#yes I like pain yes I like making myself suffer yes I like making other people suffer as well

[riastarthe]

sure whatever. Yes. that's fine. i do think it's pretty irresponsible to say all this and not offer alternatives, something to go on that Can be trusted. i think providing exceptions helps prove the rule, no?

The people in the notes, particularly, who are very comfortable asserting that the vetters themselves are suspect would do well to share their own criteria, what their methods of vetting are, who they DO trust. if the answer is no one then you're as much of a fool. much of the vetting is also done offsite by talking to multiple families and their friends. yes, many of these people know each other, or know friends of friends, just like people from enclaves in a city are more likely to. "why so many emojis in a war zone" "why do so many messages sound the same" look, most of these people don't speak fluent english and don't know that this is the shit that looks like spam/scams to you. as someone who habitually talks to palestinians on bluesky and whatsapp,

1) emoji usage aren't grounds for disqualification. they're trying to express how they feel, like yourself.

2) they aren't FLUENT ENGLISH SPEAKERS! THEY COPY THE SAME MESSAGES OVER AND OVER BECAUSE IT'S A PAIN IN THE ASS TO MAKE NEW ONES! and many explicitly ask for help writing new messages because they KNOW that goes much further than what they already KNOW is brushed aside— worse, reported— as spam.

3) YES they have time to "panhandle" during a genocide. how do you think time works? how many people do you think there are who need help? no one can go to work anymore, there is no work, no fun, no hobbies to enjoy. everything is taken up by trying to get food and water and get a stable enough connection to ask your mean bitch ass for help. but they have some time to do that, and the people doing it are often mothers and their older children. they have the time.

4) you don't have to like what they say. no one in Gaza wants to be talking to you, personally, about their abject horrific circumstances. you wouldn't like it if you were in their position. when someone says "i've thought about killing myself" or "i'm ashamed to be their parent" or somesuch thing, think about what the fuck is going on. you don't have to listen, you don't have to reply, but there's nothing outrageous about this. bombing. starvation. illness. planes overhead. an armed quadcopter hovered in my friend's window before thankfully leaving. you can think you'd act better in this scenario! you can chide a desperate parent in front of everyone to prove it! i hope you never have to go through it yourself.

it is much easier to block, delete, and ignore suspicious messages than it is to escape a war zone. if in fact the messages are dishonest, then it should be no trouble to shrug it off. please put whatever overwhelm you feel into context— either it's people who cannot act their best and cannot communicate in keeping with your personal standards while trying to survive, or, it's scammers/bots.

yes, you DO need to be able to filter this stuff for yourself and do work that is difficult and time-consuming in order to learn to be discerning. you need to be more uncomfortable with the fact that real people who are suffering, even dying the slow death of starvation and disease, will slip through. you need to figure out how you're going to deal with that. the confidence you have that there is a one size fits all way of judging these things is false. it's not enough to say "yeah i get a bad vibe"— does that bad vibe just help absolve your conscience?

also the people in the notes saying "what's the point of donating money when there's not even any food to buy :/" hey: go to hell anytime. many organisations can't reliably or consistently distribute aid, let alone enter gaza. israel is blocking that aid so donating to orgs is not going to reach palestinians effectively. maybe sometime. but PEOPLE can withdraw money via gfm and chuffed, and gfm is pretty stringent, maybe overly so, given how many Very Verifiably Factually Confirmed For Real people have their donations returned and fundraisers shut down. many people also sponsor or otherwise facilitate these campaigns, and there are extensive guides on how to do this, which includes knowing how to be smart and fact check, or vet, people.

but how can you do that without organising with and learning from the people who have dedicated their time to doing exactly this, dedicating their time to establishing networks in and outside of palestine, educating others on how to both identify scammers and even through language barriers help palestinians differentiate themselves from these scammers— but when everyone's hungrily and racistly looking for a way to write them off, very often no amount of evidence is good enough. these networks of dedicated assistants even facilitate the apologies necessary when photos are sometimes taken from verified real palestinians to be used by Other verified real palestinians— something which near-exclusively occurs because they can't take new ones of their own, or, feel everyone has lost interest in the facts they've already provided. this is something which is completely understandable given the situation, but is looked down on as a major faux pas by palestinians themselves, and will call each other on it. this stuff doesn't go unnoticed. and if you are capable of noticing it, it's worth saying so, but you ALSO MUST COMMUNICATE. there's no sense in making a callout for a person you can so easily cut off and to relegate them to such terrible circumstances while leaving no room for improvement, that's just bastardly.

i have been honest with my dear friend in Gaza about my limitations. they have no reason to be as patient with me as they are— i have no money to offer— but following my honesty, they are. they are consistently patient and understanding even under constant threat.

but seeing you go "ummm that is NOT how you speak to someone when you want their help!" and "phew! i support palestine or whatever, but come on!" in the responses to this post, i actually do not trust that you are capable of the diligence you believe is required!

I miss when I would get Tumblr asks that actually said things and weren't just digital panhandling scams.

[chiefcroissantdeanbanana]

[SPOILERS] A Date with Death Bad Ending 2 & Beyond the Bet Bad Ending 7 Observations

I think calling these observations rather than analysis would fit it better, anyway! Enjoy my ramblings again if you do try to read this! Bad Ending 2 (Despondent) and Bad Ending 7 (Forget-me-not) spoilers

DISCLAIMER!! all the things I'm going to say is in my opinion!! I do not claim this as canon or real to the game, just me word-spewing my thoughts! thank you!

From the titles itself: Despondent and Forget-me-not, it's obvious that it's going to stab me in the heart multiple times and even more when I talk about them together hahahahahahahaha (laugh of a deranged croissant person in pain).

See, if you think about it, they really are one of a whole. In more ways than one, if soulmates really do exist, they'd be the prime example. They complete each other, not only in the happy endings but in the bad ones also. If you look at Caspers bad ending, it's where MC dies and he lives, while in MC's bad ending, Casper dies and they live. It's the opposite; they're halves, incomplete without the other.

In Casper's bad ending (Despondent), MC overused their healing powers too much leading to the near extinguishment of their soul, needing Casper to kill them before they disappear completely. After the end credits roll, you see him hugging Azrael and saying that he would never find love like that again, how he'd be alone forever, and that he feels empty.

^ He will ALWAYS remember this. He would never forget them, he promised after all. He promised to never forget them, no matter what happens, because MC wanted to be remembered. It doesn't matter if remembering them would hurt Casper, he loves them too much to even try and THINK about forgetting them, forgetting their talks, their puns, their nickname, their light. It was MC's light that shone through Casper's darkness, and now that he had a taste of that bliss, he could never truly go back without feeling empty; feeling like something is missing from his life. (Do you think seeing MC's pet after the Despondent ending gives him too much pain to look it in the eyes?). As shown before Casper kills MC, he would rather die than do so, because without his sunshine, without his sunflower, without his SUN. his SUNLIGHT. he would die! Honestly, Casper would be better as a sunflower because they always look for the sun and die if they can't find one. Even though Casper might not be dead, without his sunshine, he'd better off been dead anyway. What's life without them? Nothing. Only his memories are the things that'll keep him from going, and yet these memories are also the ones that make it hard for him to get going.

In contrast to MC's bad ending (Forget-me-not), it is quite literally the opposite of Despondent, 5012 made MC FORGET their experiences, quote: "every joke, every message, every time Casper called you sunshine, every time he said I love you", they forgot it all, only leaving behind a deep empty feeling, something that was supposed to be there, but it isn't. they can only wait, and wait, but nothing will happen, nothing will ever happen anymore.

See the parallels? See the similarities? Their bad endings are halves to a whole, even in death they both yearn for each other consciously and subconsciously, feeling empty, like a puzzle without its final piece, because what else are they supposed to do? They found their other half, they were finally complete, and then for destiny to rip them apart? That is cruel. It was fate that they met, and they would rather die trying to be together than let destiny tear them apart. Too bad destiny won. One remembers and one forgets, how truly otherworldly and mortal this situation is~

THIS GOT SO LONG omg I really do talk a lot haha ahaha hajdshfkjsfhjssfhsjsk omfgfhdgkjskhj

[nururu]

I don't understand why there's such a pressure on representing your gender identity outwardly when it's literally so fucking dangerous. If you're brave enough good for you. If you have enough mental strength, good for you. But y'all need to stop taking that and using it as an example of how trans ppl should present themselves and then making them feel less than and invalid when they don't do it your way. It takes a lot of strength and a lot of bravery and a lot of mental strength, to be able to do that. Like an astronomical amount. Expecting everyone to have that ability is weird. And I know, logically, people don't expect that. When you actually sit down and have a nuanced conversation, everyone understands this.. but the way trans ppl who don't pass or don't outwardly represent a binary gender on their bodies, get invalidated and treated like they're not good enough bc they're not as brave as you,is ridiculous. It needs to stop.

[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

[zhukzucraft]

=> Joel: Do what must be done

You are doing what must be done when you are very rudely interrupted by a short shouty man,

Bdubs: Hey. HEY!!! Stop that. What do you have against horses anyways! They are beautiful creatures… and don’t even drop anything worthwhile - just leather!!! You wanna' know where else you can get leather?! Cows! They drop beef too!!! All horses drop is sadness and a pained death scream…

The horse you were punching lets out it’s final neigh in a melodious cadence,

Bdubs: See?!

Joel: Music to my ears-

Bdubs: Don’t tell me you enjoy that sound?! No sane person enjoys that sound!!! It’s horrible… like you. You’re horrible.

Joel: Well, would you look at that, it dropped a leather. Don’t you need three of these to craft a saddle? 

Bdubs: ...maybe

Joel: Do you want it so you can make one and ride a horse in the SINGULAR DIRECTION that isn't immediately blocked off by blummin' water!?

Bdubs: ...

Bdubs: ...I don’t want your dirty horse leather!!! I refuse - on moral principle!

Joel: Fair, you need all the high ground you can get-

Bdubs: ARE YOU MAKIN’ FUN OF ME?!?! You’re shorter than I am.

Joel: Only if you count the hair, lad. It constitutes at least a third of your height.

Bdubs proceeds to make some kind of unintelligible grumble and starts punching the two cows you saw earlier, looks like he does want leather after all. 

As for you, while you would love to finish off the job you started, Bdubs did raise one good point: horses don’t drop food… begrudgingly you pause your equestrian extermination in favor of sheep slaughter.

However you don’t get that far on mutton mutilation before your communicator goes off a ton of times. You keep getting interrupted…

docm77: To whoever my soulmate is: You are about to take about 5 hearts of damage. docm77: Return to spawn. docm77: We need to talk.

As Doc’s message goes off you lock eyes with Bdubs’ uncomfortably large ones. Those things are uncanny... Well, it looks like neither of you are paired with the cyborg goat man.

But since you two were so close to where he fell you decide to check up on (read: tease) one of the servers newest members after he made such a ruckus in chat.

It turns out his soulmate was right there at spawn, and it just happened to be the other newbie. What are the odds of that?

Bdubs: Pssht, what amateurs. Don't they know it's traditional to check soulmates with the ol' fashioned punch test?

Joel: Punch test?

Bdubs: Yep. Like this-

Joel: What was that for?!

Bdubs: I told you, a punch test. 

Joel: That’s not what I meant! Why so many times!?

Bdubs: I had to be extra sure that I wasn’t soulbound with horse punching' scum like you.

Joel: …

Bdubs: HEY, OW! EXCUUUSE YOU!!!

Joel: Sorry, double checking... I had to make extra sure I wasn’t soulbound with a stupid horse lover like you.

Bdubs: …yooouuu-

Joel: at least now we definitely know we aren’t linked, 

Bdubs: For goodness sakes. If I was linked with you, I might’ve just ended my series right then and there!

Joel: Just to take me out with you!? You are an idiot. 

Bdubs: To save myself from suffering. Not everything is about you! 

Joel: Yes it is.

Bdubs: No it isn’t.

Joel: Yes it is.

Bdubs: No it isn’t!!! And to prove that, I’ll stop talking to you!

=====>

Start Over -- Go Back

[demonic0angel]

Dan being forced to go to anger management therapy hosted by Harley Quinn.

(I refuse to believe that Dan would be forced into anything, so this is a Dan in Arkham AU lmao)

Wraith huffed angrily. “And that’s why he deserves pain and suffering.”

Harley stared at him in fascination, tapping a finger on her lips. It had been weeks after their breakout from Arkham, and Wraith was quickly becoming a good friend of the Sirens. It had reached a point where now, he was spilling his secrets over a glass of wine (stolen from a Bruce Wayne-endorsed party), about a boy he used to be and the timeline he came from.

It wasn’t the weirdest thing ever, since this was Gotham after all, but it was still both disturbing and thralling.

Harley could not help but stare as Wraith grumbled to himself, blue eyes flashing crimson and sharp fangs being bared in a snarl. Then she asked, “Did your sister ever say anything about this?”

Wraith huffed and swirled his wine lightly. “She said it’s a form of self-hatred. Because I blame myself for our family’s deaths, I blame Danny too. But I don’t care. We are the same person but we are not the same. He is still human, while I have transcended past mankind to be something greater.” His fingers clenched on the stem of the wine glass. “It’s not fair how he gets to be happy, but I can’t.”

A god complex, a superiority complex, and an inferiority complex, all born from the loss of family and self-identity. His psyche was absolutely damaged by his previous experiences, and trauma had made him into something very, very twisted. It was probably true that he was not human anymore, but it was so interesting how he had abandoned his humanity so thoroughly and thrown it aside.

“You can’t?” Harley asked. “Or you won’t?”

Wraith’s expression twisted. “I can’t.”

That didn’t seem right.

He was happy when eating red meat and drinking expensive wine. He was rather happy when they went shopping and included him in their jokes and games. He was plenty happy when he talked about his sisters. He was very happy when interacting with Nightwing, who seemed to effortlessly peel away his layers to reveal a playful, gentle personality that did not seem to be a facade.

“You seem happy around Nightwing,” Harley said. “And us. What do you think of that?”

Wraith glared at her lightly, but he didn’t seem angry, not like how he was when he talked about his little brother, his other self. The venom in his voice and eyes when he talked about his younger self would’ve been better deserved if he was talking about the Anti-Christ, but Harley didn’t voice this.

“Nightwing has the purest soul in this world. It’s strong and beautiful because of how kind it is. It should be a crime to be cruel to it, not when he’s so… good.” His expression gentled and he swirled his wine again before taking a sip. “And you and the others are… nice to me. I don’t want to spoil your fun.”

Harley beamed. “Aww, we like you too, Wraith-y poo!”

Wraith rolled his eyes and took another sip. Harley poured him some more without him asking, and they drank their wine in silence.

Eventually, Harley said, “It’s not healthy to hate yourself so much, y’know? Maybe you don’t want advice, but I think your sister would agree with me. You should let go of the past and live in the present. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore, does it?”

Wraith scowled. “It may not exist anymore, but I came from that timeline. I am who I am because of my family’s deaths and because of Danny.” The hatred in his voice was deep and potent, making Harley shiver. “It can never let me go and I can never let it go either. The past shaped me in ways that cannot be undone.”

Harley took a sip of wine to think. Then she said, “Well. No matter what, me and the girls are here for you. And I think Nightwing really likes you too! Really!”

Wraith hummed, eyes half lidded before he turned and looked at her with a quirk to his lips like a small, genuine smile. “Yes, I know. Thank you, Harley.”

She grinned. “No problem!”

They continued drinking together in companionable silence.

[thomas-jefferson-miku-binder]

I hate Mel Medarda discourse because she’s an insanely well-written character with a lot of depth, but people almost always have only two things to say about her: 1) evil girlboss or 2) never did anything wrong. both make me want to krill myself 🦐

In front of you, there’s a female character born of war who rejects the physical brutality of her family’s name and the regime she was born under. except said violence never really goes away because if it ever does leave, nothing else would remain

This character can and will reproduce the hatred she has always known, just in more palpable ways, ways where she’s allowed to look away — or even better, ways where she’s so distanced from the action itself that where she “looks” doesn’t even matter

It’s also so interesting to think that maybe Mel doesn’t dislike physical violence because it’s “bad” but simply because she does not excel at it The thought that if Mel was maybe stronger or a more skilled fighter, she would be just like her mother tickles my brain. yaaaas Although, to me, that's a more "what-if" scenario than the actual characterization Arcane deceipts

By the way, I do not think Mel is a monster. She clearly does try to be what she considers a "good" person, but the violence she’s always known sometimes escapes (just like in the Viktor scene above — she does not like to be disagreed with).

Sooo insane that she’s a diplomat/politician because yes. what other job in the world would allow her to exercise that repressed violence while also giving her the sense of duty—of goodness.

Mel is stuck at the scene of the execution form her childhood. All she does is repeat the same scenario in her head with different outcomes: sometimes one where she saves the prisoner, another where she doesn’t hesitate (that being the keyword here) to kill her

This reverberation of the violence she suffered is just her manner of coping with that traumatic scene. a way of lessening the pain without actually confronting its cause.

I feel like I need to clarify that no, I do not think Mel is “evil”. I don’t even think she is intentionally manipulative (most of the time), I think she handles people the only way she knows how to, which is probably one of the only reasons she survived Noxus at all (as, to how I see it, there's only a certain extent your House will guarantee your protection in Noxus).

I know the fandom talks a lot about Viktor and Jayce being idealistic, but I rarely see people mention how Mel is just as romantic. Jesus- that’s literally a huge source of conflict with her mother: Ambessa thinks Mel is naive, which to her means weakness, which to her is unacceptable.

I hate that Mel Medarda is forced to be subjected to fandom spaces, because, no, she is not a small bean. no, she’s not an evil girlboss.

Do I believe she is a good person? I think she tries to be (even if her notion of goodness is so heavily aligned with honor, too), and that tells me a lot more about her character than how successful she is at it

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

AHHHH HIHIHI !!

just wanna start by sayinh youre like one of my fav people on this platform i live and die for every post 😭💞

And i finally caught the requests so !!

Headcanons for various jojo characters with a reader who has a healing stand mayhaps?

Feel free to put whoever else in, i dont mind, but i'd love it if you could do bruno and diego, my bbgs fr 🙏

Hihihi!! Aaaaa thank you so much I am SO honored!!!! And when u mentioned Bruno and Diego r your bbgs I had a “did I just send MYSELF a request??” Moment lolol literally I had to physically restrain myself from calling Bruno my wife when Jojo came up while I was chatting with some people irl the other day lolol-

I love him and Diego so much! And YES, I can do this! Sounds interesting~

Bruno’s takes place before Giorno joins the squad

Content: for Diavolo and Diego: possessive and controlling behaviors, light depiction of injury

Various jjba characters x reader with a healing stand:

“Doctor! Doctor!”

Characters: Rohan Kishibe, Bruno Bucciarati, Diavolo, Diego Brando

Rohan Kishibe: You cannot BELIEVE he sometimes argues with you over healing him. Rohan has had a difficult personality for as long as you’ve known him, but really…you must insist you accompany him on his travels despite his protests. You’ve seen on more than enough occasions he’s liable to put himself in dangerous situations and get hurt. So you’re going with him.

He’ll always fight you on it, claiming it’s much easier to travel alone; but he has SOME nerve saying you in particular are difficult to travel with, because he always has some sort of grievance about almost everything when you go anywhere together.

You tell him if he didn’t put himself in harm’s way all the time you wouldn’t have to follow him around.

And even if he claims he won’t this time, you both know that’s not really a claim he can make. His inquisitive nature will Always get the best of him, so you will be there for when that curiosity inevitably gets him terribly injured in some way.

Thank goodness your man is difficult to kill…but he really needs to stop pushing his luck, it’s bad for both of you.

And despite him pretending your presence doesn’t change anything on his trips, he will try to be a little bit more careful when you’re involved. He thinks it’s because your constant worrying is irritating, but honestly he can’t bring himself to willingly lead you into something too dangerous. Most of the time.

Bruno Bucciarati: He will always consider himself responsible for the safety of his team, and the nature of your stand ability means you ease his mind when you’re near. You’ve seen his gang. They’re reckless, quick to get into fights, even with each other-there’s no need to worry about him but PLEASE do whatever you’re willing to do to make sure the others aren’t bleeding out from stab or gunshot wounds, or limping around with broken bones.

At Bruno’s request, you would always prioritize healing the injuries of the people he’s in charge of, but when the opportunity arises you will offer him some healing too.

He might not get nearly as bloodied and beaten as Mista does all the time…but you’ve noticed your dear Bucciarati seems to get chronic headaches, that especially intensify when he’s stressed about his work or managing the team. You never make a big deal out of it, don’t even mention it really, when you use your stand to ease his pain.

But he’ll always make a point to thank you. And gently remind you that he’s fine and you should focus your energy elsewhere.

You can only try to respect that for so long though. I mean, the reason your stand heals is because it’s in your nature to severely hate seeing your loved ones suffer.

And it’s not like he can be mad at you for caring about him. It’s just an unfamiliar feeling for him…he’s used to focusing all his attention on others and shouldering their burdens and taking care of them…so having you around trying to ease his pains…very unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

It will take a while, but eventually he’ll grow comfortable enough to even ask for your healing touch when his pain is a little too much to bear on his own. But more often than not you’ll have to nag him to not push himself too hard and let you help him.

Diavolo: He considers it very fortunate you stumbled into his path. You consider it very Unfortunate. The Boss of Passione is an extraordinarily demanding partner, expecting absolute obedience and loyalty from you in return for his “love” and protection.

You’re not sure when you even wanted to be in a relationship with him, but you’re in too deep now. Defying an obsessive and paranoid man like him at this point would only get you in even more trouble.

He’s smothering, constantly breathing down your neck and making sure you’re not planning anything, and when he does let you leave wherever he’s decided to hole himself up, Doppio is always accompanying you. You’re expected to heal him if anything should happen, but you know Diavolo only says that in a weak attempt to veil that Doppio is actually the one watching you.

Daring to reveal your stand in front of anyone that is not him or Doppio will get you in hot water with the entire Italian mafia.

But it’s not like Diavolo needs your healing…he’s never around anyone who can hurt him anyways! You really are some just in case tool he keeps in his pocket; so your life is incredibly boring, even if it’s safe. And moving around all the time for his anonymity’s sake is annoying and uncomfortable. What’s the point of your stand if you can’t use it to help people?! He Really hates that compassionate nature of yours. Makes sense, given how thoroughly selfish he is…The two of you do not click at all, but he doesn’t care. You don’t need to like him, but he’s not letting you leave as long as you’re an incredibly useful tool.

Diego Brando: He does so adore how useful his partner’s stand is…To cure any sort of fatigue and injury…such a boon to him! He wants you all to himself and he will NOT be sharing you. So don’t even THINK about flashing your stand to anyone other than him, he won’t forgive you if you do that! He’s definitely using you a bit to his advantage. But he takes care of you in turn, making sure you live a comfortable life and giving you whatever you ask for. All you have to do is follow his easy rule and he’ll be a sweet and doting husband for you. Simple, right?

It tugs at your conscience sometimes though. To sit quietly on the side while someone suffers, simply because your husband demanded it. But a part of you can’t bear even the thought of upsetting Diego, after he’s been so good to you…and all he asked for was one simple thing.

And he was just looking out for you by telling you to keep your gift a secret…He cupped your cheeks in his hands so gently as he reminded you how bad it would be if an evil person found out about your powers. You could be in a lot of danger, and he might not be able to save you. So please, don’t needlessly endanger yourself like that. He couldn’t bear it if anything bad happened to you.

Deep down you know he’s just saying that to keep you under his control, but you love him…and you honestly believe at least a part of him also loves you.

So you’ll bend to his will usually. But what Diego doesn’t know can’t hurt him. If you mend a broken bone or ease a sore throat on occasion he might not find out. And even if he does find out, how mad can he really get at that? (Pretty damn mad, but you have too much value in his eyes for him to deal Too harshly with you, despite what he might say in the heat of the moment).

-

Ngl I kinda blanked when coming up with additional characters, so I just went with some more faves, haha, the POWER of: “feel free to put whoever else in”!

[queerprayers]

What do you do when you are so overwhelmed with everything going on in the world right now? How do you not slip into despondency?

Hello, beloved. I'm glad you're here. I'm so often asking this of myself, so here's how I've found a way through/forward. It's not simple or easy, but I made it into a numbered list anyway. I know I'm throwing a lot at you (and myself)—but to be fair, you asked a big question. Take what's right for you and leave the bits that aren't—hopefully someone else can take them.

Know and honor why you're feeling all of this. You're present in this world. You're aware of the pain, you're keeping up with the change. And you care, about your own life and others'. These are all such blessings. Love hurts because love reaches out and suffers with the world. The modern world is so big, constant communication feeding us every tragedy from everywhere all at once. But we have the same amount of love as humans have ever had—of course it's getting stretched. Sometimes I barely have enough mental processing for every member of my family, their pain and joy. Give yourself grace to feel it all, and honor the parts of you that can't bear brokenness, that can't process everything. It's because you're trying to do it all justice. 

Root yourself in the world. Remember why you care about it. You need to be praying, reading, cooking, going outside, singing, hanging art on the walls. It can seem cheesy or inconsequential or even inappropriate in the face of tragedy but you have to hold on to life. You have to stay. You're overwhelmed because you're stretched, trying to care about it all—you need places to come back to. You must find what nothing can ever take from you, while cherishing what is fragile. Fascism rises, war comes, sacrifice calls, life is threatened—history rises and falls. And when it does, you must have a life (literally and figuratively) to lose. Don't let it find you empty. Don't do the devil's work for him. Don't come to the end of the road and discover there is nothing worth carrying a cross for.

You're not gonna save the world. You're not (statistically) a world leader or a billionaire. You're (probably) not someone who will end up in a textbook. But you are gonna do something real to save your little piece of the world. Your piece, your own life, what you can see, the people you can touch—that's what you've been given. And you need to feel yourself doing something real about it. A food bank, a sick neighbor, a garden, a support group. Your brain was not made for the Internet (although wonderful work can be done on it). Your hands need to feel the world you're saving, touch the world you're rooting yourself in. Trusting hope is built from seeing something change—not just knowing theoretically. You need to watch a seed grow into a flower, or a belly get fed, or a baby learn to walk. Participate in bigger things, yes. I'm not saying close yourself off. But I am saying you need to commit yourself to stopping war and fixing a hole in the sidewalk at the city council meeting. One of those you can see end in your lifetime (even if it takes a lifetime), and that's the only way you're gonna have hope to work at the other one. Proving your small hopes right (and noticing when they're fulfilled) will ground your bigger ones.

Hope (the emotion) comes and goes, like all emotions. Emotions can be cultivated and worked through, but not controlled. If we depend on a feeling for the work of love, we are at the mercy of brain chemistry and circumstance. But hope is also a skill, a practice. You need to make hope something you do. Make it something overwhelm and despondency cannot crush. Faith, hope, and love are put together in the Bible. They're feelings, experiences—and beautiful ones. But when they go deeper, that's when they save us. Pray even when belief wavers. Care for someone across the ups and downs of relationships. Faith without works is dead—and so, too, love and hope. Or, from a different perspective, faith, hope, and love are themselves works. My favorite bit of self-esteem advice is to think of what I would do if I loved myself—and then do that. It's a fake it till you make it type of advice, but it's also a practical way to do self-esteem, regardless of temporary states of mind. I'm gonna bring that advice here, to hope. What would you do if you had hope, if you believed, if you weren't slipping away? This is the road forward. 

You may have heard the Tolkien quote about deciding what to do with the time that is given to us. This is often interpreted as a life-is-short quote, but I'm gonna put it in context. "I wish it need not have happened in my time." It: corrupt government, mass deportations, police violence, lost human rights, climate destruction. I want to ask, couldn't I have lived in a century with less of it all? But "so do all who live to see such times"—because there have always been such times. And "it is not for [us] to decide" which tragedies our time faces. What is for us to decide? "What to do with the time that is given us." The time, the century, the piece of history. So do something with this time, knowing that you are not the first and will not be the last to be given such evil. There's a post that goes: millions of people lived full lives during the period we now refer to as the Fall of the Roman Empire. I live in a falling empire—or at least, it certainly seems that way, and in my best moments I hope it falls. I did not choose to be given this time, but I was. For everything there is a season, and you may feel uniquely overwhelmed by ours. But this gives evil too much credit. This puts us in the same boat as the people who are constantly coming up with reasons why each current event is the apocalypse. We're not special. The Flood is in the first book of the Bible. Every person who has ever thought the world was ending has been wrong. You're not gonna be the one who's right about it—so take your time, stare it in the face, and carry the ring to Mordor, though you do not know the way (or whatever less nerdy extended metaphor you'd prefer).

It's not on you to be not-overwhelmed all the time, to never slip into despondency. You are an integral part of the world, but not the center, not the only part. Hope gets passed around. On days when you can't move from hopelessness, look to others' movement. Mr. Rogers' mother responded to scary news by telling him, "Look for the helpers." When we're not children anymore, we must be the helpers—but in moments of weakness or uncertainty, return to that child in you, who needs to find the firefighter in the background of the picture of a burning building. You may have smoke in your lungs today. As long as there's one person still breathing, we have a chance. It's not all on your shoulders. When we understand this, overwhelm or despondency aren't the end of the world. They're simply (and painfully) moments of understandable emotion.

To be clear, every single one of these points is something I've failed at. I don't know your personal beliefs, of course, but I will give you the (well, one possible) Christian answer: We all fall short of the glory of God. Christianity is not a practical or utilitarian religion. We aren't given achievable or logical instructions. Pacifism is not an intelligent or safe choice. Loving your enemy is ridiculous and dangerous. Even loving your neighbor is difficult and frustrating. We're given what we're given not because we can just go and do it—but because we must believe in it, live toward it. Christian hope is not optimism or escapism or manifestation. It is not even a provable phenomenon. It is, as C.S. Lewis refers to it, a theological virtue. We know things don't always work out, that civilizations fall. But for perhaps inexplicable reasons, we believe that it is all in the hands of a God that entered time to suffer through that with us. And that Jesus carries the cross that we cannot. 

In yoga, we refer to a "beginner's mindset"—practicing without our preconceived ideas, entering a pose as if it were the first time. If this were your first moment of belief, how would you respond? What if death did not have the final say? What if what is not logical or practical or achievable is nonetheless our calling? Start over. You've already tried the familiar despair. You need something new.

My last instruction to you (and myself, and all of us), is, in the words of St. Peter, to receive new birth in a living hope. The good news—the gospel—is that you don't have to prove things will get better or have a plan to fix a problem or be able to process it all. I've given you some practical ways to continue, and we do need those, but at the end of the day there is something bigger, which is that every bit of love you put into those practical ways is part of Love. 

We pray that the cup passes from our lips, but if we must, we drink. The only way we don't choke on it, don't drown in it, is to be born again from above—and I don't say that in the evangelical way, but in the Jesus way. Barbara Brown Taylor wrote in Holy Envy, "The greatest gift of my second birth . . . was being reunited with my mother—not the first one . . . —but the second one, who bore me from above. . . . If I am born of her, she is my mother. If I am not born of her, she may yet return to me." Hope is a fruit of the Spirit. Birth is painful and jarring and the world is cold. But there is another birth, one where hope lives, and our mother will always return. 

The world may not have the hope you're looking for—which is a real and painful experience, and I do not seek to dismiss that. But when the time that has been given to us is too much to even look at, we need to root ourselves not just in this world, but in the world to come. We have hope because it's something we do, something others give us, something we find little ways to trust in. We have Hope because the world has been overcome. So love it, live in it, die for it. But don't let it convince you that evil is all there is. You know better than that. 

One last thing: Despair in me is so often fear. I shut down because I am afraid of what it would mean to hope, what it would mean for it all to matter, what it would mean to actually believe what I say I believe. I will leave you with the first prayer in Justin McRoberts' and Scott Erickson's Prayer: Forty Days of Practice:

May love be stronger in me than the fear of the pain that comes with caring.

<3 Johanna

[mastermindmiko]

Mornings

pairing: Harry Potter + reader Warnings: bad dreams, death, lmk if you find anything else Summary: A morning with Harry word count: approx. 850

I woke up and it was one of those rare occasions where I turned to find Harry not lying beside me. I sit up, and sigh, knowing what must’ve happened. I go to the bathroom near our closet and brush my teeth, quickly washing my face as well. 

I open the door of our room and the smell of pancakes invades my senses. I can hear the low humming of Sirius’ radio, and recognise one of the songs playing as Sirius’ favourites. I know who the nightmare was about at least. 

I sneak up behind him and wrap my arms around him. If this was only a few months ago, he would've jumped, terrified by the action. I try my best to always remind him that he's safe now, it’s over, but that can only do so much. 

He flips a pancake onto a plate, and turns around to kiss me. He rests his chin on top of my head, and squeezes my body. I ask, “You okay?” 

He doesn’t answer, he only smiles, as he presses a kiss to my head. We stay like this for a few minutes, in situations like this, I like to give Harry his time. He moves away from me and makes a final pancake. 

I sit down on the kitchen counter, and excitedly await the food. He places a plate in front of me, and in the middle of the counter maple syrup, chocolate syrup and honey. I make a mixture of the three and start eating. Harry sits beside me with his arm around my shoulder. 

“Thank you.” I say once I’m done with breakfast. Harry’s been done for a few minutes and has been watching me. I've told him several times not to do that since it’s creepy, but the boy just won’t listen. Harry smiles and presses a long kiss to my lips. He sighs, “Do you know that I love you?” 

“Yes, Harry, I do. And I love you too.” I reply, and grip his hand in between both of mine. His eyes turn sad again for a moment, and I can’t help but ask, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not really.” Harry replies, and I nod my head understandingly. I look sadly at my boyfriend. It was unfair that someone as nice and kind as him had to suffer that much, and still suffers now. I squeeze his hand, and reassure him, “I’m always here if you need anything, you know that right?” 

“I know, sweetheart.” Harry says before pressing another kiss to my lips, this one longer and more sweet as I taste the sugary sweet chocolate syrup on his tongue. I begrudgingly part away from him, and stand up. He groans and wraps his arms around my waist. I say, “Harry, I have to go to work.” 

“You don’t have to go to work.” 

“I have to go to work, if I want to get paid.” I retort, and he pouts, “I can get your boss to let you off the hook.”

Harry Potter and the benefits that come with that are something that I will never stop being grateful for. He saved the wizarding world after all, so some people were bound to give him some things, like letting me skip a day of work. 

I head to my room, and change. When I come back, Harry’s staring off into space. I place a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he starts, “It was about Sirius…I dreamt of the whole moment again.” 

He doesn’t have to say which moment, I already know which, he’s talking about when Sirius died. I sit beside him on the sofa, and wait patiently as he unravels his feelings. He continues, “Sometimes, I can’t believe he’s gone, and other times, I can’t believe I even allowed myself to think that anyone stays.” 

“Don’t say that, Harry. Every single person in your life who’s gone now would’ve stayed for you. Besides, Ron’s here, Hermione’s here, and you sure as hell can’t get rid of me, if you tried.” I say, and Harry gives me a hug. 

“I wish that we’d met sooner because then you would’ve met him.” Harry says, and I nod my head. I always think what if instead of meeting Harry the first day of work, I’d have met him the first day of school, I would’ve helped him through so much of that pain. 

“I would’ve loved to have Sirius meet the girl I’m going to marry.” Harry mumbles, unfocused, and I tense immediately. My eyes widen, and I push Harry by his shoulders to get a look at his face. His eyes are wider than mine, and he slaps a hand on his face. He groans, “I can’t believe I said that, I’ve been planning this for months, and I just ruined the bloody secret.” 

I grin wider than I already have, and I take his hands off of his face. Harry relaxes when he sees my smile. I bite my lip when I feel the smile begin to grow uncontrollably. Harry says, “Try to forget this moment, so when I actually propose, you’ll be surprised, okay?” 

“Okay.”  a/n: Hey! if you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

May I please request a little fluff of Vox with a reader who gets super needy and snuggly and cuddly whenever they’re on their period? 🥺

Sure thing! Here you go :3

Circuit Breaker

I sniffle dramatically, burrowing deeper into the blankets, and stretch out a hand toward Vox like I’m a helpless, abandoned creature. “Vooooooxxx.”

He doesn’t look up from his screens, but I see the way his digital eye flickers in amusement. “Yes, sweetheart?”

I wriggle my fingers insistently. “Come here.”

“I’m working.”

“I’m suffering.”

That gets him to glance down at me properly, and the way his screen softens makes me feel just a little victorious. Still, he crosses his arms, pretending to be unmoved. “What do you want, hm?”

I stretch further, making desperate little grabby hands. “Youuu.”

Vox sighs, exasperated but already getting up. “You’re impossible.”

“I am in pain,” I argue, shifting just enough to let him slip into bed beside me before immediately latching onto him.

His body is warm—always running just the right temperature despite all the circuits and wires. I bury my face in his chest, sighing as his arms wrap snugly around me.

He chuckles, running his fingers through my hair. “God, you get so needy like this.”

I hum contentedly, pressing closer. “I just need you.”

Vox’s fingers trail lazily along my back, soothing and slow. “I know, baby.”

I shift a little, wrapping a leg around his waist to keep him close. He lets me, completely relaxed against me, one hand idly massaging the small of my back.

“Anything else I can do for my clingy little gremlin?” he teases.

I tilt my head up, pouting dramatically. “Tell me I’m cute.”

His screen flickers with a small, knowing smile. “You’re adorable.”

I brighten instantly. “More.”

He chuckles. “Sweetest thing in Hell.”

I beam, rubbing my face against his chest, practically purring at the praise. His hand comes up, cupping the back of my head, guiding me even closer.

“Hurts anywhere?” he asks after a moment, voice softer.

I nod against him. “My stomach. And my back.”

Without a word, he shifts, carefully adjusting me so he can slip a hand under my shirt, rubbing slow, soothing circles against my lower back. His touch is warm and steady, sending gentle relief through the worst of the ache.

I melt completely, sighing. “I love you.”

Vox presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

I let my eyes drift shut, perfectly safe and comfortable in his arms.

I sigh against Vox’s chest, letting his hand work slow, careful circles over my lower back. The warmth of his touch soothes the deep, aching cramps, and I press closer, practically molding myself to him.

“Mmm… you’re so good at that,” I murmur sleepily.

His chest rumbles with a chuckle. “Yeah? Maybe I should start charging for my services.”

I gasp dramatically, peeking up at him with wide eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His screen flickers with playful mischief. “Oh, I would. You’re getting premium treatment right now, babe.”

I scoff, but it quickly turns into a pleased hum as he moves his hand lower, kneading gently at the worst knots of tension. His touch is careful, rhythmic, almost hypnotic. I sigh, melting further against him.

“This should be free,” I argue drowsily. “I’m suffering.”

Vox smirks. “You’re being dramatic.”

I nuzzle into his neck, voice muffled. “And?”

His fingers trail lazily up my spine before smoothing back down to my lower back, rubbing soothing little patterns. I shiver at the sensation, but it’s warm, grounding—exactly what I need.

Vox sighs, pressing another kiss to the top of my head. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

I grin sleepily. “I know.”

We lay there for a while, wrapped up in each other, his warmth pressing into me from all sides. His touch never stops, tracing along my back and over my stomach in slow, calming motions. The steady rhythm of it makes my mind go quiet, lulling me into the edge of sleep.

I shift a little, tightening my grip around him. “You’re comfy,” I mumble.

His screen flickers with fond amusement. “And you’re clingy.”

I hum in agreement, not even bothering to deny it.

Vox exhales, but there’s no real exasperation behind it—just quiet indulgence. His fingers trail through my hair next, scratching lightly at my scalp, and I make a soft, pleased noise before going entirely limp against him.

He chuckles. “You out?”

I mumble something incomprehensible against his neck.

Vox smirks, shifting just enough to pull the blankets up over us properly. “That’s what I thought.”

His arms tighten around me, holding me snug against his chest, and I swear I hear his screen dim slightly—softer, more comfortable. He stays like that, warm and steady, letting me cling as long as I need.

[writesvani]

coming down; sneak peak

THIS IS A SNEAK PEAK DELIVERED BY YOUR ONE AND ONLY!

18+, MDNI!

read coming down HERE;

comment HERE to be added to the coming down taglist;

AN: hello my spirit soldiers, it is i, your unhinged leader, back at it again with the chaos.

today, i have decided to be merciful and feed your little thirsty minds with a coming down sneak peak. and let me tell you, this scene? oh, it's hot. it’s steamy. it’s so insanely sexy that if you had any remaining brain cells, they would combust on the spot. but don’t worry, i know you lost those ages ago.

just to clarify though—you will NOT be getting this masterpiece of a scene anytime soon. nope. you will have to wait at least five more chapters for this absolute cinematic experience to grace your screens. am i evil for this? yes. do i care? absolutely not. in fact, i’m giggling as i type this.

but is the wait worth it? oh, babes. this scene is dripping in tension, soaked in desire, and hotter than a summer day with no ac. it’s basically a work of art. just like me.

so enjoy your little appetizer while you suffer in anticipation. and remember—i thrive off your pain. love you <3

p.s. i’m always open for any discussion and questions regarding coming down, so hit my ask box on my blog and let's interact. come scream, theorize, or just sob with me. i promise i only bite a little.

without further addo, let's glance into future y/n and satoru, where things are messy, heated, and—if i do say so myself—so ungodly hot that it should probably be illegal.

TWs: pure filth, smut, making out, groping, DRY HUMPHING, no p in v (remember this is A SNEAK PEAK)

His hands are relentless—gripping, roaming, possessive. There’s nothing soft about the way Satoru touches you, nothing gentle in the way he takes. He’s pressing you against the wall like he’s trying to break through it, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip, fingers digging in so hard you already know bruises will bloom there by morning.

And you’ll love every single one.

His mouth is on yours, claiming, devouring, ruining. His tongue slides past your lips with a desperate hunger, like he’s starved and you’re the only thing that can satisfy him. His teeth nip at your bottom lip before his tongue soothes over the sting, and then he’s kissing you again—sloppy, messy, full of need.

“Tell me,” he growls against your lips, voice rough, wrecked. “Tell me you hate me.”

His knee shoves between your legs, pressing, teasing, rubbing exactly where you need him. Your breath stutters, nails biting into his shoulders as your body betrays you, pressing into him, chasing the friction like you need it.

“I do,” you whisper, but it comes out more like a moan, more like a lie.

Satoru chuckles, low and dark, his grip tightening as he presses closer, grinding into you, making you feel exactly how much he knows you don’t mean it.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting along your jawline before dragging down your throat, tongue flicking against your racing pulse. He smirks when he feels it hammering against his lips, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin before he bites—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make you whimper.

And that sound? That little, breathy, desperate noise? It breaks him.

“Say it again,” he demands, voice low, dangerous, dripping with something dark and hungry. His hands slide up, gripping your thighs, lifting you until your legs wrap around his waist. His lips find yours again, and this time, it’s rougher, needier, filled with something he’ll never admit.

“I hate you,” you breathe against his lips, but your hands are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, your body arching into his, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Satoru snaps.

And it’s over.

He groans, deep and wrecked, and suddenly, he’s lost in you. His hips roll against yours, grinding hard, slow, deliberate. His mouth is everywhere—on your lips, your jaw, your neck, sucking, biting, marking you in a way that says mine, mine, mine.

“You hate me?” he mutters against your skin, his hands gripping tighter, his movements rougher, sloppier, completely consumed by you. “Then fucking hate me.”

[manatee-rp-memes]

Drawfee and Secret Sleepover Society Sentence Starters

~Feel free to tweak as needed~

"He strikes me as a pervert."

"This is not fine. You're actually, like, completely fucked."

"YES! First try, baby!"

"You must know, the room is in shambles."

"She shlep on my philly 'til I'm red hot."

"It was never my intention to brag, but I wrote a whole song about it."

"The thing I think you don't understand... it feels so good!"

"Oh nooo, I'm too handsome and strong!"

"That fucking song slaps my damn crack."

"I bet I can interest you in some junk!"

"Is there something here that has caught you off-guard?"

"I'm the big boss man!"

"I hold myself to a higher standard. That's why I only say really smart, cool things."

"You know what they say; early to bread, early to rise."

"It's open season on_____."

"Lorem ipsum dolor sit, you piece of shit."

"Do you even care that he's trapped in a storm beyond time?"

"I don't like to start my day with waking up, it just happens."

"If God's ever been mad at anything I've said, he hasn't done shit about it. So, he either doesn't care or he's a coward."

"That's not a real name. That's what you call a horse with a lot of personality."

"This isn't just regular nonsense. This is advanced nonsense."

"Let me be very clear. In a manner of my choosing, on a day you least expect, revenge is coming."

"I'm going to punch your wiener clean off."

"Life is pain and suffering, what's up?”

"I think our talk later is just going to be a murder."

"I have a fast stroke... of my pen! Of my pen!"

“It’s like we all vaguely hate each other today."

"Stop the violence!"

"Oh, hitman!"

"I know you've been going through some stuff right now, and it's on us tonight. We're gonna make sure you remember, y' know, why life is fun and worth living."

"Have I mentioned you look really sexy?"

"We're getting a little buck wild."

"I'm literally engaged in the artistic process, you assholes!"

"We'll be annoying in any situation, no matter how life-threatening."

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 82: Vivian's Peace

Prev > Masterlist > Next

tw: broken leg, mind control, lots o' stabbing

October 1925

Vivian's scream echoed through the safe house as Oliver, disoriented and hallucinating, tripped and fell down the stairs before she could catch him. She'd seen many gut-churning injuries in her time as a hunter, but it still didn't prepare her for how Oliver's leg was bent in an unnatural way. Blood trickled down his face, and his eyes were glassy, staring at nothing.

"Oliver!" She rushed to his side. "Oliver, can you hear me?"

"…Yes," he said weakly.

"All right. Don't try to move. I'm going to take you to a doctor."

So much for hunting her vampire quarry this evening -- but there was nothing that could be done about it unless she was okay with leaving Oliver to suffer and maybe even die.

"What happened to Oliver?" Emily had run over. "Oh my god, his leg…"

"It's broken. I'll need help loading him into the car so I can take him to the hospital. It isn't far."

Emily looked pale as she helped Vivian pick Oliver up. He looked pained as they accidentally jostled his leg, but he didn't cry out, seemingly lost in a place far away. His eyelids were drooping, and Vivian knew that he was still under the effect of the sleeping draught she had given him.

She thought she was doing him a favor. He was panicking about the possibility of his vampire master being killed, even though most of the enthrallment should have been cleared from his mind. The vampire had such a strong grip on the unfortunate man, and he was clearly going to be a hindrance in his own salvation. It seemed like a mercy to put him to sleep until the morning, when hopefully the vampire who tormented him had been returned to hell and he could think clearly once again. She had never expected this.

The two women struggled to get a semi-unconscious Oliver into the car. He was pale and shivering now.

This was all her fault. She shouldn't have been a coward, terrified of enthrallment, a fate far worse than death. She should have killed Alexander when she had the chance. She'd been so intensely gripped by panic when she felt his spell starting to breach her defenses -- if this was how she reacted to Alexander, how could she ever hope to destroy his vile sire and avenge her mother?

And now, he would be hunting her. Oliver was bleeding, and that would make him easier to track. What if Alexander picked up the trail, and it led him straight to the safe house? What if he brought the Maestro with him? She wasn't remotely prepared to try and kill both of them at once, especially not with the former thralls' lives on the line.

"Emily, listen to me," she said, pulling a wad of cash from her wallet. "You need to run."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Just trust me. Take this money, go to the train station on the corner of 7th, and get a ticket going anywhere, enough to put some distance between you and vampires. Gather up the rest of the thralls and take them along too."

"What about Bobby?" Emily asked.

"Try to get him out, but if you can't, lock the doors and leave him. Hopefully I'll be able to get back soon and get him myself." It was an awful thing to consider, but she wasn't willing to tell Emily and the other thralls to sacrifice themselves to save someone so far gone he might never return.

"But what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to take Oliver to the hospital, and then I'm going to hunt vampires." It was the only thing she could do. Oliver made a low noise of distress, and Vivian knew she couldn't wait any longer. She waved goodbye to to a frantic Emily and drove off.

"I need to go," murmured Oliver, half-asleep. "It's the only way. I need to go."

Perhaps taking Oliver had been a mistake. He was so deeply ensorcelled that her magic couldn't fully dispel it. She would have just tossed him back at the vampire to make her escape if it hadn't been for Emily's request to help him.

Vivian looked over at Oliver, his face screwed up in pain even as the sleeping draught kept him mostly asleep. A hopeless case -- she could see that now. Even if Alexander died, he was the sort that would be selling himself back to a vampire within three months, no doubt. The way he defended that monster sickened her. He'd rather see her condemned to a lifetime of mindless servitude than to have her slaughter the creature that'd kept him captive. Even if it wasn't his fault, even if it was just the spell that had been placed on him, she could hardly stand to hear it.

Then again, Oliver had given her by far the most information she'd had on the Maestro. That made his rescue worth it.

Unfortunately, if the Maestro were actually on her trail, she was not prepared to fight him yet. Her rune's effectiveness had faded before she could finish the job with Alexander, and the Maestro was no doubt stronger than that. She needed better safeguards if she wanted to stand a chance.

The car sputtered to a stop in front of the hospital. Thankfully, Vivian was strong enough to carry Oliver, who was in no shape to walk on his own. He groaned as she took him through the double doors and into the dingy lobby. Vivian was very well acquainted with this hospital, as it was the only one in the city open throughout the night.

The night nurse behind the desk put down her magazine. "What happened to him?"

"He accidentally fell down a flight of stairs and broke his leg. He also hit his head and may have other injuries."

She nodded and stood. "We'll get him into a bed right away. There are no doctors on staff right now, but one of the nurses can examine the fracture, set the bone, and give him something to ease the pain. There will be a doctor to see him in the morning."

"That'll do." Vivian followed the nurse into a hall, where patients lay on thin white mattresses. They were mostly asleep or half-awake, but a few stared at them with wide eyes as they passed. The nurse gestured to an open bed, and Vivian lay Oliver down on it, trying to be careful with his battered leg.

"Are you his wife or his sister?" the nurse asked.

"Nothing like that. I hardly know him. He was… in need of a room, and staying at my house temporarily."

"I see. Does he have any family we could contact?"

"No. In fact, if anyone comes by claiming to be his family, you should turn them away." It wouldn't do much good if Alexander came calling, as he'd have this nurse's mind in his grasp in seconds, but she might as well try.

Vivian and the nurse returned to the lobby, and the nurse waved a piece of paper at Vivian. "Could you at least fill out the intake form? We'll need his name and --"

"His name's Oliver. I don't know his last name or anything else about him. And I need to get going." This unexpected emergency had burned a critical part of her night, and she needed to get back on track if she had any hope of finding Alexander before he found her. With Oliver's blood in the air, she was at even more of a disadvantage.

She'd done what she could for Oliver. With the way his leg looked, he might never walk properly again, but that was the doctors' problem. The best thing she could do for him now would be to dispose of his vampiric master.

Vivian got back in the car and slumped in the driver's seat. She took out her knife and carved the familiar rune, something she might need to do several times tonight in case she were ambushed. Where was Alexander most likely to be? If he caught the scent of Oliver's blood -- and depending on how keen his senses were, he might be able to do so from miles away -- then he'd be either here at the hospital or at the safe house. Hopefully the thralls had evacuated for the train station by now.

With any luck, she'd be able to catch her quarry prowling near the safe house. As she drove, she considered her strategy. She knew now that she couldn't rely on the rune for long, not when Alexander began to sing, so she would have to make it quick. She had an incapacitation spell, but it probably wouldn't be enough to stop his voice, and --

Vivian screamed as a pedestrian appeared in the road in front of her, swerving the car and driving it halfway onto the sidewalk. She'd been so absorbed in thought that she hadn't even seen the woman in time. Heart pounding, she opened the door and went to the poor soul she'd nearly hit. It was a young woman in a floral sundress, with an innocent and sweet face, a visage that would have fooled anyone but a seasoned hunter. As it was, Vivian realized her mistake before she'd taken even a few steps.

"Don't move," said the woman, her voice carrying an air of authority. Vivian's rune burned as it absorbed the command, and she could tell immediately that this vampire was extraordinarily powerful. With Alexander lurking out there, this was the worst time possible for her to run into another vampire.

And it would be much, much worse if it wasn't a coincidence at all, if the two vampires were working together.

Vivian pulled her silver knife with one hand and a strength draught with another. The possibility that she was working with Alexander meant that her usual trick, pretending to be enthralled to get the vampire to let their guard down, wouldn't work, and that meant she had to rely on physical prowess to quickly end it. The vampire was at least a foot shorter than Vivian, a bit plump with no muscle, and if she were a human, she'd be no match for Vivian. With vampires, though, their appearance was a poor indicator of their abilities.

"Oh, dear, is that any way to treat me after you nearly ran me over?" said the vampire, honey sweet. "Why don't you just lay down that weapon and relax, and we can have a nice chat."

Vivian didn't bother to respond, as there was no point. Anything this vampire said was intended for the sole purpose of trapping her mind. She downed the strength potion in one gulp, trying not to gag on its rotten meat smell, and charged.

The vampire seemed to be taken off guard by the force of Vivian's blow, staggering backwards and losing her footing. Vivian didn't hesitate, jumping on top of her and pinning one arm, aiming her silver knife straight at her heart.

"Stop!" she cried out, and although her rune absorbed the magic, it was enough to make her hesitate for just one second, enough time for the vampire to toss her off and stand up again. Vivian leapt to her feet and was about to try again when she heard an echoing song from nearby. Alexander. He was here too.

"I don't want to hurt you," said the vampire, weaving her spell. "You'll feel much better if you calm down and stop fighting."

Sleep, said the song in her mind. Give up and rest. You're exhausted. Close your tired eyes and go to sleep.

The rune was searing itself into her arm, its power draining too quickly with the enthralling spells of two vampires prodding at her mind. She had to take one out quickly, and judging from the fight last night, Alexander was the weaker of the two. She feigned as if she were lunging at the other vampire again, and as soon as she braced herself for the impact, she turned and leapt in the direction of the song.

"Oh, no, you don't." The other vampire grabbed her arms from behind, restraining her. "I told you, you need to calm down and stop fighting."

Alexander stepped out of the shadows, his song more insistent. Surrender. Obey. Sleep.

"No, let go of me!" Vivian managed to free the hand with the silver knife, only to have it caught by Alexander. Her potion gave her the strength to shake him off, trying to plunge the knife into his chest, when the other vampire dragged her backwards, causing her to swipe at the air.

"None of that. You don't need to fight," whispered the sweet voice in her ear. "You don't need to think. You just need to surrender."

Go to sleep. Shut your eyes. Surrender. Open your mind and listen.

The brand on her arm was flickering, and now Vivian was truly scared. She was at a severe disadvantage now that she'd failed to take either vampire down quickly, and if her protections faltered, it would be impossible to resist their spell. She kicked backwards at the vampire holding her, managing to sweep out one leg and sending them both toppling onto the road.

"So feisty!" she said, laughing. "Oh, you're going to be a fun one. All you have to do is surrender, and then we can play together."

Alexander wrenched the silver knife from her grasp, cutting himself in the process and tossing the knife half a block away. Even as he clenched at the wound on his hand, his singing didn't falter.

But Vivian's brand did. She could feel her muscles relaxing against her will, her mind clouding.

The other vampire pulled her close, speaking seductively in her ear. "Good girl. Just submit to me. Submit and surrender yourself."

Surrender yourself, Alexander's song echoed. Sleep and obey.

She pushed against the insidious commands with all her might. This was it. She had one last chance. The other vampire had made the fatal mistake of allowing Vivian to be close, believing her to be enthralled. She would only have one shot at this.

As quick as she could, she pulled her second knife from her belt and thrust it towards the vampire's heart.

"Lily!"

Time seemed to slow. Alexander shoved the vampire aside, the silver knife catching him in his upper arm. He cried out, clutching the burning wound, as Vivian reeled.

Lily. The expert in human subjugation, the name on every other thrall's lips when they were asked who had hypnotized them. The vampire who'd captured and enthralled every hunter who'd gone after her. The vampire that scared Vivian more than any others save the Maestro. She was here, ready to silence Vivian's mind forever.

"Oh, no, you don't, you rotten little brat!" said Lily, grabbing Vivian around the chest. Vivian's hand was still free enough to plunge the knife into her side, earning an agonized shriek. Lily collapsed onto the road, the gash steaming where the silver had burned her.

The triumph was short-lived, however, because Alexander grabbed her from behind and sang a pure, clear note in her ear, one which stopped any thoughts in their tracks. Vivian pulled away, but he was singing of sleep, sleep, sleep -- and her defenses were faltering. She swayed uncertainly on her feet, lifting up the knife to defend herself, even as thick drowsiness enveloped her mind and body.

When she swung the knife at Alexander, it was clumsy and slow, not like the blow she'd used against Lily. He caught it easily, disarming her of her second knife and grabbing both of her wrists.

The brand on Vivian's arm went numb, shedding the last of its protection, and with that, Vivian felt herself sinking into a fatal stupor. She'd never felt this way before -- like she was going to lose.

So this really was it. This was her end, captured and forced into servitude. It was just like she'd told Oliver would happen, if she lost.

And this was the vampire Oliver thought she could reason with! He'd brought a specialist in human enslavement as his backup. All vampires were the same deep down, just as she'd thought.

Surrender, he sang. Submit to me and obey.

"Oliver… thought you… were better than this…" she said.

"What?" That startled the vampire out of his perilous song, giving Vivian a moment to try and collect herself.

"Focus, Lex," said Lily from where she was curled on the floor. "She's trying to get a rise out of you."

Alexander resumed his song before Vivian could truly catch her breath. Go to sleep, go to sleep and surrender, let your mind sleep and open to my words.

"That's it, go to sleep," Lily coaxed. "No more fighting. Off to dreamland."

Vivian had never been this exhausted before, so utterly spent that no matter how hard she fought against it, she couldn't stop her head from nodding forward and heavy eyes from closing. Alexander caught her as she pitched forward, holding her gently and stroking her hair. He smelled of soap.

And Vivian's tired mind finally gave up.

It was like a rubber band finally snapping under tension. As soon as she lost the battle against enthrallment, she fell deep and hard into enchanted slumber, immediately dropping down into the hypnosis she'd fought so hard against. Alexander continued to sing to her, his voice dark and sure, and Vivian opened to it, allowing the song to pour into her defenseless mind.

"There, now, you are truly under my control."

"Yes, sir," she said, without a second thought. That was what thralls said, and she was a thrall now.

"Very good. You will tell me the truth."

"I will tell you the truth, sir."

"Lex, be careful. She might be trying to trick you again," said Lily.

"If it's a trick, it's a damn good one."

"Not a trick, sir," she murmured. "I'm under your spell." It felt so right, in the strangest way. She knew what thralls did, what they acted like, and so she knew exactly what she was supposed to do. She'd never felt so at peace, forgetting what had made her so frightened.

"Where is Oliver?" he asked.

"In the hospital, sir."

"The hospital!"

"He broke his leg falling down the stairs, sir."

"Damn," Alexander swore. "Which hospital?"

"Mercy, sir."

"I know where that is," said Lily. "I had to take a thrall there once."

"I have to go to him," said Alexander. "But I can't just leave you, and we'll need to make sure the hunter doesn't wake."

"A broken leg isn't fatal. Oliver will be just fine in the hospital, with human doctors to treat him. You can go to him tomorrow night."

"But my sire --"

"Will do what he pleases regardless of what you do. But I can't get home by myself like this, Lex, especially not with the risk that the hunter might wake up."

"You're right. I hate to leave him there in pain, but -- you're right." Alexander hummed a tune of obedience and docility, sinking Vivian further. "I can't carry you and tend to the hunter all at once, though. You'll need to heal up enough to walk. You need fresh blood."

"I was thinking the same thing," said Lily. "Her blood smells amazing. It's just the thing."

"And drinking from her will help subdue her as well. Here, let me bring her close."

Vivian felt herself being set down on the road. She was dimly aware that the vampires were going to drink from her. She'd never had a vampire's fangs on her neck before, except in her nightmares.

Alexander's song changed. Let her feed, give your blood, be still and quiet.

Vivian couldn't move, could hardly even breathe, as her shirt was pulled aside and her body arranged to make her neck more convenient for Lily to access.

"Good girl," said the sweet voice in her ear. "This won't hurt at all. This is going to feel wonderful, and then you'll know what your true purpose was all along."

Still and quiet. Feel no pain.

The cold fangs settled onto her vulnerable neck for just a moment before biting down, and Vivian was lost, so utterly lost.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

She'll be fine, probably. Next week: One of Alexander's worst days.

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[sneak-pieck]

Just making myself sad dw about it.

Has anyone ever thought about the whole Zeke and his euthanasia plan thing in a different manner? About how this poor boy grew into the man we get to see while constantly drilling into himself the knowledge that building a family is nothing short of pain, abandonment and disappointment. Passing through life, making sure he himself knew that he had no chance at a normal life. And I find that beyond sad, for I know he would have been a good father- given what he has been through. He would have made sure to never allow his child to feel as pressured into things as his father made him feel, and he would've done everything in his power so that said child would not feel unwanted- not even for a second.

I find it sad, because just like almost everyone we get to see, he did not have the chance to live a normal life. Knew damn well he would not be allowed to grow fond of people, to fall in love, to grow with someone in any manner other than a collegial one.

So yes, he was aware of what he was getting into, he was sure he wished to continue Tom Ksaver’s legacy and fulfill his vision, but what about what could’ve been? What about the life he might have had had he been allowed to grow like any normal child- What if in the back of his mind there is the tiniest of boxes that contains the smallest of wishes he had in this cruel life?

Becoming a father. Growing old by someone’s side, and watching as he broke the horrid chain Grisha had wrapped around his throat. Holding his newborn with a smile the sky and the sun and the whole world had never before seen- simply there...on his lips. Hearing his child’s laughter echo through the peaceful and safe home he’d created for his family. Watching it grow and mature and exhibit his and his partner’s behaviors. Something that would melt anyone’s heart. Seeing the innocent eyes of the beautiful life he’d brought into this world, unaffected by war and hate and pain and suffering.

Maybe in the couple of moments he had up there, attached to the reminder of his brother’s betrayal, he thought of that. Even if just for a split second, he thought… he wondered…and he remembered he was never meant to have a happy ending.

[crowleysgirl56]

The vast majority of people who work on a show are paid upfront for their labour

They don't get paid dependent on how successful a show is

They also don't do work that doesn't get paid- if they are working on a show that gets cancelled, they get paid for the work they did

All this 'stream GO for the hard workers behind the scenes' is bullshit

They work for companies are will be put on different projects

Just be honest that you want more GO (despite the message that it sends to studios- that audiences are ok with abusers! Just turn a blind eye to them! Yes that gives them more power but who cares because people will watch and make them money!)

Don't pretend your doing this for moral reasons

(And acting like you're doing this for Terry- for all we know he might want his work with an abuser completely destroyed- it's stupid to assume he'd want the series to be continued)

Like say this shit with your chest, you know?

Oh boy, ok. Gonna take a minute to answer this.

Firstly, I and a lot of the fandom, are heartbroken over what NG has done. Because we were duped into thinking he was a decent person. From the things that he wrote to the things that he said we thought that he was good person. And it is horrible that there are people out there suffering because yet another rich powerful white man decided he had the right to take advantage of them.

You seem rather angry and if that anger stems because you have experienced something similar yourself then I hope you have love and support around you so that you can heel.

If you want to talk about money, let me remind you that NG has already been paid for season 3. He will continue to get royalties, and thanks to the writers strike last year, he will now get more money for those royalties than before. If S3 doesn’t go ahead then hundreds of people will lose their jobs. Will they get other jobs? Sure, maybe. But any loss of job in this current economic climate is terrible and stressful (and I’m not talking about DT or MS here. They’ll get more work).

I don’t know if you understand how hyper fixation in neurodiversity works, but this is extremely painful for some people and takes a lot of time and energy and therapy to get over when a hyper fixation is threatened or taken away. Some people, like myself, need closure for things otherwise we can find it extremely difficult to move on emotionally. This obviously does not compare to someone trying to survive after SA, but emotional diversity can be extremely debilitating as well. They are apples and oranges to compare, but you can’t invalidate one person’s pain because you think another person’s pain is worth more.

As for the show itself, there is so little queer representation in media. There is a lot more nowadays compared to a decade ago, or even 5 years ago, but the little representation we have is so extremely important. Do you know how many people have found a truth to themselves thanks to GO? How many people discovered something about themselves that finally gives them answer to how they feel? How at the age of 40 I finally realised that I’m asexual and NOT BROKEN. That’s fucking important.

And this. ALL of this is why everyone, including me, are so fucking angry with NG. Because he has left us emotionally devastated. He has not just physically hurt these women. He has emotionally hurt hundreds of thousands of people. He is a stain.

I have spoken before when this all first happened about how I was angry that my one teeny tiny corner of the internet that made me happy was on fire. I left for a bit. I came back. I want to continue to interact with like minded people who love this fandom. I won’t stop that.

And frankly, and here’s the last I’ll say on this, the world is on fire. It is filled with a lot of fucking awful shit right now. I have suffered a very deep depression of late where some nights after I put the kids to bed I just stare and cry. You don’t know that about me because I don’t say those kinds of things on the internet, because our internet personas are facades. They’re not real. They’re not true life. I’m a real person and I’m aching inside about so many things. And these kinds of messages are just breaking me further. Seriously, when you send stuff like this do you even consider that?! So when I decide to hold onto one of the last bastions of entertainment that brings me joy, I’m not going to be guilted into dropping it because someone involved happens to be a monster. Because let me tell you if we did that every time someone turned out to be horrible, then we would never watch or enjoy anything ever again. EVERYTHING you watch or listen to or enjoy or like or cared about is connected to someone who is horrible or produced by a gigantic evil corporation (Nestle, Disney, Microsoft, Facebook, Google just to name a few). Every. Single. Thing. It’s the clothing you wear, the electronics you buy, the food you eat, the furniture in your house, and ALL the entertainment you consume. So if you gave up everything for some moral stance, then you would literally have nothing left.

Dropping Good Omens does nothing. It sends no message to anyone because the next really fucking awful person is about to produce the next big thing you might happen to love and care about. So what’s the point?

Let me have Good Omens. You don’t like that, then you can block me. That’s what the button is there for. You don’t need to send anonymous hateful messages. And if you want me to “say this shit with my chest” maybe you can send me an ask with the Anonymous off. So I can see your chest too.

I’m turning off anonymous asks now. Considering the only asks I’ve ever received is abusive shit telling me to kill myself or saying David Tennant is a paedophile or just telling me I’m a horrible person for supporting NG (when I’ve already stated before that I don’t anymore).

Sorry for those who’ve managed to get to the end here. Thanks for reading if you have, sorry it was so long. I hope you aren’t receiving the same type of messages. If Anonymous has read this far, I don’t know, maybe think twice before being horrible to random people on the internet?