crushably low on self-esteem as all of us are. of course that would probably require *netflix* to have remembered that, so, you know, no actual shade to anyone who's been projecting that onto him! but just like. idk. they're obviously not siblings but they honestly do have that vibe in certain ways and it's just like. did you never say something overdramatic and shitty in the heat of a fight with yr sibling growing up and then after taking a bit of a breather just like. make a rueful face and apologize for yr respective roles in winding each other up and move tf on, without having, like, a whole extended OTT reparations process where you tell them repeatedly how perfect and sinless they are and how you know you're a miserable worm who doesn't remotely deserve their sunshiny presence in your life but would be so grateful if they could, possibly, somehow, see their way to forgiving you despite yr essential unworthiness—

[little-star-library]

Cold Lips & Warm Fingertips

18+ only (MDNI please)

Pairing: Astarion Ancunin x fem!Reader

Summary: I don’t know how this little drabble came about, but maybe I’ve been listening to Hozier a little bit and got a spark of inspiration. This one is a little sad, but I keep thinking about having a moment with Astarion where he needs to be comforted during a difficult time.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only, soft Astarion, fem reader, smut, light angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, panic attack, disassociation, nudity, cockwarming, kissing, PinV penetration, tender moments

He was falling. He was falling into that cold, numbing and familiar abyss again, no matter how much he didn’t want to. He never wanted to be like this, not with you. You were so soft and so sweet to him and gave him a new and refreshing perspective on intimacy, it almost brought him to tears just thinking about it. But after so many years of being conditioned into a ‘loyal servant’ to lure his victims to their demise, it began to become an instinct to detach himself from the moment, to just let his mind wander away until it was over.

“Star, honey, are you with me?”

He could still feel your palms pressing into his chest as you straddled his hips. He could still feel your taut muscles beneath his hands in a tight grip to keep you steady while he rocked his pelvis upward to grind into you even deeper. He could feel your velvety walls squeezing around his swollen member while you bounced up and down in his lap. And it was such a sight to see you would gush and shake with pleasure as he teased you and praised you until your eyes rolled to the back of your head, it would always make his chest puff out with pride knowing that he made you feel that good. But then all movements ceased and he found that rather odd. Your hands were still in the same position and you were still connected with him in your passionate union, so why did you stop?

“Astarion? Sweetheart, can you hear me? Please talk to me.”

Your worried tone sent alarm bells ringing in his head and within an instant he was snapped back into reality. The atmosphere changed; the haze of his disassociation that clouded his mind morphed him back to him lying down in his tent and there was a warm glow within the space and within his body. He was so warm and yet so cold with the sweat and tears that clung to his skin. When did he start crying?

Astarion flinched at the sudden contact of someone’s hand moving to cup his face and swiping away his shed tears with a delicate touch. He made a quick motion to grab that hand and pull it away in disgust, but then he glanced up at the perpetrator that held him beneath their weight. His eyes locked with your anxious gaze and everything came crashing down all at once.

Shit.

A deep, rugged shivering sensation began to quake in his chest and a shuddering cry broke through and the sting of even more tears started to prick at his vision, which only made him squeeze his eyes tight in vain to will them away. But they poured and poured down his cheeks, and there was a ringing that echoed in his ears and he was trying so desperately to breathe. It felt like he was gasping for air. He really had no need to breathe, surely. So why was he trying so hard to hold in the choked sobs that were escaping behind gritted teeth?

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright.” Your soothing voice reached out to him and you made to move your hands to hold his face gently, stroking gingerly at his wet cheeks with caution. “You’re with me, you’re safe.”

The touch of your fingers and the sound of your hushed words crashed through the waves of dread and turmoil that grew deep in the pit of his stomach, anchoring him back to the present moment and yet those tears continued to stream down.

You were too sweet to him and you had him wrapped tightly around your finger with your kindness and affection. He most definitely fucked everything up now. How could he do this to you? His plan to seduce and sleep with you in exchange for your loyalty and protection had surely paid off, but then he started…feeling something more with you. It was an awful feeling. But then again, you had made him smile and laugh, made him feel like he was worthy. Worthy of happiness, worthy of himself, and maybe even worthy of your love. But you didn’t deserve someone like him, someone so tainted and broken by an eternity of lies and torture that would make any other person perish instantly. You deserved more than he could ever give you and you would most certainly leave him now.

“Astarion, can you look at me? Please?” Your fingers moved away from his face and instead turned towards his hair and softly stroked the disheveled curls away from his eyes, scratching lightly at his scalp in hopes of soothing him.

Those crimson orbs slowly revealed themselves as he peeked up and saw a little smile that graced your face when he willingly obeyed to your request. His own face felt wet and itchy as the remaining tears of his panic attack began to cool against his skin, but that didn’t matter right now. Without a second thought, his arms wrapped around your torso and yanked you down to his chest and gripped you tightly in fear that you might suddenly disappear if he let go. He needed to feel you, to feel your constant warmth in assurance that this was all real, that you were actually there.

The scent of sex and blood permeated the air around him, but underneath it all there was that scent that only he could describe as yours. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck and inhaled shakily, taking in the notes of lavender and vanilla of your favorite lotion that steeped into your skin. It was nice, calming even, and the familiar smell kept him grounded from slipping away again.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, darling.” Astarion whispers, squeezing you impossibly closer to him as he tried to control his breathing. “I, I know I should’ve said something. I just couldn’t help it.”

Your heart ached to see him so dejected like this, when he was plagued by his inner turmoils and frustrations. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend the kind of pain and suffering that he endured in the past, but you knew what it was like to live with a traumatic burden. You knew the weight of fear and dread that came in tow alongside the overbearing presence of loneliness and that was true terror. You may have been scared to grow closer to Astarion in fear of rejection and being all alone again, but you knew that he was the same. So you wanted to do everything in your power to let him know that you were there for him, that you loved and cherished him for who he is, even if you had to take it slowly with him. All the effort was worth it in your opinion.

“That’s okay, Star, it’s not your fault.” You cooed in his ear and kissed lightly at the old scars on his neck as you continued to play with his hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. Just breathe with me, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You felt him nod against your shoulder and you sat up slightly to meet his gaze again and you mimicked the action of breathing in and out deeply with a slow motion of your hand in guidance for him to follow. Although it really wasn’t necessary for him in this case, he found that the little exercise helped relieve him of his anxiety when it came to these experiences. He followed your lead and soon enough, the looming danger of his thoughts started to dissipate and his conscience became clearer little by little as he kept his eyes on you.

“That’s it, just keep breathing. You’re doing so well for me.” Your praise made him whimper and the stirring of his cock still nestled in your womb had his hips buck up on instinct. The sensation of him brushing against your cervix had you blanking out in pleasure for a brief second and you realized that maybe it would be better to move of off his lap. But just as you began to move your hips, Astarion halted your actions in an iron grip around your waist to keep his softening member from escaping the grip of your cunt.

“Please don’t go,” he whimpered softly as you rested your head over his undead heart. “Stay here with me, just like this, keeping me warm.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. I promise.” You brought up one of his hands up to your mouth and kissed the tips of his fingers that were gradually growing colder even though he had only fed from you a short couple of hours ago. “But how about we get a little more comfortable, hmm? Would you like me to hold you?”

“Mhmm…”

Astarion took the initiative and turned to his side with you in tow, one hand holding the back of your head and the other grasping your hip as carefully as he could so as not to disturb the connection you shared between your bodies. Once you were settled a little bit further, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed his head into the crook of your neck and you scratched lightly at his silver curls on the nape of his neck, slowly massaging the area as you went before kissing the crown of his head. A content sigh could be heard from him as you basked in the now comfortable silence and he kissed you behind your ear in tranquil gratitude.

Time seemed to stand still while you lay there with your pale lover and you silently prayed to whatever gods were listening that this night would never end. Besides the downfall of tonight’s events that led to this moment, it was a comforting thought that Astarion was willing to be soft like this with you and knowing that he trusted you enough to open up himself to you made your heart melt. You knew that he could be rather difficult and a little rough around the edges, but deep beneath all of those complex layers all he wanted was someone who understood him, someone who could bring out the best in him.

“How’re you doing, Star? You need anything?”

Astarion let out a quiet hum and looked up at you from his resting spot and smiled softly once he met your eyes, fully enraptured by your loving gaze and his breath hitched by how gorgeous you looked in the candlelight.

“…You know what?” He glanced down at your mouth and licked his bottom lip at the thought of your tender kiss, which in turn made his cock twitch and he could feel you squirm in his arms. “I think my lips are starting to get cold.”

“Oh, is that so?” You quietly giggled at his subtle request, and ever more the charmer he was, you couldn’t deny him. “May I give you a kiss you then?”

His eyes lit up with a rare glimpse of joy and nodded, meeting you halfway to capture your lips in a benevolent kiss. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the cold shock of his lips melting against your own, swooning in the way he held you against him as he took your breath over and over again. The taste of the saltiness of his tears, the coppery tang of your lifeblood, and the musk that could only be described as him overtook your senses as the kiss deepened, your tongues jovially tangling together to explore one another’s mouths and it was pure bliss.

Astarion moans at how compassionate and loving you were treating him from the way you stroked his cheek and pulled him in close by your leg that was hitched over his thigh. It was all too much, but also never enough when it came to you. You were a breath of fresh air in this tumultuous world that cast him aside with his dark past, a light at the end of a blackened tunnel that reached out to pull him away from all the evil things lurking in the shadows. He never liked the ideation of fate or destiny, but there was a part of him that felt like he had another chance to accept it when you came along. He had the chance to accept the fact that there was good in this world and that he could find some good in himself, all because of you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly against your lips, savoring your heated breaths that ghosted across his lips. “For everything.”

You pulled away and looked up to see him already gazing down at you with a small smile on his face, taking his time to memorize every little detail that adorned your facial features.

“Anytime,” you whisper back and press another kiss on his plush lips before taking hold of his hand that was still cradling your jaw and kissing the inside of his palm. “I will always be here for you, Astarion. I know it can be hard to ask for help sometimes, but I want you to know that I’m always there for support if you need it.”

“I truly don’t deserve you, my love. You’re too sweet for me.” He chuckles with tears in his eyes once more and pulls you into a tighter hug, peppering your face in chaste kisses.

“You deserve the world and even more, sweetheart. And I want to give that all to you, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will. You have my word, darling.”

[pastadoughie]

i made anothr long rant abt sexism oh noooooo

so many people fundimentally do not understand terf ideology, and end up falling deeper and deeper into it because they think they are "immune" to it.

the fundimental feature of radfem ideology is sexism. or more specifically misandry. sexism by its very nature effects both genders, having a negative veiw of women fundimentally recontextualizes how you see men, if you see women as broadly less compatent, less intelegent, and therefore having less angency (dispite literally none of that being true) then you naturally veiw men as the opposite. thats just a core part of how sexism works. mysogeny and misandry are always gonna appear together. while you can just use the word sexism for all instances then, as that is more accurate in that it doesnt carry the implication that only one gender experiences negative effects from sexism, i think that having words like mysogeny and misandry are still useful. assuming you use them to mean 'ok im talking about sexism witch does effect both men and women, but im talking about just one gender to help make my point clearer' not having to bury yourself in asterisks is nice.

this does however mean that people can exploit this not explicitly stated part of the definition to pretend that misandry just doesnt exist. and i have gotten into many a very very annoying argument from people who just refuse to listen to my actual points and instead want to argue semantic differences about the words i use even when i explicitly state what i mean and their definitions. many people just refuse to use the word misandry entirely and just describe it as "mysogeny rebounding" or something of the sort. this is not only stupid and unhelpful, but also kinda sexist! a fundimental part of sexism is that it effects everyone, pointing out that misandry effects women too isnt groundbreaking stuff! thats how sexism works! women dont just exist in a void ok it is literally impossible to hate women and then be completely neutral about men that can not exist. if you want to speak about sexism but specifically talk about womens issues and experiences with it then thats fine and helpful! but you need to have the same thing for men. just like with mysogeny, being misandrist is going to make you a mysogenist as well, you maybe just word your sexist statements a little differently if youre coming from that angle, but you arrive in the same spot.

and because this is the piss on the poor website i should clarify that, no i am not saying that men experience the exact same issues in the exact same way as women, you will find that no where in this post! that is not my arguement.

feminism is important but if your goal is not gender equality but just to have it be in the opposite direction then that is! still sexism! and still bad!

to make my stance on this clear before i start… women are people, men are people, one is not more or less responsible, intelegent, phisically capable, or worthy of respect then the other. people should be paid fairly according to their skill level, products should be priced according to their value and not according to what gender stereotype they are meant to appeal to, sports should be based on skill level, and not on appearance or legal documents, persecution for crimes should be based on what actually happened, and not on the genders of the perpetrators or victims, and people should not be expected to act or dress a certain way based on what they looked like as a baby.

gender based descrimination is fundimentally illogical and extremely frustrating and horrific to have to experience, having to deal with mysogeny myself i am not somehow ignorant of this. given the magnitude of the issue this leads to alot of people lashing out and becomeing more and more radical. when you have so much of your life spent having people telling you you need to conform to "what men want" and seeing male peers be treated better in certain areas for no reason, youre gonna get a little bitter. when you view everybody as saying men are great and can do no wrong (witch people often do) then saying "well i fucking hate men" feels liberating. you start to get more bitter about it. you have to deal with so much shit for something you have no control over and men dont share your exact experience. its a classic case of trauma olympics where you start to veiw other peoples struggles as less valid and less worthwhile because of the shit youve had to go through.

this kind of emotional response is pretty understandable, but it is not a helpful or productive veiwpoint, sexism is frustrating. yes. but being sexist twards men doesnt help that!

this kind of response makes it really easy to tunnel vision on only the girl side of things. women face alot of sexual and domestic abuse, this is horrific and people have been desperately trying to help and spread awareness (though given the seriousness regardless of how much help there is its still horrible that it happens at all) men can often be violent or disregard womens consent even in non romantic/sexual circumstances, witch leads to a (sometimes warrented) level of distrust of people based on gender, though this is an issue with socialization differences between genders and not actually biological traits.

but theres a flip side to this. gender based socialization plays a big role in how alot of us behave and so, the same crime, for example sexual assault, can present differently depending on the socialization of the person. sexual abuse from a dude is broadly gonna be more violent, while with women its generally long term abuse, and alot more emotional, and when phisical less likely to be "severe" injuries.

agencies dedicated to helping in abusive situations, most of the time dont even consider emotional abuse. this means that its going to be biased to persecute men more, as abuse from women presents differently. systems designed to help with these things are pretty much only geared twards helping women, and to help in cases that align more with "male" patterns of abuse.

also, sexual abuse from women is far far more normalized, ive seen and experienced this myself, where, attention from older men to a young girl is seen as creepy and gross no matter how nonsexual the interaction is, but i have had older women grope me as a child, and nobody bats an eye, often seen as being a "cute" interaction and "just girls being girls!" ive noticed far far more pedophilic tendancies in older women then i ever have in men, as straight women from this demographic tend to expect young girls to be overly comfortable with them, thinking they have a "right" to little girls personal lives and bodies.

when it comes to the structure of organizations centered around abuse alot of people will argue with statistics that men are more likely to commit these crimes and therefore its completely sensible to prioritize an approach that works on that kind of abuse, and id argue this is unfair. this is like expecting accurate statistics on homosexuality from the 80s, there are a million reasons for people to lie on something like that. and moreover, if youve been sexually abused by a woman, not only are you unlikely to share that, but unlikely to properly report it, and extrordinarily unlikely to get any kind of action done for it, and extremely extremely extremely unlikely to have it actually be a punishment fitting for what happened.

moreover, women being seen as "weaker" in general then men means that within assault and abuse cases with a female perpetrator theres alot of shame there, youre seen as "not a real man" if you get sexually assaulted, its seen as a judgement against you, if you would even allow that to happen then you must have deserved it

+ alot of the time, in radfem ideology men are painted as little pervert sexual devients, witch makes talking about sexual abuse twards men really difficult because by the nature of your gender youre expected to "like it" or because of the fact that mysogeny exists at all its seen as "karma" for being a dude, regardless of the fact that one guy in an abusive relationship does not hold the responsibility of all womens rights issues on his shoulders (and argueing that anybody under any circumstance deserves sexual assault is horrific)

women are people, and people can be absolutely horrific. its unfortunately common to see women weaponizing mysogeny, the idea that they are fundimentally less capable and less responsible for their actions, to get disproportionitely less persecution.

these kinds of posts, and the idology they peddle its not just, silly tumblr nonsense, this has caused real, tangible, horrific damage to my (and many other peoples) lives,, and people just regurgitate it because is just so quirky to peddle blatent sexism.

and it doesnt even end there, veiwing people like this, thinking that people have some kind of biological flaws or superiority just naturally leads you to transphobia, this is why terfs are terfs, if youre a misandrist its just kinda the next logical step to hate trans people.

if you veiw men as awful evil penis havers who are, by their very nature, more violent and less trustworthy, then thats going to fundimentally recontextualize how you see trans women, you are not immune to being a terf because you post about girlcock or whatever, terfism including transphobia is a symtom of their sexism. and if you really want trans people to feel safe around you you cannot keep peddaling this shit! "men (or amab people) are biologically more violent" and "trans women are women (and all the gender stereotypes being a woman entails)" are fundimentally conflicting and odds are, youre gonna pick the one thats more violent and hateful, because the internet is about being angry, and there is nothing the internet likes being angry about more then trans women

also its worth nothing that quote en quote "trans inclusive" radfems exist, and they are going to exploit this idea that you are immune to right wing bullshit to push you further and further into the cesspit

you can go onto these blogs and you can find things you agree with, i think yea that the way we veiw gender is really shitty, i think mysogeny is bad and people need to be more aware of it, but then you start, agreeing with the more and more and more unhinged shit till ur straight up posting hatespeech

i cannot stress enough that this is. real shit, i want you to not be a transphobe! but theres only so much i can spoon feed you and you have to put on your big boy pants on at some point and start actually having your brain on when youre reblogging quirky tumblr posts about how hating men is such a cool opinion that does not impact anybody negatively at alllll

[idyllic-affections]

bravery and its unique manifestations.

summary. huohuo's baby sibling has always been bolder than her.

trigger & content warnings. none applicable.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. huohuo & younger sibling!foxian!reader, mr. tail & reader. 0.6k words. they/them pronouns used for reader.

author's thoughts. mr tail is so dad coded

huohuo tries her very best to be brave for her baby sibling, [name].

they admire her so very and deeply and earnestly—this, she knows for certain. it would be impossible for her not to know. with the way their eyes grow wide with awe and the way they bounce on their heels, excitedly telling her all about how they want to be just like her when they get older (even though huohuo is barely any older than her baby sibling, and she's unsure if her little heart would be able to handle them being a spiritfarer too…), the way they brag to everyone they meet about how their big sister is just the coolest foxian on the luofu… she would have to be completely and entirely oblivious to not take notice, and even then, she's certain that mr. tail would scoff and point it out to her with a remark about how airheaded she must have been to not realize.

huohuo knows. they admire her more than anyone else on the luofu.

so, she does her best to be brave. [name] thinks she's the most awesome person in the universe! if she didn't at least try to live up to their interpretation of her, then what kind of a big sister would she be..? truly, she does not wish to disappoint them. she would never get over it, never forgive herself, if she did.

she does her best to strengthen her resolve—horror movies at the latest hours of the night, taking on more responsibilities as a spiritfarer, and even going as far as to ask mr. tail to somehow scare her a bit. she just wants to be brave. if not for herself, if not for xueyi and hanya, if not for anyone else in the entire universe, then for her sibling.

even after all of that, though, some fears are not so easily tackled. aeons, she can't help but go stuttery and quiet when someone berates her.

her little sibling has always been bolder than her. they've always been able to stand up for themselves, always been able to keep their chin up, always been able to persevere… they are, in an ironic way, everything she wishes she could be, everything she hopes that she will be one day. just as they wish to be like her, so too does she wish to be like them.

given their sparky attitude, it's no surprise that when they overhear someone berating their big sister, they zip over at the speed of light… or possibly even faster with how they're almost tripping grown adults due to hardly watching where they're going.

mr. tail has already taken to yelling at the one who so boldly dared to talk down to huohuo—that is something only he can do, how dare some random resident think that they also have that right—by the time [name] has gotten to huohuo's side. she tries her best to quickly dry her tears for them. despite her face not being completely dry, [name] doesn't even seem to notice, for immediatly after reaching her side and letting mr. tail finish, they yell:

"yeah! what mr. tail said!" they shout, little foot stomping onto the ground as they cross their arms. their attempt at a scowl really just looks like a pout. simply put, they are not intimidating in the slightest ('cute' might be a better word to describe the little fuming foxian), but the choice of words that follow are certainly silencing: "shut up! who do you think you are to talk to big sister like that?! don't ever say those idiotic things again, you got it?! she's a judge! who the hell are you to talk to her that way?!"

it's quiet for a moment.

then, the perpetrator-turned-victim queitly, awkardly shuffles away. mr. tail chuckles—it could be argued that the sound is fond in its nature, but he would never admit that to anyone. "you tell 'em, pup—"

their chest puffs out proudly.

"—but next time, do it without sayin' hell again, got that?"

they pout. "fine…"

please consider reblogging and leaving a kind tag or comment, it helps me out quite a lot!

[s0xmsstuff]

You can't see it, and I constantly wonder why.

{reader} x y!Wally Darling

Warnings: Obsessive behavior, mentions of harassment, bad outlook on love, Threats of isolation, mental torture, gn! {Reader}

– English is not my first language! If you see grammar problems I will happily accept a correction.

You can't see it, right? You cannot see how this heart hidden in the skin of my chest begs for your attention, for your love, for all of you.

I don't understand why, why can't you hear the beating of my poor heart? Why do you deny what is already written? Why don't you accept it?

It would be better that you accept that you are mine, it would be better that you accept to stay with me, it would be better if you were obedient, {reader}.

It would be better for you.

Because the only thing you gain by resisting is a great hole of despair and horror, where both the victim and the perpetrator are yourself.

You just have to agree, my dear. Just accept your fate, accept that we are made for each other.

Just imagine it; Mr and Mrs/Mr/Mx. Darling

You only complicate things with your negativity, with your unnecessary resistance. None of it will stop our love, my dear. Nothing and no one will.

I am always watching you, from up close of course, I have always been a witness to how your eyes carefully observe the shape of the trees. I have witnessed how the skin of your beautiful fingers plays with the fabric of your clothes, and I have witnessed everything.

Why do you run away? Why are you crying? Why do you beg for mercy? Why you do not trust me? Why don't you look back at me?

I, your future husband, promise with my very existence that I will protect you as the knight protects his queen. I will love you as the sun has loved the moon since its creation. And I'll show you that I love you, just like I do.

I have always wanted to feel more than what I have been forbidden to feel. And after so much wishing, praying and asking... You appeared.

You appeared in the neighborhood with your big and beautiful smile, greeting everyone equally, that day I saw you through the window and I said to myself... ”Someone new, new feelings."

And it was true, you made me feel lighter, you made me feel so shocked, everything you did or said was right in my eyes. I didn't care if what you said wasn't relatively accurate, but for me it was.

You were smarter than Frank

Kinder than Eddie .

Funnier than Julie

More interesting than Barnaby

More passionate than Sally

More attentive than Poppy

More agile than Howdy

I even dare to say that you became more incredible and special than Home. That was almost alien to me, I didn't know why I felt that way. But I didn't dislike it, in fact I liked it.

I like the way this feels, it's like being alive again.

But you refused to accept it, you wanted to live too. I don't get it, you and I could live

together.

So I had to do whatever it took to keep you from leaving my side, it was hard at first I didn't like the idea of ​​hurting you. You are special to me, you know that right? But a few sacrifices are necessary to achieve peace, right?

So I locked you in Home, with me. Together

N/Y; This is my first time writing for this character, and I like the obsessive wolf dynamic. Probably something nicer will go up, but that will be decided in another future.

– s0x

[gallierhouse]

There’s this point that IWTV keeps circling around about how the gradation of victimhood and responsibility doesn’t do any good for anyone. Like, it doesn’t matter how much of a “perfect” victim you were, the result is still the same. Lestat taken from his home in the middle of the night by a stranger, Louis nodding his head at Lestat in the church; the result is still the same. They both got turned, they both got hurt, they both got abused. I’m not equating Magnus’ actions with Lestat’s, but even though Louis willingly enters into a relationship with Lestat, it still ended in abuse. (Note: the circumstances of their turnings are very different. I’m not equating them.) The result of both is assault (see: the parallel between Lestat’s turning and Claudia being assaulted by Bruce) and abuse. It doesn’t really matter if you “asked for it” or if you were kidnapped and dragged away, the bullshit moralizing and assignment of blame and responsibility doesn’t matter, because in the end it still happened. It’s not what the victim did or didn’t do. On some level we see Louis blame himself for what happened with Lestat (and what continues to happen with Armand). Maybe if I was a better husband, maybe if I was more attentive, maybe if I was kinder, maybe if I loved him better. Something like that. Conversely, we have the examples of Lestat and Armand. I’m guessing that they almost resent their “perfect” victimhood (kidnapped by strangers and dragged into the bushes, the way rape and sexual assault is said to happen, when it’s really mostly perpetrated by people close to the victim). Because what did being a perfect victim ever do for them? It didn’t change anything. It didn’t undo anything. It didn’t make it better. In some ways, it makes it worse, because they can’t even blame themselves. People often cope with trauma by assigning themselves more agency than they really had in an attempt to regain control (Louis is doing this in real time with the interview, editorializing, always editorializing, always protecting his abusers, even now) but that’s not even an option for Lestat and Armand. There’s no imaginary option where anything they could’ve done could have circumvented what happened. I do think they resent it on some level. Nothing to blame, nothing to hold onto. I’m not attempting to rank the severity of their trauma. This isn’t the trauma Olympics; there’s no comparison. There’s just a consistent idea in IWTV that the circumstances of victimhood don’t really matter and that there really shouldn’t be victim blaming because it doesn’t matter. The bad things still happened. Nothing will change that. There’s only one person who could’ve prevented it, and it wasn’t the victim, it was the perpetrator.

I’m not entirely satisfied with the way this is phrased, so please read and interpret this charitably. I do think it’s a really good approach to depicting victimhood that deconstructs a lot of unfair, cruel narratives about it, so it’s worth noting, even if I can’t explain it perfectly.

[transfaguette]

I ask this in good faith, but how is it that so many transmascs hate the idea of (trans inclusive) radical feminism so much? All I know it does is liberate everyone from the evils caused by cis men and the patriarchy.

Well first I would say this isn't an opinion unique to transmascs, but thats the circle I orbit so I understand where that perception comes from.

The problem is that you really can't excise the problematic elements of TERFism simply by removing the overtly transphobic parts.

Radical feminism, both trans exclusive and "inclusive" hinge on the idea of Men (sometimes cis, sometimes not) are perpetrators and Women (and sometimes, vaguely, some* non-women)are victims. Putting aside the individual capability to cause harm which is easy enough to debunk, even on a societal level this is not telling the whole story. The Patriarchy is a system of societal control and allotment of power, and it aims to control everyone, men included. Most men, all but the most powerful in society, which is capitalist, christian cishetero white men, have the patriarchy weaponized against them!

"Cis men" as a class, as individuals, don't cause evil. They are just human beings. Human beings with equal capability to love and nurture and fight for what is right. Which is the other problem with radfeminism, is that it seeks to strip away this humanity from the people around you, and isolate you. and like...what is a cis man, anyway? Like I know the answer seems obvious, but at what point does "cis man" end and "nonbinary person" or "trans person" begin? What elements of cis-manhood cause evil? Where does that "evil" go when someone transitions or no longer identifies as a cis man?

This is, I think, the fundamental problem of "trans inclusive" radical feminism. In continuing to divide the world into Evil Men and Good Women, you STILL impose a system of gender essentialism in a way that does not coalesce with the ideas of queer liberation. A nonbinary person can be a cis man one day, come out as nonbinary and change nothing else about their life from that point. What then? Are they no longer evil? Were they ever evil? How do you even being to decide that without just using the same trans exclusive rhetoric you're supposedly fixing, anyway? And I'm not even getting into the impact this has on trans men, because we are put in this position of being a marginalized gender and victims of misogyny but also placed in this position of privilege due to being men that is not accurate to reality. And sure, maybe you can remedy that by always specifying cis men, but many TIRFs don't see that as a flaw of the ideology, anyway. They Do think trans men are gender traitors and Do think we inherit some sort of evil power the moment we become men.

And there is much, much more to be said on the topic of radical feminism and its pitfalls. These are just the broad points. The dehumanization of Cis Men as a class is not simpatico with queer liberation and it just never will be. It is a good question worth asking, because it can seem good on the surface unless you know what to look for.

[genderkoolaid]

I fucking hate the tma tme binary. My friend is a perisex cishet woman who often faces transmisogyny due to being gnc (and got attacked in a girl's bathroom because they thought she was a trans woman). I am a trans woman who does not face much tramsmisogyny due to easily passing and just not interacting with many people.

Whenever we bring up how people who aren't trans women who were AMAB experience transmisogny people always interpet it as like. getting harassed once or twice (which, can still be dangerous! It can take one violent transmisognist to permenantly disable or kill you!) & completely ignore people who experience that regularly throughout their lives, to the point where it actively shapes their lives.

Also like. supposedly tme/tma is meant to avoid using identity labels when talking about oppression. but 1. as you pointed out, it still relies on the foundation of identity to decide whether your experiences with transmisogny count as being affected and 2. most of the time when I see "tma" it's referring to transfems & "tme" referring to transmascs & sometimes cis women. nonbinary people who were amab are often either seen/treated as"basically cis guys" or "basically transfems/trans women." like sure tme/tma is "based on affect and not identity" but whether you are affected is based on identity/AGAB. so litcherally what's the point. also we literally do not do this with any other form of oppression we don't have "islamophobia affected" vs "islamophobia exempt" & yet we manage to have conversations about islamophobia & it's victims & perpetrators while also being able to acknowledge non-muslim victims just fine. wild

[polarisbibliotheque]

Can You Hear The Rumble? - Vergil x Reader

Music Inspired Fics (Devil May Music) - Cirice, by Ghost

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: Everyone knew the kind of demon a hunter should be wary about is the one who plays with their victim's minds. You and Vergil were very proud on the outside - but how would it be when having to save each other on the inside for the first time?

TRIGGER WARNING: A lot of blood, cuts, bruises, scars and suffering on both Vergil and the reader's sides. The reader also struggles with perfection and self-loathing - in a "I'm never going to be a good person" kind of way, because I needed to get more intimate on the reader's part as well - and there are scenes with the reader covered in cuts and bleeding, though not self-imposed, it could be read like that. Those scenes are the reader's and Vergil's internal images of themselves. Reader and Vergil meet each other on their imperfections and the darkest parts of their souls, so BE WARNED. This might not be everyone's cup of tea and there are lots of potential triggers.

Author's Note: @tokkis-shelf asked me if Vergil's part of the Halloween special was inspired by Cirice, and here we are now. It is what kickstarted the song-fic requests! As with a lot of people, I think, Cirice is pretty personal to me.

In the video, it was so comforting to me seeing the black sheep being represented hahahaha and I guess that's why people love it so much. The part where they hold hands? I died, I'd never let go, I cry my soul out upon watching. (I did a very similar drawing to that scene when I was in school around 15 years ago, so it drop-kicked me out of my body xD)

Now, when writing this, I kept in mind that this song has a double meaning and can be quite comforting and quite manipulative at the same time - hence why I use the "can't you see that you're lost without me?" in two different situations, 'cause I think Cirice can be interpreted in so many ways and each person takes what they need from this song. I hope you guys like it!!

Plus, the song the reader and Dante sing at the end is The Power of Love, by Huey Lewis and The News

Cirice, by Ghost

“Can’t you see that you’re lost…?”

It happened every time Vergil walked in the darkness.

That voice in the back of his head, silently taunting him, the hiss of a quiet viper in the hopes of taking him back to the darkest parts of his soul. Quiet, lurking, whispering… Mundus always there, somewhere in the folds of his consciousness, guiding him back into the void – luring Vergil back into his shackles.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

As if Vergil couldn’t belong anywhere else, as if his place was in Hell. After all he had been through, after all the sins he perpetrated, he believed wholeheartedly there was no hope for him at all – only a fool’s hope; only a glimmer of a wish he wasn’t as tainted as he was… A desire to not be such a monster as he was.

Pacing quietly through the empty cathedral, Vergil had already learned not to give in to those thoughts – to keep them at bay, as only a whisper in the darkness, of trickster voices that would always remind him of how inhuman he was.

It was times like this Vergil longed for the faint glimmer of the moon, or the warm ghostly light of a candle. It was easy to get lost in the dark, but a single ray of light could help through the direst of situations. That night, though, it seemed like the moon had fallen asleep behind the curtains of the clouds – Selene hiding her tears for her earthly lover in his eternal sleep.

None of you knew what that night entailed – you weren’t even certain what you were dealing with. That was the reason why Lady strutted in the Devil May Cry, not too fond of taking a job she didn’t know if it was up to her abilities.

“Well, looks like I have a new one for you to pay your debt, big guy!” Her singsong voice interrupted the ambience of the jukebox; Lady entering the shop with Kalina Ann and all.

“Eh, I’m never gonna be free of my debt, Lady, let’s be honest.” Dante sighed, putting his feet down and throwing his magazine across the table, shooting her a serious glare. “But things have been borin’ lately, so one of your odd jobs’ not gonna hurt. Whaddya have for me?”

“You talk as if I never help you enough to maintain this place.” She lifted one eyebrow, approaching the big desk at the middle of the shop.

“Gotta give the woman credit, Dante. Last month’s bills were on her.” You shrugged as you had finally come out of your shower, happy to see Lady around, still drying your hair with the towel as you went down the stairs.

“See? Someone who has a bit of common sense.” Her smile was nothing short of devilish as she gestured towards you.

“You know where you are, Lady. ‘Common sense’ isn’t much of a thing in this household.” You greeted her by quickly blowing her a kiss while passing by, making your way towards the couch where Vergil was quietly reading.

“Ey, you’re hurtin’ my feelings like that.” Dante put one of his hands over his heart, laughing alongside you as you kept on your way. “But fine. I’ll give ya that, Lady. So, what’s up? What job do you wanna throw at me this time?”

“I am not throwing it at you.” And there it was: you could always see when Dante stroke a nerve when Lady got defensive and with that fiery stare on her multicolored eyes. “If you wanna do it, great, if you don’t, I can deal with it myself just fine. I’m here to be a good friend since you can barely afford all that pizza you keep stuffing yourself with!”

As you sat by Vergil’s side, you both exchanged a telling glare. Just like you, Vergil was used to observing people. Granted, he didn’t know Lady as much as Dante or even you, but he did know her since he was very young. That fiery, easy-to-anger personality had been there since they first met at the Temen-ni-gru – and Vergil argued it was one of Lady’s traits that would never change.

Something he was quite pleased with, if he had to be honest with himself. It was a good trait for a human demon hunter like her. Dante always praised human’s hearts and particularly their love and empathy – Vergil praised their burning anger that made them unconquerable in the direst of circumstances.

“Jeez, alright, alright, don’t shoot me!” Dante raised his hands as if he was at gunpoint, making you wheeze quietly. Vergil side-eyed you for a while – half judging, half holding his own laugh. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?”

“Humpf.” Lady rolled her eyes and took a slice of pizza from the box resting on the desk, pointing at Dante with it right after. “You know I wouldn’t bring you something if it wasn’t important.”

“Actually, you would.” With those words, Dante rested his arms crossed on the table – all the while, you and Vergil watched it all as if it was a show. Who needed a TV when you had those two? “But you’re bein’ too dodgy ‘bout it, babe. What’s goin’ on?”

“I got a call from a priest in a city nearby.” Lady’s answer was uncharacteristically quiet, followed by a bite from the pizza while she seemed pensive and in any hurry to chew it. “I’ve done some jobs there, know the guy, he’s nice. All the times he called me, it was always a quick, good-paying job. He said some weird things have been happening at the cathedral for the last couple of weeks.”

“Not to sound mean, but there’s always somethin’ strange happenin’ at churches.” Dante’s eyes carried a bit of skepticism: ‘weird things’ didn’t always entail a job for the Devil May Cry – and it usually ended with all of you hunting a rogue raccoon or something.

“I know. But this guy, he doesn’t get scared easy, ok? He’s one of those types of priests who’ll try to shoot down a couple of demons with a shotgun and, if that doesn’t work, he gives me a call.” Those words, though, made you and the Spardas raise your eyebrows. Indeed, it was a rare type of priest, but a good one to keep as acquaintance. “He said the cathedral is increasingly quiet, even from noises outside, with occasional distant noises that are not done by any of those who live there. After it all started, the other priests reported having weird nightmares, of being chased by something in the dark, inside the cathedral – this thing whispering things they can’t understand. Alright if it happened to one or two, but soon all of them started waking up in the middle of the night with similar nightmares – and, catch this, the higher ups of the clergy didn’t tell the common priests about it, but they all reported the very same dream.” Those words caught everyone’s attention. Vergil finally closed his book and leaned forward, paying attention to Lady’s retelling of the priest’s misfortunes. “The priest has been trying to figure out what’s going on, but some old books appear to go missing from the library, only to re-appear as if nothing has happened. Some books are missing pages, something that never happened before. He also said the inside of the cathedral has been getting darker and darker as the weeks go by. As if something is approaching – his words, not mine.”

Vergil immediately furrowed his brows and seemed to turn into an ice sculpture right by your side. You risked a glance, finding him with his usual dark aura – pensive, somber and quiet; hunter’s eyes showing themselves in a matter of seconds.

“Rare are the creatures in Hell in search for knowledge…” He muttered loud enough for his brother and Lady to turn their attention to him. “But those who do, are usually among the worst. Haunting noises, torn books, nightmares, dead silence and total darkness…”

“What? You think those Hell Piranhas came out of their pit?” Dante’s question had a bit of fun in the words, but his eyes were serious and he didn’t allow his lips to smile.

“Could be. Could also be a demon trying to mimic them to hide something else.”

“Hell Piranhas?” You and Lady didn’t need a cue to ask at the very same time. Neither of you had ever heard of that – and both of you had heard of a lot.

“This is not their name, but it is how Dante calls them since we were kids.” Vergil almost sighed in response.

“How we both called ‘em. Mister smart-pants over here isn’t that much better than lil’ ol’ me.” Dante winked at both of you, making you giggle quietly in return. “They’re kinda like illusion demons, but they like stayin’ in the darkness and gatherin’ knowledge. Usually work for someone bigger, though.”

“And even if they don’t, they swallow up all their knowledge and that is dangerous in itself. Afterwards, they feed from the victims they have been toying for so long.” Vergil continued Dante’s thought, ignoring his brother’s previous words. The more you didn’t think about what Dante had said about him, the better – for Vergil couldn’t deny it. “They hunt in packs, and the more victims, the more powerful they become. Some call them the Pit Deceivers, others call them the Lie Weavers…”

“You call them Hell Piranhas.” You concluded bluntly, making Vergil stare at the horizon with emptiness in his eyes – he could say all he wanted, flex all his demonic knowledge, you heard the Piranhas and now you’d never forget it.

“I never heard of them.” Lady had her eyebrows furrowed, searching her memory for some story like that.

“They either don’t leave the pit that much or not many humans survive to tell the story. That’s why.” Dante pointed at a great, old book Vergil had left on one of the tables a long time ago and now it was its official resting place. “You can find it only in the likes of the Codex Daemonica.”

“So either we have them around, or it’s something else. Something bigger. Right?” As you asked, Vergil only agreed with his head as the attentions turned to you. “Or something mimicking the Piranhas.” And Vergil had to sigh at your addition. He would never have peace again. “The mimic or the master, what kind of demon would the Piranhas answer to? If they are that obscure, I take it their existence is more of a niche knowledge in Hell rather than a common information.”

“On that, you are correct…” Vergil murmured in response, falling back into his pensive demeanor. You knew he would be lost for a while.

“See? Good thing I brought this for you, then.” Lady waved dismissively at Dante, but you could sense a little edge in her playful voice. Dealing with big things was fine, same as dealing with cruel demons and the ones that played the big-scary-one persona. Unknown demons were another kind of monster – one only Dante and Vergil used to deal with. “Plus, they always pay well.”

“Eh, I won’t be seein’ much of that money, if I know ya well.” Dante scoffed, having a small smile hidden in the corner of his lips; his tone and demeanor, though, were quite somber and you knew the red devil was taking it seriously.

“If you don’t mind, Dante, I would like to take over this one.” Vergil finally declared while getting up from the couch. “I know some of the hellish creatures who might make use of the Weavers or mimic them.”

“Fine for me, I’m needin’ some time to rest.” Dante sighed, but looked right back at you while Vergil rested his book on the big Devil May Cry desk. “But I’m gonna feel a lot better with someone around to keep an eye on ‘im, pretty thing.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on letting you guys deal with this all by yourselves anyway.” You got up from the couch, immediately receiving a glare from Vergil. “I’m going, blue devil, whether you want it or not. I want to get acquainted with these Piranhas.”

Vergil only closed his eyes, letting out the longest and most regretful sigh you ever heard in your life.

And there you were – although Vergil lost track of you quite a while ago. He knew the stirrings rippling through his heart when you were in danger; and being the fierce human you were, Vergil wasn’t worried about having you search for the demons in the cathedral.

There was, though, a slight uneasiness. That voice echoing in the darkest parts of his soul, it always came as an omen – causing nothing but destruction, inside or outside of himself. Vergil never could really say which one would be, but both were devastating.

“Veeeeergil…”

His steps came to a dry halt in the middle of the cathedral. The night outside the colorful stained-glass windows was pitch black, robbing the colors of their warmth and light – the fire on the candles, long dead in that cold night. The whisper that crept to his ears, like stark chalk on a chalkboard, dragged itself through the marble floor and took a hold of his soul in its clutches.

It was a different kind of sound – different from the ones inside himself, calling him to the darkness. It was from the outside… The Lie Weavers. Slowly coming up, finding him as their next victim. He was close to one of the places they were certainly lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for someone they could consume.

Vergil never feared the darkness. Tightening his grip around Yamato, his steps resumed his way, approaching the places in the cathedral the faint light of the night could barely touch. Those demons should have known their end was near, and he was the harbinger of their demise – he expected all kinds of trickery, of resistance, of fight from them.

He did not expect to hear a familiar voice, filled with uncertainty.

“Vergil…?”

Halting his steps once more, this time his silvery eyes lost their predatorial gaze as his heart jumped in his chest – even if for a slight second.

“Mother?”

His answer was but a whisper before he was swallowed by darkness.

*

When engaging with illusion demons, one should be aware of not falling into their element: when engulfed by it, those demons were more powerful than expected, able to subdue even the strongest of foes. Breaking from their control required mental and emotional discipline rather than brute force.

It was a slight second – a foolish slip from his human soul, disarmed by the trickery of Eva’s voice – and Vergil was surrounded by a sea of darkness and turmoil. His heart stirred with anger towards himself for being such a child, a vulnerable stupid child, tricked by a puppet of something his heart missed so much.

Eva was long dead. There was no demon able to bring her back. And he would never see her again. All that logic was tossed aside in a spark of a second by his stupid human heart, trembling upon hearing her speak his name again. Granted, Vergil only heard his mother in his dreams, barely remembering how her voice sounded in reality, and this time he heard outside himself – but he should have seen it coming. Illusion demons, trickster demons, cruel demons… They all relied on the barely closed scars inside his damned human soul.

Vergil could always count on them to re-open those wounds, making him bleed as much as he did on the floor of that cursed cemetery so many years ago – and he was a fool to fall for it after he had been through so much.

“Vergil… Can you hear me…?”

“I can, you damned deceiver. You can stop these theatrics – mimicking my dead mother will not affect me.” His voice cut through the dark like the sharpest of ice, his predatorial gaze back into his silver eyes.

“I… Don’t understand you, son. I cannot find you.” Her voice had a tinge of sorrow and desperation – but it was exactly like Eva’s voice. Vergil remembered it with a tinge of gold, probably a result of the haze of nostalgia, but today it was grounded and melancholic – perhaps, that was how Eva had always sounded… He just didn’t remember it. “I can’t find you. You aren’t home.”

“I haven’t been home for a long while.” Vergil didn’t even try to hide the growl that raised from his chest as he argued with that creature. He was used to having a puppet of his mother parading in front of him to hurt his human soul even more, but that was already getting on his nerves. Taunting him about the fact his mother ran to find him that fateful night wasn’t part of the usual games those filthy demons played – and to say they were honing his wrath was an understatement. “And I will never be back.”

“I… I cannot see you, Vergil. Where are you…? Why…?” He could hear the weeping in her voice, faint sobbing while the desperation made her words tremble. Vergil raised his head in the darkness, holding his own heart not to quiver: she wasn’t real and it was all a gimmick to affect him. He would not be affected. He was stronger than that. “Why couldn’t I save you? Those demons they… They hurt you, didn’t they? Oh, my child! My son! They hurt you and I could do nothing! I couldn’t be your mother!”

“Enough with this, filthy, hellish creature!” His voice finally exploded from his chest, roaring in the dark and echoing through the void, finding only silence. “You have no right to desecrate my mother’s memory like this! Shut your putrid mouth and stop with your rancid lies!”

The glint of the Yamato being unsheathed made the darkness recoil for a split second, only to envelop the Dark Slayer once more. His grip was tight, his eyes fiercely looking for his first opponent to direct a very well-placed judgement cut that could end all those creatures with just one swing of his hand. Vergil had enough and all the patience he carried in his being wouldn’t be enough to stop him from overkilling those demons – he just had to know where to direct his wrath.

“Don’t say those words, Vergil… You are not… Not like this.” Her voice still trembled, and his hand was still certain around Yamato. Vergil knew quite well at that state he was a weapon of mass destruction, he just had to find his opponent. His soul was screaming for him to do that, to put a stop to all that mockery. “You are good… You are my son.”

Vergil would have sliced that demon into a thousand million pieces without flinching, even if it took the form of his mother – but his eyes widened as a soft, warm hand touched his face. In all those years being taunted by demons, being tricked and mocked, seeing so many puppets of Eva, Sparda and Dante, none of them had touched him… And none of them genuinely felt like them.

It had been so many lost years he hadn’t felt his mother’s touch – last time, she could cup his entire face, thumb lovingly caressing his innocent eyebrows, but now her thumb could only reach his cheekbones. Nevertheless, it felt like her: not like a golden, nostalgic lost memory of how she felt, but exactly like Eva’s hands, even with the slight roughness of her continuous gardening.

“It took me so long to find you… I am so sorry.”

“You are not my mother.”

“Don’t say that.” Her answer was a sorrowful whisper, her thumb now carefully caressing his sharp cheekbone. Vergil closed his eyes, unable to move, convincing himself all of that wasn’t real and not allowing his heart to sway – forcing his arms to remain frozen by his side, fighting the urge to embrace her. Reminding himself: his mother was dead, killed while trying to save him, a long time ago, and nothing could bring her back. “Your heart hasn’t hardened as much as not to recognize me. You…” Her voice once more became soft, as if trying to do the same with his soul. “You are not a monster… You are my son, my Vergil.”

With those words, Eva’s hand was finally met with a tear – melting the ice from those silvery eyes.

*

There was an impending storm rumbling inside your chest.

Whenever that turmoil took ahold of your heart, you knew Vergil was in trouble. You had just finished checking your side of the cathedral, finding some things out of the ordinary but no demons, when the waves became aggressive in your chest. Your steps were already taking you to meet him, but you found yourself walking even hastier – the sound, though, eaten by the shadows that seemed to only grow around you.

Neither of you had calm seas of feelings: they usually raged like a maelstrom of emotions you could barely get through without some destruction – be it internal or external. But there was a certain note of melancholy and desperation in your heart at that moment that made you know Vergil was hurting – and that hurting, you knew quite well.

It was almost ironic how you apparently despised each other at the beginning, but after a while you came to understand; that aversion was there because you, in a certain way, were a mirror of each other. You could see in him the traits in your soul you disliked the most, and Vergil did see in you the same thing – those traits, however, were the same ones that brought you together, and made both you and Vergil feel seen and understood for the first time in your lives.

He didn’t judge your sins, as you didn’t judge his. To your eyes, he was never a monster, and to his, you could never be as crooked as you thought you were. You found each other in imperfection and, in that, you managed to talk and feel on the same level – after that, every feeling of admiration, care and love was easy to blossom.

You understood that storm, that thunder rumbling inside your chest at that very moment. You could feel it exactly the way he felt – and you knew Vergil needed help… Even if he would never say so himself.

You couldn’t hear or see him, though. You found yourself exactly at his area of patrol in the cathedral, but there was no clue as where your blue devil had gone – and for him to completely disappear, imposing presence and all, was quite an achievement in itself. The air was stiff, heavy as if the windows had never been opened, eating up any sound from the inside and the outside. The darkness was heavier than the one you had previously patrolled, shadows allowing only a few glimpses of the opulent decoration and the path in front of you – although, you couldn’t see more than a few meters beyond your feet.

If you couldn’t trust your sight or your hearing to find him, you could trust your heart: the storm would guide you. Closing your eyes, you allowed your feelings to take over, following with your footsteps in the direction you could hear his soul calling.

Those shadow creatures wouldn’t be able to hide him from you: no matter what happened or where you found yourselves, you would always be able to feel Vergil’s presence and find him in the darkest of hours.

And as the thunder in your chest cracked violently, your feet came to a halt and you opened your eyes.

Right in front of you, there was only darkness. Not like in the shadows that took the cathedral little by little, but pitch-black darkness, that no light could cast aside. To enter it would mean to be completely bare: vulnerable, lost, without guidance, naked – but the screaming in your soul made it very clear Vergil was in there.

Contrary to your lover, you were afraid of the dark. You always preferred to have a little light by your side, for you never knew what could be lurking alongside you, ready to pounce and drag you to certain suffering and death. You protected yourself by being forever vigilant, as you always did – a trait that exhausted you, yes, but luckily, in the last few years, you had Vergil around to keep a light by you when your body started giving out.

For that reason, you would never fear entering the darkness for him.

And with a deep breath, your bold steps took you inside the dark.

*

Your feet were cold, bare, stumbling over a sticky floor. Even if your eyes could see only darkness, you felt the freezing air of that night slicing your skin: you were shirtless and something was hurting… Oozing. The cold wind mixed with a faint warmness that leaked from the open wounds on your skin.

Blood. You were bleeding.

Your arms immediately wrapped around you – those scars, they were showing. They never showed before.

Running your hands quickly over your body, you could feel the warm blood slipping through your fingers; some wounds barely holding themselves closed while others still poured as in the day they were created.

That was the version of yourself you used to fiercely hide. None of those wounds were physical, none of them could be seen… But whenever you looked in the mirror, you saw them there, under your skin, under your soul, quietly resting until you couldn’t hide them anymore.

“You are lost…”

It was always the same voice, of something dark, something inside you that could break your soul if you didn’t shove it back into the darkness like you always did. That was why you were afraid; that was why Vergil always kept a faint glow by your side whenever you couldn’t hold yourself together. The dark was dangerous to you – to both of you.

“You are lost without me…”

“I can survive quite well without you…!” You growled to the darkness, keeping that part of yourself at bay. The part that gave in to the pain, that bathed in the blood and didn’t want to get up… And the part that would bathe and rise in rage, making you survive at great cost to those around you.

You were past that. And you didn’t need that to survive. You didn’t have to survive, you could live.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost…?”

“Vergil!” Your scream was a roar in the dark, looking for the one you plunged into the darkness to find. You wouldn’t give in to the trickery of those Piranhas – and you would get Vergil out of there.

They would learn they shouldn’t fear only the son of Sparda: they should also fear you.

“You think you can find him…?” After the mischievous ethereal voice questioned, you heard a giggle rippling around your feet as you stumbled on the sticky floor to find your lover. “You think you are that good? You think you aren’t a monster?”

You furrowed your brows, doing your best to ignore the voices. You knew it was that part inside of you that always taunted how broken you were, how imperfect your soul was. For the longest time you believed there was nothing good in you, nothing to save you from a life of loneliness, until you crossed paths with Vergil.

He was broken too – and he would never judge the things you did to survive your lethal wounds.

“Vergil! Can you hear me?! I’m here to find you!”

“How chivalrous, how heroic! What are you trying to accomplish?” The giggles pooled around your feet, threatening to drag you inside that pool of viscous darkness. “Trying to prove yourself? You’re never going to be perfect. You’re a black sheep, an outcast, remember? The likes of you aren’t heroes.”

“Oh, I’m no hero…” You growled back, fighting against the things trying to pull you back; fighting against the pain of the freezing cold and warmness of blood. “I’m a fucking fighter. You’re messing with the wrong kind of monster, fucking Hell Piranhas.”

“Piranhas…?” A faint whisper in the dark broke whatever control those things were trying to have over your body, starting at your feet. It was Vergil’s whisper – followed by a louder speaking tone. “Y/n! I can feel you, where are you?!”

“Trying to find you!” You screamed back, immediately dragging your feet towards Vergil. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel where he was – and there was nothing those demons could do against that.

The darkness seemed to shift for a couple of seconds. You couldn’t understand what was happening, but you saw a faint, ghostly pale glow in the dark – almost imperceptible, but your heart knew, you could finally see Vergil.

And, in return, he could see you. Moving his feet, Vergil dragged heavy shackles through the floor, screeching in a horrid, soul scratching sound as he willed his body to move towards you. You could hear him grunting with the effort, another set of chains being dragged as Vergil moved his arms – slowly, but surely, wearing all of his strength to get to you.

You felt the viscous ripples of the floor creeping up your legs, almost on your knees, doing their best to pull you away – back into the darkness, back to the taunting voices, to the doubt, the hurt, the self-loathing.

“Vergil! Let me hear your voice! You’re still there, right?!”

“Yes. I am always here.” His answer came with grunts of effort, barely above the noise of the chains screeching around him.

The darkness shifted again, and his form became even more visible, as yours did to him – followed by a scream that rumbled in his chest, Vergil managed to get even closer. That made something spark inside yourself, that thundering storm breaking in your soul cracking in a scream that broke the insidious tentacles holding you back and making you lunge forward.

Once again, the glow you diffused only to each other seemed to get stronger as the darkness wavered.

“Y/n…” He growled once more, the shackles screaming on the floor as he reached out to you.

“Vergil…!” You reached out in return, barely making out the form of his fingers in the dark.

As you were almost touching each other’s hands, the heavy, muffling darkness faltered once more. You could finally see one another, as you were in that godforsaken place.

Vergil was shirtless, his body covered in wounds – new and old – bleeding profusely. His silvery eyes were red, sunken in deep shadow, surrounded by a deep purple mist on his dry skin. You could see his bones under his pale skin covered in so many lacerations you wouldn’t even know where to start healing him. His knuckles were battered, showing the flesh underneath, as well as his wrists covered by heavy iron shackles – wounds from fighting against them for so long. His hands were still long and elegant, but bony and covered in bruises.

You had never seen Vergil so hurt, so broken, so… Vulnerable.

In return, his eyes took in shock the vision of you: as shirtless as him, as battered and wounded as he was. Even if not locked in the shackles he wore for so long in Hell, you walked barefoot leaving a trail of blood behind you. Those scars, those wounds, those bruises… He knew they were there, but he had never seen those. You looked weak and tired, bloodshot eyes under dry skin, as if you hadn’t slept in ages… And those things you fought so much to conceal, now crystal clear in front of him.

Those were the scars you carried inside yourselves. The wounds you had to fight against every day – that you had to try to heal, even if sometimes it seemed impossible. The things you would never show, but, somehow, you managed to sense it in each other… Now you could see it, clear as a bright night.

And, even if you wouldn’t admit to yourselves, those were the very same breaking thunders that would keep you moving – fiercely fighting, fiercely surviving.

As you took in each other’s internal selves, Vergil’s silvery eyes finally found yours.

A loud thundering noise shook the floor underneath your feet twice, as your hearts rumbled alongside the devastating sound. You lunged forward, holding Vergil’s hand as if your life depended on it. Never breaking your eye contact, Vergil held your hand with the strength you would expect of the legendary Dark Slayer. You made each other stronger, and there was nothing that could come between you now.

His shackles immediately screeched back, pulling Vergil violently away from you. At the same time, you were grabbed by the viscous darkness – your knees, your legs, your abdomen, your arms. It pulled you back with vicious strength, doing its best to drag you away from him – back into the darkness.

“Don’t let me go!” You screamed back, tightening your grip around his bony hand.

“I will never let go!” He growled, doing the same, trying to drag his body forward – failing to notice you willed yourself towards him as he pulled you into his arms. Those silvery eyes never moved away from yours.

“You are lost…! Lost…!”

The voices chanted and screeched around you, doing their best to drag you apart. For a moment, your hand slipped and you let out a desperate scream, hurting your lungs as you were almost pulled back into the void. Vergil’s cry resembled a roar as he willed his body to move and tightened his grip in a way he didn’t hold even Yamato.

He hadn’t held his brother’s hand once. This time he wouldn’t make the same mistake. This time, he would hold you even if that damned the both of you to the darkest pits of Hell.

“Can’t you see…? Can’t you see that…?”

“I am lost…!” You barked back to the voices, still staring into Vergil’s eyes, trying to catch your breath while your lungs stung as if you were inhaling a thousand knives.

As Vergil looked into your eyes, though, he knew exactly what you were going to say – and he could safely say it was the very same thing he struggled to find the words to.

“Without you.” His answer came in a dark tone, ragged from the effort he too made to be able to hold your hand.

The thunder rumbled twice again – the voices shrieked and you suddenly found yourselves being launched into each other’s arms as the forces that bind you broke into a million pieces.

Vergil’s arms wrapped around you, one of his hands holding your head close to his chest, as you wrapped yours around his waist, keeping him as close as you could. His head rested on top of yours, and you kept your eyes closed – washing away the blood above his heart with the tears that streamed down your face.

“Don’t ever hide from me.” Vergil’s voice was uncharacteristically shaky, somber but reassuring. You had never been so vulnerable in front of him – and even upon seeing you like that, his reaction was to take you in his arms, to welcome you. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“And I’m not afraid of your darkness.” You tightened your arms around his cold, bony body as you felt tears running through your hair. “I can see beyond your glimmer, and I’m not afraid of what’s in the dark.” Your voice shook as you took a deep breath and Vergil’s arms held you even closer – his body shaking with the tears falling from his eyes. “It’s you. And I’m never afraid of you.”

“Neither am I of you.”

His answer was but a whisper – a whisper enough to break the darkness into a memory to be kept away in the deepest pits of Hell.

I can feel the thunder that’s breaking in your heart I can see through the scars inside you

*

*

*

*

“You killed the Piranhas from Hell with the power of love?”

Vergil wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. Or die. Or both.

Probably both.

The whole crew was there as you and Vergil never came back from the job as quickly as expected – and when you did, it looked like you hadn’t slept in days.

The priest was more than happy with the result of your work – even though you never discovered why the Weavers decided to come out of hiding nor what they wanted. The congregation was just happy they were gone and the whole reason behind it would be a long-term thing for the Devil May Cry to work on – or to keep an eye on; maybe something bigger was approaching.

You and Vergil didn’t feel like going back to the shop, though. When you were hurt physically, things were very much ok to deal with, but when the wounds were emotional… You needed time for yourselves.

Unlike his brother, Vergil was a little more responsible with his money – and you, a lot more than the two. You managed to find somewhere to spend a few nights… Which involved the both of you talking out everything you felt and saw. It was harrowing at first, something neither of you were versed in and honestly were terrified of, but it eventually brought you even closer together.

So, to say you had defeated the Lie Weavers with the power of love was something that killed Vergil inside.

And you could almost see his internal self, glaring at you with a ‘really, after all of this you say this kind of foolishness’ look in his sad, silvery eyes, as Lady stared at both of you and made the question everyone was thinking.

“Yep. Power of love, it’s a curious thing.” You shrugged, making Vergil physically groan by your side while Dante slapped his table with a huge grin on his face.

“Make a one man weep, make another man sing! Hell yeah, Back To The Future, babe!” He winked back at you as you smiled in response.

“Of all the people you could end up dating, Vergil…” Trish sat on Dante’s desk, crossing her long legs while sporting a devilish smile on her rosy lips. It was interesting how her voice could never really sound like Eva’s. “It had to be someone who references the same songs as your brother.”

“Alas, fate plays many games…” Vergil rolled his eyes, but as they rested on you, there was a vulnerability you saw only once in that pitch black darkness. “But it is kind enough to give us what we need.”

No one ever really understood what he meant, but Dante was the only one who managed to see something inside his brother’s silvery eyes that could only reflect in yours – and that made him genuinely smile.

Indeed, you would never be the romance of a fairy tale book or a romantic comedy – but you could see what lied beyond each other’s scars; taking a glimpse at the worst of each other without fear and finding whatever light was left inside. You could understand – and that was much more than most lovers in the world would ever have.

[closed-third-eye]

you have to understand why they make lucerys out to be a bully rather than aemond who is chasing after a child and aegon who is bullying his brother and led him to his sexual assault.

Biggest fight aemond has been in his life, is been against a child, because that is all he will ever win. so how do you make person like that look cool? You cannot point to his training which took place in a controlled environment by a man who in concerned for his safety. Only thing left to do is make lucerys, aemond's victim, out to be the perpetrator of his trauma

Aemond is a nasty bully on his own, he knocks down jace's practise sword unprovoked. Bullying someone smaller and weaker than him.

He calls rhaena a pig, a girl he met that day of her mothers funeral, and provokes her into a fight. He is again a bully to someone smaller and weaker than him

He has all the kids beaten and he has the rock in his hand, if he wants to he can walk away, but he doesn't. so lucerys takes the only stand he can.

And what happens next is his mother fault, she put the idea of taking the eye as a payment in his head, and while she regrets her out burst, he remembers

Next lucerys's laughing, which while it is a complete dick move he is put down for it, called bastard, he is even beaten, he learned his lesson

Then we go to storms end where brave little lucerys goes inside Storm's end even when he knows vhagar is there so it's obvious who else is, he still walks in does his duty and tries to leave.

But he is again insulted by aemond, instead of lashing out like a child as aemond would, lucerys listens to him and defiantly says no, he doesn't hide or walk away, he could have if he wanted to and maybe results would be same, but lucerys always acted in a manner befitting his station and position.

Aemond on the other hand acts like a child, screams and runs after him, after saying"fight would be little challenge"

And then chases after him like a crazed dog and on his crazed dog.

And this is their biggest enemy by the way. This is who scares them and they think abuser of aemond all his life and the next one is who they say is the abused

now how else do you defend a murderer? Than make his victim out to be a perpetrator

I would also like to add how utterly psychotic some of these people and their arguments are, I genuinely worry how they treat people in real life at the anger they spill over fiction.

And also how much does the narrative and even his own face have to show to say he didn't think death is the right prize and that he actually was simply being a bully, his true nature.

I frankly fear these blind followers of these characters and how they speak of them, if you look at that post it's derived from false emotions, as a way to justify their nonsense.

Aemond has issues, from his mother's neglect of him which allowed his brother's abuse to go on and the added damage to his face, and he focused on the biggest one rather than them all

And to understand aemond as a person you have to take the bad with the worse, but I'm not sure any of his fans are intelligent enough to do that, I make this assumption based on things they say.

Not sure what they wanted lucerys to do in storms end, had they gone book route it would have shown aemond didn't jump him but provoked him, lucerys again is more jumpscared. And they believe he wouldn't fight because he supposedly can't win? Who has to win fighting itself is a crime for for an envoy which they both know, I'm assuming the historian aemokd knows. But also aemond generally says one thing and does the other, he's shown to be less intelligent more reactive and stupid. And when you see the type of admiration he gets, like attracts like.

[heliza24]

Wilhelm's Journey of Radical Forgiveness in Season 3

So this is the next entry in my unintentional series, about how Young Royals embraces truly radical story telling. Previously I’ve written about Simon in season 2 and his arc of radical acceptance, and about how radical the act of quitting the monarchy could be for Wilhelm (and I have never been so happy to be right about anything). But now I’m ready to start talking about season 3, which I loved, and specifically about the theme of radical forgiveness, which I thought was laced throughout the whole season beautifully and drove Wilhelm’s arc specifically.

Before I jump in, I want to pause and really define the concept of radical. When I’m using "radical" in this context, I’m talking about something that challenges the nature of what we assume to be true. I’m talking about embracing an idea that may not seem logical at first, but feels emotionally true and necessary. And I’m talking about ideas that are revolutionary, that have the potential to change people and societies.

When I went in to season 3, I assumed from the beginning that it would end with Wilhelm leaving the monarchy. I have always seen this as the fundamental question of the show (will Wilhelm stay and fulfill his predetermined destiny, or leave and find his own path?). Wilhelm’s relationship with Simon is a catalyst for that decision and their ability to stay together depends on its answer. (There’s no world where Wilhelm remained prince and Wilmon was still endgame.) But during the gap between episodes 5 and 6, I realized that even if you could sum up Wilhelm’s overall series conflict as crown vs freedom/Simon, that was not the major thing driving him in season 3. Or rather, there was another dramatic question he needed to answer, or internal conflict he needed to solve, before he could decide to walk away from the throne and fix his relationship with Simon.

Season 3 starts with the private arbitration/settlement negotiation, and immediately establishes how inadequate legal and financial reparations are at mending the divide between Wilhelm, Simon, and August. Instead this setup pushes Wilhelm into more conflict with August, making him feel like he has to defend his family from August’s incursions. At the same time, the season also opens with the initiation reveal, and the immediate implication that Erik was one of the perpetrators of the sexual abuse that occurred and that August was one of the victims. Suddenly the audience is able to see that the perfect family Wilhelm thinks he is defending— including Erik’s memory— is so much more complicated than Wilhelm realizes. And at the same time, the supposed threat that August poses is also much more complex. No one is as black and white, as good or as evil, as we would like to believe. And Wilhelm’s arc this season is all about understanding this.

There’s one more component to Wilhelm’s arc this season, and that’s his relationship with Simon. As the season goes on, we see Wilhelm become more and more complicit in the abuse Simon suffers. As the season progresses, Wilhelm becomes an enforcer of the palace, asking Simon to give up more of himself, to compromise more of his values, to be with him. By episode four he is saying some pretty homophobic things (“do I have to represent all queers just because I’m in love with you” feels like a slap in the face) and by episode 5 he is subjecting Simon to a violent outburst, even if it’s not directed at him. Wilhelm says almost the exact same thing to Simon that Erik said to him in season 1 (“everything you do now represents me and the royal house”/“everything you do reflects on us as a family”). Kristina is explicitly asking Wilhelm to step up and fill Erik’s shoes this season, and Wilhelm obeys in more ways than one. Wilhelm begins to pass on the same cycle of abuse that is currently affecting him to Simon. The same cycle that has affected Kristina, Erik, August, and Wilhelm is affecting Simon now as well.

In order for Wilhelm to break this cycle, he has to be able to see what he is doing. And he cannot do that until he recognizes and accepts the nuances in both Erik and August. He can’t move on until he has made some sort of peace with both of them.

I think it was a genius idea to trap Wilhelm and August in Hillerska’s version of couple counseling (lol) and force them to talk to each other. (As an aside, I really do love how this show treats therapy as a thing worthy of being dramatized. It’s so powerful.) I also think it was important to see August begin to make some steps of his own, both in therapy and in the way he begins to give Wilhelm and Sara more space. We don’t really see the end of August’s arc of slow self improvement— by the end of the show he’s still very much trapped in the royal cycle and dependent on Sara in a way that’s problematic— but that’s ok because he isn’t the protagonist, and the important thing is that we notice that he is beginning to change, and so does Wilhelm.

The scene at the end of 3.4, when August tells Wilhelm about what happened during the initiation, is so important. August delivers that information genuinely, and not as a threat. And in that moment Wilhelm’s perception of his brother (and secondarily, of August) is flipped upside down. I think even more important is the kind of unspoken question lurking under this new information for Wilhelm: if I idolized Erik, and I detested August, and my image of both of these people was incomplete, then what does that say about me?

I think we can see Wilhelm questioning his perception of his family and of himself in a lot of subtle ways over the last two episodes. We see him put on nail polish and take it off. We see him afraid to ask his dad for more information about Erik on the phone, and then screaming at his parents for the way they abandoned him. We see him struggling to integrate this new information, and he completely neglects Simon because of it, leading to the breakup.

By episode 6, Wilhelm has lost Simon, reached a sort of catharsis with his parents, and maybe most importantly seen Hillerska itself— the setting where the abusive system seems to be baked into the very walls— crumble. All of the things he though were untouchable (his love for Simon, his parents’ authority, the everlasting nature of Hillerska) have completely changed. And I think all of that instability is what allows Wilhelm to finally accept that his understanding of both Erik and August doesn’t have to be permanently fixed either. I love the scene where August and Wilhelm meet at the party, August apologizes, and Wilhelm accepts his apology. And I also love the scene where Wilhelm throws out the broken frog prince snow globe, the one enduring symbol the show has associated with Erik and Wilhelm and their shared role over and over again. I know different fans will have different arguments about how Wilhelm feels about August at the end of the series, but for me their last interaction symbolizes radical forgiveness. By this I don’t mean that Wilhelm has to forget about what August did to him, just like he doesn’t have to forget the bad things Erik has done to others. But he does have to accept them as they are- full of flaws, but intricately connected to him. As part of his imperfect family. And he lets go of the violent anger that has plagued him through much of the series in that moment. That’s a type of forgiveness that makes a real change. It opens up a whole new avenue of possibility for Wilhelm. Because in extending that radical forgiveness towards August and Erik, he’s also able to forgive himself for the way he too has failed the people he loves.

Actually, I think there’s one more component necessary for that self forgiveness, which is Simon telling Wilhelm that he never gave up on Wilhelm himself, only on the Royal family and its rules. That one line is such a gift to Wilhelm. It allows him to see himself as an individual who is separate from his family and able to make his own decisions for the first time. It allows him to fully forgive himself, and to make the decision to leave for his own sake. It allows him to save himself. And then because he has saved himself, he and Simon can be together again.

So in the end Wilhelm ends up answering the driving dramatic question (crown or freedom?) but only after he extends radical forgiveness to his family members and to himself. I think it’s so beautiful, it makes me cry every time I think about it.

This theme of radical forgiveness is everywhere this season, not just in Wilhelm’s arc. It’s in Sara and Felice’s reconciliation, and in Sara and Micke’s relationship, and in the ways that Sara forgives herself and moves beyond shame (expect another meta from me about Wilhelm and Sara season 3 parallels soon, because there are many and I love them). It’s in the way that Linda and Simon forgive each other, and the way that Simon forgives Wilhelm, and the the way that Simon forgives Sara. It’s even in the ways that August grows in fits and starts this season too. I feel like I learned so much from this season. It challenged my assumptions about characters I thought I knew and reminded me to that there is beauty in acknowledging nuance in the world. And I think it will serve as an ongoing reminder for me that even when I mess up and do not live up to my ideals, I am still worthy of radical forgiveness. Growth can’t happen without that compassion towards ourselves and others. And if that isn’t the most perfect message to take away from this beautiful show that I have loved for so long, I don’t know what is.

[spideysgeorg]

Ok we’re doing some Hobie hcs bc we need some good food around here. Tw for past abuse, sexual abuse (not on him), mentioned pet death, foster care, dystopian themes, drug use

Hobie is technically a missing person. He escaped from an abusive foster home when he was 12 and was unhoused for most of his adolescence.

He does actually own the crappy boat he lives in, only because it was given to him by an older unhoused friend who had gotten it on the cheap and had been trying to convert it into a permanent home but sadly died before it was fully finished. Hobie finished the conversion himself and has lived there since, largely undetected except by the select few people he wants to be able to find him.

He loves children and animals and is extremely good with them. He never baby talks to actual babies/little kids but hand him a kitten and he gets all mushy lol

He doesn’t eat meat because despite very much enjoying killing fascists, the PM’s smashed head looked like mince and he thinks about it all the time. He has absolutely no trouble shedding blood and guts but a bloody steak will make him straight up gag. He eats fish tho

His boat has a clan of “feral” cats that wait around on the deck for him to come home bc he feeds them even if he doesn’t have enough for himself. It’s a little bit dangerous to always have a NYAAAAAA alarm any time the cats hear him web sling in but he refuses to shoo them away. They aren’t technically his cats but when one of them dies he has to hide how torn up he is about it (because cats are smaller and more innocent and more trusting and more free than he can ever be)

He struggled with opiate addiction from a severe depression he went through during the period of time when he stopped being Spider-Man. He got clean and has stayed away from pills since (he won’t even take paracetamol) but smokes weed he grows himself in a closet to curb persisting urges. Also cigarettes. He tries not to overdo it with booze either but isn’t always successful. (If you don’t know about him having the Sam Raimi Spider-Man 2 quitting canon event, it’s in the web of life and destiny scene where all of them are looking at their respective canon events)

Hobie is extremely compassionate and it affects the way he does his work as Spider-Man. He allows certain things to happen that other Spideys wouldn’t and he’s vocally in opposition to the other Spideys’ brutalization of people committing crimes of desperation. He believes that crimes like theft are a symptom of a greater societal disease. He’ll interject in instances of violent robbery or mugging and things like that but only to ensure that the victims are safe, then determine the root cause of the attack and try to offer the perpetrator some direction. Sometimes the cause is hunger, addiction, or another unmet need. Hobie is much more willing to help them with that than have them thrown in prison. He doesn’t do that with rapists though, he kills those on sight. 🖤

Hobie has trained himself to look casual even though he’s always struggling with hyper-vigilance. He knows he doesn’t even need to keep that close attention on everything—that’s what spider senses are for—but he still takes note of all exits in a building, takes the seat against the wall, and analyzes the body language of everybody he sees for potential danger.

He’s also very emotionally intelligent. While he doesn’t show strong emotions outside of his Spider-Man persona very often, if ever, he can read everybody else’s without them even knowing and act accordingly. Sometimes he does this to prevent conflict, and other times he does it to cause conflict lol

He hasn’t cried in years but doesn’t consider that to be a “win” because sometimes he needs to cry to vent the extraordinary pressure of his place in the world and just can’t. His music is essential to keep him from completely spiraling since he has no other form of release.

He’s all for sexual liberation and consensual parties doing whatever they want. However, he doesn’t do casual sex himself. He needs to really bond with someone before he even wants to get intimate like that with anyone. This can be a problem because despite having quite a large social circle, he feels emotionally isolated in the same way that Gwen does, scared to bring anyone too close for fear of getting them killed.

His attraction and gender expression are pretty up in the air, though he doesn’t identify as trans and keeps he/him pronouns. His stance is that all that shit about gender norms was made up a long time ago and forced on everybody else and he’ll be damned if he lives out somebody else’s plan for his life.

Hobie is a singer in the same sense that cereal is technically a soup. He’s lucky his guitar skills are crazy bc his vocal range is really limited. Punk music works out for him like that—he doesn’t have to actually sing well for it to sound good. He actually likes all kinds of music but punk is the one he’s most comfortable actually performing.

He takes extremely good care of his hair and makes most of his body care/cosmetics himself because the cosmetics industry is indescribably evil. If he HAS to buy product, he only gets from black owned sources. Otherwise he mostly steals drug store lipstick and nail polish or calls dibs when his friends do their bi yearly dumping of their crusty purses and all the half-crushed expired makeup falls out with the crumbs and loose aspirin tablets lmao

[actual-changeling]

On unhealthy relationship dynamics

A little while ago, I stumbled across a post discussing Aziraphale's character on a meta level, and without knowing the content, I was completely unprepared when one single sentence pushed me from 'uncomfortable but doable' into 'triggered and panicking'. The post itself was triggering from start to finish, but that phrase stood out to me.

Why am I telling you this?

After calming down and thinking about it for a few hours, I realised what exactly my brain had reacted to—victim blaming rhetoric repackaged to fit Aziraphale and Crowley's situation. Victim blaming is, to provide a short summary, the act of putting blame for mistreatment on the victim instead of the perpetrator. It's a concept often used in r/pe discussions, but it can be applied to any abusive or non-abusive situation as long as a power imbalance is created, meaning you have at least one person harming another in whatever shape or form.

If you broaden the definition, you can apply it to more situations, including—and this is where we reach the actual topic—their relationship and the Final Fifteen (F15).

That is exactly what some people have been doing—putting all the blame on Crowley and absolving Aziraphale of any and all responsibility as if it were his fault that Aziraphale broke his heart

Before anyone runs to the comments, let me clarify what I assume will be the FAQ.

no, I do not think Aziraphale is abusive

I do not think that their relationship is abusive either

no, I do not hate Aziraphale

yes, I know what I am talking about

everything I will talk about is largely based on what we as the audience actually see and know, combined with interpretations of the intentional subtext Neil wrote into the show.

I have been actively in this fandom since the second season was released, and I have seen a lot of (hopefully accidental) ableist & generally insensitive takes. These are the ones I see the most and what I personally consider to be important topics of discussion, but the same logic I will be applying to these can be applied to many, many more situations.

Since my meta posts get very long very quickly, I will be posting them in parts and always linking back to the others, plus this one as the masterpost.

Part 1—Nice Is A Four Letter Word

The basic pattern is this:

Aziraphale refers to Crowley with a 'nice' term -> Crowley gets upset and tells him to stop -> Aziraphale hears him but continues anyway.

There are reasons behind Crowley's rejection, and I will go into detail, but I want to make one thing very clear: It does not matter why Crowley asked him to stop. He set a boundary, and Aziraphale repeatedly and intentionally overstepped it; this causes understandable anger and frustration.

Crowley does not owe Aziraphale an explanation, just like you would not owe someone an explanation when you don't want to be called x-term. Mutual respect requires the acceptance of personal boundaries like that, and by breaking them over and over again, Aziraphale tells Crowley that his own wants are more important than Crowley's needs.

In the 1827 Edinburgh flashback, we see the consequences of Crowley doing good/being called good (which are usually connected, meaning if they notice someone is calling Crowley good, he most likely did something to cause that) firsthand, and so does Aziraphale. He gets dragged down to hell and tortured for up to thirty years.

Even before that, Crowley expresses numerous times how hell punishes good deeds, and they are 'always listening' in on him. You would assume that Aziraphale would stop to keep him safe—and yet he doesn't because he cannot accept the reality of Crowley's situation and refuses to listen to him.

On top of that, Aziraphale only ever "praises" Crowley when he does something he personally sees as praiseworthy, aka something good/kind/nice/angelic/etc. but never when it is something that CROWLEY would like to be praised for, or at the very least acknowledged. We see it in season 2 over and over and over again: Aziraphale cares for no one's thoughts or plans except his own and has no interest in even hearing Crowley out.

Aziraphale calling him nice is not a sweet little gesture, it is an intentional overstepping of a boundary Crowley has been trying to enforce for centuries, and it reinforces the dichotomy of good angels/bad demons, with angelic existence being the ultimate goal. At the very least, it's disrespectful towards Crowley, and at worst, it is actively keeping Crowley in a trauma response, tugging on his leash whenever he tries to explain reality to Aziraphale.

To have a healthy relationship, Aziraphale needs to stop.

part 2 - part 3

[blues824]

hii could i get black butler characters (ciel, sebastian, claude, alois + undertaker) reacting to the reader who’s basically like has the same abilities as spiderman but they were from the future and now they’re in their world so they spend their time going on missions for the queen ? :O

Gender-neutral reader. Also, I hate spiders, so Claude is easily my least favorite character, but I somehow made his and Undertaker's the most romantic.

Ciel Phantomhive

He has heard word of a certain heroic figure that roams the streets of England. He ordered Sebastian to find out who exactly you were, and imagine his surprise when he found out it was you, who was a loyal servant to Her Majesty.

The young Phantomhive lord was definitely intrigued in your abilities, since you were completely human. He had you explain, and you had to tell him that you were from the future and the Queen employed you as her ‘knight in the night’ of sorts.

You two were often called lapdogs of the Queen, but your fights never ended in death. Yours ended in Scotland Yard getting ahold of the perpetrators and finding them wrapped up in spiderwebs. Ciel had seen a crime scene that you had been at, and he was very weirded out by it.

One time, you stayed at the Phantomhive Manor overnight since you visited and a storm came on. Mey-rin was running with expensive china and she tripped. Your spidey-sense went off and you quickly caught the dinnerware. Ciel spat out his tea in shock as he stared at you with wide-eyes.

Sebastian Michaelis

He had also caught wind of the person who prowls around at night because of the morning paper. His master had ordered to unmask you, and he couldn’t say he was exactly surprised that it was you. You always came up with not-that-great excuses, so he kind of figured it out.

You remind him of his arachnid counterpart, Claude. Faustus was a spider demon, so the correlation was understandable. However, your personality differed greatly. Plus, you did work for the Queen rather than the Trancy brat.

Sebastian has had the opportunity to gaze upon your ‘victims’ at a crime scene, all wrapped within the web that you spun. It could serve as a metaphor: he was caught in the web of your heart, finally getting to experience what it was like to be the prey rather than the predator.

Once, when you had accepted the invitation to stay at the Phantomhive Manor, the two of you were up late at night and just relaxing in each other’s presence. Then, your spidey-sense was activated and you shot a web out and accidentally caught Bard. It was very amusing to your beloved demon, but he assisted in getting the chef out.

Alois Trancy

Out of pure curiosity and frustration, he ordered Claude to show him who you were. Upon snatching the mask off of your face, Alois let out a gasp of surprise. Why, it was Her Majesty’s other lapdog! How exciting!

You can not tell me that he wouldn’t have you use your abilities to amuse him. String up his servants to the chandelier to make him laugh as they tried their hardest to escape. It was inhumane, but we all know how he is.

He has seen photographs of crime scenes where criminals are stuck in webs for the police to easily detain them, and he thinks it’s hilarious. The fact that those perpetrators were helpless as they got arrested just fueled the fire in him. 

One time, you two were out in the garden, and you had the very spontaneous idea to cling to a tree and swing. You told him to grab onto you (think MJ and Spiderman in Far From Home), and while it was a very small swing, Alois loved feeling the air on his face. He asked (demanded) you to do it again and again.

Claude Faustus

When Alois had ordered him to unmask you, he had no reaction in finding out that it was you. He already pieced it together weeks ago, considering this figure that stopped criminals came at the same time you were brought into the Queen’s court.

Two spiders just living their lives, one human and one demon. You both are caught in each other’s webs, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, the abilities you have just compliment each other. You can shoot webs and he can evade them as well as break through them.

He has also had the opportunity to gaze upon a crime scene that you obviously visited, seeing as the criminals were wrapped in webbing. That’s actually how you met for the first time: you thought he was a perpetrator and you shot a web at him. He evaded it, but as your arm was out he grasped it and pulled you to his chest.

That moment is when he realized that you must have had another sense that told you he was suspicious. You later told him that it was your ‘spidey-sense’ and it was like an inhuman instinct that you frequently act upon.

Undertaker

He’s been quite sad because of the spider-like figure that has been arresting criminals rather than killing them so they end up in his shop. However, it was one day where he had decided to take a stroll to clear his mind and he saw you in an alleyway, with your costume still on but your mask was off.

What an amazing discovery! He wished he could dissect you so that he could find out how you got his abilities, but you were still alive and well. You just told him instead, how you were from the future and you got bit by a radioactive spider and that’s how you got your powers.

Undertaker has seen some crime scenes, and he’s utterly fascinated by how you shoot webs that leave the criminals immobile as the police and Scotland Yard come get them. You can not fight me when I say that when you both are romantically involved, he would kiss the web glands on your wrists. 

You both make a great couple, honestly. There have been a few times where your spidey-sense goes off when your boyfriend here tries to make a ‘doll’. They often try to attack you for some reason, so you shoot your webbing out. Undertaker rushes over to make sure you’re alright, worried that the doll had hit you.

[kitkats-and-kittens]

TW Abuse/abusive relationships

Does anyone think the Gods ever ended up in like toxic/abusive relationships?

Like obviously they’re gods and the mythology often presents them as the perpetrators. In fact the entire Percy Jackson series wouldn’t have happened had they not been exploiting and abusing their own children.

But also Gods are like immortal and they get into loads of different relationships with loads of different people.

Abusers are often victims themselves and although that doesn’t excuse their actions it does provide an explanation as to why they act a certain way since they have skewed perceptions of the world and the Gods are most definitely victims of, at the bare minimum parental abuse (and that’s on top of all the generational trauma)

But I was reading ToA and for some reason it didn’t really click for me that when Apollo admits Zeus is abusive it was like a whole revelation for him, I just assumed the Gods all knew he was a tyrant and a shit dad but clearly they don’t.

And knowing Zeus I doubt Apollo was his only victim, but if he didn’t notice his father was an abusive dick whose to say the others noticed and if they didn’t notice their own father was piece of shit then whose to say they’d notice when their partner is abusing them?

Also the fact that so many demigods have abusive parents?

I would say Percy but it was Gabe who did all that shit Sally was an amazing mom.

But still people like Annabeth or Hazel.

Jason and Thalia especially.

Maybe some of their parents changed as people because of outside relationships or maybe it was parenting itself that caused them to spiral and they eventually became worse and worse as parents despite having been amazing partners like Annabeths dad.

But still most people don’t just flip a switch and become abusive one day, people don’t change that quickly and from the time they get into a relationship to the time they have a kid which is like a couple months (if you ignore that Gods can just have kids whenever) their isn’t really enough time to suddenly pick up abusive tendencies. Most of them were probably like that for a long time before they had kids and if they’re able to treat their own offspring so badly then I wonder how they must have treated their partners.

This honestly started as an offhanded thought but now I’m genuinely curious if anyone wants to share their thoughts.

I’m just kinda wondering if Apollo and Artemis ever had a conversation about relationships and Apollo was just like.

“Yea he’d get super pissed and start yelling and throwing stuff at me, it was kinda scary sometimes”

And Artemis just looks at him like “You know that’s domestic violence right?”

And if they did get into abusive relationships I wonder how it would effect them since they aren’t exactly human. I doubt they’d be afraid since no matter what the abuser did they’d always hold a position of power over them simply because they are Gods. But emotional abuse and gaslighting is a thing and I personally believe that due to their experiences with their own parents most of the gods would be extremely vulnerable to this sort of abuse.

And on top of that most of them would have way to much pride to ever admit they were being abused in a relationship.

I really don’t know where this thought came from but I want to know if anyone shared the same opinion.

[pynkhues]

literally sooo fascinated by logan and caroline's marriage tbh. give us all your thoughts!! (if you want ahah)

Oh, man, I could talk about them all day, haha. I kinda feel like people can sometimes rob both Caroline and Logan of any nuance, because yeah, sure, they’re often the central antagonists of the series, and their abuse and neglect of their children permeates the series, but the show’s always also been careful to show that the cycle of violence never started with Logan, and Harriet Walter’s talked in interviews too about the cycle of neglect not starting with Caroline either. They’re victims and perpetrators in the same way that Kendall, Roman and Shiv are victims and perpetrators, and the fact that neither of them were able to break that cycle is the exact sort of tragedy that's at the broken heart of this series.

It makes it really fascinating to me in that sense that Caroline and Logan found each other at all, and I think really slots into what we know about his three marriages – namely, that he marries women who are in some ways as damaged by life’s cruelties as he is. We understand that explicitly with Marcia, who pretty much says out loud that their connection has been born out of the fact that they’re both survivors, but I think it’s implied in his relationships with both Caroline and Connor’s mother too. At least Marcia and Connor’s mother became somethink like partners for a while too – Marcia was a co-conspirator with Logan for the bulk of season 1, and the RECNY Ball episode I think also showed that Connor’s mother, for at least a while, was the sort of socialite who could lubricate and work politicians alongside Logan.

We don’t really know what role Caroline played in that sense, but she’s obviously intelligent and savvy enough to have worked to secure the kids real power in the divorce, something we see her give back to Logan in 3.09. We also know that her title gave Logan the class elevation that he wanted (even if its one he also seems to bitterly resent), and that his money gave her security, and in a lot of ways, that’s a strategic match that sees them both step forwards in power together.

I was actually listening to an old episode of Vanity Fair’s Succession podcast recently where they interviewed Dame Harriet Walter, and she talks quite a lot about Caroline’s backstory.

She says that Caroline was born into a neglectful aristocratic family, an only daughter who due to the social structures of British aristocracy, wouldn’t have inherited her father’s estate as a result of her gender. Instead, his estate would’ve gone to a distant male cousin, which ties into what Connor says in 1.09 to Willa about the house being the ancestral home Caroline didn't inherit.

She was disregarded by her family but encouraged to marry rich, and she sees Caroline as having gone through a bit of a wild child phase, that she partied, used drugs, tried to escape herself. That she was probably featured frequently in the social columns ‘in disgrace’, and then married young to a rich British man who bored her. She sees Caroline as having escaped to New York on a trip, and met Logan who dazzled her. Who was the opposite of the men she’d grown up with, the men who’d cut her out of her own inheritance, and that he was exciting and creating something and married too, and that they likely left their spouses for each other. That he married for a title, but he also married her because he found her fun and funny and different from the other women of her class and station.

I actually love that backstory a lot, and in particular I think it feeds into the themes of cycles on this show, both with Shiv, but also in Caroline being cut out by her own family, and then cut out by the one she tried to make for herself, and the damage that likely caused her. It also I think really beautifully depicts this idea of legacy and succession which is so crucial to the show – that Logan can spend a childhood brutalised by a man who’d give him just enough to build an empire on and that Caroline can spend a childhood in luxurious neglect with parents who will leave her with nothing.

What that meant for their relationship - - I think they did love each other, as much as they could love anyone, and I think that vulnerability between them was something that probably allowed them as true an intimacy as they’d ever have for a while. I also think that that vulnerability and that intimacy gave them power over one another that they’d use often and likely cruelly, and that the final years of their marriage were probably torturous for both of them.

After all, at the end of the day, Logan had the wealth Caroline could marry but never inherit, and Caroline had the title Logan could marry but never inherit, and what is that if not a reminder of the poisoned soil they sprung from?