#who were in reality being groomed themselves

[cryptidmomochi]

did you know?

the insistence by commentary creators on treating children the same way as adults has caused ridiculous amounts of harm.

over and over i would see drama about various artists, and so many of them were just kids. some of them were younger than me, but i didnt know that. i thought they were all much older than me, because that's how they were treated.

"oh this person was a groomer" they were a child. if a child is exhibiting groomer-like tendencies, they don't just get that out of nowhere.

"oh this person pretended to have mental illness or s/h for attention" that is not a thing that normal people do. you look stupid when you say that. just because someone is doing something "for attention" doesn't mean nothing's actually wrong.

"this kid was racist" im from an extremely white, quite cishet, and very able-bodied town (or, at the very least, the town is inaccessible enough that you just don't see that many disabled people, who knows). sometimes you learn bigoted rhetoric, then have to unlearn it. sometimes you say stupid shit because other people around you say that exact stupid shit. kids in particular do not always know better. just because theyre 16 doesn't mean they're exempt from being stupid.

like.

can we stop hatemobbing fucking children. i have at least lingered online for almost 10 years. kids are one of the most likely groups to get harassed, often by adults. im glad i never developed a sizeable following before i turned 18. i wouldnt have been able to handle it either.

but im just shouting to the void, really. commentary creators dont fucking learn. they just hop onto the next bandwagon and ignore it.

do you ever wonder why so many commentary types keep getting into trouble? hopeless peaches, creepshow, daftpina, turkey tom, omnia, prison mate luke, im sure i could think of more given the time and given a little bit more research to track down some old creators i used to watch. good people don't go online and talk about kids like they should be killed. the art commentary community as a whole is rife with toxicity, seemingly always searching for small prey nobody's heard of. I remember a very long time ago there was a "drama" because an artist on deviantart didn't want their art being favourited (they misunderstood what it did) and that was a big enough deal to start making videos about. playlists upon playlists preying on kids being stupid.

if not kids, then any other vulnerable group will do just fine, too. if you remember the "tumblr art style", youll know it had a few main "characteristics"; ambiguous race, hairy legs, character depictions that weren't conventionally attractive, bandaids, s/h scars, drawing the characters with different body types, depictions of mental illnesses and disorders, the works. the "tumblr art style" was, in reality, a dogwhistle. it wasn't about the art. it was about the fact that it wasnt a white, cishet, able-bodied, neurotypical man or woman. that was a topic for a few years. "the problem with the tumblr art style", "tumblr art style cringe", i only knew of tumblr from those types of videos when i was in middle school.

commentary rarely if ever cares about justice. its just another dime in their wallet, and if they have to harass kids to get it, well, that's just fine.

[margareth-lv]

⛓️ When art and life become one ⛓️

I believe fairy tales have a great deal of therapeutic power. And there's nothing quite like a good story.

As I’ve written here a few times before, I first started watching Outlander in 2020 – a challenging year for us all. At that time, we all needed a good story to take our minds off reality. And to move into the catharsis that art offers. You can imagine my excitement when I realised that two actors (who were so obviously in love) playing the characters in the story were born around the same time as the characters they were playing.

James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, born on 1 May. Sam Roland Heughan, born on 30 April. Both Taurus, just like me. Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser, born on 20 October. Caitríona Mary Balfe, born on 4 October. Both Libra.

And, as you might expect, in both the play and real life, she is older than he is. Isn't it wonderful how things just fall into place sometimes? There’s always something to ponder, think about and enjoy.

But it's been a while since we've seen joy in "enjoy." The Taylor Swift concert is the exception that proves the rule, here.

I'm getting tired of the low-level storytelling we've been presented with for a while now. This story is the worst of the worst. It’s a pretty poor selection of C, D, and E cinema.

And it's pretty sad how two people, who literally built their relative public recognisability on being the 'hottest couple on the screen', are now pathetically role-playing their supposed 'real love lives'. And neither of them succeeds. They're also pretty weak actors in their roles of romantic lovers (I'm thinking mainly of Sam here). Let me just say that they're not pathetic only when they're together. *** *** *** When I saw the blurry, embarrassing footage from this weekend's Giorgio Armani Tennis Classic (tagged #ad on Sam's Instagram), my first thought was that it was a spectacle for us, our Tumblr fandom. There's no one else who would be interested in something you have to look for with a magnifying glass, zooming in, spending long minutes stopping frames of film. Then I got reminded about the Wimbledon Tennis Championships back in July 2019 and another poor performances by 'bride' and her 'groom' a month before their 'wedding'.

Do you remember those pictures?

First wife, second wife, Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser and Laoghaire MacKenzie, I mean, Evie Greenwood, a primary teacher.

You know, realism and art all blend together.

We first saw this kind of kissing being reduced to sucking on the partner's upper lip in what we were forced to think was Sam’s ‘real life’, and then we saw the same thing on screen.

And what about Sam's somewhat embarrassing performance in The Couple Next Door? Which other actor in that film has exposed themselves so much (and so pointlessly), in a literal sense?

How many of us thought Sam's performance in the erotic scenes in TCND was not sexy at all, but disgusting?

I did.

Wasn't that display of Sam's rhythmically moving buttocks as distasteful as his other performance a few weeks ago?

Seriously, I would never want my husband/partner/father of my children to behave like this. There's no money worth it. But maybe there is.

Sometimes I feel sorry for them, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I remind myself of how jealous Cait can be.

How on earth do they manage to live like that?

[3 July, 2024]

[bubuslutty]

You're upset, darling?

pairing: platonic gn!reader x ghost x soap x price

word count: 1.4k

tags: angst with comfort, depression, episodes, no use of y/n, 3rd person pov, reader is mostly refered to as darling + they/them pronouns

warning: mention of suicide, not in detail tho but still (let me know if I missed anything)

summary: 141's darling has episodes where they feel like shit and how they spend their day in the base with those feelings, and how the guys comfort them.

a/n: I wanted to add könig, horangi and gaz but I was too tired to keep writing so I only wrote abt these three. this is very much based on my personal experience. I'm also undiagnosed so I might not use certain terms.

Sometimes 141's darling has days where they're down and very upset. It's normal, they think, everyone must have days where they don't feel entirely themselves, right? it's totally normal and very human, they believe.

At first, when they were upset, nobody would notice, because no matter how they felt, they always did the same things as they always do, if not a bit slower than usual.

They would shower, groom their hair, wash their clothes, clean their room and attend all activities with the other guys. They would even sleep their full hours, uninterrupted, and finish all of their food, rarely missing a meal.

But all of that feels robotic. An attempt to seem normal, to seem fine. When in reality, they feel gray on the inside. Dead. a walking corpse. A heaviness that settles in their chest like a rock. Sitting there, unmoving.

And more often than not, they wouldn't know why they're so upset, so down and dead and just not themselves. They might as well be in a coma because nothing feels real during those days.

Then they would be forgetful, less talkative, and their face would drop, drained out of any light and animated expressions they usually wear. They would laugh along to jokes that aren't even funny, to keep anyone from noticing that there's something wrong, that they're wrong.

But they couldn't keep having their episodes unnoticed. They're not sure who noticed first, out of 141, but they do remember how Soap would look at them. How even when he's talking and laughing loudly, he would glance at them, to study their reaction and face. But he wouldn't say anything, not yet at least.

He would then drag them with him as much as he can, and not necessarily make them speak, because he notices their silence, and the discomfort that would appear in their face when they're made to speak and actively participate in a conversation when they're not obligated to. He would fill in the space, with his chatter, but it would not be as loud, softer, a comforting murmur, a nice sound to focus on when they can't make themselves stop falling inside their head.

And then darling would lean against his side when they're sitting down and he's sketching on his knees, still talking and filling in the air. And he would wrap an arm around them and squeeze, his body heat comforting and welcome in those gray days. And when darling has to be somewhere without Soap, he would give them a much needed tight hug, all warm and big and long and soft.

"You'll be alright."

They find themselves hanging out with the 141 guys more often during their episodes. And Ghost is no exception. No matter what anyone says about the man's personality, whether he's cold hearted, emotionally unavailable or just straight out a bastard, they would never get it right, never, nobody knows him as much as he knows himself. But he does let out bits and pieces of himself to his mates. Because he trusts them.

Darling would be sitting next to Ghost, without saying a single word while he's cleaning his guns in similar silence. The only sound that could be heard is their breathing and Ghost's hands working on cleaning his weapons. But then darling did break their silence once, they don't know what urged them to open their mouth and speak, but they did.

"Thank you for being my friend."

Ghost's hands froze, and he just kept staring down at his guns when he lifted his head and looked to the side at the sergeant sitting next to him.

"Sergeant, are you suicidal?"

Darling was slightly taken back by the bold question. But that was Ghost for you. Asking direct questions when it mattered. Darling didn't take offense to his question but simply shook their head, "Negative, sir."

Ghost kept staring at them silently and reached out for their hand, gripping it and squeezing it in his gloved hands. Darling smiled a bit and didn't say anything after that, nor did Ghost.

Darling doesn't know if their words freaked their lieutenant out or not, but he did mention their very short conversation to their captain, John Price.

"Sergeant, I need you in my office, now."

Darling was a bit confused, raking their mind over any mistakes they did, or said anything wrong to anybody. And were even more confused when they couldn't think of anything they've done.

"You're not in trouble." John said as soon as they entered his office and sank down on the chair in front of his desk. Darling fidgeted with their fingers, unable to just sit still under Price's gaze.

John Price was the only man on base that Darling disliked interacting with during their episodes while simultaneously yearning for his attention and approval. His eyes could see everything, he knew everything.

They didn't like to be weak in front of Price. They don't like how easy it is for him to see and understand them. Even if it is one of the most relieving feelings in the world. It was scary. To face a man who could read you and so easily pin your vulnerabilities.

"Lieutenant Ghost told me what you said earlier today. He's worried about you and wanted me to check on you." Price said, arms crossed and leaning against his desk, staring down at them with a steady gaze.

He went straight to the point, no wasting time or breath.

Darling opened and immediately closed their mouth, unable to form a sentence or pick what to say, their mind was reeling and they had the urge to just spill everything to the man.

He does that to them, makes them want to lay out everything they are and stand naked in front of him and let him see every scar, every mole, every dip, every swell and every pore.

"Talk to me, honey." He said, so gently when he kneeled next to them, that it choked up Darling's throat.

Their eyes immediately blurred with tears, their breathing picking up and now heaving, struggling to breath.

"Breathe, aye?" Price said.

And it was as simple as that. Breathing. Breathing for their captain.

He wanted them to breathe? They will, with no question.

They're not sure if it's just his rank that makes them more obedient, more willing to obey and trust blindly. But they're too afraid to think too much about it. They're afraid they'll find a hidden layer under it.

"I- I feel useless. I feel lost and confused. I feel sick in my heart. I'm not happy, and I don't know why. And I want to be happy, to not feel like I'm not myself anymore. I want to feel good. I want to be good."

And just like that they spilled like an overflowing glass of milk.

Price's gaze softened even more, and he placed a big rough warm hand on their thigh, "Darling," He said and their heart jumped in their chest.

"With all due respect, you're not useless. If you were, I'm scared to think of what that would make us." He said, voice all deep and warm.

Darling cracked a small smile, looking at him with their hands on their lap and staring at him with big eyes, shiny and begging for praise and reassurance.

"You're more than enough, love. It's alright to feel like shite, but what's not alright is you keeping your hurt to yourself and making yourself sick with it. Talk to me, talk to us, you're safe. You're safe and good. You're so good."

A tear spilled down their cheek, staring at Price with their heart beating faster than a horse in their chest, their body heating up and feeling all warm and fuzzy and so loved they could suffocate with it.

"Come here." Price said before dragging his sergeant by the arms to engulf them in a big warm hug. His scratchy beard was pressed against their temple. But they didn't mind. Their captain smelled like cologne, mint and tobacco, but they didn't mind either. His grip on their body was tight, but they also didn't mind. Because their captain was good, solid, a constant force, safe and warm and understanding.

And that heavy stone that lodged in their chest was finally lifted and they could breathe again. They know this won't somehow heal them. To think so would be foolish and a joke. But this felt good nonetheless.

Their captain knows they will have their episodes, maybe not as often, maybe more often, who knows. But what he does know is that he'll set up a private therapist for them. And he'll make sure to remind Darling that they're part of 141. They're part of them, and they don't have to act as if they're fine, it's okay to be vulnerable, because they'll protect them, keep them safe from bad thoughts just like how they protect them from bloodthirsty enemies and bullets.

[toaarcan]

C3E107 Thoughts

Okay first point of order, obligatory screaming about Abubakar flying an ocean to do a surprise return as the Arch Heart, you love to see it.

The Arch Heart's plan is interesting but I think they've either not telling the whole story or they're making a mistake. They assume that, in a moment of panic of Predathos being released early, their siblings will all flee. Except we know Melora would stand and fight, and we know that two of the gods are not Tengarian and therefore they have no past track record to base that thought on. They've got no clue what RQ and Vecna will do when the chips are down.

Of course, it's possible that the Arch Heart is hiding the truth. They said themselves that they are sneaky and that they were there without the knowledge of the other gods. They also kept stressing that they were being honest. Which could well be a lie. DC30 on the Insight check to see through any bullshit. The gods may have a different purpose for putting Predathos into a person.

The reality they've claimed is that the gods are currently in argument over what they should do about the Predathos situation, and the Arch Heart believes that if they have time to come to a conclusion, they will choose to fight. Whether that means war with Predathos or war on the people trying to release it, who can say. Either way, if they all come back, inevitably the Betrayers will try to kill mortals again, and the Primes will fight them. Calamity 2 will happen if mortals take too long to stop Predathos.

Ultimately the idea of cramming Predathos into Imogen or Fearne does not seem like a good one. We just spent the better part of 103 episodes watching Laudna struggle to keep Delilah under control. Delilah is the soul of a mortal fucking wizard. And Downfall illustrated the vast gulf between mortal mages and gods. It also showed max-level mortal bodies being disintegrated by the raw power of an unbound deity forcing its way out from within them. And the plan here is to cram a more-powerful entity into a Lv.13 Sorcerer or Druid and expect Predathos to not immediately escape or hollow them out and wear them like a cheap suit?

Then again, given the way it was being talked about maybe they are aware of this and recognise that whoever becomes Predathos' vessel is functionally or literally dead and doomed to chase the gods across reality for eternity, and that's a sacrifice that some have decided they are okay with. Either way, not a great plan.

The two members of BH that are most happy with the Arch Heart's idea are Dorian and Ashton, who are reacting to it like the perfect answer has finally been given to them. But it's not Dorian and Ashton who are going to be tasked with becoming the vessel. Imogen really does not want Predathos released. Fearne is more curious but Zathuda is actively trying to groom her into the perfect vessel and Shardgate was born out of Ashton convincing her to go with her gut and give him the Shard instead of taking it for herself, and I worry that with them on one shoulder and Zathuda on the other, Fearne may end up going with the plan and dying for it.

As for who the deity that agrees with the Arch Heart is... I don't think it's the Matron. The Arch Heart's words around her appearance are "You've heard my side," as if to imply that she represents the other. She was also one of the more reluctant gods when it came to leaving and building the gate, and she was consistently the "Stop doing hubris" one during Downfall.

The Arch Heart definitely did not have an answer for whether Predathos will harm mortals accidentally in pursuit of its meal. Also there's a probably-god chilling in the heart of the planet who isn't going to be running anywhere so that's not a great sign.

Zathuda and the Unseelie's dissatisfaction with Ludinus speaks to one of the bigger flaws in the Ruby Vanguard's plan. We've seen the gulf between mortal wizards and gods in Downfall, but Ludinus assumes that if he kills the gods then mortals will sit atop the food chain. Except they won't. There are a lot of entities that live in the gulf between mortal and divine, like powerful Fey, and also the Fiends the heroes keep running into. Zathuda evidently looks down on Ludinus and intends to betray him. To chase the gods away will open up the throne they've abdicated again, and it will not be a mortal wizard that sits it (nor should it be), it will be a devil or a demon or an archfey.

[prying-pandora666]

Let’s be Honest About Iroh

Okay but for real.

I adore Iroh. When I was a troubled, angry teen who had been abused and had left home as soon as I finished high school, even when it led to homelessness, Iroh meant everything to me.

He was the only adult who never failed me. Who gave me kind advice and words of wisdom to soothe the raging storm of pain and betrayal in my heart.

Only Iroh and the works of Tolkien have ever given me that level of comfort and will to keep moving forward even when I messed up. To always strive to be better, even if you were misguided or lashed out the day before. Even if you’ve been wronged or hurt and lost it all.

But for real, fandom, let’s be for real.

The problem comes when fans claim Iroh never killed anyone. Or never hurt anyone. Or tried to be a “humane” general fighting a genocidal war of aggression . Or that the Siege of Ba Sing Se wasn’t a horrific 600 day campaign which caused “chaos and violence” within the walls of the biggest civilian city in their world. It makes it seem like fandom would rather deify Iroh due to their positive feelings towards him rather than confront the reality that sometimes your mentor is someone else’s monster.

That maybe the jolly, kooky, tea-loving Uncle who always forgave and gently guided Zuko, and never ever gave up on him, may have arrived at that kindness and wisdom precisely because he has seen the end of the path Zuko was walking on. Iroh in his prime was worse than Azula could ever dream of being. When he said “she’s crazy and she needs to go down”, he was speaking from experience because he knows all too well what propaganda does to a person, and that you can’t talk them out of it. They must experience the downfall and realization for themselves.

He never said “don’t help her after she falls”. On the contrary, in the comics he wishes for Azula to heal.

Iroh is not perfect. No one is perfect. And if you keep judging people by their proximity to perfection, you will always be disappointed even in people who do good. And you will also condemn people who need help and have the potential to change into good people.

There are monsters out there but none of them are born that way. They are created through a combination of experiences and their own choices along the way.

But an important message of ATLA is that while we MUST fight those that seek to do others harm, even with our very lives, we must also reach our a hand to help those that have already fallen. If they reject it, that is their choice and they can bear the consequences.

But it is still our responsibility to reach out.

Too much of the fandom seems steeped in essentialism. That everyone is only as good as the worst thing they’ve ever done.

Which is why they feel the need to pretend Iroh was always a good person who never really wanted to participate in this genocidal war.

But this isn’t the case. And the sooner we can admit that to ourselves, the sooner we can begin to understand what drives people to such actions.

And how to help those that have been groomed and exploited for such purposes. Just like Zuko.

Even if we find them unpalatable or mentally unwell. Just like Azula.

[scarabjewels]

Corpse Bride had the PERFECT ending.

SUE ME.

The number of people who wanted Emily to be Victor's endgame, with myself included, have a similar issue or lack of growth with Emily's arc throughout the movie.

Clinging onto the idea of love, to the point of forcing it onto someone. I'm calling us and her delusional.

She also went through a sort of roundabout response of the stages of grief: grieving her life.

Shock and Denial

She knows she's dead, and yet she delusionally believed she was still a young bride waiting for her groom

Emily was murdered and Barkis, her now ex- fiance, took her dreams with her life. My theory is that after she died, she had to grieve his betrayal first. She probably coped by clinging on to her dream, convinced that she had just found the wrong guy, and that the right one would come eventually. While we see she is popular in the underworld, she was not able to find a young enough suitor or one that sparked her interest.

She also exhibited extremely idealistic scenarios of her finding the right guy. Hey, the girl was murdered the last time she took a chance on an impulse. While her pattern of falling hard fast still exists, she probably convinced herself that Victor was better because she had no dowry to present for him to take and leave her, yet he still asked her to mary him (despite being an accident), so it must be "true love". This is the kind of behaviour a loottt of people with reoccuring similar toxic relationships tell themselves, I know because I was one of them.

Emily was our hot dead girl with the delulu issues. She was in denial of the reality of the situation, even when she was aware of this.

Pain and Guilt

Notice how when Emily has a fit about Victor seeing Victoria, she said the words "you should've thought of that before you asked me to marry you" and he responds "don't you see it was a mistake, I would never marry you". The silent blinking and realization of Victor's lack of tact, out of so much frustration, and Emily's small glimpse of what kind of person she had become, was perfection. She obviously knows she was holding him captive, but she was denying the truth until the wedding. It was painful for Emily, but her reality is so twisted that she can only see her pain before Victor.

The essence of guilt came when she was given the option to poison Victor to forever be tethered to his marriage to her. With guilt, there is kindness, and her kind heart shined before guilt. She couldn't bear to kill him for her dreams because she genuinely cared and loved him still. Another time was the wedding scene. She had second thoughts and finally realized that she was taking Victor and Victoria's chance.

Anger and Bargaining

When she caught Victor seeing Victoria, not only was she pained, she was blaming and angry at Victor, as in her eyes he was cheating on her, when all he did was to escape from her, because duh, he is held against his will.

Going back to their argument, while Emily felt jealous and envy, she subtly wished she was alive. In the lamenting musical scene "Tears to Shed," she accepted her death a long time ago but envied Victoria's main asset that she can never compete with: being alive.

Depression to upward turn

Emily's lamentation of being dead and that Victor will eventually leave her, being lonely again, was evident during the Tears to Shed song and just before the infamous chemistry induced piano scene.

While we see her depressed, she had calmed down and was able to be serenaded into a neutral mood again.

Emily was in this stage completely when Victor and her were gathering everyone and getting ready to get married upstairs.

Reconstruction and working through

Emily was in her full delusions of her dreams finally come true, but her reconstruction stage flashed when she was delivering her vow and saw Victoria watching.

My own little headcanon is that she saw herself in Victoria, and she saw herself as Barkis, taking her dreams away.

She stopped Victor drinking the poisoned wine and finally spoke her truth, the raw truth that Emily is seeing the reality she is in and what she has become.

Her dreams were taken, and now she is the one taking from someone else, and she hated it. She loved Victor so much, but he wasn't hers. She brought the Vs (keehee) together, deciding to call off the marriage.

Now, facing her past is probably her final stage of reconstruction. She meets her ex-fiance and is able to protect Victor from him in the midst of the two men's showdown. She was absolutely disgusted and hated his presence, pointing the sword and telling him to get out.

The karma probably hit best when Barkis drank the poisoned wine, his last words showing how full he is of himself. He was dealt with by Emily's underworld friends soon after he died.

Acceptance

While Victor and Victoria were finally in each other's arms, Emily smiled with bittersweetness and began to walk away. Victor stopped her, attempting to keep his promise. Emily reassured he already did. He set her free, and now it is her turn to set him free.

She literally walked the aisle alone. She accepted the truth, the past, and the present. Her only future was to move on.

As a sign of moving on, she tossed the bouquet that eventually landed on Victoria's hands. With her last breath, she bursted into butterflies. Finally free.

My Conclusion

I think a major theme in Emily's arc is letting her delusion get the best of her, almost portrayed humanely. Just an observation, aside from the art style of Tim Burton, Emily looked lowkey deranged? While Victor looked tired and scared, Victoria had wonder and curiosity, and Emily looked low key crazy and held on to what little sanity she had left. I think the reason why I couldn't see that aspect as much is because she also looked so beautiful, sounded sweet, and looked delicate, albeit being a red flag and literally a horrifying, decaying reanimated corpse.

Corpse Bride really was Emily's story, told through Victor's perspective. Let's be honest, if it was from Emily's perspective, it would be similar to 500 days of summer, an unreliable narration from a delusional protagonist. That is the difference between her, Victor, and Victoria. They saw what was actually going on.

Victor was already a developed character, in my opinion. He was just a young man living with anxiety. He liked Victoria at first sight and wanted to get married. He was kind and musically inclined. He was much more of an established person than say a character needing another character for their development like Joel from Eternal Sunshine (that's a read and I meant it). So was Victoria, she was a young woman who wanted to get married, looked forward to getting to know her betrothed more, and was quite outspoken and courageous. They were just bothe caught up in an arc. Emily, albeit the different girl, was probably the one who needed a manic pixie dream man, and she got Victor. She really needed character development.

One more theme the movie has is what a broken heart can do to you. Emily loved and was betrayed. She clung to an impossible dream even after death. Victor saw the opportunity for a rebound the minute he heard Victoria was going to get married to another man. Victoria was in total shock when she was going to be betrothed to someone else and accepted to help her parents, but also stood up for herself from Barrkus the minute he showed his intentions of marrying her.

I really loved Emily realising what was happening, it took her a good minute but she got there. I also loved that Emily and Victoria never got into some kind of argument or showdown, seriously I feel like that would have happened in early to mid 2010 fantasy romances, ehem Twilight (I hate the story and the characters but it was entertaining hot garbage). It was a graceful story of love and let go.

I'm sure we have a collective head canon of Victor's and Victoria's first daughter to be named Emily.

[guess-that-ship]

S12 Semifinals

codependent bodyguard arrangement

Since childhood, Prince and Guard were raised together. Prince was groomed to be his father's heir while Guard would be his loyal protector. They have a magical bond that lets them feel each other's emotions which made them absolutely inseparable to the point where as kids caretakers had to pick them both up at the same time so they wouldn't cry.

When they were fifteen their court was attacked and the two of them were the only survivors. Guard is extremely protective of Prince and to him nothing matters more than his safety. Guard wanted to go with Prince despite a prophecy that he would die if he went because he NEEDED to watch Prince's back. It's said at one point that Guard would have been fine if a whole building collapsed and killed everyone in it so long as Prince could make it out okay. Prince on the other hand is fully aware Guard would die for him and under NO circumstances is he letting that happen. Prince's boyfriend told him that he's aware he'll never be the love of Prince's life because that spot belongs to Guard. They're like two stray cats you can't adopt separately. Also they (and the rest of their found family) have adopted like five kids between them.

You can't clearly define their relationship. Not platonic not romantic not siblings but also all of those at once. They are just soooo obsessed and in love.

Purple Light

cw: spoilers

Two teenage girls meet one summer and forge an unbreakable bond with each other, one that unites them with a psychic connection. They go their separate ways but remain connected as they separately fight monsters and other forms of evil, always remaining close to each other with their telepathic communications.

One day, their greatest foe captures them both and traps them in another world, one where they forget who they are. They settle into different lives, where they meet again and become friends. They both seem to understand that something is wrong with their lives, even if they can't explain how. They both want to escape their unhappy existences, and one girl eventually escapes.

When she leaves, she finds a way to remember her real existence, and realizes that she & her friend are still trapped and in danger. She tries to save them both by convincing her friend to return with her so that they can battle their way out. The friend refuses, staying behind and believing that their false, unhappy life is their true reality, settling into an uneasy day-to-day life. …until they see themselves in a mirror as they truly are, seeing themselves as the powerful being they truly are. What happens next is left ambiguous, but it's implied that there is still time for the both of them to save each other and return to where they truly belong.

[diaryofafeministbw]

EXCERPTS:

As thrilling as it is to participate in the shared experience of watching two titans of their industry challenge themselves to a gladiator-style conflict with impressive skill and turnaround, their tracks also expose a long standing tradition in battle raps: using women as pawns and fodder for slinging insults. When the battle is arguing over who’s the bigger misogynist, does anyone really win? The women in these rappers’ lives sure don’t. 

Kendrick fans have resurfaced interviews disavowing abuse and support from Alford’s brother; Drake’s supporters have been circulating quotes from young women rejecting claims that their relationship with the superstar was inappropriate. As the dust settles from the battle, you are left to contend with two realities. One, artists are engaging in a speculative exercise of bloodsport where the ultimate crime is violence against women and girls, a frame that is tragically not reflected in present-day society. And the other, these are sincerely held positions by each artist against their opponent, suggesting that both legends associated as colleagues for years despite being aware of purported harm that their respective crews were responsible for, and said nothing publicly. In either scenario, fans and consumers are left to reconcile a contradiction between the conviction in Drake’s and Kendrick’s lyrics and the artists’ present-day behaviors. The women, girls, and children affiliated with them are left to deal with the fallout in the public. Despite what their raps may claim, the safety of these alleged victims isn’t the priority: it’s ego. 

Objectively, both men are trading in moral inconsistency. Kendrick can barely purport to have a moral brightline around abuse and parental neglect when he has collaborated with serial deadbeat baby daddy Future, claimed alleged abuser Dr. Dre as a mentor, and heavily featured convicted sex offender Kodak Black on his most recent album. Drake’s accusations against Kendrick fall apart in kind; he declares Kendrick an abuser in the same track as he shouts out alleged chronic abuser Chris Brown. This inconsistency is not contained to this conflict, either: in a recent spat between Chris Brown and Quavo, both artists weaponized documented physical incidents with women against the other in a twisted race to the bottom. In Drake’s response to Kendrick’s accusations, he spent the bulk of his song “The Heart pt 6” denying any accusations of sexual misconduct – claiming he was too rich and famous to be culpable – as well as alleging that Kendrick’s focus on the topic was due to his own childhood experiences with sexual abuse.  It ultimately becomes irrelevant whether the artists committed the alleged acts of violence or not, because what is ultimately revealed is that the trauma the women around them have experienced is accepted, until it’s time for a rap battle. These artists may be willing to weaponize cruelty against women as a critique, but fall short of committing to rejecting abuse around them as a sustained principle.

At battle rap’s inception, women became disposable currency for sensation, with no consideration for fact or fiction, legend or myth – and  young women were left to deal with the fallout. In the ensuing weeks, the women around Kendrick Lamar and Drake are going to be thrust into an unprecedented level of scrutiny – their social media exhumed and pored over, every statement and response dissected – in service of a conflict they never signed up for. While the war of words may be over (for now), the effects against the women involved continue to linger with a level of invasiveness that they never consented to. Abuse and grooming are now spectacles for consumers to gossip about rather than structural problems that need dismantling. The care for all parties involved is not prioritized, instead it’s about who “won” a rap beef. Regardless of whether or not the accusations are merely speculative, the sensationalism  continues to harm everyone involved. It is an ongoing shortcoming that cannot continue to be maintained in hip-hop’s next 50 years; it is tragedy enough that it dominated the first 50.

Written by _ShamGod 🙏🏾

[anonvkirkped]

Exposing @/Kirkped.

hello everyone, i will stay anon for this callout but you may know who i am, or know my story. I dont wish to cause anything but i just want people within the fandom to know what this person has done.

TW / CW for: grooming, arguing, suicide and suicide baiting, racism, slurs, splitting.

for background info, kirkped goes by multiple within this callout, timmy and xochi. Kirkped has mental illnesses which cause them to lash out and i understand that, yet over time this was just abuse, they claimed they were trying and attempting to get better, but often lied and only got worse. Continuing to blame mental illness when i feel it is no excuse, being mentally ill does not give a right to abuse.

i have attempted to blur out all names. And give proof.

————————

starting off with something important: The racism, timmy is kirkped and has been confirmed by kirkped themselves. They lied about being black when in reality being asian. Went on for around a while. Said the N word multiple times.

—————-

Next up just general abuse:

These screenshots are from when i posted a video of me and them playing roblox, friend saw it and brought it up. Friends talked about how they were abusive and i wont stop going back, yet xochi told me to tell them it was due to their mental illness.

kirkped getting upset im busy on my birthday party, i get they need the attention but i told them before i would be busy that day.

One of xochis friends, i had blocked xochi and they told them to contact me. I didnt want to talk anymore yet they wouldnt take no for an answer.

Suicide baiting, they did this 24/7. They copied and pasted this and sent it to a bunch of people. Made me lose my mind.

Them getting upset just recently after we sadly spoke again after months, i didnt want to talk anymore due to being triggered and they exploded on me.

—-

This is just insane.

and also

Them ignoring my triggers

———

this is the first callout ive ever made, xochi has caused great pain to me and others, their relationship has caused me to dissociate, have panic attacks so bad i shut down, and get triggered and cry every time i enter the basement: where they suicide baited and made me cry and scream over call while i his from my family, it was a painful night.

i have needed professional help to recover, im still shaken up. Im still so extremely traumatized to the point of abusing drugs to force myself to forget the past. This is only a chuck of everything but im not sure what else to add. Im scared, i dont understand why they keep coming back, they keep pretending theyre fine when they need help, i dont want to cancel them. I just want them to realize they hurt others and many wish them to stay away from the internet.

please understand. Its 3 am and im very scared. I am traumatized over kirkped. I wish no one else has to go through the same, please block. I am not the only one either, i just havent gotten other views yet.

-anon.

[yanderenightmare]

alpha deku? he's already a daddy in the yandereverse, but with the added alpha-ness...if a darling ever tried to escape he found find her immediately. i could also imagine bakugou and todoroki as alphas and the three of them finding their cute little omega running away.

OMEGAVERSE ! bnha ! TODO-BAKU-DEKU

goodiebag WARNINGS: omegaverse, dubcon, NSFW, threesome, degradation, condescension, discrimination towards Omegas ig, its hinted that the reader is 18

TIP-JAR

The rules of The Harvest

The Harvest is a government-issued bidding game hosted on every harvest moon, where Omegas are auctioned off to the highest bidding high-society Alpha or Beta, to ensure every Omega is given a secure and wealthy home where they can be assured the proper care and protection. 

Taking part in the auction is unavoidable to newly detected Omegas, however, per rules of the game, they're given a chance to fight for their own claim in what is now known as The Run. This additional rule to the otherwise strictly mandatory bidding game is based on prior Omegas succeeding in their escape, thus proving their own self-worth and their own means to take care of themselves. 

Omegas who choose to take part in The Run are given a full minute’s head-start, however, by choosing to take part in The Run Omegas give up their position as bidding prizes, therefore no longer under the protection laws of The Harvest, and are thus free-game to any Alpha or Beta who would choose to hunt them down.

THE HARVEST

Her eighteenth winter arrived a couple of moons ago.

And she’d been made to go through the trials like everyone else her age.

It seemed silly now. And perhaps it had been before as well, where she’d long spotted how the boys in her class snickered at her ever since she’d first bled. 

But, hopeful as she was, or perhaps stubborn, she’d crossed her fingers and prayed to the moon that luck was on her side enough to make her a Beta in the least.

Even though every bone in her body had long told her the truth. 

She was smaller than everyone else. Weaker than everyone else. Emotional. Unstable. Incapable.

Simply not made to take care of herself.

She clicked her tongue and shook her head. The only thing she could do.

Except for crying. 

It seemed. So. Fucking. Silly. Now.

That she was dumb enough to think she had a chance of passing the tests. That she was stupid enough to believe that if she just wanted it enough, she’d somehow be spared what she knew was the truth.

But, she was always going to end up here…

Groomed and dolled and sold to whichever Alpha or Beta was interested enough…

The Harvest.

Each year every Omega is round-up for this government-issued Match-Making event. Posing as a charity to make sure poor vulnerable highly fertile Omegas find safety in wealthy homes. Though, in reality, just a disgusting glorified auction to keep power-hungry dogs satisfied.

Caged behind pretty glittering gold bars, Omegas cower, at the gathering of high-society Alphas and Betas circling them like prey.

The highest bidder takes their prize home. 

Though… not before they’re all given the option of testing out their skills in The Run.

But, of course, Omegas rarely dare. And even among those that try, it’s an even rarer story that anyone ever makes it. Riggedgame, as it is, as an Omega has slim chances of ever outrunning a Beta, much less an Alpha.

Which is in addition to just how silly she was going to further prove herself to be…

She chewed her nails where she sat on the velvet pillow within her cage. Suppressing the urge to tap her foot.

Unable to look them in the eye.

The swarm of fine-clothed large muscled shapes walking in and about her cage and the other dozen cages housing each their poor soul having had the bad luck of being deemed an Omega.

Some were in shock and denial. Screaming through the bars in the hope anyone would believe them, pleading that they were Betas, some even delusional enough to call themselves Alphas.

She remained silent though. Reserving her energy. Shivering a bit on the account of being as good as naked.

Cold cuffs on her wrists with matching anklets weighing down her feet, and though she couldn’t see it, she bet the collar on her throat was of the same gold fashion.

The harem pants were white like canvas. Thin silk. As was the wrap around her breasts. Probably for the satisfaction of seeing the innocent fabric spoil once the hunt for her started and she’d to be chased down until she trips in the mud by an Alpha’s feet.

She tried blocking out the haughty laughter of the rich around her. Sitting in the middle of her cage so no grabby hands could reach in without exerting themselves. Legs locked tightly to her chest with her arms slung around her. Tail tucked close. Pointy ears alert and shifty on every sound.

Memories of her teacher telling her that she’d make an Alpha very happy one day with that pretty face of hers made her hide behind her knees.

She remembers scowling ever since. 

She remembers yelling at him and growling out how she was just as much of a Beta as him. 

She remembers how he’d laughed at her.

She remembers the entire class laughing.

Sneering at the memory, her eyes raised from watching her toes to the boy sitting across from her.

He’d attracted a crowd with all his whimpering.

They seemed to like that.

They’d been commenting on him for a while now and each snide comment just made him cry more. Taunting him with haughty jeers about how his puffy cheeks were cute, swelled with tears like that, and how adorable the snot running from his nose was as he bawled his eyes out in fear.

His fluffy ears parted in despair at the people surrounding his cage.

A female had a sharp manicured hand reached in through the bars, rubbing on the boy’s soft ear as she pulled it close to the top of his cage, whispering ugly nothings to him, every cruel word making him cry even more. The boy let his jaw fall open and the woman gave a disgustingly wicked smile before spitting into his gaping mouth.

The other Alphas and Betas watching snickered before their grabby hands also decided to join the game, aiming to manhandle the poor Omega into complete despair. Tugging on his tail until he whined only to tug even harder, yanking his other ear and pulling on his locks, laughing and cooing at him while trying to rip his harem pants off to leave him there naked, humiliated, distraught, and dominated.

She made an effort to not seem as pathetic.

Hoping she wouldn’t draw as much attention-

“You smell phenomenal, my sweet.” A voice beside her called and she realized how her hopes were too high. 

She ignored him with a roll of her eyes. Bitterly wishing that she hadn’t jinxed herself, thinking he’d leave once realizing she wouldn’t fall apart so easily, like what the rest of the whelps sniffling in their cages had already.

“I can tell you’re a highly fertile one-”

She tried suppressing it, though she’d already bared her teeth. 

A rebellious snarl acted up in the back of her throat, her head snapping to look at the pompous jackass who had that ugly lopsided grin slapped on his face. Her brows set low in a glare as she summoned what she could to give him a ferocious growl.

“Fuck off!”

The comment didn’t need to echo to be heard and make ashen blonde locks shake with a chuckle.

Grinning at the other side of the room atop the exclusive VIP balcony, reserved for only the filthiest of rich, who subsequently was also the strongest of the strong.

“Heh, feisty.”

Golden champagne sparkled with fizzy bubbles in the tall slim glass he held between his fingers as he snickered at the display. His red eyes set on the sweaty reject retracting the digits he’d stuck through the bars back to the safety of himself.

The pair of emerald orbs next to him lazily viewed the same sight, perking up upon the cut in the little thing’s voice. Amused while watching the poor sucker tuck-tail before hurriedly rushing away from the tiny hostile thing locked up in her cage.

“Looks like someone hasn’t quite gotten the memo...” He commented in a mumble. Tipping his glass to his lips before taking a sip. 

And, while it was left undecided whether the comment was meant for the omega who dared bark or the alpha who dared scare by it, he surely seemed more taken by the former. 

Charmed smirk accenting his features as his pupils slightly dilated, the bubbles in his drink tickling what other hunger brewed in his gut. 

“I think we found tonight’s game, boys.”

Jaded duel-colored eyes had taken the same instinctive interest as his two partners. His head slightly tipped making his bangs fall shadily over the scar on his face as he smiled a complementary dark grin.

A curt chuckle escaped him before speaking. “Agreed…”

They were approaching midnight.

And she didn’t want to admit she was scared once the massive entrance split open like a floodgate and the large crimson moon was exposed to them, its red light spilling in and awakening something livid inside otherwise sophisticated tame beasts. 

She knew half was petrified and would remain in their cages even when they as well would unlock.

But she wasn’t one of them. 

She was staring ahead toward the foliage before her. At the thick coverage of trees only thirty meters ahead. Beyond the grass field she needed to cross first in order to slip past the thick trunks while running in the mud through the branches and roots and rocks to reach her freedom.

Keen eyes. So suspenseful you could see the adrenaline sharpen the red in her retina as she watched the digital clock mounted on the wall. The time of The Run nearing, her last chance fast approaching.

She was the only one to shift and people were noticing. 

Getting excited to see the pup try her adorable best.

She knew, were it not fellow omegas, she still wouldn’t be alone in the woods. 

In spite of it, she didn’t back down and instead embraced what little bit of extra power the moonlight gave her to shed her human skin.

Taking on the form best suited for wilderness.

Bones broke and altered human anatomy first, before thick fur sprouted in an abundance. Starting at her nape like a mane running down her spine, before every inch was decked in a rich coat. Serving for better warmth. 

Paws with claws made for running took the place of fickle human hands and former measly nails. 

A pair of eyes that would better guide her through the thicket emerged last. Adapted with the rest of the ensemble. The final touches in aiding her escape.

Her door opened the second the clock ticked double o’s, and off she darted like she’d been counting down from the last-minute shift. 

Three more seconds and she’d already reached past the clearing and entered the forest.

“And off she goes…” Cyan and grey eyes commented lazily as he watched the tiny thing disappear between the trees. Much quicker than expected. 

Almost impressive.

Almost too bad a distinct scent left a clear trail behind her. Sweet like ripe peaches.

“Seems like the only one.” Red eyes admired as he viewed the other sniveling Omegas still spellbound to the safety of their cages. Already being drooled over by swarming Alphas and Betas pitching their proposals with checks in hand.

“We have to give her credit for trying…” Green eyes gleamed up at the moon as he wrung his blazer off his shoulders and stepped out from his shoes. 

Almost shuddering by the ecstasy of the lunar eclipse. 

“Hopeful ones make for the cutest Omegas after all…” 

Her back paws only barely touched the ground as she maneuvered between the thick stems before her. Legs weighed down a bit by the gold bracelets cuffed on her. Her collar too, straining against her throat, added extra labor to her breaths.

Her ears shook at the sound of a gleeful howl behind her. Powerful where it bounced off the trees in an echo to reach her where she ran for her life. The sound of paws trampling the leaves soon followed. At least six pairs worth rumbling in the ground like thunder. Substantial in weight. 

She cursed with a growl. Her lungs already burning while her muscles screamed for a break once she heard the twigs start snapping at her sides. She gave the sound a quick glance before turning to face forward again.

Where, in the near closing distance, red lights glowed in the dark like the blood moon itself.

Her back paws pushed into the ground to halt her from crashing right into the looming figure. Ripping up the mossy forest floor beneath her before her feet caught on a bridged root. 

Tripping and sending her to the ground with a thud and an oof.

Her jaw in the mud, as she stared up at him with a wince. 

She gulped at the sight of the thick sturdy claws leveled with her eyes. Plunged deep into the dirt. Looking closer to a dragon’s talons than any canid she’d ever seen.

Gathering herself enough to rise. She began slowly backing away. Her head bowed and back hunched. A bit too frightened to look fierce.

She always thought that the boys in her class were large. 

Some girls too.

Saint Bernards and Mastiffs. And she’d seen some Hyenas in her life, and even Grey Wolves too.

But, this man…

He was beastly.

More like a bear than a dog with his bulk and size.

The teacher had schooled them about Dire Wolves. But she’d never think to ever lay eyes on one. She didn’t exactly feel lucky to have her thoughts proven wrong.

She’d been told Dire Wolves were the most aggressive of all canids…

Maybe he was one that preferred the taste of blood instead of mating. Maybe he was going to rip her open and eat her while her body was still warm. Stain his pale blond hair with her blood and his teeth with chunks of her flesh.

Spit out her bones when he was done.

A twig to her left snapped and her head snapped with it. Eyes growing ever more swiveled as she found another beast emerging from between the trees. Her hair on strict end and only tensing more when eyeing the new arrival of the same impressive and intimidating build.

Where for a moment she thought half of his white fur was caked with blood. Despite knowing how she would’ve smelled it if that were the case.

Another twig snapped to her right and she felt her odds thinning to the impossible.

But, once she turned to face the sound she couldn’t spot anything anywhere.

Until the luminescent green of his eyes distinguished themselves from the green of the forest, and the rest of his emerald fur exposed to her anxious gaze the more she struggled to spot him.

An excellent stealth hound. She bet, as her bones broke and healed to change her back to human. 

Now naked, though having more combat options.

She thought before the other three changed back as well. Steam rolling off tough naked bodies riddled with muscle from neck to toe.

And she realized her options were as slim as before.

“D’you really think you could make it?” An amused voice jeered haughtily, and she turned to eye the one who’d initially blocked her path. 

An explosive ash-blonde main pulled in every direction atop his head.

“Well, aren’t you a hopeful little bitch?” He gleamed with a wide set of pearly fangs bared in an awfully lofty grin.

“Manners, Kachan.” Another voice cut in. “You’re scaring the poor thing.” 

It was the last one she’d spotted. 

Purple marring ran up his arms gruesomely in stark contrast to his friendly freckled face. Green fluffy curls hung wildly around his ears, framing two large and even greener eyes.

“We wouldn't want that little Omega heart to give out, now would we?”

She didn’t know exactly why, but she already disliked him the most.

“Tch-” The man called Kachan scoffed with his grin still stretched wide like a crescent moon across his face. “If she wants to run with the big dogs- sooner or later she’s gonna learn what it’s like when the big dogs bite.”

The green-haired one, visibly exasperated with the other, sighed while resting his eyes. 

And then the last of the fray decided to speak up, his voice smooth and refined like early morning snow. 

Cold like it too.

“What do you expect when we don't put the mongrel on a leash?” He seemed to chastise, though bore the most indifferent expression while doing so.

In complete contrast to the counter, where Kachan’s glare immediately sharpened at the offender as he gave the comment a threatening growl. And the sound was so chillingly strangling she had to suppress a whimper upon hearing it.

“If I’m a mongrel, you’re a chihuahua, pretty boy. Eager to be carried around in Deku’s purse.” Kachan barked back with spit and spite. 

The Alpha’s insane canines flashed along with his growling, making her further shudder where she wide-eyed tried keeping track of the three threats before her.

Where the green-haired one decided to cut in through the bickering of the other two. 

“You’re both mutts.” 

And the slight edge to his tone seemed to make them both shut up.

“Question is…” He continued upon the requested silence. His attention now set to her again. “How do we get the pup to come quietly?”

The heat in his dark green eyes had her breathing thin and her body feeling cold and hot in flashes. 

“Tch-” Kachan scoffed once again. Shaking her from the spellbinding eye contact she shared with the other male to watch while the blonde took three thunderous steps forward towards her. 

Where she, despite feeling shocked numb, instinctively reached down to fish a rock up from the ground. 

“This whelp ain’t gonna listen to shit.” He proclaimed. “You said it yourself…. what she needs is to be put over a knee.”

Her eyes hardened even more upon that, her brows sinking into a low and sharp glare as she watched him brazenly step towards her.

“Look at me, pooch, and listen. We can either do this the easy way or the hard way.” The man stated. And though being naked and seeing naked wasn’t an uncommon happening among the species, she had to gulp nonetheless as she hadn’t ever really laid eyes on someone so…

Large.

“Oh please, Kachan.” Green-eyes interrupted him once again. “Quit the theatrics-”

“He can't help it.” The other rather quiet one snidely added. Further causing the blonde to bare his teeth with another growl.

“Shut up, Shoto.” He snarled back at the dual-colored one, and she learned his name was Shoto. 

Now only the camouflaged one remained.

“Excuse our partner…” Said man apologized. Also taking a step toward her. 

Lowering himself with an extended palm to where she kept low to the ground beneath the coverage of some large leaves, against the thick tree the trio had cornered and backed her up against. 

“He’s a cur. But, I promise you, come with us willingly and-”

His hand neared her and she decided she needn’t know his name to bark at him.

“Keep your fucking paws off me!” She roared and chucked the rock at the man. Who, unfazed and with a slight smile on his face, caught it in his fist as though he’d anticipated the attack.

“So hostile.” The supposed cur commented with red eyes as wild as blood flow. “Even towards you, Deku.” 

Grinning as he licked his teeth. His voice dipped into a low rumble close to the sound of a purr and either way a sound that had her toes curling into the wet dirt beneath her. 

“I like her already.” He breathed, and the man they called Shoto hummed in agreement.

His sharp eyes side-eyeing the other as he spoke. “You would. Wouldn’t you, Tsuki?” 

That made the blonde growl again for the third time, and while her brows furrowed at the entry of the new name she simultaneously wondered if he wouldn’t snap for the last time soon.

“But I do agree with you and Izuku…” He dismissed before the seemingly short-tempered red-eyed one could bark out another offended threat. “Wildlings are always the most fun.”

All the different names and nicknames thrown about indicated that they had a particularly complicated relationship. And with the heated looks in their eyes, she had the crawling feeling she was going to be the chew-toy in a dangerous game of tug-a-warbetween three Alpha Dire Wolves.

The man she was now fairly certain was the one they referred to as both Deku and supposedly Izuku as well eyed the rock he’d caught in his palm. Though, seemed to look past it into something that made his eyes glint with wicked excitement.

Those same vibrant vine-like eyes snapped to meet with her again and she believed the look alone was enough to cripple her even without the additional overwhelming musk that seemed to carpet all her senses, as though feeding some hunger deep down low in her gut, and rendered her dull and grossly satisfied. Caught somewhere between the sense of being knocked down to her knees and lulled into some false sense of safety. Either way, incapacitating.

“Grab her.” He commanded and the other two pounced within the split second.

She tried rounding the tree, clumsy in her haste as she grasped to stumble her way forward and away, but large rough hands snatched her before she could.

“Get off!” She tried growling, though only managed to whine. “No, stop- Let go of me you fucking dogs-” 

She twisted in their grip. Her waist hugged from behind as she was lifted against a very broad and warm chest. Her thighs were picked up by the one in front, same hands pulling on her tail playfully in the next moment, making her cry out a pretty little howl.

She had her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she flailed. Pitiful shakes of her head as her impending violation dawned on her, her cute growls of anger turning into even cuter whines of panic and then further devolved into the cutest of scared little cries and whimpers.

“Someone’s eager to be collared…” The man behind purred with a growl against her ear before biting down on the tip of it. His breath; hot and damp against her neck with his thick meaty arms snaked around her tiny shape as tight as the constricting strength of a boa.

“That’s all you Omegas want, right?” Another of them added. Voice in contrast to the prior, silvery and smooth but still taunting like his mate.

Hands, thrice her size, squeezed the plush flesh of her thighs and she wrenched with another bitterly broken protest. But her struggles mattered little to the bigger threat puppeteering her into straddling the torso in front.

Hot breaths on her face indicated someone was leaning in close, but she couldn’t bear to open her eyes. The sting of warm tears wet on her cheeks, lip caught between her teeth as she awaited the imposing stranger’s mouth on her.

But though the heat was present, the kiss didn’t come.

“Pets don’t want freedom, little one.” He taunted softly instead, condescending with the grace and skill of a true Alpha. “Pets want safety and comfort. Pets want masters.”

And even though she had her eyes tightly shut, she could hear the leer which painted his face. Haughty and salacious, dripping with sadism potent enough to make any little thing like her shiver and bow.

“Hmm…” He admired, his claw scooping a lock from her face with a minor scratch left in its wake, sending a new slew of tears to go rolling down her cheek. “But, nothing’s cuter than a pet not knowing their place.”

She felt another warm breath fan against her face and bit down on her lip even harder to suppress the feeble whimper it caused. Where too much blood rushing about her ears rendered them too hot and useless in hearing the additional approaching footsteps coming from the forest.

But the three males, with Alpha instincts running on adrenaline and those raging owner-sick urges spiked by sweet and sweaty Omega pheromones, were on high alert and nowhere close to being as handicapped by the moment as the bewildered little thing they’d snagged on their teeth.

All three pairs of glowing eyes menacingly glared towards the source of the late arrivals.

“Aw…” Someone bitched. “You caught her already?” They groaned and her eyes opened to look at those who spoke.

A group of Betas stood like wraiths between the trees, all eyes an ugly desperate yellow. And suddenly, with the twist in her stomach the sight of their unsightly sharp smiles brought her, she felt no desire of leaving the Alphas at all anymore.

“Shame...” Another Beta whined.

His head cocked to the side as he licked his lips upon the sight of the hopelessly outnumbered little Omega stripped naked in the Alphas’ much stronger arms.

“You willing to share?” He piqued. 

The tails of the rest of the onslaught all wagged aggressively behind them as they howled in agreement, the looks in their feral eyes having her regret running with every fiber of her body. Globs of drool dripping from canines that would surely snap at her to secure their piece.

She whimpered more upon hearing building growling in the trees surrounding the little clearing she’d been caught in. Unable to discern just how many there were. But, that just indicated that they were way more than what she could handle.

“Those that run are free game.” The Beta continued preaching amongst the fray. “We’re happy to take leftovers.”

He smirked and she swore it felt the same as being threatened with a knife.

“Ain’t that right, boys?”

The rest of the crowd jeered. Laughing like jackals. All hungry eyes fixed and spiked in her direction, eager to pounce. And though it was tough to spot in the darkness, it wasn’t easy to mistake why their hands all seemed to be tugging on something below their pelvis.

She made an uneasy sound while her own pitifully tiny hands subconsciously made to tug just a bit on the arms securing her, whilst her thighs tightened around the torso that had initially spread her against her will. Instinctively begging the big bads’ for safety against the rest of the threatening forest.

And as she felt herself being swallowed by the echoes of cheers and jeers around her, came an additional mortifying sound.

Threatening like none other. Low in the beginning, but rising, hums of a chuckle slowly building and amounting to a spurt of sudden laughter.

Deku broke off the howls of the surrounding onslaught with a manic chuckle, reeling her back. Haughty and loud and moon-drunk, he began cackling as though mad. The sounds reverberating throughout the woods, it didn’t shock her to see the birds take flight.

And once he finished, the rest of the forest was left dead silent.

His eyes, steely and condescending yet electric with livid luminescence, didn’t even bother to narrow as he blanked a stale look at the pathetic army of weaklings begging for a taste. And where she was held, goose-fleshed even on her cheeks and from her nape to her ankles, she was glad his gaze wasn’t directed at her when bearing that awful look of disdain.

The moon’s bloody glow gave the green-haired Alpha a menacing silhouette where he stood in the limelight. An epitome of dominance begging for just anyone to try and challenge him. She swallowed thickly thinking she’d see him tear them all limb from limb in gory slaughter.

But he didn’t move. And she reckoned it was because none of them were even worth it to him.

“Scram, Beta scum.” Came his rust.

Low, dark, and deadly. 

The danger of it making everyone wince.

“She’s ours.”

All eyes were large with fear. Ears dropped down, some yelping and whimpering, the meek yielding cowards turned towards where they’d come from. Booking back with their tails tucked between their legs, some even spouting apologies as they ran.

But, she couldn’t notice any of it. As the much too threatening atmosphere had made her overwhelmed Omega-body take protective maneuvers. Her heart hammered so loud she felt it might run its course before she shut down.

Passed out and left just a little sleeping beauty in the three Alphas’ many secure arms.

(stay tuned for part two)

TIP-JAR

[marvelstars]

Anakin is the bridge that binds the fantastic with the realistic in Star Wars and that was his tragedy

Following my comments about Padme and Anakin, I wanted to argue that even without involving the dark/light side of the force or the force in general, Padme´s actions on ROTS are not unhinged at all, even in real life Padme´s choice makes complete sense.

“I will safe keep your good heart, Dear One, until you are ready for its return.”

Vader’s Dream - A Visitation from Padme by Kirk Reinert (source)

In real life terms Anakin was suffering of a psychotic break/emotional breakdown, when that happens people need attention in psychological crisis, medication, tranquilizers and if necessary, food, water, being taken to a safe place so that they do not hurt themselves or others, Padmé as Anakin´s wife and next of kin would be the one to make the decisions of what to do for his treatment. What we don´t do in real life with people on Anakin´s situation is to burn them alive with their limbs shopped off.

Lucas did something interesting here because Anakin is THE CHARACTER who bridges the fantastic myth of star wars world and connects it with real world suffering like slavery, grooming and mental unstability

Lucas bassically went by the book to bring Anakin to this point on ROTS and the novel is even more concrete, lack of sleep, lack of food, Palpatine 24/07 giving him paranoia agaisn´t his loved ones, isolation from loved ones, people who would care, he even made sure Padme and Obi-Wan thought Anakin shared his ideas for the republic, so they started meeting in secret for rebellion bussines and didn´t tell Anakin anything, giving support to Palpatine´s arguments they were seeing each other and when Anakin weakly tried to argue some of Palpatine´s points, while being almost delirious, he could not do so for long.Remember the way Palpatine pushed Luke in the throne room in ROTJ to make him fall to the darkside which he almost did? that´s what happened to Anakin for an entire week, after 16 years of grooming.

Basically Palpatine´s order to make Anakin his representative at the Jedi Council was part of his plan to isolate and break Anakin´s will and allow him to fall faster, with him being the only figure around ready to "help him" making him dependent on him and only him and this had the added benefice of the Jedi Council distrusting Anakin even more than usual, leaving him alone with his groomer/father figure just after coming back from war with a deep fear of losing his family, connecting it with his trauma over losing his mother.

Anakin´s story is written as a classic tragedy but that was supported by real life ailments.

This is why Lucas said his story with Anakin in ROTS is about someone you thought was evil but who in reality was a victim and Vader´s story is all about him trying to regain his humanity, not just from the consequences of his actions but also from his groomer, slave master who he loved as a father, because Palpatine himself as twisted as he was, seek to develop that kind of relationship with Anakin.

Padme and Luke just happened to be the characters who noticed what was really happening with Anakin behind Darth Vader´s mask.

[super-paper]

MVA Appreciation Post? MVA Appreciation Post.

Rereading MVA with the benefit of some hindsight really makes me appreciate just how well-crafted it is as a story arc. Like, pretty much every aspect of it was tailor-made for the sake of exploring Tomura (like....!! even the conflicts & themes explored thru other characters are still ultimately written to service Tomura's character in ways that only a completely insane person can appreciate, lol.)

Mostly just listing some observations and things I like abt MVA that I feel lay the groundwork for Tomura's entire character + arc:

There's a lot of significance to Tomura fighting quirk based cults back to back in the same arc that delves into his own upbringing under AFO, I feel! There's also significance to his indoctrination into villainy under AFO mirroring ReDestro's indoctrination by the Meta Liberation Army. Both Tomura and ReDestro are framed as believing that they made a personal "choice" to walk this path, when in reality they were both groomed into their respective roles by predatory adults.

Underrated and potentially devastating detail that I (a known sicko) enjoy : Tomura and ReDestro aren't even allowed to choose their own villain names after being baptized into villainy.

This part is especially glaring when you contrast it with the earlier chapters, where Class 1A is actively encouraged to *choose* their own names and really think about what sort of hero name best represents them. Even when the kids ultimately choose names that others gave them (Izuku), and even when they resolve to take up the mantle of their family names (Iida)-- the distinction is that they are still very much naming *themselves* and not being named by other people. They are all allowed to assign their own meaning to their chosen hero names. There is a choice.

In contrast, Tomura and ReDestro's villain names are not an expression of their identity, but a suppression of it.

The idea of inheriting a "will" or "name" that completely consumes your own is already in play, and it only gets worse from here!

Masks are also a big theme! MVA literally opens with the LOV wrecking a group of fantasy bigots who hide behind masks.

Spinner doesn't hide his own identity behind a mask, rather, he hides his lack of identity through cosplaying as someone else.

Jin and Himiko have their "masks" forcibly removed during their respective battles-- Jin is able to verify and assert his own identity, which allows him to discard his mask for the remainder of the battle. Himiko instead scrambles to put her "mask" back on in response to Curious claiming that she's secretly miserable.

Compress gets half of his mask shattered at the same time that his aloof "we're villains not a friendship club!!" façade begins crumble, and he becomes more and more vocally concerned for Tomura's safety. This bit of symbolism is repeated again during the PLW, where the whole mask comes off once he finally admits he loves the LOV and very nearly kills himself in an attempt to save them.

AFO's face is constantly obscured by shadows, but it otherwise remains completely uncovered-- indicating that the "kindly face" he shows to Tomura is, in fact, a mask in itself.

And here's where Hori's brilliant art direction comes into play! Tomura decays Kotaro's hand-- the very symbol of his own rejection and suppression that he has worn as a mask since his debut-- but he does not embrace his identity as Tenko. The blood from Tomura’s head injury now creates the visual of a mask as he instead embraces his identity as "Shigaraki Tomura", the symbol of fear who exists to beckon acts of mourning into the world. (and the blood mask also resembles the dark shading that constantly obscures AFO’s true face in the flashback chapters! ...as does the creepy permasmile Tomura has for the rest of the arc! :D )

Visually, it also resembles the way ReDestro's (stress-powered!) quirk starts spreading across his face like a mask whenever he starts vomiting up MLA propaganda and ranting about the """glorious""" burden he inherited from the original Destro. (😬)

The mask imagery is even more explicit in the anime, where the red really makes the whole thing pop:

lowkey it's hilarious that a good chunk of Tomura's story is told through a mix of visual story telling and symbolism, but he also happens to spend half his screen time shirtless and distracting ppl from said symbolism with his eight-pack.

Seriously tho', it's little stuff like this that really cements MHA as a story that's even more enjoyable when you reread it. Moving on!

Curious 🤝 AFO, Being creepily affectionate with the victim whose story you plan to rewrite and exploit for your own gain

Toga’s failed/rejected martyrdom at the hands of Miss Curious foreshadowing Tomura’s successful martyrdom at the hands of the PLF and AFO-- the inherent dehumanization that comes with martyrdom and turning others into a "symbol", the lack of actual care for the martyr/symbol as an individual, and the idea that Tomura has always been a sacrificial lamb that's lurking just below the surface of every aspect in this narrative. Curious wants Toga to die to fit the MLA’s narrative, AFO wants Tenko to die to fit his own personal narrative— neither Curious or AFO care about Toga or Tomura as individuals, nor do they care about saving them from their circumstances. Because to Curious and AFO, their only value lies in fulfilling a certain narrative-- and that narrative is only fulfilled through their deaths. Both AFO and Curious WANT these stories to be tragedies, and you only beat someone like that by refusing to follow their script.

"Let's turn your death into a tragedy! You'll become a martyr whose tale serves as a parable for the ages!" "I'll shape him! Mold him! He will be a symbol of fear who lusts for destruction!" Toga and Tomura are both depicted as lacking agency in how their respective stories are told-- Toga manages to lash back against Curious' attempts to commandeer her narrative, but Tomura ultimately finds himself written into a corner by AFO.

The manipulation of media and the '"truth" being a reoccurring theme in MVA through both Curious/Skeptic, and this being foiled with the way Tomura’s own memories/perceptions of his past are called into question multiple times throughout the arc. In the same chapter where Skeptic discusses his plan to edit the footage captured in Deika to make the LOV look like they're the aggressors and the MLA look like brave heroes, we have Tomura lamenting how his memories are like a busted movie recording. He compares his memories to film snippets at the start of the arc, too.

Tomura's perception of his past being directly influenced by his traumatic upbringing under AFO is something that goes without saying at this point, so I won't beat that dead horse any further-- but it's legit fascinating how Hori lays out the groundwork for the readers so that we naturally reach the conclusion that Tomura's recollection is something that we are meant to doubt.

Yet another notch on the long list of Tomura wearing clothes that other people chose for him, reciting words written by others as if they were his own (.....l-literally reading from a cue card lmfaoooo it could not be any more on the nose if it tried 😭😭😭)

but seriously i could write a a ton on how Tomura's lack of agency with his own clothes is Very Much a Thing in The Story, and how him no longer bothering to self-style after MVA and just letting others dress him up however they want (or y'know... just not bothering with clothes at all!) is one of the best stealth indicators of where his mental state is actually at.

(tl;dr tomura asserting that he's "definitely his own person" and that he "controls himself" when he doesn't even have the agency or energy to dress himself the way he wants and is constantly getting treated like a life-sized dress-up doll by other villains is another one of those understated parts of the series/tomura's character design that makes me Big Depressy)

But!! When Tomura DOES actually add his own flair & individuality to his fashion, he generally accessorizes with things that tie him to the hero side and his identity as Tenko (red shoes as a connecting thread to Izuku, long flowing capes that connect him to heroism)

What "liberation" does to a mfer

As an aside: ReDestro feeling liberated from his stress as Tomura starts laying waste to the MLA/Deika (but still failing to break free from his grooming despite this!) serves as a dark parallel to Tomura “breaking free” from vestige!AFO during the final war, but still insisting that destruction is all he wants. Both Tomura and ReDestro have been prisoners their whole lives, and thus, have no frame of reference for what true freedom is. They both come so close to having a Realization About What They Truly Want™ only to immediately fall back into what they’re familiar with (ReDestro has always been a follower of cult forced to masquerade as its leader, Tomura still thinks that he wanted his family to die and takes the catharsis he felt from destroying his abusive home as evidence that he was always secretly bad). Hori is horrifyingly realistic in his depictions of the hold that grooming has on people.

Like. It's also the way that Tomura and ReDestro’s quirks are both powered by their misery, but they're surrounded by people who fail to see this as a bad thing and instead choose to romanticize their strength as something they can use to make their "dreams" into reality (and the unspoken question: is it really a "dream" if chasing after it makes you completely miserable? We have a different word for dreams that hurt you, boys!).

I'll stop here bc this is already too long, but man, every time I revisit this arc I notice something new (and horrifying) about Tomura's character. It's literally the gift that keeps on giving.

[furiousgoldfish]

I wasn't going to write personal posts on this topic, but this one is for all of the people who insist we are not allowed to call out narcissists for their actions, we are not allowed to call it 'narcissistic abuse', and what we're doing by saying that, is in fact, stigmatizing and marginalizing a group of people with a disorder.

I understand all of you want to be kind, and not accuse someone of being abusive, if they're presumed to be struggling with a disorder. Being accused yourself, that you're creating stigma if you do it, can feel uncomfortable and wrong. And to accuse those who are struggling the worst, of stigmatizing if they speak up about abuse, can be devastating.

Stigma, however, is not created in small, isolated communities of people who have no public voice, it's not created in the space where people go when they have nowhere else to turn to. The public does not listen to victims, they listen to the framing that makes it the easiest to ignore abuse. Which is, coincidentally, the abuser's narrative.

Hearing that narcissists are to be protected and that to say otherwise is evil, can easily take vigor if the most loud, aggressive and forceful people are yelling it, in a community of mostly scared, vulnerable individuals. So you relent and decide, it's simply kind to just defend whoever has a disorder, no matter what it is, no matter the consequences. You find it easier to not do research, to not look at reality, but pick whatever is the most convenient. If people yelling the loudest are saying 'narcissistic abuse doesn't exist! you're hurting people by saying it does!' then it's the easiest to repeat it and accept that it's right.

So now let's scale back a bit, and look at what is going on specifically in the community of abused and traumatized people on tumblr. You have a group of people who are claiming that the narcissists abused them, who can recount horrific, devastating, destructive, traumatic and severely damaging experiences of abuse by narcissistic parents or partners. People who have developed dissociative disorders, complex trauma, chronic conditions and a whole ordeal of mental disorders due to the extensive, long lasting abuse. Most of these people were children, when exposed to the narcissists. Most of these people have loved those narcissists with all of their hearts. For the most of them, it took half of their lifetime to realize abuse was going on, and that their symptoms were not imagined or without a cause. These people have been tortured, and are looking for a safe space.

You also have children here who are currently being abused, who are telling horror stories of their current reality where they're used, exploited, controlled, violated, their identity and humanity erased, who exist only as a resource to the narcissists. They're looking for a way to recognize what is happening to them, why are they feeling this awful, and how to get out.

And of course, you have people in this community who have been abused in other kinds of circumstances and by other kinds of abusers, and we're all trying to figure out what the truth is, who to blame, how to get out of abuse, how to gain freedom, how to stay safe. So it's a community of heavily traumatized individuals, most of them very vulnerable to future abuse, a lot of them children, a lot of them abused and sensitive to other kinds of grooming and abuse.

Narcissists are infiltrating this specific community and demanding to be promoted as safe and non-dangerous, to these specific people. They're not trying to appeal to general public, to psychologically healthy, to people who have resources and community to protect themselves from abuse, no, they're aiming at this specific, already-abused, already groomed, vulnerable, struggling, traumatized community of people, and threatening to smear-campaign, cancel, expel and banish anyone who doesn't accept to view them as harmless.

Why would they do this? Which safe and harmless person would put themselves in a group of traumatized and vulnerable people to bully and threaten them for the sake of 'public image' and 'erasing the stigma'? Tell me what is humane about this. Tell me what is humane about asking a victim of narcissistic abuse to be narcissist-positive on their trauma-related blog. Tell me what is normal about telling a victim of torture to say positive thing about their torturer, or to be expelled from their community as a punishment.

You are extending our torture. You are now the extension of our trauma.

And when you're out here saying 'not all narcissists', tell me how do you know which ones then? Do you know that if you're saying this to a child, they might then happily accept a narcissist in their life, who then might end up torturing the kid? You don't know which ones are dangerous, and neither do they. Are you okay with that? Can you feel peace in your heart knowing you helped this to happen? Can you look at yourself knowing you went and claimed, to a vulnerable, or already-traumatized child or a vulnerable person, to accept this potentially dangerous individual in their life, who then hurt them? Will you tell them it's their own fault and to 'stop claiming narcissists are abusive' if they confide it to you?

You're not even thinking of what will happen to those kids. I was left with narcissists alone. I was locked up in a basement. I was beaten. I was forced to play games where I would end up inevitably tortured and told it was my fault for 'losing'. I was brainwashed into believing that I'm not a human being. I was denied food if I didn't do as I was told. I was brutalized and almost murdered. I was told I would be dead if I tried to escape. I will never recover.

And I'm not even one of the worst cases. Children have been thru worse. Children are going thru it right now.

If you feel safe recommending to children and the vulnerable, to go and accept narcissists in their life, this is what you're risking. This is what some of them are capable of. You don't know which ones. Are you really going to use children and most vulnerable people in society, to test and see if the narcissists would torture them or not? You're really going to tell them to go and associate themselves with a group that has a high count of predators, just so that the predators in the groups wouldn't be upset or feel excluded? Just so you'd feel safe from being told off by them? So you wouldn't have to deal with them?

If you can put kids at risk and feel like you've done nothing wrong, then I don't care what else you have to say. You can no longer pretend not to know. You can't pretend that defending narcissists is a kind gesture. You can't pretend to be 'inclusive' when you barge into a community of victims and tell them to shut up about the abuse they worked so hard to recognize. You can't pretend you're faultless when you insist that the most vulnerable people in the population should be accepting and positive about the most dangerous group to them, so you'd have it easier, so you wouldn't have to even look at what narcissists have already done to us.

We're not your shield. We're not here to be scapegoats for your cowardice. We're not sacrificing children because it's so easy and convenient to bow down to bullies. It's been enough of this. Respect our boundaries. We don't want narcissists to have access to us.

[commander-krios]

Everything

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Rolan/Dammon Rating: Teen Summary: Rolan's had little time to himself since becoming the Master of Ramazith's Tower. Thankfully, he has friends willing to help him get a break. Words: 3924 Additional Tags: Gift Exchange, Tieflings, Romance, Love, Valentine's Day, Fluff, Post-Canon

Read on AO3

Elturel Tiefling Camp Discord Server Exchange treat for a few Dammon/Rolan lovers!

Rolan had begun taking his midafternoon meal breaks at the Elfsong Tavern, away from the bustle of Sorcerous Sundries. The first reason being it was quieter in the tavern during that time of the day, the majority of the inn’s guests sleeping off their nightly overindulgences while the rest made day trips into the city. The second reason was it made it more difficult for Cal to seek him out with questions about the mundane things, those things that could’ve waited the hour he took to eat and catch up on some reading. This was easier, simpler, and he could sit and ponder his own thoughts before trudging back to some disaster or another at the store.

When someone slipped into the unoccupied chair at his table, however, he was beginning to think that the Gods themselves were plotting against him.

“You look bored.”

Lakrissa watched him with a grin, pushing a glass of wine towards him. He eyed the drink suspiciously before glancing up at her, taking in the perfectly groomed ponytail that tumbled over her right shoulder, her chin propped in her hand, elbow on the table in an undisciplined manner.

“I didn’t order that.” Rolan said instead, ignoring her probing gaze to bury his nose in the book again. She didn’t take the hint, only nudged the glass closer to him. It was a bribe, he realized. For what, he had no idea. “What do you want, Lakrissa?”

She raised her eyebrows before a laugh escaped her lips. “Want? There’s nothing I want from you, mage-boy.”

“Then why-”

“Think of it as a thank you.” She reached into the little pouch on her side, pulling out a scroll, setting it on the table between them. 

Rolan stared at it, immediately recognizing the fancy calligraphy and stamp on the document. Swallowing nervously, he lifted the glass and drank deeply, refusing to be baited into the conversation. She had no proof it was him. The silence between them was tense, but when he finally returned the half finished wine to the table, he cleared his throat, glancing away from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not stupid. You’re one of the only people who knew about the bard school. I figured it would be denied. Anti-tiefling sentiment is still high after all of this time, especially so soon after Elturel.” Lakrissa returned the scroll to her bag and replaced it with a hastily scribbled letter. Rolan knew Wyll Ravengard’s handwriting mainly from their recent correspondence. There was no mistaking it. “Wyll said you made a convincing argument about opening a school in a letter. His father approved it because of you.”

“I-”

“You don’t have to say anything, Rolan.” Lakrissa told him, securing the letter with the scroll once more. “You owed us nothing, but you helped anyway. So thank you.”

Rolan blushed, fingers trailing over the page of the tome in front of him. He liked Lakrissa, she was one of the only people who saw the reality of their situation from the start. Elturel, goblins, the shadow-cursed lands… and she continued on despite it all. Perhaps because of it all. Rolan had only made everyone’s lives more difficult with his ranting. But they’d still traveled with him and now he had the means to help everyone. He intended to use it.

But one thing he wasn’t expecting was sincere gratitude. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, his claws got caught in the strands of the hair loosened from his bun. “Uh, don’t mention it. Please, don’t tell anyone.”

At the pleading in his voice, Lakrissa grinned like a cat who caught the canary. Uh oh. “Oh, I won’t tell anybody. For a price.”

A groan slipped out and he buried his face in his hands. “Hells, what is it now?”

Lakrissa laughed, pouring another glass of Arabellan Dry. Then he watched through his fingers as she stood, tucking the chair back beneath the table. She glanced down at him thoughtfully, as if trying to best articulate what she wished to say. Or maybe she was trying to torture him more, he wouldn’t put that past her.

After a moment more, she sighed, waving towards the exit in the direction of Sorcerous Sundries. “Lia and Cal are worried about you.”

That was unexpected.

“Whatever for?” His hands dropped to the table and he had to resist the urge to grab the wine glass as a barrier against the uncomfortable thoughts that spun at the back of his mind. Worried? About him? All he ever did was worry about them, and now, they had everything they could’ve dreamed for. What was there to worry about?

“When was the last time you went out?”

Scrunching his nose in confusion, Rolan waved to their surroundings sarcastically. “What do you call this?”

“Hiding.” 

He scoffed in offense, but didn’t deny it. Because it was true in a way. He was hiding, mostly from Cal’s questions about the Sundries. “I was busy doing work before you so rudely interrupted me.”

“Oh, so rude of me to bring you wine.”

He rolled his eyes, noting her sarcasm but refusing to argue about something so stupid. She was being unusually nice today, but he figured she was as bored as he was, sitting here in the quiet tavern. If she wished to speak to him about something to alleviate that boredom, he’d gladly discuss wine, the latest novel, hells even the Gazette’s more recent gossip, but his personal life was not one of those things.

“How about this then?” She lifted the glass of wine and took a deep drink of it herself. Must’ve been a really slow day. “When was the last time you went out with Dammon?”

His blush deepened at the mention of the man who was… well, not quite his boyfriend, but something close enough. Digging his claws into the wood of the table, he caught the satisfied expression on Lakrissa’s face. She’d gotten under his skin and she knew it. “That’s none of your business.”

She let out a snort, refilling the wine one final time before setting it directly in front of him.

“Don’t you fret, mage-boy. Since you refuse to admit to doing something nice and taking the ‘thank you’ that comes with it, I’m going to find a way to thank you that you can’t refuse.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?”

“Think of it as a promise.” Ruffling his hair like he was one of the tiefling children, Lakrissa laughed when he reached up to knock her hands away in irritation. “And try to be less grumpy, Rolan. As much as it pains me to admit, you’re actually cute when you smile.”

Lakrissa waved before swiping the rest of the wine bottle from the table, leaving with his wild thoughts and burning cheeks. With one final look at the full wine glass beside his book, he pushed his chair back and made a quick exit, intending to put as much distance between him and the Elfsong as possible.

~~~~

“Alfira was here earlier.”

The next day immediately started off on the wrong foot. From the moment he’d woken up, a mischievous specter followed him, creating chaos everywhere he went. First, the lava elemental broke free of its compulsion, wandering outside and nearly setting a house on fire. Then, his projection started malfunctioning, and he had to stand at the desk for hours before Cal came down to relieve him. He’d also had to toss a few troublemaking kids out of the store for trying to steal one of Tolna’s books as a prank.

Gods, he still had a headache from the tongue lashing he’d gotten after.

And now he had to deal with this? It appeared Lakrissa wasn’t simply teasing him, after all.

Rolan glanced up from his accounting books, furrowing his brow at Cal’s words. There were very few reasons as to why the bard would show up at his store and he figured they all had to do with her girlfriend’s threat. “And? Did she say why she was here?”

“Yes.” Cal sauntered over to his desk before dropping a sealed envelope on top of his paperwork. “She left this.”

Rolan stared at the flowery pink paper envelope in concern. “And what is that?”

“Maybe you should open it and read it. It’s addressed to the ‘Master of the Tower’.” Cal sat beside the desk, putting his feet up on the edge. With a glare aimed in his brother’s direction, it only took a moment for Cal to get the hint and drop his feet back to the ground, a sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “I’m sure you already know what it says so please, enlighten me.”

Cal nodded, sitting up straighter and smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt. “They’re throwing a party. For the bard school’s opening. Alfira said it would be a huge favor to her if you came.”

Of course she did. It’d been weeks since he’d done much else besides sit at this desk and update the ledgers for the store: the vault inventory, the supply inventory, the accounting. Lorroakan hadn’t kept any sort of organization for the entirety of his time as Master of the Tower. Rolan didn’t even know if he turned a profit or steadily lost money.

“I have so much left to do-”

“Come on, Rolan. You helped them get the deed to the building. The least you can do is show up and celebrate with them.” Cal dropped his voice, his expression softening significantly. “You should go, have some fun.”

“Does everyone know about that?” Rolan sighed, feeling the fight leave him at Cal’s grin. He never did things for himself, but Cal and Lia… if it meant that much to them, he’d do it even if he hated every second. “Fine. But the moment somebody decides that I need to give a toast because I helped, I’m leaving.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. No one is willing to stroke your ego. It’s big enough as it is.”

Rolan coughed to cover the laugh that threatened to expose him. “I think you need to spend time with someone who isn’t Lia.”

“You’re just mad because she’s right.”

Ignoring the barb, Rolan realized he hadn’t seen his sister all week. She hadn’t lived in the Tower for a few months now. The Flaming Fist barracks were comfortable enough and Lia refused to spend every quiet moment with her brothers (or so she said), but she at least visited on occasion. Strange.

“Where is Lia, anyway?”

“Oh, uh…” Cal rubbed the back of his neck and averted his eyes to the floor, pretending to study the intricate tiles. Rolan didn’t need to spell detect thoughts to know that his brother was running through a hundred different excuses for their sister, before choosing what was most believable. Whatever was next out of his mouth was going to be a lie. “She’s… working?”

“Are you asking me or is that your answer?” Rolan tapped his feather pen against the envelope, tempted to open it to see the words for himself. “Because last I remember, Lia works the overnight shift.”

“She’s picked up some extra work.” Cal rushed to explain, standing as if that would stop the interrogation. “Alfira mentioned Dammon would be there. If that changes things.”

“Oh?” He tried not to sound interested, but gods dammit, it’d been too long since they’d seen each other. Maybe a public appearance among drunken bards wouldn’t be as awful as he thought. If he managed to avoid the singing. “I might be able to squeeze in a quick word with everyone.”

He almost missed the smile on Cal’s face as he slipped out of the door. “Whatever you say, Rolan.” 

~~~~

The Elfsong Tavern was in chaos when he set foot inside. Drinks were poured freely, multiple bards were singing off key between hiccups, and others were guffawing and cheering along with the song. Or perhaps it was songs. None of the tunes were the same. Rolan spied Lakrissa near the bar, a glass of wine in each hand. She weaved through the crowd, a bright smile on her face as she watched the revelry. It was all a bit much for him, but he’d promised Lia that he’d make an effort to connect with the rest of the Elturel survivors.

He could do this.

“Rolan!” 

He turned as Alfira appeared at his side, and without warning, she threw her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly against her smaller form. Using her lute must’ve given her a set of strong biceps because for a brief moment, Rolan struggled for air. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”

She smelled suspiciously like a fruity wine and when she glanced up at him, Rolan immediately noticed her flushed cheeks. “Already drunk, hmm?”

Alfira giggled, nudging his arm as soon as she released her hold on him. “No, silly. I’m having fun. You do know what that is, correct?”

Lakrissa slid up next to them, holding out one of the glasses of wine towards him expectantly. When he only stared back, she raised an eyebrow before thrusting it into his hand. “Take it, dumbass.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“It’s your favorite.” Lakrissa said, handing the second glass to Alfira who took it happily. He slanted his eyes at her, immediately suspicious. “Drink up. Enjoy yourself. There are plenty of drinks to go around.”

He briefly considered asking her what her ploy was. She was definitely up to something, but decided an argument was a worse choice than simply drinking the wine. So, with a forced smile, he took a long sip, waiting for the inevitable hammer fall.

Rolan wanted to leave, these types of events always made him anxious about performing well enough to be considered ‘polite and stimulating company’, but this was their party and celebration. Even if he didn’t particularly enjoy being around all of these people, it wouldn’t be proper for him to rush off. The wine hit his tongue with its familiar woodsy flavor, the berry lingering as he swallowed it down. Lakrissa watched him intently, her mouth twitching into a smirk as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“If the crowd is a bit much, there are some fabulous views from the roof.” 

“Why would I-”

Slipping her arm around Alfira’s waist, she turned back to the party, glancing over her shoulder at him with a conspiratorial look. “You can thank me later.”

Once Alfira and Lakrissa blended into the crowd, the sudden desire to flee tickled his mind. It would be so easy to disappear, to return to the Tower and forget this entire night happened. He figured no one would even notice, too drunk and invested in the party to realize that a guest was missing.

But he hadn’t seen Dammon yet.

And despite everything he’d thought earlier, he really did want to see him tonight.

The best course of action would be to go to the rooftop where it would luckily be quieter and wait until Dammon either appeared or he didn’t. Then, he could slink off into the night with no one the wiser.

~~~~

The roof of the Elfsong was much quieter, though the rumble of the party could be heard beneath his feet. With a quick sweep of his gaze, he noted the cushions set up beneath a pergola and a small table with chairs off to the side. The air smelled strongly of flowers: roses, lavender, and fuchsia, a tantalizing combination that helped to ease the anxiety in his chest.

He breathed deeply of the cool night air, not cold enough to need additional layers, but enough to make him shiver slightly as a breeze loosened his hair from his bun. With a disgruntled sound, he attempted to gather the hair in his hands but the wind made it impossible. 

“Leave it. I like it down.”

His hands froze, the strands slipping from his fingers, and he turned, his darkvision making it easy to see what he’d missed during his first sweep of the area. A pair of piercing blue eyes ringed in gold, golden hair pulled into a bun over an undercut, and a set of familiar horns. 

His breath caught at the sight. “Dammon.” 

The tiefling blacksmith slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, smiling up at him. He wasn’t wearing his usual garb, the things he wore in his day to day work. No, tonight he looked comfortable in a pair of dark slacks and a loose tunic, tucked into his waistband. Simple, but effective and Rolan couldn’t stop from staring.

“Fancy seeing you at one of these parties. I didn’t think you ever left that Tower anymore.”

Rolan flushed, grateful for the darkness and the wind blowing the hair in front of his face, if only to hide his embarrassment. “Yes, well, things have been busy. Swamped, really.”

Dammon’s gaze trailed over his robes, one of the dressier ones from Facemaker’s, bought at a price that he’d balked at before Lia forced him to hand the coin over. But with how the other tiefling’s eyes flitted across his chest at the gleaming gemstones and down the length of the sleeves at the elaborate embroidering, Rolan knew it was worth it. If only to be admired by him.

“Glad you could pull yourself away.”

There was no judgment, no anger or disappointment, just Dammon being… Dammon. Kind, understanding, accepting. He turned to walk to the edge of the balcony, his face hidden in the shadows. 

Rolan followed without even realizing it. They stood, side by side, so close that Rolan could feel the warmth of his skin on his own. It wouldn’t take much to reach out, take his hand, perhaps press a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“Lia’s been helping out at the forge.” Dammon’s admission pulled him from his thoughts. The blacksmith glanced down at the street below, watching as the people milled about, laughing and drinking and singing. The party was in full swing, yet here they were standing above it all, watching the city shed inhibitions and find joy in the mundane. They were safe, they were happy, and they were free. “She’s been trying to lighten my load so we could… have this.”

“Some time to ourselves without the crushing weight of responsibility?”

Dammon chuckled, leaning an arm against the banister, eyes on a fixed point in the distance. For a man who worked with weapons most of the day, there was something so soft about him. It’d taken Rolan too long to figure out what it was. His eyes. When Dammon looked at a person, he saw many things but the first and foremost was that he saw their soul. Not the facade they put up, but who they were beneath. At one time, it scared Rolan to be seen so deeply but now… now he craved the horrifying ordeal of being known by another person.

Of being known by this man in particular.

Rolan sighed as Cal’s sudden onslaught of questions, all in regards to the running of Sorcerous Sundries, began to make more sense. “It seems Cal was trying to do the same.”

The sounds of a lute and a lyre floated out of the windows of the Elfsong and people on the streets began to spin in a dance of wild limbs and stumbling feet, too drunk to do much else besides rocking back and forth or falling. The rest of the city stretched out ahead, lights flickering against a velvety black backdrop, the stars above burning as brightly as the streetlamps.

He didn’t know what possessed him. Maybe it was the Arabellan Dry still tingling on his tongue. Perhaps it was the beautiful sounds of Alfira’s lute from below. Or it could’ve very well been the fact that his family, his friends, the people who cared about him, had done so much to give him this peace. 

Rolan’s hand slipped into Dammon’s, noting how easily their fingers slotted together. 

He’d always wanted somewhere to call home. For years, it had been Cal and Lia and the little family they’d built out of the ashes of their lives. But the upheaval by the descent into Avernus, the difficult road traveled to Baldur’s Gate, Lorroakan and everything with the Netherbrain… he didn’t think he’d find happiness again, only pain.

He was grateful to be completely wrong.

“What are you-”

“Shh.” Rolan tilted his head to the side, nodding to the dancers below, a smile curling his lips. “Do you hear that?”

Dammon raised his eyebrows, amusement flitting across his features. “The music? It’s kind of difficult not to.”

“And what do people do when they hear music, Dammon?”

The blacksmith rolled his eyes, but his face softened more than Rolan thought was possible. He straightened, turning towards Rolan with expectation. “Why don’t you tell me? So I don’t get it wrong?”

Butterflies went to war in his stomach, but the challenge in Dammon’s eyes was intoxicating. He was going to make him say the words. Despite his intelligence, his knack for learning and doing things his own way, Rolan struggled with the right words. But action, that was easier. 

His free hand slid along Dammon’s waist, their entwined hands turned into proper position. When Dammon met his gaze again, his eyes burned like blue fire ringed in gold. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his heart pounded out like a war drum in his chest, but he managed to force a single question out before he lost his nerve. 

“Dance with me?”

Dammon’s eyes widened slightly before a grin spread across his face. His hand tangled in Rolan’s loose hair, strands sliding his fingers. Then he leaned in, lips brushing softly against Rolan’s, the contact a shock but a welcome one. His mouth was warm in the cool night, and he drank him in like a man who hadn’t touched a drop of water in days. His skin burned, his heart threatened to dance right out of his damned chest, and still, it wasn’t enough. 

Rolan shifted closer, wrapping both arms around Dammon’s waist, deepening the kiss with a swipe of tongues and teeth. Everywhere their bodies touched, Rolan felt like he was on fire, flames beneath his skin threatening to burn him to ash. And it would be a good way to go, he thought, as the kiss finally broke.

Because with the way Dammon was staring up at him, smiling like he was nothing more than a drunken fool, Rolan understood. What they had was important, as important as anything else in his life. And he was going to fight like hell for more nights like this.

“I thought we were supposed to be dancing.” Dammon whispered, breath ghosting against Rolan’s cheek as a laugh left his mouth. 

“Do you want to?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. “Dance, I mean.”

Dammon ran his hand through his hair again, but his gaze never slanted away. Chills ran down Rolan’s spine at the intensity of his eyes that he almost didn’t hear the words. “It was your idea, but I like this too.” His lips brushed against Rolan’s briefly before he pulled back, nothing but tenderness on his face. 

And Rolan couldn’t help but agree. 

This was nice.

It was everything.

[pearwaldorf]

You ppl talk about a fandom being different for everyone, safe place where ppl find happiness, to be graceful to ppl living it differently, but anyone who isn't a victim of rape doesn't have that grace, it's like saying they should shut up cause they're being a killjoy.

You ppl generally act as if his Survivors are totally divorced from gaimen's fandoms but they were in his fandoms, had he not raped them, they could be in them today! They could have been your mutuals, but gaimen took that from them, he harmed them, took their joy! Ppl would like fandom to be a fantasy land removed from any harm of Real World. Reality is gaimen actions hurt ppl, fandoms were never safe to many ppl. It's an illusion to call fandoms safe. Ppl like his victims are ostracised or need to remove themselvs from the fandoms, cause their hurt is not aknowleged, allowing ppl to let the illusion of safety to persist, shunning victims.

cw: Neil Gaiman, grooming

Oh for fuck's sake. This is out of the scope of my post, which was addressed specifically to people being shitty to each other about how they cope differently. Those people are spreading bad energy nobody needs, and they should shut the fuck up about it.

I'm well aware Gaiman picked victims who were fans of his. I saw part of the transcript of Claire's podcast where she talked about how she thought she'd been trained to associate his voice with comfort and safety. I had to stop reading at that point because I felt like I was going to throw up. I know exactly what she's talking about, because I have had that feeling too.

Fandom is composed of people, and in any group of people there are some who have been victims of gaslighting, abuse, rape, CSA. I know some of them, and they've been dealing with this too.

Regarding fandom being safe, point out where exactly in my post I said anything about that. Don't tell me, a female fan of color, about things I already know and have to deal with on the regular. And fandoms are not monoliths, where everybody's experience is the same. Some pockets can be safer and affirming of people's experiences and traumas, and I hope that is the space where marginalized people and victims/survivors end up landing.

It seems like you felt my post should have addressed things you think people need to hear. Maybe even you. If that's the case?

Talking about your experiences and trauma is something that can be emotionally heavy. It's not the same as spreading negativity. Feel free to do it as much as you need. In return, other people should be respectful and compassionate about it.

We should strive to make fandom as inclusive and welcoming as we can. It sucks to have to deal with the same bullshit we encounter in everyday life in places we use for escape. That involves acknowledging all sorts of experiences of its members, and that they intersect with the work in ways that can be weird and complicated.

I believe it's our obligation to make space for people to sit with these things and maybe come to some sort of conclusion about it. Or not. Sometimes you can think about a thing a lot and still not figure anything out.

Anyways. Be as kind as you can. It's the one thing I know that won't fuck things up.

[evilminji]

Why Dont More BNHA SI-OCs end up Animals?

No, seriously, Nedzu is both terrifying and an INCREDIBLE asset.

If you were a Villian. An ends justify the means sort of bloke, as it were, why WOULDN'T you try and make another Nedzu? Sure, he promises terrible, terrible, blood soaked Vengeance, the likes of which sane men fear to contemplate and madmen shudder to behold, but? It's not like THEY'LL get caught!

They are VERY smart.

They have a plan!

Are you catching the sarcasm? Cause they sure are catching these Probably A Stoat Hands! And a tire iron! No survivors! *Nedzu's back up coughs awkwardly* Fine. SOME survivors! But he's still upset.

He dislikes Labs.

And think about it! Really, what is more likely? Some rando has? Two(2) SEPERATE Quirks? One of which not only kicked pre-birth, but is continual and very likely the ONLY THING keeping THAT PARTICULAR SOUL in that body. While the other is? *spins the wheel* Meh. We'll figure it out later.

Those are VERY different Quirks!

They would require VERY different secondary adaptations. Some of which might CONFLICT. Fatally no less. It would also be a rather notable quirk mutation, from their parents.

Possibly HEREDITARY.

Gonna have your OC grapple with the reality the not ONLY have a Chronic, Life Threatening, Quirk Reliant Medical Condition. That if the ever get arrested, falsely or not, they better PRAY those cops both notice and GIVE A SHIT about their medical bracelet... or that's it.

One pair of Quirk Suppressing Handcuffs.

Any medical grade Suppressant.

They'll die. Plain and simple. Dressed up in fancy medical jargon, their body will just... given out. Like a puppets who's strings are cut.

Oh, and it's HEREDITARY.

Because Quirks run in bloodlines. And once a mutation happens? It's here to stay! So her/his/their KIDS all stand the chance of being yoinked from another world. And their grandkids. Great grandkids. For however long it takes to shift into something else.

Here's a brochure on adoption.

You know, assuming you live that long.

Is it a great idea to explore? Fuck yeah! Am I gonna do it? Fuck no! So free to a good home I guess, just lemme read it! But!! You know what SIDE STEPS all this?

Quirked Animals!

Perfect for all you dub-... actually, let's not lie to ourselfs, WILDLY UNETHICAL scientific needs! You can splice in genes for intelligence Quirks! Maybe you'll get it right! Ballpark it! So what if loads of them die horrifically? Something, something, in the name of progress! They tell themselves.

Nedzu :) Violently :) Disagrees :)

But he ALSO! Only soooorta gives a shit about... like a small handful of humans. A fellow Quirked Animal? Who needs Schooling and legal Gaurdianship? A guide to the world of humans?

Not to MENTION? My Ace ass love the concept? Of abstracting attraction!

Because!

You are a Cat.

You are a Quirked Cat. You Quirk allows you sentience and memories of being human. Do you still find humans attractive? Or was that your human body? Do you find CATS attractive? They are animals. Your mind rebels. But? Were two images, drawn upon a wall, presented too you? Which would be desirable to you now?

Well groomed fur? A charming grin?

No one and nothing?

You are a Cat. A teenager. Around you, your peers speak of dates and crushes and dreams of marriage in some far off future day. You struggle to reach the seat of your desk, too see the board properly. You have nothing you can add to their conversations.

Clothing feels oppressive and wrong against your fur.

It feels worse to be naked.

You are a Cat.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @the-witchhunter @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation