#why am i so angry at these children

[lecinea]

Listen, both Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian were shitty parents that fucked their kids (& wwx) up in various different ways. But I will forever be more sympathetic to a frustrated woman in a patriarchal society stuck in a toxic marriage than to the man who has power and authority to change something but refuses to do it because he doesn't like conflict and pretends like nothing is wrong.

[pynkhues]

first of all, thank you so much for sharing your take on the rebecca/iwtv parallel. rebecca is one of my fave books growing up and the metas i've seen so far have always rubbed me the wrong way. and i totally agree that there's a strong tendency in the fandom to water down the loustat dynamic into a gender binary (as evidenced by that anon with the accusatory tone even tho they explicitly headlined their msg as a race issue lol). anyway, i mainly wanted to say that I love your take on the agency vs autonomy question, bc i've always thought that one of the biggest and perhaps most controversial adaptive changes in the show, lestat dropping louis in s1, was precisely hannah/rolin's attempt to address lestat's lack of autonomy in the books, which to me was a brilliant move. but it also led some of the lestat-critical (or straight-up hating tbh) part of the audience to accuse the s2 writing of 'defanging' him, aka having things happen to him and being powerless to fight back, which, as you perfectly summarized, is exactly what happened in the books. and i think it can easily be read as one of the weaknesses of anne's storytelling (i did when I first read the books years ago). and for me, the drop (and lestat's subsequent guilt) reinjected some autonomy into lestat's arc, and was also very onbrand of him to commit such a horrific act stemming from rage, heartbreak, (and fundamentally) love that will forever impact his dynamic with louis. so i'm very happy with how the writers have balanced this issue so far, and very excited to see what they'll do in s3, and of course would always love to hear more of your thoughts on it.

(x)

You're very welcome, and thank you! Really interesting that you read Lestat dropping Louis as reinjecting some autonomy into Lestat's arc! I hadn't thought of it that way, but I think you could be right particularly now with the shifting context of their fight and the violence that preceded Lestat's act of brutality.

It's been interesting re-reading TVL lately and getting to the scene where Lestat badly beats Armand after getting triggered with memories of Magnus after Armand forcibly drinks from him. It made me wonder how much that scene informed the way Rolin and Hannah wrote the drop? It's of course not the same - Armand and Lestat have a very different power dynamic, especially at that point, to Lestat and Louis - but I wonder if it was also a way to both depict Lestat's very masculine and powerful temper, but also his knee jerk trigger point as a traumatised character? Both are so central to TVL and QOTD in particular, so to depict that in an intimate relationship early on in hte series' run is interesting to think about!

[solis-angelus]

a poem I wrote after seeing this post and many others on here.

Her name was Sidra Hassouna, and she was killed among the thousands of other people in Palestine. Never forgive never forget.

[mediumsizedqueerlynx]

i hate living in a chronically ill body i tell my friend a funny story about how i can't laugh without coughing and then tasting blood heehee haha and he pulls out the ol' reliable “that's not how it's supposed to work you should go to a doctor” and sends me some information and suddenly my brain clicks and goes “oh shit this really isn't my normal sick”

bonus points for me telling my mother “i want to make an appointment with my doctor because of the stuff i forwarded to you” only to be hit with the “you'd know if something were wrong” as if she didn't condition her children to dismiss every single symptom they ever had in favor of not missing school/work

this is the same woman whom i told for like a year that i have headaches and i can't read shit unless i sit close to the blackboard before finally taking me to an optician because my brother needed new glasses and i might as well tag along. yes i needed fucking glasses like i fucking told her. your child should not marvel at how pretty the sky is after a year of telling you that something is wrong because their sibling needed something and so they may tag along

but yeah no i'm sure i'd know if something was wrong and wouldn't dismiss it like everything else

[sysig]

The most cherubic little golden-haired baby boy (Patreon)

[astracora]

No wait I'm rewriting this to get my feelings out.

First of all, CN confirming that Caleb and MC were adopted, beyond being incredibly questionable and completely defeating half the fandoms arguments of 'gege is just a cultural thing' because. it's no longer just cultural, it is a legally binding contact that ties people into a family. If they weren't legally adopted that would make sense, but mixed with the LEGAL PROCESS and the term 'brother' makes it very family-lense. Is so fucking foolish, my brain hurts.

Because you can't just dissolve an adoption, its actually harder for an adoptee to cut ties with their adoptive family than it is for bios to do so. There are far more things in place for biological families to severe ties. It's also easier legally to do so. It certainly doesn't magically disappear just because someone died? That's actually ridiculous??

But also, its incredibly traumatic as a process to try to dissolve an adoption, and normally sits on the adopters shoulders to do, and pretty much always has to come before the process is finalised. You can't just go through every legal process, and then go 'actually changed my mind' and file some paperwork? There's an entire legal system in place... And even if it was easy to do. MC has LOST their family to death, and now is being told they don't HAVE family, because legally they're being shoved aside by a system that irl (while has its place), is incredibly corrupt???

In what world would a person face waking up one day, to a TEXT mind you, saying 'yo ur no longer bound as family to the only people who took care of you, godspeed, have a great day, oh ye pick up some paperwork I guess so we can really finalise how alone you are.'

You can complain about the translation all you want, but the way CN has framed adoption in general is disgusting, and the way it's being treated as a plot point actually makes my blood boil a little bit, and I think EN did the right thing in fully fucking ignoring it.

CN needs to get consultants, because adoption is already treated as either some peoples saviour complex, or some kind of subpar way to shove some kids into your family (because you have to i guess???). This entire thing is fucking ridiculous.

Also you can take this as Caleb critical if you like (it's not, it's PG-Critical if anything because I play the game and I'm not MC, and I don't think I am MC when I play), but he's also not a real fucking person, and he doesn't have to hear some of the shit people say about adoptees and live with it digging into his chest like a criticism of everything he can't control.

So maybe, just maybe, we need to stop making jokes about adoption dissolution, and give the 'they're not blood siblings so its ok' shit a rest. AND MAYBE, we need to just accept y'all can like Caleb, and still criticise things, because critical thought is actually a really good thing to practice.

[phlyaros]

the amount of work transmeds n sysmeds n terfs will put in to ensure theyre miserable and alone forever is crazy. i guess when the agony is optional perhaps it has more appeal i've definitely contemplated breaking bones just so the pain was different like I understand misery incredibly well just like. man. you could like change and you would probably feel a whole lot better and have more friends and feel more stable????

[bugwolfsstuff]

See I would love to talk about my religious issues (still not sure if it's trauma) but i fear that if I say it out loud i'm gonna burst into tears

[hauntingblue]

The episodes at the baratie are good if you ignore the big fucking elephant in the room that is sanji. Which is you know not a thing that can be easily ignored

[kenobster]

I agree that Anakin is, at the very least, a little fucked up... but I do not agree that he feels no remorse. Dude murders an entire village but he can't even say "I slaughtered them like animals!!!!" without sobbing like a baby about it lmao

[lith-myathar]

.

[fragglerockopinions]

You're supposed to ask for help. If you don't ask for help you're never going to get help and you will be condemned for being useless and taking no actions to help yourself. If you ask for help. no one is going to help you. you are not allowed to wish that anyone help you or expect anyone to help you or you are a selfish piece of shit. you are not allowed to wish things were better. You're not allowed to ask for help actually because you are selfish and you didn't think about how others might feel being put in the vulnerable and intimate position of being asked for help. your friends did not consent to being asked for help or explained why you've been having problems and you should have thought about the way they felt before you forced them to read your texts asking them for help. I'm not even joking I should just kill myself because there is actually genuinely no such thing as getting better or getting help or being a good friend ?

[violetwolfraven]

God I hate Pinterest and I really need to stop reading the comments on literally any post on there

I just saw someone straight up say they’re afraid that show fans who haven’t read the books are going to take over and dominate the fandom and they’re afraid that their memories of the books are going to get overridden by memories of the show because of new show fans, and that’s a good reason to gatekeep.

Like okay, just say you’re a party pooper and go home.

Yeah this is about Percy Jackson but I’m not gonna tag it as that cause I don’t wanna get hunted for sport

[queen0fm0nsterz]

Incredibly tempted to write an analysis of each member of the Garuru Platoon both individually, in relation to each other, and in relation to their "counterpart" in the Keroro Platoon

[biromanticwritergal]

So I'm signed up for this online 30's speed dating event for WLW and sapphics right?

Here's the thing: It looks like they aren't even bothering to regulate it at all because I see tons of people who aren't in their 30s and even some men are listed in the people who are signed up for the event.

What's even the point of a specific event for 30 something WLW if just anyone can join it? :/

[starry-bi-sky]

Just as it was in the air, the drive to wherever they're going is a mess of orange-streetlight smeared blurs and rapid-passing buildings. Danny keeps his head rested against the door, forehead pressing against the cold window, and breathing slowly through his mouth.

From his unfocused peripherals, the man -- of whom with the passing lights, Danny can see is dressed as... some kind of bat? Honestly, not the weirdest thing he's ever seen. -- routinely keeps glancing over at him. He's never seen someone grip a steering wheel so tightly.

"Do you know what your godfather poisoned you with?" The man eventually asks, his voice just as soft and raspy as it was in the air.

It takes Danny a moment to realize he spoke at all, his brain sluggishly catching up to his ears. "Hrm?" He blinks, lifting his head. Danny regrets it immediately, his vision swims nauseatingly and blurs dangerously. He rests his head again. "Oh. Y'h. A flow'r called blood bloss'um."

They pass a streetlight, shining just enough light that Danny sees the Bat-Man's lips purse. Danny's mouth opens, but he makes no sound, his mind trying to find the words he's looking for. "I'z- it's extinct."

He huffs a laugh just as the man snaps his head to look at him, regretting it with a sharp cough and a feeling of dust in his lungs. Weakly waggling his fingers to make jazz hands, Danny slurs; "Shcience."

A coughing fit overtakes him then, and without the adrenaline of flying and running away from Vlad to distract him, the ache and burn of consistently coughing returns and hits hard and sharp. He's been stabbed before, and somehow this still hurts more.

(Well, one is being stabbed. The other is the result of a toxin made from a flower specifically evolved to eat ectoplasm. Something Danny is 50% made of.)

Whining low and through grit teeth, Danny turns and curls back up into the corner of his seat, arms boxing over his head as if that will make him hurt less. Tears spring into his eyes, and he tries to use the feeling of breathing to distract himself.

If he's still breathing, everything will be okay.

Wherever they're going, he hopes they get there fast.

----

("You're a hero, right?" The boy said, but the way he said it made it sound like he was only asking as a formality. That of course Bruce was a hero, it was obvious.)

(He didn't know how to tell him that no, he wasn't. Then he didn't have the time.)

Bruce's hands would be shaking if it weren't for the white-knuckle grip on the car's steering wheel. Every time he focuses back on the road in front of him, his eyes are drawn back towards the boy coiled like a ball in the passenger seat.

He can't tell if it's rage or fear that's making his arms tremble.

The boy -- Daniel, if the voice of his godfather was to be believed -- is small. Bruce could wrap his thumb and forefinger around his wrist, and he's positive they would touch. A waifish, slip of a thing, and Bruce thought he'd been small as a child. His clothes -- simple, unremarkable; a hoodie that hangs off his shoulders and a band shirt he doesn't recognize -- look too big on him, and Bruce wonders if Daniel even knows he's shivering.

This was not how Bruce thought his night would be going -- he was following a lead on Falcone and his people. Now he was rushing back to the cave with a boy who couldn't be any older than fifteen, a boy who was dying of poison because of his godfather.

Hurt and fury bubbles beneath his ribs.

(Who does this to a kid?)

He glances at Daniel again. Messy, sweat-slicked black hair clings to his forehead, and gathers around his ears. It looks like it hasn't been cut in months. He's unnaturally pale, and Bruce isn't sure if his paleness is from the poison, or his natural color. It highlights the dark circles beneath glassy blue eyes, peering unfocused and teary out from lidded eyes.

The blood dripping off his chin is damning and stark against his skin. Some of it is half-dried against his cheek, but most is a horrifying dark red and wet, staining down his throat and into his shirt. Every time the boy coughs, Bruce fears that blood will spill from his mouth next.

He breathes in shakily, and swerves around a left corner. The boy moves with the momentum. Bruce throws his arm out to catch him, and keep him in his seat, the boy jerks, and grunts quietly.

Guilt turns the back of Bruce's neck red. That, and embarrassment. "...Apologies." He murmurs, retracting his hand quickly. Daniel blinks slowly, Bruce nervously keeps an eye on the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

He's pulled away when, much to his surprise, the boy smiles. It's weak, barely even there and trembling like the rest of him, but glazed in fondness. "S'ok'y." Daniel mumbles, blood sticking to his mouth as he slumps back into the corner. "M'dad drove the same way."

...There were a lot of questions there. But the hurting, discomforting squeeze of Bruce's heart turns his tongue to lead. His throat swells shut, grows a cancerous lump, and keeps his lungs thick. "..Hh."

(What does he say to that?)

A silence, ugly, falls over them again for a few minutes more. Bruce should keep the boy talking -- it's confirmation that Daniel was still alive, still breathing, Bruce hasn't failed yet -- and yet, he can't think of a single thing to say.

They're coming close up on the cemetery, Bruce turns down the road leading to it. His eyes flick to Daniel again. The boy is staring at him, the sickly yellow streetlights catching shadows on his face, leaving a glow lingering in his eyes.

(In his lazy eye, his mind tricks him into seeing a corpse. Bruce suppresses a flinch, and looks over again.)

(Daniel is still breathing. Good. Good. Good.)

He breathes in shakily, something dark and angry rearing its head once again. Who does this? Who does this? He grits his teeth, biting back the scowl pulling on his face.

("You're a hero, right?")

(No, but for now he can pretend he is.)

----

They end up in a tunnel somewhere. Danny's not quite sure where, but the road gets bumpy and the uncomfortable, rough jostling brings a groan out from him. His eyes pound in their sockets, the discomfort ricocheting to this temples and circling to the back of his head.

His head lolls, and Danny shoves it back against the seat with a thud, ignoring the dull pain it rings through his skull. "Are w'there yet?" He asks, blood spilling into his mouth that he tiredly tries to spit out. He's done with drinking it instead.

The numbness he'd been so graciously left with was starting to fade now, returning back to a burning, rhythmic soreness spreading through his limbs. It clustered up around his joints, feeling like pins and needles in his fingers and down his spine.

Bat-man guy grunts shortly, shifts the gearshift into a new position, and glances over to him for the nth time that night. "Almost."

Almost. Almost was... good? Probably. Hopefully. Danny doesn't give a response, just nods mutely.

The car comes to a stop some minutes later, parked in a wide open space with LED lights spread erratically through the floor that hurt Danny's eyes.

Bat-Man barely has the car in park before he's flying out of his side. If Danny didn't know better, he'd have thought the man had phased right through the metal. That's not what happened, and he watches the guy zip around the front of the car to his side.

He's barely understood that he's even gotten out of the car before Bat-Man has Danny's door open. He jolts involuntarily, sitting lame in his seat as Bat-Man gets him unbuckled and pulled out of the car.

The lights are still painfully bright in Danny's eyes as Bat-Man pulls him out, and he whines involuntarily, tilting his face inward to hide it against the armor-weave.

"--sleep at a reasonable-- dear god! What happened!?"

Oh, forget the lights. Danny turns his head and braces against the brightness -- and his tilting, whorling sight -- to see who else was here. He sees an older man with a cane standing near one of the tables.

"His godfather poisoned him." Bat-Man growls, Danny nods heavily. "I need my antidote kit. Alfred, I need you to stay by him, make sure he doesn't start choking if he throws up."

The older man -- Alfred? Scoffs, and when Bat-Man passes by he follows after him. "As if you need to ask me. But where do you even plan on putting him?"

Without answering, Bat-Man shifts Danny until he's being held in one arm, and then approaches a metal table covered in nuts, bolts, and half-finished gadgets and gizmos. Without blinking, Bat-Man uses his free arm to shove it all off the table with a crashing, clattering, banging sound.

Then he lays Danny down.

The metal is freezing, sinking through the fabric of his jacket and shirt, and Danny turns his head to watch Bat-Man. In the process, he catches a glimpse at Alfred's expression -- and the sheer exasperated affront written on his face forces a laugh out of him.

Bat-Man's hands still from where they're tilting him onto his side, and Danny covers his mouth with his hand to stifle his giggling. "Sorry." He says, trying to catch his breath. "th'look on his face was funny."

The Alfred man sends a look at the Bat-Man when he glances at him, one eyebrow arched, before stepping over as Bat-Man gets Danny full on his side. Bat-Man disappears down somewhere, his footsteps echoing through the room.

"I hope he knows that he'll be picking all of this up when we're done, because I am certainly not." Alfred says stiffly, procuring a pristine handkerchief out of thin air. One of those nice looking ones that are probably made of like, butterfly silk.

Danny almost smiles, but Alfred starts reaching for his face, so instead he suppresses a flinch. There's a pause, before Alfred's hand glides over his cheek. Despite the callous padding on his palm, his touch is resoundingly gentle.

He cups Danny's jaw, and starts wiping the blood from his face.

...Oh.

Danny blinks uncomprehendingly up at him. He hasn't felt an actual affectionate touch in months. Vlad tried to be, but every touch to Danny's skin felt oily; disgusting. Danny wanted to scrub at the spot every time he pulled away.

So this was like warm sunlight on his face, and he hums low and pleasantly. "Tha'feels nice." He mumbles, relaxing unconsciously.

"I would hope so, young man." Alfred-guy says, folding his already blood-stained handkerchief in half for a cleaner square and moving to clean the blood from his throat. "All this blood couldn't have felt pleasant."

No, no, Danny thinks slowly, not that part.

"May I ask for your name?" Alfred asks before Danny can correct him. "It's not every night that the young master brings someone back with him."

Danny stares. "Danny." He says, "Mnh... just Danny. M'godfath'r calls me Daniel, an' he poisoned me."

Alfred nods, and pulls his handkerchief away. It was stained right through with blood. Danny cringes with shame. That probably won't come out. "I wish we were meeting on better circumstances, Mister Danny. It's a pleasure to meet you."

His good midwestern manners kicks in, and Danny nods curtly. HIs head spins in revenge for the movement. "Y'too, sir."

Bat-Man reappears in that moment, clearing off a space on the table across from them with a kit of various bottles and vials and other doodads that Danny's too unfocused to recognize.

He watches him yank off the vambraces wrapped around his arms, and then the gloves on both his hands. Alfred brushes the hair off his forehead, gathering Danny's attention again.

"If you don't mind, how did you two meet?" He asks, Bat-Man glances over his shoulder at them both, but says nothing. There's a clattering of bottles before he bounds off again down a tunnel. Danny takes that as his sign to explain instead.

"All'y." Danny says, shifting when the pressure on his shoulder grew too uncomfortable. His stomach flips, and he freezes in place to breathe in slow. He swallows dryly when the nausea passes. "Um-- I w'z runnin' from Vlad, an' I saw him in one 'f the alleyways."

Bat-Man reappears again with more things, and starts messing around with his collection of bottles and tubes and whatever -- probably to fix an antidote.

...Would he even be able to make one? Fuck, Danny hadn't thought of that. Blood Blossoms interact with him differently.

He forcibly keeps his breathing even, and zeroes in on Alfred. "I thou' he was a hero, n' I was right. He is." He smiles, and Alfred's expression softens out.

Danny breathes in sharp, pain ricocheting up his spine. "He's-- mine, at least."

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.