#*I* am the victim they must be the. whatever the opposite of victim is'

[pupcuck]

WASTE ME 2

ft. leon s. kennedy x gn!reader

tags. past rape/non-con referenced, unhealthy relationship, rape aftermath mentioned, blood mention, trauma, age gap, lots of victim blaming, creampie, pussy spanking

notes. hi :3 same warning as before this is just reader forming a trauma bond with their rapist but a onesided unrequited trauma bond 😭 leon is ooc so sorry ab that! probably vendetta leon but think ab any leon idk completely unedited bc i got lazy so ignore anything wrong I beg you. pov switches lots and leons character changes like 68 times

one / three

You must be sick in the head. Got more than a few screws loose. ‘Cause he just raped you. When you asked for his number, he assumed the worst, you’re gonna take it to the cops for sure. So he thinks of pulling out all the stops. Do you know who I am? I saved the president's kid back in ‘05, D.S.O agent, sweetheart, you’ve got nothing on me. Shitty move. Super villain type shit that is. He’s meant to be quite the opposite. Meant to be keeping civilians safe or whatever. You just looked good, alright? Bent over like a dog, like you were asking for it. Jesus. That sounds fucked. Jail worthy statement. This job has messed with his head.

Then you whip out your phone, give him a shaky smile, look at him like he’s a god or something. His gut churns. You’re not much of a looker; eyes sunken into your skull from a clear lack of sleep, hangnails for days, skin patchy. But he feels bad. The least he can do is take you out to dinner. Pay for your hospital bills in case he tore anything important. Doubt it. Leon’s not got that much going on down there. God, you look young. Real young. Can’t be more than twenty-five. Closer to twenty if he’s completely honest with himself.

“I like your jacket,” you say, scuffing your shoes on the ground. He pretends not to notice the droplet of blood on your otherwise white sneakers.

“Thanks,” Leon tries to stop himself from grimacing as he gives you a once over, “I like your…” There’s nothing. He doesn’t like a single bit of you. I like your ass, that’s why I stuck my dick in you by the way, pussy was pretty good too, had me acting like a total sleaze. He couldn’t say that. Or he could. He’s sure you’d take it well. Might even wag your tail a little. Get on your knees and suck his dick. What a fucked up kid. Glad he had enough sense to pull out.

You wait with bated breath, blinking at him with these big, sad eyes. The rope of silence burns.

“I like your eyes.” It’s a patent lie, but you don’t pick up on it. Instead you get shy and look down at the ground.

Leon passes your phone back, you pluck it out of his palm, careful not to touch him. Practised movements almost. He doesn’t question it. You ask for his name, he answers but doesn’t ask for yours in return.

“I’m sorry,” Leon tells you, it’s not enough, and it never will be. But he’d like to be absolved of this guilt. He already has enough. It sits heavy on his chest most days. Now he has to go and do this. A few drinks in and he starts thinking with his dick.

“No, it’s okay,” you brush him off, smile at him with all your teeth. The bottom set is crooked. “It was my first time, so thank you. I’ve been meaning to lose it.” Who even talks about sex like that? As if it’s paperwork you haven’t gotten around to.

Yeah. You’re gone. Thanking the man who raped you. Did he knock you around too much? Good work, Leon. Just ruined another life.

“I don’t think…” Leon trails off, shakes his head. “Call me.”

“Will you pick up?” You ask quietly, there’s nerves behind it, you must be used to fake numbers.

He wasn’t going to pick up. But he will now. “Yeah, I always pick up.” Good ol’ reliable Leon. Being falsely cordial even with his rape victim.

“Cool,” you smile once more, it reaches your eyes, makes them crinkle. “Well, I’ll see you soon?” Your tone lilts in question.

“Soon.” Leon nods affirmatively. You limp away and he swallows down the bile burning his throat.

To say you like Leon would be an understatement. You’d smash every mirror that doesn’t hold his reflection. Thinking about him is all you do these days. When you’re laying in bed, when you’re laying on the sofa, when you’ve got your hands down your pants. You don’t do much else anyway. So it’s exciting to have someone new to think about, someone to break up the mundanities of your stagnant life. He’s busy a lot. He might be lying, but you choose to believe him. You’re the only one lonely enough to bear his absence.

It takes all of your confidence to call him, the line rings thrice then goes to voicemail. He calls back late one night. You’re up watching some B-movie that’s classed as soft porn. “Hello, hi?” You suck with phone calls. Fucked up so many jobs ‘cause you failed to answer unknown numbers.

Silence, then the audio crackles when he sighs deeply. “Hey.”

“Leon, hi,” you wonder if he can hear the smile in your voice. “What’s up?”

“I missed your call.”

He’s missed a lot of calls, you don’t remind him. “That’s okay, I know you’re busy.”

“Yeah,” Leon says absentmindedly, “what did you want?”

You haven’t thought that far ahead. You just wanted to hear his voice. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Listen,” he starts, you assume the worst. He’s going to get a restraining order against you. “Can we get dinner one night? Get this over with.” It’s only just started and he wants to get rid of you so soon. Better than nothing.

“Yes,” you agree too quickly, “yeah, I’m free whenever.” Whenever means whenever. There’s not a single day you’re booked and busy. Never is.

He says Friday at six. You wait for it all week long. Pace around your room, mull over an acceptable outfit. There’s no such thing as formal wear in your wardrobe, haven’t even done the laundry in weeks. It’s piling up, gathering dust in multiple corners of the house. You shave your legs for the first time in months, get razor burn, clean your brows up to the best of your abilities.

Leon still makes a face when he sees you in the light. Your mug takes some getting used to. He’s dressed in what you saw him when he held you. That same leather jacket, the stiffness makes his shoulders appear bigger than they are.

When you smile, he smiles back crookedly. Shows his teeth to compensate for the fakeness of it. He’s real handsome. The type of handsome that makes you feel sick. That you feel you shouldn’t be in the presence of. Making you so anxious it’s giving you the shits. If you saw him in public, you’d duck behind someone taller, stick to the shadows, just in case he caught your eye and felt nauseous.

“Sorry I’m late,” you try to keep up with his pace as he strides along, the urge to cling onto his arm is there. He’d likely push you off, spit on you, call you gross. Not that you’d mind. Would be quite embarrassing though. So you hold back.

“It’s alright, I only got here a minute ago.” His disgust ebbs away. You think. ‘Cause he manages to glance over at you without keeling over.

“Was it good?” You take his wrist in your hand, dig your blunt nails into his skin.

“What?”

“When you… when it happened, when we had, like, sex, was it good?”

“Jesus, that wasn’t, that wasn’t sex,” Leon tips his head back, brows drawn together. His head is killing him.

You’re at a loss for words. Opening your mouth to speak and coming up with nothing. You’re hurt maybe. When you do talk, it’s pure fluff. Really shows your age. “It wasn’t? So what was it?” When he shrugs, you keep going, “I wanted to know if it was good ‘cause I knew this girl, like, in school, her name was Emma,” you pause to wave at a baby snuggled up in its stroller, “her mom was a hooker, and she said it was, like, genetically loose. Like her y’know, down there.”

“What?” He repeats, equally baffled as he was by you calling rape sex.

“Yeah, and my mom wasn’t a hooker or anything, but I was just wondering’ if it felt good? Like for you or was it loose?” You gaze up at him the way a beaten dog looks at its owner. Like you trust him with all of you. With your beating heart, with all the gristle and the tough parts, with your paper-doll body, like he wouldn’t tear you in half.

What’s he supposed to say now? It felt real good. Best pussy he’s had in years, the guilt just feels a lot worse. He sobered up after the initial rush. Started feeling bad too late. When he’d bloodied you up already. Left you walking funny, knees bent inwards in a crude attempt to hide the raw pain.

“Felt great,” Leon’s a people pleaser.

“Would you do it with me again, Leon?” You ask him shyly, worrying your bottom lip til it bleeds.

“Yeah.” Pussy is pussy. Even if it’s coming from someone ugly. Oh, he’s just being mean now. You’re cute. Well, cute in the way pugs are. People like to take care of things that are ugly, they feel bad for them, and decide to adopt pugs despite all their problems. He’s a sucker for pretty eyes though. And he’s started to like yours. There’s a deer-like quality to them. Maybe it’s that wide-eyed look of sheer terror you give him anytime he shrugs you off. Kind of addictive.

“Wait, really?” God, you’re shaking, shaking out of pure excitement as you loop your arm with his. “I’d like to see your face, but I really don’t mind. We could do it like that again, from behind.”

“Let’s not talk ‘bout that right now, okay, sweetheart?” Leon says it as tenderly as he can manage.

“Yeah, right, sorry, god.” You follow after him quietly.

Leon orders for you ‘cause you ask him too. You sit on your hands to warm them up, you pick at your skin, don’t really have many manners. Clear you don’t come out often. Not like he took you anywhere fancy.

You eat when Leon isn’t looking. When he’s focused on his own plate, when he’s busy chatting up the busty waitress. It’s strange. You’re strange. Like you don’t want anyone to see you doing anything normal. It’s like breathing is embarrassing for you. Then you open up your mouth and tell him some bullshit, and it’s all very confusing.

He doesn’t want to take you home. You’re not like anyone else, not a cutie he’s picked up from the bar, not someone he’s known for more than a while. But he raped you, so he owes you. Now you’ve got some trauma bond with him. Imprinted on Leon like a duckling. Couldn't you just take some government apology money and leave?

There’s not much to talk about, nothing he wants to find out, he has no interest in getting to know you. Leon asks if you have a job, you shake your head, tell him your parents love you enough to give you more than you need, but they don’t quite like you. That you go to college, but not often, that you don’t really have many goals, that you’re okay with dawdling through life. Nothing has ever worked out for you, and that’s why you’re glad you met him.

Leon has to stop himself from gagging. When he looks your way he’s repulsed. Not by you. Promise. He’s seen some shit. An ugly thing ain’t enough to scare him. Just remembers the blood caked on his cock, how he tucked it back into his pants and it dried up on the drive home.

He takes you to bed soon enough, saw your knee bouncing with excitement, and Leon’s never been particularly good at small talk. You smell nice at least. Tad too sweet for his liking, but that’s alright. Clearly, you’ve put a lot of effort into looking nice for him, and he can appreciate that.

The hair on the back of his neck prickles when your smaller hands find purchase on his waist. You’re shaking as he hovers over you, too close for comfort. Avoiding eye contact like anything. Shy little thing you are. Might as well make a meal of it this time, take in all of you. You ask him to keep the lights low, beg him at one point when he reaches over to turn the lamp on his nightstand on.

“Sweetheart, I can’t even see what I’m doing,” Leon mumbles, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on your shirt, “might slip it in the wrong hole if I’m not careful.” Gross. When did he start saying shit like that?

“Hah,” you laugh softly, airy and nervous, hands coming to rest on his firm chest instead, “I wouldn’t mind, Leon.”

“You would when your fuckin’ guts fall out,” he manages to pop them, a few buttons clatter to the wooden ground noisily, “colostomy bag ain’t no fun.”

“I didn’t think that far ahead.” You’re smiling at him for sure, when he dips his head down to give an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, he feels it. Runs his tongue over your teeth. “I still wouldn’t mind, Leon.”

What a freak. He smooths your hands down your sides, over your tapering waist until he feels your belt loops, jeans low on your hips. The zipper is already down, the button is stiff, but he manages to get them open, shuffling them down and tossing them on the floor.

When Leon goes to undo his belt, you grab his wrist. “Can you turn on the lamp actually? I changed my mind.” You say quietly, fingertips running over his knuckles. “I want to see you.” So he listens. Leon wants to see what you’re wearing underneath. If it’s anything special. It’s not. Plain black cotton. You must not have anything else he supposes. “It felt bigger than that last time.” You’re looking at his half-hard dick, sitting up on your elbows and scrutinising it real bad.

Ouch. Well, you’re the ugly bitch who hasn’t managed to get him to his full potential. Leon’s being mean now, needlessly mean, ‘cause you’re just a kid with a big mouth, and you don’t seem to know when to shut it. “Yeah, ‘cause I raped you,” he laughs dryly. Tastes bile again. Funny saying those words out loud it is. Makes you feel like a real asshole.

“But I liked it, Leon, so I don’t think it was.” By the way you flinch when he spreads you apart, Leon thinks it really was exactly that. Poor baby. Pussy all sore ‘cause he split you open.

“You liked it, hm?” Leon drops his forehead against yours, tries to gage your reaction to his words. “You like being raped?”

Eyelids fluttering shut. Breath hitching. All smiles and warm skin. Yeah, you loved it. You don’t have to tell him that, he can see it. “Yeah… I loved it, Leon.” His thumb slips past your petal lips, he doesn’t even have to ask you to suck. He pulls it out with a pop, brings it down to your cunt and presses the pad to your throbbing clit. “Mmm, ‘cause you wanted me so bad you didn’t even ask me…”

Just his thumb and your hips are lifting up off the bed, cunt drooling all over his sheets. He has to admit, he made a real mess of you that night, can see the way he broke you in. Left you all sloppy. Ruined your perfect pussy so no one else could ever use it. Leon only wants the mess ‘cause he made it himself.

“That’s right,” Leon nods his head, “‘cause you were stickin’ your ass in the air like a bitch. Can’t blame me can you, sweetheart?”

“No, ‘s all my fault,” your brows pinch together when he pulls back the hood of your clit, rubs figures eights into the twitching bud. You mewl, snapping your legs shut, he pries your thighs apart easily, splays a big hand over your tummy to keep you down.

“Weren’t me, was it?” He pinches your clit between his thumb and pointer finger, dips the middle into your drippy cunt to test the waters. “Did that all to yourself ‘cause you wanted some dick, ain’t that right, baby?”

You’re awful cute like this, tears making your eyes all glassy, teeth chattering with the nerves, nostrils flared. Dumb little pup. Wonder what you looked like back then, with your face in the concrete, did you cry this pretty?

“C’mon,” Leon urges, “tell me again, sweetheart.” It’s snug in your cunt, two fingers squished together nicely by your pulsing walls, hot and wet. Makes a sticky sound when he pushes them knuckle-deep.

“Oh god,” you whine, hips bucking up into his palm, clit mashing into the bump of his palm, “it was my fault.” There’s a shaky breath between each of your words, so worked up, heat coiling in your belly.

“Coulda got me in so much trouble,” Leon tuts, shakes his head and you lower your gaze. Squeeze your eyes shut to hide behind the lids. Don’t wanna be blamed for it. “Don’t even care, do you?” He’s quick to remove his fingers, readies his palm to give your cunt a firm spank instead, the pleasure making your entire body jolt. “Just thinkin’ with this stupid fuckin’ pussy.” He spanks you again, cunt makes a wet squelch with the impact. Shit. There’s practically a puddle beneath you, leaking slick down your thighs, all over his jeans. Soaking him to the bone. Like he’s been caught in a monsoon or some shit.

“I’m sorry,” you choke on a sob, let out an ugly sounding hiccup that makes him coo, tilts your chin upward to kiss the salty tears away. “Didn’t mean to do it, Leon.”

Leon clicks his tongue, spanks you once more for good luck. “I know you didn’t, sweetheart, you’re just a bit slow, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you agree tearfully, he can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, that’s alright,” he croons to you so sweetly, like he might be in love with you. He’s not. But this is fun. Most fun he’s had in a long time. “Useless little thing, not good for much, are you?”

“Mhm,” you nod at him, so stupid, empty fuckin’ head.

“That’s alright, you’re good for one thing, sweetheart.” Leon squeezes your thighs, watches the skin dimple, “know what it is?”

“I’m good for you.” You give him a dopey smile, makin’ goo-goo eyes at him. God. Not in a million years.

“Not for me,” he pulls you towards him by your ankles, legs dangling off the bed until you wrap them around his waist, hold him close to you. Leon stands at the edge of the bed, his jeans fall loose around his ankles, he kicks his boxers off. Just to make his life easier. “Just for dick, yeah? You’re real good at taking dick.”

“Only yours, Leon,” you’re so taken by him it’s sickening.

“Nah,” he palms himself, thumb digging into the weepy head, “I think you’ll take any dick you can, sweetheart.” Your ears perk up at the schlick, schlick, schlick as he readies himself, droplets of pre running down his fist.

“I like you so much, Leon,” you’re begging him with your eyes, they flit from his cock to his eyes. Dick to his eyes. Blinking so much it’s making him a little dizzy. You’re all lashes and pouty lips, hands clasped together like you’re praying. “Oh!” You grab at his shoulders when he bullies his cock into you. Pupils blown out, doll lips parted in surprise. There’s not as much pain this time he bets. Cunts like a fucking slip ‘n slide, he’s sure it must feel good.

Leon bottoms out with a grunt. He draws his hips back, shallow thrusts that get you keening, babbling like a little baby ‘bout how much you adore him. Just ‘cause of some dick. God, you really know how to make him feel good. The fat head of his cock hits that spongy spot inside of you just right, ‘cause your back arches up in a way that looks painful. Exorcist type shit. Even hears your bones crack.

“That good, baby?” He laughs lowly in your ear, has to swallow back a groan when you clench tight around him, “c’mon, stop pushing me out, darling.” Leon gives a sharp thrust, pushes his way past your tightness, leaky tip nestled up against your cervix, fleshy and warm. Tiny little pussy you’ve got, no wonder it hurt so bad back then, just about managed to take all of Leon.

“I love you,” you whimper a fervid confession, baring your neck like an animal. He bites into your skin with the aim to break it. Hot and carnal. His heavy balls slap against the fat of your ass, he’s fucking you so good, so deep. Each thrust garners a whiny noise that he hushes with a kiss, gushes of slick running down his shaft and wetting his balls. Messy pup. Never fucked anyone that got so damn wet for him. Mostly ‘cause Leon has a knack for hitting on people who don’t reciprocate. His fingers on your clit is all it takes. Leon feels it, how your cunt forces him out when you cum, with each upwards thrust is a squirt of wetness.

“That’s it, sweetheart, let it all out for me,” Leon rolls his hips into you, the sweat on his brow begins to trickle down his face. He tastes it on his brow.

You're spent. Can’t even lift a finger, going lax on him as he drives himself into your cunt, slams his hips into yours till they bruise. Groaning, his cock spurts all it can inside of you, skin stretching taut as his abs tighten, spilling his load in your cunt. Right where you’d like it. Pulling out didn’t even cross his mind. Pussy is awful good for such a dull face.

“Leon,” you’re giving him a dopey smile, so stupid, lovesick on dick alone, he hasn’t even done anything nice for you.

He hums for you to keep going, slips his cock out with a lewd pop and flops down beside you.

“I really like you,” you nuzzle your nose into his neck, “like loads ‘n loads.”

“I know you do,” Leon states, “I don’t mind keepin’ you around or anything, darling,” like a pet, “just can’t have you fallin’ in love with me.” You look away from him with a scowl. Too late. He knows that.

“I like you, Leon,” you hug his arm, “I don’t… you can stick it in my ass if that’s what you really want, I really don’t mind. I don’t think it’d feel that bad.”

You think that’s gonna keep him around? Might’ve worked when he was twenty. “When I call you, you’ll pick up, won’t you?”

“Yeah, of course I will, Leon.”

“Then we can talk, but you can’t keep calling me, alright?” Work has always been a problem. But now he has you. Loser who’ll stick around to the end of time for him. It’s nice this way. The whole rape thing is behind the both of you too. You’re so set on liking it anyway, not gonna turn him in or anything.

“Okay, Leon,” you’re pouting, but you’re not spoiled so you agree. “What if I miss you?”

“Then you just gotta wait for me.”

“I’ll always wait for you, Leon,” you smile wide, “I don’t have anyone else to wait for.”

Not like he had anyone else either. Quite nice finding the one person in the world that might be lonelier than him. Sadly, it makes Leon feel better about himself, ‘cause at least he has contacts in his phone. He’d be dead if he ended up the way you did. Would’ve knocked back a few pills years ago.

“I really like you though, Leon, and you can rape me again if it makes you like me too,” you’re so incessant, he might just take you up on that offer.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #tw noncon

[denimbex1986]

'The actor and Baftas host answers your questions about facial hair, Doctor Who, Scrooge McDuck – and growing up as the son of a minister

How do you face the challenge of being this year’s Bafta host? practicalpanic I don’t currently feel particularly challenged because everything’s written down for me and I don’t have to worry about winning – or not winning – an award. If it was the first night of a play, I’d be curled up in a corner in the foetal position. But the fact that it’s not my day job certainly feels liberating. Who knows why they asked me; I must have been pretty far down the list. Expectations are pretty much zero. I don’t have anything to prove. Will I be phoning [previous Bafa hosts] Jonathan Ross and Stephen Fry for advice? I might do. But I’m travelling in blissful ignorance at the moment.

What’s your sideburn policy? They appear to be sized in direct proportion to your characters’ confidence. DrHugbine That’s a very interesting observation, which I don’t think has any truth behind it, but it’s making me wonder …

Here are some examples … Fright Night’s Peter Vincent – long and bushy, confident vampire killer. The Doctor in Doctor Who – long and pointy, charismatic and charming. Broadchurch’s DI Alec Hardy – beard, no sideburns, introverted and suspicious. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’s Barty Crouch Jr – no beard, no sideburns, complex and a traitor. Good Omens’ Anthony Crowley – ginger, no sideburns, stylish but tempted Eve in the garden of Eden as a snake so a bit of a bad egg generally. TopTramp I don’t think you’re going to write a doctoral thesis based on that evidence. It’s very thin evidence, at most. I grew sideburns for Doctor Who because, back then, I was worried I was a bit young for it and I thought they slightly aged me. Which, of course, I then had to recreate recently when I’m almost certainly too old for it. I guess increasingly I am unshaven, in which case you don’t really have to worry about sideburns because they’re part of something else. Whatever length my sideburns are on the night of the Baftas has no reflection on how I’m treating the Baftas.

As a vicar with young kids, I wondered what influence being a son of the manse has had upon your work? RevdAl It’s hard to know, because you only know the influences you had specifically from your parents because they’re your parents – it’s hard to unpick. It certainly wasn’t a childhood filled with religious dogma or any kind of restrictions. It was more a moral guidebook.

What was it like kissing Michael Sheen [in season two of Good Omens]? And who enjoyed it more? carnies18 Who enjoyed it the most? Presumably Michael was thrilled. How could he not be? But it was another day at work. The most difficult bit was other people’s awkwardness. We thought it was quite fun, so it was fine. He’d brushed his teeth.

Would you accept a knighthood just to fuel an excellent argument with Sheen in the next series of Staged? Shirls Because he sent his OBE back? That predisposes the fact that anything that’s talked about in Staged is based on real life. We are in our own houses, acting opposite people we spend our life with. But that’s pretty much the extent of the reality of Staged.

Which is best – playing a detective, a murderer or a murder victim? JonnyMorris1973 Well, one of them solves the crimes. One of them commits the crimes. And the other one has a crime done to them. It probably depends which character the writer is most fond of and therefore the most fun to play. It’s not really in the gift of the actor, so much as in the gift of the scriptwriter. I think I’ve only played one detective, haven’t I? What’s my favourite way I’ve been murdered? Oh my goodness. I was shot in The Last September. I get murdered on stage every night in Macbeth, although that’s a spoiler. I sort of died in Doctor Who when I got shot by a galvanic beam in a radiation chamber that filled my body with more radiation I could cope with.

Am I as geeky as the Doctor who fans? Yes. As a Doctor Who fan myself of old, I can very much can plug into that. I don’t think I ever got in trouble at school. That is one of those stories that’s ended up on Wikipedia. I wrote an essay on Doctor Who, which some unpleasant newspaper found and printed. But I didn’t get in trouble for it. I think I got quite a good mark for it.

Who would win in a fight between Crowley, The Doctor and Scrooge McDuck? AlistairDionysus Probably Scrooge McDuck. He seems to be able to survive just about everything. He’s far more resilient than Crowley or The Doctor, who seem to end up staring destruction in the face. Scrooge McDuck, nothing seems to trouble him.

You have a lovely singing voice! Would you like to do a musical? Beatrice_Tate, gaityr, laibarra622 and Luigii I make a nice curry, but I’m not going to open a restaurant. Would I do the Masked Singer? I love The Masked Singer. Nothing has excited my eight-year-old daughter more than when everyone thought Ricky Wilson from the Kaiser Chiefs was me, week after week. You can imagine how disappointed she was when it turned out I wasn’t.

If you were a cheese, what kind would you be? BrianBraddock I’ve got very into paneer curries. Paneer is neither hard nor soft, so I’ll say that because it makes me sound like I’ve really thought about it.

What’s the last item you snatched from a set? NataliaBCN I’m just going back through things I might have pocketed. Maybe this is the upbringing we talked of earlier. I’m very bad with nicking things. I’m plagued with guilt. The last time they released a new sonic screwdriver toy, someone gave me one but I gave it away because I’m so full of generosity, but now I slightly regret it.

Your portrayal of serial killer Dennis Nilsen [in ITV’s Des] was truly terrifying. How do you prepare for a role like that? YorkshireExPat With someone such as Dennis Nilsen, there is quite a lot of material that’s been written about him. There’s video evidence of him. So you immerse yourself as much you can, then join a line between that and the version of the character that’s in the script, because, ultimately, that’s the version you have to portray. One thing we were very careful to do on Des was to not make it from his point of view. I don’t think you can ask an audience to sympathise or understand someone like Nilsen. It’s the story of how he got away with all these things, then was caught. Hopefully the audience is left thinking: how can someone who is just another member of the human race be committing these extraordinary acts and the rest of us not notice or understand?

If you could regenerate as anyone else for the day, who would you choose? TopTramp My wife, just to see how annoying I really am so I could be properly objective and understand her pain.'

#David Tennant #Scrooge McDuck #Crowley #Good Omens #Aziraphale #Michael Sheen #The Masked Singer #The Last September #Macbeth #Doctor Who #Broadchurch #Alec Hardy #Barty Crouch Jr. #Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire #Des #Georgia Tennant #BAFTAs

[void-star]

My feeling is that, like, 98% of the world around me still believes in two mutually exclusive and oppositional genders, including other queer and even other trans people.

Every single day I am subjected to a lot of microaggressions about it, and I don't actually know which of the two mutually exclusive genders people see me as, but it's always one of them.

Some people see me as gender oppressor, some people see me as gender victim (i find neither a particularly useful way to conceptualize another person, but I digress), I'm usually excluded from other people's sexuality regardless, and nobody talks about my actual gender in relation to all this cause in some fashion I must always fall to one or the other mutually exclusive one, either by my agab, whatever genital people speculate I have, or whatever they think is my 'real' gender.

I'm so tired of it.

#im tired today and im feeling weird #nonbinary #agender #multigender #enbyphobia #androgynous #nonbinary dysphoria #gender dysphoria

[chrkrose]

Hello. I've seen you answer an ask about Lyanna Stark. It's rare to see people point faults in her. Usually, they say Rhaegar is to blame, and Lyanna's age dismiss her actions. Even those who say she was rickless still go back to say anyone who points out her mistakes is misogynistic. What do you think of this say? Should we really not talk about it? Is Elia having negative feelings toward her that taboo and un-adult like? I have mixed feelings. I read many posts that defend her and that as long as you are young/child, you don't get blamed, but the thing is, I feel that it's not the actual reason. I feel that they just want to reject her mistakes and use the age and gender as an excuse to make the opposite person feel like an asshole for pointing out that a young girl carries some responsibility. And in a scenario where she and Rhaegar lived, I feel she would still be with him, and that just feels selfish and inconsiderate toward Elia. Is it really that bad to dislike a young person? Was all she did because of naivety? Because to me, she wasn't naive in that aspect (love doesn't change a man's nature). What do you think of her? I really don't understand how she is liked that much as nothing but victim. Sometimes, it feels forced other times self insert or uncare. I feel it's all to the hype George gives her from being remembered to having a rare flower as her motif to being jon's mother and Arya's aunt and being Rhaegar's love. Or am I being too emotional about what I see as justice? I wish to hear your thoughts.

I do think that Rhaegar bears more responsibility than Lyanna, both because of his age and because the exact circumstances around how she left with him remain unclear. But honestly, I feel far more sympathy for Elia in this entire ordeal. She was a woman of color who suffered greatly because of this situation, and a far more interesting character if you ask me. That matters to me more than what people assume about Lyanna's motivations, especially the idealized "fanon" version.

If Lyanna went willingly, her youth can explain and justify some of her decisions, but I find it unfair to excuse all her choices as a result of her age because fans certainly don't extend the same generous view to Jon (14 years old), Daenerys (13 years old), Sansa (11 years old), Robb (16 years old), Myrcella (10 years old), Arya (11 years old), etc, all of whom struggle with difficult decisions around the same age or even younger. I think it’s disingenuous to absolve her of the weight of what happened when these characters and many more aren't afforded the same grace.

Lyanna fans and Lyanna/Rhaegar shippers face a dilemma. Either she went and stayed willingly even after knowing about what was happening – making her a hypocrite for running off with a married man after her whole discourse about Robert and a pretty selfish horrible person given the brutal murder of her brother and father, never mind the civil war that followed it – OR they must accept Rhaegar held her captive once her initial feelings changed after knowing about her brother and father/ Rhaegar lied to her and never told her the truth about what happened because he knew she would leave his ass. That destroys their idealized image of a loving prince, and destroys the perfect impossible predestined love story they made up about these two. They can't have it both ways, but they sure try.

But this is all beating around the bush. Let's be real here about why Lyanna (and Rhaegar/Lyanna as a couple) have a somewhat significant fandom for the amount of development they have in the actual text. The reasons are: 1) she's white, and 2) she's a blank slate for self-projection. Far more interesting characters and couples (cough Nettles and Daemon cough) exist with similar levels of textual development and don't get nearly the same attention. That speaks volumes. Lyanna and Rhaegar are a blank slate where they can paint whatever they want, as long as they can ignore the more uncomfortable parts and the ramifications of their story.

This bleeds into how Elia is treated by much of the fandom. It boils down to racism. Were the racial dynamics reversed, the fandom response to these women would be fundamentally VERY different. Just look at how Nettles/Daemon are treated compared to Rhaenyra for further proof. What's the difference there in the dynamic? A married prince meets a girl and falls in love with her, abandoning his wife and children for her. You don't see fandom contorting themselves into saying that Rhaenyra deserved it, that she had it coming, rejoicing in her death, gloating about how she went down. And Rhaenyra was actually a terrible person. Elia was nothing but a good woman, who was married off to a prince and paid a brutal price for his lack of care and abandonment, suffering until the end of her life and dying in one of the most horrible ways I've read about in this series. And yet she's demonized. Again. Racism.

The truth is, her fandom project their own desires onto Lyanna. They love the "not like other girls tm" idea of her, they love the pick me girl energy of her story, and she fits the bill for their self-inserts. The misogyny runs deep even among those who considers themselves her fans or shippers of the couple, and they don't even realize it.

My dislike of her is a lot influenced by her fanon version, because the truth is that there isn't enough material for me to actually care about canon Lyanna outside of the tragedy that was her life. Canon wise she might be interesting and maybe a character I would enjoy, but the truth is that there isn't enough there. And if I have to care about characters who have that little textual development, I find other characters such as Elia, Ashara Dayne, Nettles, etc, much more interesting, engaging and worth of my time

#anti lyanna stark #anti rhaegar targaryen #anti rhaegar x lyanna

[cosmichighpriestess]

You are the way. The way is you. When you hate someone or something you are saying, I despise this, I'm not getting my way so I'm going to throw a temper tantrum and hurt anyone I wish until I get my way. But how can they do that if it's your Universe, your reality, your Earth, your preferred reality? If you are the only way? So, you're really saying, it's so unfair it seems like things should be different. When you could actually say instead, when I let go of control of how things should be, then the way is shown to me. The Universe is always orchestrating my life despite seemingly negative circumstances. All paths lead me to my highest path. Everything is actually working out for me. You do not get peace by hating war, you get peace by loving peace. Hate only reinforces the things you say you do not prefer, because that's what you are focusing on.

So, if you want to use your free will to disempower yourself, by hurting someone else then that belief needs to be examined, because why on Earth are you hurting yourself and others? Why are you exploring and using your free will to intentionally hurt others? You assign a personality to someone and believe it. Therefore it IS. They are just a powerless mirror reflection. So you are really saying you have low self esteem, you don't feel valued and your self hatred is projected outwards, and you wonder why you are only seeing that reflected back to you. What I am doing to you, I am doing to me. Think of a sword, dropping on the person you hate, but realize you're not doing it to them, the sword is actually falling on your head anytime you judge someone outside yourself. What you're really saying is, "I'll get rid of this awful way I'm feeling if I project it onto you. " Which constantly perpetuates the wheel of suffering and separation and the feeling of guilt eventually, on your end. You want them to feel guilty, but you end up feeling guilty because you're doing it to yourself. Always remember, negative beliefs will do everything in their power to maintain themselves.

They are perpetuating the experience, and they are doing their best to hide themselves from you, that's why you must examine them, and put a spotlight on them, because they are creating your reality. First you must examine the belief, stay in the knowing there's nothing to fear by looking at it, and remove the belief everyday and replace it with your preferred belief. As within, so without. But however, Nothing is written in stone. You create the unknown from the now even if it was written in your contract. The contract can always be ripped up and replaced. Remember there's three types of people in this so called matrix, those who see, those who see when shown, and those who refuse to see. Which one are you?

Can you imagine what you could do with all that power of creation and using it for good instead of continuously choosing to stay in a toxic cycle by playing the blame game and the victim card? Who are you in competition with? The ghosts in your reality reflecting back you to yourself? Not to discount the amount of pain you have experienced in this lifetime from not knowing better from your state of realized consciousness. Why not love yourself and start realizing that everyone is you reflected back at you? You need not go back and forth with yourself, causing world war 3 because your negative ego needs to be right. You really think the entire world hates you? Why on Earth would you accept that as your reality? You can change it at any time by looking in the mirror at what you are projecting onto everyone else.

Whatever you believe other people are thinking about you, is really how you think about yourself. Always remember hate IS LOVE processed through a negative judgment. You really love who you say you hate. But there's something about them you reject, you reject about what you're capable of being. The opposite of love is -not hate, it's really guilt. Hate is a polarity expression of how you can express and feel love but it's the not true mechanically speaking, opposite of love. Guilt is always expressing itself as separation -it's constantly perpetuating limitation and separation from the ALL who are ONE. People actually love you but you can't love yourself, so you can't see the reflection of it in your reality.

Everyone in your world is YOU. All the people in the cars, on the street, in the store, they are all you. Are they kind to you? No? Then look within to see where you are vibrating at and raise your vibration to a level of acceptance. I embrace and accept that this version of me needed things to be one way. I accept that everyone is me reflecting back me. I accept that person is not someone I like but I respect their journey. I understand how they feel, because I didn't get my way either.

The temporary anger, and the temporary reactions are not worth it. It's not worth destroying our lives, hurting others and doing something we will regret later. You must choose to change your energy to be as close as possible to the version you say you prefer to be. Then you will actually generate a powerful momentum that will cause a complete 180 in your reality, causing a ripple effect and positive synchronicity into your reality. Because there's negative synchronicity (by not being your authentic true self) and positive synchronicity (by being your true authentic self.) Look within yourself and present yourself in a different way, or not of course the choice is always yours.

#rose messages

[alicesought]

{{ --OKAY But it's the CONTRAST you knOW--

There's so many parallels and contrasts like Being set in modern day instead of literally victorian london, but the way jervis perceives the gutters of Gotham parallels precisely with the rotten underbelly of London in the era his mind is always pretending to be in anyhow, and he would distort through his eyes just as Liddel does and see Gotham as this colorless, smog filled, ugly and mean reality where everyone is either malicious or apathetic. He can easily go into Wonderland and come to reality accidentally in the company of human traffickers and violent drunks much the same as Liddel in modern Gotham, I have no doubt.

And then the fact that he doesn't resent his lost innocence, he resents whats trying to tarnish what's left of it, and thoroughly believes, probably even subconsciously, that the good and just thing to do is to restore the innocence of his Wonderland-- not grow and mature in the same way Alice does. and I think that part comes from not being a teenager as well-- he's not coming of age, he's nostalgic, and he has much more experience with control over his Wonderland. So his Wonderland likely wouldn't antagonize him in that way naturally, if it does, it might even be guilt for failing to save them, seeing his imaginary friends as victims of... whatever it is that's invading his brain. it would only be oppressive toward him if the story needed him to go against his own delusions. ( Then, it very well could begin tearing his self worth down, I'm sure lol ) But I feel like that wouldn't be his end goal, he wouldn't kill any Wonderland character besides maybe some card guards or a bandersnatch. Jervis loves the characters of Wonderland, Alice Liddel is... apathetic to them often times, sometimes outright hates them. That's one major difference. If Jervis is driven to kill or hurt a Wonderland character something is very wrong. And maybe that's his conflict...

You see, he must be the lesser of two evils, because he's not a good person, and I don't feel like this story would be aiming to make him so. No, if you're going to root for him, he needs to be in the right enough to empathize but still in character. So his growth would involve being resolute, able to act on his own strange moral code in a way that gives him self respect. AND I SAW someone mention Dr. Strange could take the place of Dr. Bumby in the story-- and I am shocked I did not consider that lmao,, That could really be it tbh, a more complicated spin on what Arkham Jervis went through. A fascist scientist, intent on exterminating the mentally ill, twists jervis' perspective in a way that turns him against his fellow mad men in some feigned promise of safety and happiness in his delusions, as if something is keeping him complacent, but he feels this itch of wrongness from it and just can't be happy, and he has to realize that his desire for escapism and avoidant personality has nearly driven him to acting exactly opposite to his own principles as someone who sees madness as a virtue. So he isn't unravelling his Wonderland delusion, he's solving the mystery that all the conflict he's imagining is a distraction-- or worse, maybe some characters of Wonderland represent other rogues and he's accidentally doing Strange's dirty work and harming-- and so he has to find out who he actually needs to fight.

Rambling rambling rambling, throwing out random thoughts, this has been one long run on sentence, only barely coherent, but I'm done-- }}

#{{ Anyways-- somebody get jervis furious enough to say “ You rotten misbegotten abomination ” I beg you lmao }} #🐇 ◆◇◆ || ₙₒ ᵣₒₒₘ₋ ₙₒ ᵣₒₒₘ! || { o.o.c. }

[drbased]

Another go at taking something apart

Here I am, having fun again. Let's go over this, shall we:

What is being labelled here as 'radical feminism' is literally just feminism. The rhetoric that 'led to transphobia' is just... feminist rhetoric. There is absolutely zero difference in rhetoric I have seen between classic feminism and what is labelled 'radical feminism' today. Liberal feminism, as we know it, has opted to take a position that is antithetical to most feminist points. A keen-eyed reader may think 'hey, if what you're saying/doing is literally the opposite of what feminism recognises and suggests, then that sounds like anti-feminism'. Funny, that. But no, we have to present this image of radical feminism as the cursed form of feminism that is splintered off from the normal feminism.

Classical feminist understanding takes a typical leftist approach of recognising an oppressor class and an oppressed class. If you believe that there was zero recognition of interlocking factors, then you're just showing your ignorance of feminist history, and also you haven't even read a single damn book. There are lots of versions of feminist thought, some more intersectional than others, but none of them stray away from the base recognition of the male oppression from women. They do this successfully without needed to make women 'ontological' victims (once again, we have an example of unecessary words thrown in to make OP sound academic and complex, because if you remove the word 'ontological' you're left with the clause 'women as victims and men as abusers' - it cuts a bit too deep when you say it that way, and it makes it harder to make (radical) feminists sound unreasonable. Funny, that. (Also, they also use the phrase 'simple asab' to achieve the same affect - minimising the impact of 'assigned sex at birth' aka sex on our social conditioning - aka socialisation. Sounds a pretty cowardly way to engage with politics, if you ask me.)

No radical feminist acts as if all women are the same. Feminism has achieved so much without needing to do this. But they have to keep asserting this. They have to take the blunt logic of feminism and mangle it, obfuscate and over-complicate it, then turn around and say that we're the ones who view things simply. It's this video in a nutshell - hey so want to pretend that they have the real complicated answer and that we have the conspiracy theory. It's projection, plain and simple.

They didn't really explain how what we say is 'fucking bioessentialism' but hey, it was asserted with confidence, so I guess it must be so. As for it leading to transphobia, well.... I guess it does, if you have a curiously broad definition of transphobia. There's no real reason why a feminist recognition of how men oppress women would automatically lead to the discrimination of trans people; women aren't the ones firing employees for being trans, or denying trans people housing or whatever. It's akin to the right-wing rhetoric of 'the immigrants are stealing your jobs': women are being blamed for the male neurotic need to keep bioessentialist ideas alive so they can justify why men deserve to oppress women. Any allowance of gender non-conformity or homosexuality means that men's little patriarchal house of cards falls down (in theory) - so they have to preserve this concept that men are from mars and women are from venus, and that that's a neutral fact. Feminist recognition of this bioessentialism and how it's used to naturalise the oppression of our sex is the same as how any oppressed group recognises their status. It does not require a leap into believing that trans people deserve to be harassed, or anything of the sort. But the TRAs have to keep up the narrative that it must be a guaranteed pipeline, because that's all they've got.

And there isn't a guaranteed pipeline. Not really. Sure, conservative hate groups can co-opt feminist rhetoric, just as any right-wing group can and does co-opt leftist rhetoric. I believe I know what they're referring to 'in the 80s' but I don't remember enough about it to comment (was it involving Gail Dines working for the CIA or something like that?). The thing is, I've seen them make these little leaps in logic over and over again; they never really can seem to explain why feminist recognition of biological sex actually leads to hatred and discrimination of trans people in any sort of material sense that would mark trans people as a specific, coherent oppressed class. Now, I do believe that trans people are part of an oppressed class of sorts - homosexual men with dysphoria are used as the seedy underbelly of patriarchy: a way for male homosexuality to function in secret so that the house of cards stays upright; meanwhile, dysphoric women have been discovered to be useful muddiers of the feminist/gay rights activist water, fracturing the movements from within. Also the transgender movement has resulted in the mass sterilisation of many people who would have considered themselves gay/lesbian in a previous era - now they're considering themselves straight and trans. Is that really fighting some sort of bioessentialism, or is it conforming to it?

There is a real issue with radical feminists allying with right-wing groups (I talk about that quite a lot), but I see it as a fracturing of the feminist consciousness and a lack of political awareness caused by the general political climate - including a poisoning of the leftist well by identity-driven anti-politics, such as choice feminism and genderism. I could be wrong, but with every feminist text I read all I can see is that 'transphobic' feminism is just regular feminism, and regular feminism as well know it survived pretty well as a broadly leftist movement for over a century. What I have also seen is that feminism has always been labelled as something bourgeois. Given that men have demonstrably oppressed women since the dawn of time, I'm always willing to give feminism - and LGB activism - the benefit of the doubt. Lord knows, men have so so much to gain from the demonisation of feminism and LGB activism, and it doesn't seem all-too-unlikely to me that men would use whatever angle they can to try to destroy them. Leftist men are still men, and men are still the oppressor class - no need to be ontological about it. So tell me, TRAs, are you intersecting feminism with all the other issues you care about? Why do you think liberal feminism has failed, or is radical feminism the only feminism successfully poisoned by right-wing politics designed to support the oppressor class?

#my writing

[chamerionwrites]

I don't want to overgeneralize, or sound like I'm doing that thing of extrapolating wildly from a very niche sample. (You know - the thing where extremely online people make hot takes such as "cishet dudes who wear makeup/nail polish/feminine clothing/etc are just performatively doing it for gender kudos." buddy you may see a lot of people praising this in your corner of the internet but I promise you this is not a good way to win kudos in the world at large lmao.)

Anyway I am absolutely not saying that the world at large rewards people for anything other than being meekly silent and stoic and accommodating of mistreatment. Like it's pretty self-evident that whatever lip service sympathy people pay to trauma survivors in the abstract, when they are actually faced with real ones most people have the Bootstraps and You Must Forgive To Heal rhetoric (subtext: please stop making any of this my problem or disrupting the comfortable status quo in any way) ready to go immediately.

ALL OF THAT SAID I do feel that in certain spaces and situations there's almost the opposite unspoken moral imperative of - you have to be angry about your mistreatment. If you're not angry then maybe you weren't mistreated at all. If you feel grief or reluctant sympathy or even the desire to understand somebody's self-justifications for treating people (you!) badly, then you are acting as an abuse apologist.

But the thing is. If we acknowledge that you can't just will yourself to experience an emotion because it's the Good and Correct and Normative Emotion that you're Supposed To Be feeling, then we have to acknowledge that this applies to anger too! There have been quite a few times in my life when I desperately wanted to feel angry with someone who treated me poorly - anger would have been energizing - but instead I was just crushingly sad. And it's really hard when you want to talk that out, but most places you turn you're either going to find misplaced praise for being so wise and enlightened and forgiving (subtext: a Good Victim, not one of those bitter angry people. fuck off with that shit), or misplaced indignation from people who are (understandably) sensitive and think you're patting yourself on the back for being so wise and enlightened and forgiving, or just people well-meaningly but kinda patronizingly informing you that it's okay to be angry.

I know it's okay to be angry. But sometimes I'm not. And sometimes I long to be seen and acknowledged in that headspace, without worrying that people are just going to turn around and use me as a cudgel against anybody else who is experiencing (perfectly understandable and justifiable!) anger about their own mistreatment.

#the mortifying ordeal of wanting to be known! #trauma #anger #ethics tag #also. to be clear. frequently i am a ball of molten rage. the point is that i do not get to choose which of these things i am feeling. #my posts

[skewbforty]

Story time

2020, although not the worst year of my life, definitely ranks at least top 5. But it didn't suck harder for me than it did in July, when at my most vulnerable, someone who ran the community that I at the time called my family, had everyone gang up on me and made me feel as betrayed as possible. I won't go into the details, but long story short, I eventually got better. Slightly.

But 3 things became my beacon of hope in those times. 1 was my own server which I had established soon afterwards, which turned out to be a huge success, 1 was my now girlfriend who stuck with me and gave me support, but 1 was a slightly less likely source.

It was an Animal Crossing parody account on Twitter which back then, as a site, wasn't 180% pure anger and hatred. There was still salvageable material on the website at that point in its life.

That's not to say there weren't angry people tho, and boy did they fuck that account over.

I'm not gonna say the account's name to protect my own ass, but what happened one day not long after I had found it, was the account had said something slightly stupid, either knowingly or unknowingly, that could be seen as slightly racially insensitive. All of a sudden, they got absolutely lynched by people for that tweet, wave after wave after wave of hatred, threats and toxicity which broke them to the point where they deleted that account.

Now, I am NOT saying what the parody account did was right. I do think they should maybe have thought a bit more about what they said, especially in an age like this. But it's not like they said any slurs, or direct attacks, or anything any government would consider hate speech. And yet they got absolutely flooded with hate with whatever they said (which btw, I don't even remember what it was, go figure)

I've been victim of this too. On one of my old accounts on this website I talked briefly about why I thought Sasha (which funnily enough is also an Animal Crossing character) was not transmasculine. I tried to remain as inclusive as I possibly could about trans people, and I even went out of my way to say "I could be wrong, if you disagree, that's perfectly fine, and you could be right". In the end, it's all a game and it was just a ramble in good fun in the spirit of the game. Didn't work. That post got so much hate. Not nearly as much as the parody Twitter account got, but I was called "cis scum" left and right. (I find it painfully fortuitous that people in defence of trans people called a trans person who wasn't 100% perfect in their wording "cis scum" >.>) but that's the kind of place we live in atm. Yes, the haters out there are just trying to do the right thing, but some are trying too hard. And ultimately doing the opposite of what they sought out to do in their extremity.

I will miss that parody account. Not for their one dumb tweet they made, but for their other thousands of delightfully funny tweets. And it's not like the only one. I just found another account that's similar in style only on this site, and for Minecraft instead of Animal crossing. So I’m glad I was able to find some humour in this chaotic world again. Because the show must go on.

[patrioticshortbread]

i no longer feel a great sensation of sorrow and sadness. instead i am but an empty self. i feel so passionate in this idea that i exist as a most verified nothing when left alone, that i am afraid i should be unreal when in the presence of another. i feel horribly and sickly unknown. my skin feels secretive, and what is shared of my personhood a false imitation. and though i might claim a nausea over this humble concept of being unknown, i declare an even worse illness at the very hint that others may declare a semblance of knowledge over who i am. i feel but a stranger to you all. what have i dared be honest of? do you know that of which my mind is filled of when not spoken to? and what ails me in most agony, the simple feature that there is but not one individual who dare desire to know it.

its not that i feel that i may be a victim of preaching nor whining, but rather that i am a slave to useless talk. is that all i am, at a constant? useless talk?

i am a person, that much can be true. and human, i might forgive myself for it. i am only that of a body who yearns for affection and care and is met with violence, as most may be.

i would give whatever piece you sought to ask for, and for that i might be a true prisoner to humiliation. who have earned nothing from me but maybe a true brutality and despise, and yet i cannot manage to claw such sentiments even from the deepest caverns of my sorrow. i could scrape the very sides of these white-yellow bones and only find a shame. and shame, an emotion to oneself, unfortunately provides so little in what i should be feeling towards you.

a man in absolute. i stare at myself in the mirror whenever the light and time allows for it. if i could paint myself, i only wonder which body i would decide to design. if i could, i might be dishonest. but i suppose a liar i would be in either choice.

i dont understand much. like a baby i must be in this way, newborn with life and love. it seems i have become just shy of an adolescent despite my many years of being full with light.

im going to continue, i suppose. not with much vigor, though will a gentle lack of resistance. i do not wish to come forward, lest my very self only impose more blame. and i have suffered enough from that internal strife. at times, a human being must allow himself the very crumb of forgiveness as to not allow himself a true madness.

loving someone does not make them love you. and this fact, like all persons struggle in this world, might be a painful one. it is my time to no longer expose myself, and allow my vulnerabilities to be my own. in despite, forever in despite, in contradiction and in opposition. i will await the day you speak to me, though you have shared words little has been spoken. i will await for when you have something that earns a worth of my ears and seeping heart.

have you not stolen away enough? i only wonder if you will ever learn the warmth i have grown familiar with.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #prose poetry #writing

[randomreblogsone]

I properly havent said anything about my mbti yet, so now is for the reveal, but also no one care lol I just want to spam :v

Judging from my blog, I think it is no surprise that I am an ISFP.

Oh and I also write some thoughts about other mbtis based on an isfp stand point, but not really that much and deep since I really suck at guessing other mbti and I really dont like to put stereotype onto others.

The first thing is about mbti personality that I hate the most (this is based sorely on my experiences with them). It is unhealthy INFJ. Sorry but I always have encounters with INFJ unhealthy, and I cant stand them any longer :"). There are 2 types of unhealthy infj, the thing similar of them is that they are all very manipulative, but other than that is one love painting themselves as victim and the other is the clingy type that very selfish and not giving you space. The victim one in my jojo fandom ofc, they force themselve to like something that they are not so that they can be friend with famous individuals in my fandom, and they are the types to always ask others for help and giving nothing in return, also bullying others too. Once that I decided to left them, they are saying as if I have been bullying and threaten them. That is the reason why I cant with them. Other one is very clingy and having high anxiety, they just really see me as their therapist who will listen to their every thoughts that really not giving me boundaries :"). Like they just spam a bunch of their favourite movies and songs (although I must say their taste is superior) but never tried to hear about mine since I am just into anime and manga. And they really dump any traumas randomly into my inbox like??? Ofc I just really flattered that they trust me enough to share but the points is that I really am uncomfortable and no matter what I said multiples times that I dont want to message that much since we dont have anything in commons. They also said that they dont want to see friends come and go anymore, they are tired with any of that even with they said that they know one of their friends are really want to cut ties with them. Which is really the opposite of me. As an isfp (but more likely my personal opinions) I really that type to go with the flow, I am very ok that any one from any relationship can come and go, I always has that mindset and I also like to have my personal space, and I am not the talkative types, I like to meet face to face once in a while so that we can have a meaningful chat rather than small talks, also not having anythings in common is just suck to talk to :"). Beside that Idk, I kinda have that nihilistic and detached mindset so I really just see things as it is, everythings will come to an end. But enough with my hateful rant abt infj, I am very admired of their deep thoughts, their tastes, their artistic ability to go deep into any issues, finding any meanings left, their writing abilities, the way they can be very easy to make friends to basically anyone and their asthetics is just chef kiss.

So next is the mbtis that I like to be with. First is XNFP, I tend to attract these ppl too, and they are very sweet souls that they also have their deep artistic thoughts, they are having the drive too. If they are passionate about something, they will try whatever to be on top of that with the right motivation. Also they value personal spaces and boundaries so that really vibe with me. The second is XSTJ, I just love that they can come and get anything once they put their mind onto, like they can be the ceo and very ambitious, work hard, which I always want to be like that so I can become a better version of myself. Third is enfj, which is my mom lmao, but yeah she the best, she help me alot and basically being the one that rebuilding my self worth.

So that is :v. As I said I really dont know how to guess others mbti unless they decided to share that info. And please dont be harsh on my writing cuz I am not a native English speaker and I just suck at literature :v, I always write as it is so... thanks for anyone who decided to read this horrendous piece :>.

[mrslittletall]

One hiccup I have with most headcanons about Miquella manipulating Mohg is people never understand both characters' lore pass the Bewitching Branch and Bloody bedchamber and grooming meme. Both of them have their own plans which are opposite of each other, Miquella wanted to cure his sister while opposing Outer Gods and Mohg reached out for an Outer God in exchange for power and "love". Ultimately, Mohg's desire to become sovereign triumphed and ruined Miquella's plans. He needed an Empyrean to win the war, love comes as a gift because he- "luminary Mohg deserves everything". Keep in mind that I'm not attacking anyone, I'm just disappointed that most people do not understand their characters pass the "Luminary Mohg deserves ALL the love", even from an unresponsive body of Miquella. It's a tragedy, Mohg becomes a raving lunatic for all of his actions are futile and Miquella's hopes are put in an indefinite pause.

I also see little desire of Miquella to become a god of blood for an Outer God and it's funny to see him detaching his soul to become god of dream, the last repose for fallen warriors. All he needed was a Tarnished to bring his soul back to the adult Haligtree body.

Little disclaimer, I am not against anyone shipping whatever they want and how they want it. I just like to look at this relationship from an angle that was implied in canon. And you got it, anon. Miquella had his own plans and it was growing the Haligtree, getting rid of the influences of the outer gods and curing his sister and maybe his own curse in the process. I mean, he coccooned himself while still in the Haligtree, so he probably tried to mutate into an adult morph there. Gah, that sounds like he is a butterfly (but he has insect wings, though...) And yeah, Mohg 100 % kidnapped Miquella outside of his will and wanted to take him as consort without even asking Miquella, which is why he never responded to Mohg. Maybe he is aware of what is happening and is staying asleep on purpose, waiting for Malenia to save him (not knowing she has no clue where he is). There must be a reason why he doesn't wake up and it might be that he knows that the cursed blood would influence him and make him pawn of an outer god. It's not an easy relationship to describe. I don't see either of them as a pure innocent victim. Both of them can be terrifying forces of natures, both of them are demigods and that is what makes it complicated. And ultimately, they are the pawns of an outer god who just toys with them, so yeah. I still hope that the DLC will be about Miquella, because there is a story that hasn't been finished told. Thank you for your insight, anon.

#ask answered #thx for the ask

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Hart and Hunter - Chapter 38 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Dane Hunter

I pull the clinging fungal strands away from Ingrid's face and neck, check for a pulse and exhale with relief when I feel a slow but steady beat drumming against my fingertips.

"She alright?" Freya asks, masking her anxiety for our sister with a casual tone.

"Cold and unconscious but alive," I confirm.

"Danni?" Freya presses a hand to Danni's neck.

"Same. The shit must have some kind of sedative property. I bet it keeps the skin-changer's victims alive while they take their time draining 'em."

"We can speculate later. Let's get them awake and get the hell out of here first."

Freya gets back to work without answering.

I half listen as Julian and Rhiannon pull Halloran away from the wall and attempt to wake him.

A strong odor assaults my nostrils and I turn to see Rhiannon crushing something beneath Halloran's nose.

Whatever it is, it works and he bolts awake, coughing violently.

I'm about to ask Rhiannon for some of whatever she used on him when Ingrid stirs and moans feebly.

"Dane?"

"Yeah, baby sis. We're getting out of here. Just hold tight."

"Ugh... I feel sick. My head hurts."

Gingerly, I probe the back of her head with my fingers.

"No obvious injuries," I say.

"Probably just a side effect of whatever shit they drugged you with. You'll be okay, just as soon as..."

An alarmed hiss interrupts me and I twist just in time to see Julian blend with the eerily glowing wall.

On the opposite side of the cavern, flickering shadows, the shuffle of footsteps and the low hum of voices give me only seconds' warning before a troop of armed Fae enters the chamber.

There are seven of them, armed with bows and spears.

The one in the lead is tall and pale, with long dark hair worn in a plaited braid.

He resembles Halloran enough that I assume he must be Darragh.

There's no sign of Erickson and I hope that means he got away and hasn't joined the corpses in the passageway.

As the Fae flank us and raise their weapons, Freya and I share a quick glance.

Bows and spears may not be the most sophisticated armaments but in the hands of Fae they're deadly enough.

We're outnumbered and with Danni, Ingrid, Halloran and the children still incapacitated, we can't risk any rash moves.

We raise our hands in surrender.

"Well, well... what a strange reunion this is and still keeping strange company, dear sister," he says, glancing at me and Freya.

"You always had such charmingly... eclectic tastes."

Rhiannon glares at him mutely while Halloran struggles to raise himself on his elbows, still tangled in the fungal webbing from the waist down.

"Darragh, you son of a bitch," he rasps.

"I should have known you were behind this."

Darragh crosses the cavernous space, his steps echoing lightly around the shadowed chamber and comes to stand before his twin siblings.

The other Fae move into position without being told, like the highly trained warriors they are.

Two guard the passageway with ready bows, two cover Freya and me with wickedly long-tipped spears and two flank Darragh.

"I suppose you should have," Darragh says.

"But you always were a little dense, brother."

"This again?" Halloran scoffs.

"I thought we had settled our differences."

"Differences," Darragh laughs.

"That, brother, is the issue at hand. I am just as much our father's son as you are. All I've ever asked is to be treated as such."

"And you have been," Halloran says, his voice gaining strength as he recovers himself.

"He raised us as equals... he's always acknowledged you as his son."

Darragh's lips twist with disdain.

"His illegitimate half-human son, yes. Not as his heir."

"Is that what this is about? The succession?" Halloran shakes his head.

"You know I've no interest in politics. If it were up to me..."

"WELL, IT ISN'T," Darragh's voice ricochets around the chamber like a scatter of bullets, the barking echoes making everyone jump.

He rubs his jaw and takes a breath, reining himself in with a visible effort.

I make a mental note that the man has a temper and scan the chamber for signs of Julian.

"It isn't up to you," Darragh says, more calmly.

"And don't tell me you'd be happy to cede the succession to me if I asked it of you. No one gives up power once they have it and you'd be no different."

"What then?" Halloran asks.

"You would rather keep company with monsters than accept your honored place in court, simply because you are not first in line for the throne?"

Darragh smiles sharply.

"Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven, is how it goes, I think."

I cast Freya a sidelong glance but with Fae arrows aimed at our hearts, neither of us dares to move.

Werewolves can heal from terrible wounds but a direct strike to the heart, especially with an arrow smeared with wolfsbane, is certain death and the Fae know their business when it comes to killing wolves.

"So, what? You intend to colonize the Shadowlands? Become a king among monsters, instead?" Halloran asks.

Darragh begins to pace like a cliche villain with the heroes at his mercy and laughs.

"You always did lack imagination, brother. No, I do not wish to be a Prince of Hell... I wish to be Lord of All."

Halloran stares at him.

"All? All of what, Darragh?"

The other man turns on his heel and stalks back across the length of the cavern, his black leather garments gleaming in the eerie bioluminescent glow.

"Everything. Faerie, the Shadowlands and the human world each have their strengths and their weaknesses... rich in some resources, poor in others. Imagine if we had full, stable and constant access to all three."

"That's insane," Halloran says.

"Opening a portal between Faerie and Earth is crazy enough but the Shadowlands? That would be... catastrophic."

Darragh merely nods, hands clasped behind his back.

"Yes. A cataclysm would be inevitable. Magic would bleed through from faerie, wreaking havoc on human electromagnetic systems. Their infrastructure, their communications networks... all would come crashing down. In Faerie, the dilution of power would have unknown effects but more than likely some of our defenses would crumble, releasing massive amounts of unpredictable magical power into the world and from the Shadowlands... well, who knows what might come? But one cannot have light without darkness to balance it... and balance is what I seek, brother."

"Balance?" Halloran gasps.

"Do you have any idea how many humans would die?"

"Of course," Darragh says, inclining his head.

"But consider the numbers rationally. There are, what? Eight billion of the creatures now? Even if nine-tenths of them perish, a sufficient population will remain."

"Sufficient for what?" Darragh shrugs.

"Breeding... and labor."

"Slaves, you mean," Halloran's voice is a whisper, his blue eyes wide with horror.

"Darragh, what you're talking about isn't balance. It's the end of three worlds."

"And the beginning of a better one," Darragh says easily, turning on his heel and pacing back across the polished floor.

"Human lives and memories are brief. Things might seem bleak for a time, certainly but soon enough, they will forget the old ways and appreciate the new. In the meantime, the Fae will arise and conquer and an era of true prosperity will dawn."

"Hypothetically," Halloran says, catching my eye with a desperate, sidelong glance.

"You have no idea if that's what would happen. For all you know, all three dimensions might implode and for what? Because you're not Father's heir?"

"I was his heir," Darragh snaps.

"Until Father lay with the sister of the Summer Queen and you two came along. Children of pure Fae blood... royal blood, no less. I went from being Father's sole heir to a distant, barely acknowledged third choice."

"I thought that's not how it worked with y'all," Freya says, daring to speak up despite our peril.

"I thought as long as one half of the equation was Fae, the result would be a hundred percent Fae, too."

[just-endless-nonsense]

Ascension of Melsir

CW: murder, assault, torture

Her two oldest sons stood wielding swords on either side of her, one of her cousins up in a tree with a crossbow. At the sound of a carriage approaching, her sons slipped into the bushes. She morphed her headwings out of sight, adjusting her shirt, and began walking at the side of the road towards the carriage. When it came into sight, she raised her hand up, waving at the gryphon pulling it down the road. As her sons and cousin watched from the shadows, she met up with them, exchanging words with the gryphon and making pacifying motions to the passengers he was escorting. Whatever she said seemed to appease them, and while she wasn't allowed into the carriage, the gryphon took a slower pace so that she could walk alongside them and maintain the conversation.

"--misconception that all Creatures are violent. Obviously it's best to be wary around unknown ones, of course, but many of them are quite peacable. Why, even Cubi, who drain their victims of their very souls, have clans dedicated to healing and protecting! Not mine, though."

There was an abrupt silence from the gryphon and his passengers, which quickly erupted into screams as a crossbow bolt hit the gryphon through the hip. Mel's headwings flared up from her head as she bashed the door of the carriage open, launching herself at the passengers. Her cousin fired another bolt at the gryphon, this time taking him in the shoulder, taking away the range of motion it would have required for him to remove the harness that bound him to the carriage. Two of the passengers made their way out the opposite door, and they each found themselves facing one of her sons, who dispatched them with a quick thrust and slash, each of them grabbing their victim's fleeing soul. Mel had slain her target, devouring the woman's soul, then made a leisurely exit from the carriage as her cousin laughed in the tree, continuing to fire vicious but non-lethal shots at the gryphon.

Everything felt amazing. Murder and soul-eating, so much fun, ranking high among the things she enjoyed most in life. Cruelty on this level was exhilarating, and her body was flooded with adrenaline as she took the souls her sons offered her. The gryphon's screams were like the music of a romantic dinner to her, just as enjoyable as the meal itself. But then the screams cut off, and she found herself jerking into motion, dashing around the carriage to capture his soul before it could flee. She barely managed to pull it from him, delighted at the terror it was leaking, and found herself doing a giddy little hop from foot to foot as she shattered it, her heart pounding with excitement as she finished off her last victim.

The world bent around her.

Her sons and cousin were shouting, trying to push, pull, grab, to touch her in any way. She felt their hands, their emotions, their thoughts, not just the ones on the surface, but their very consciousness, everything that passed through their minds no matter how brief or inconsequential.

She reached out, trying to reassure them.

They were all seated together in her palm, staring at her with the same shock that she felt reflected on her own face.

HAVE I… DID I REALLY? I DIDN'T MEAN… I WASN'T TRYING… IS THIS REAL?

She gave a confused laugh, carefully setting her family members on the ground.

WE'LL FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO ABOUT THIS SOON. RIGHT NOW, THERE'S SOMETHING I MUST ATTEND TO…

She wasn't quite sure if she had enough of a blood relation with him to call him a member of her family. The clan had always been scattered, moreso now because of his actions, so tracking anyone more than a generation or two away from each other was complicated. Even so, that wasn't why she had approached him.

He didn't seem terribly impressed by her. Her ascension, yes, but not her. "So you've done what I was trying to. Am I supposed to believe you're any less evil than I am, just because you didn't mean to do it?"

NOT LESS. JUST DIFFERENT. I DON'T CANNIBALIZE THE SOULS OF MY OWN CLAN.

AND YOU ARE NO LONGER PART OF MY CLAN.

#DMFA #Clan Melsir

[thisismorgan]

feels very odd how little i am afraid of men these days. i no longer feel responsible for what men want from me. i bend forward at a ninety degree angle if i have to now, i don’t care who’s in the room with me. i used to shake if a man dared to speak to me in a dark parking lot (to be fair, they should know better) with rage but now i just give him two cigarettes and light one for myself when i get in my car. when one says something suspicious to me i just take it at face value and move on. i didn’t even realize i had made this change until i saw the reactions of women around me. i must look naive but i feel the opposite. or like, it’s a purposeful naivety, cause who knows, you know? men are predictable, but there are still people out there living strange, incommunicable lives and i feel the urge to protect them. i want to make space for them. i want it to be possible, i think only i can control that. cause i am one of them. and when i hear my coworkers speaking them out of existence i hear myself pronounced dead to them. whatever my name may be, they will only reach for the nearest explanation and no further. they don’t want to believe in complication. in nightfall. in love. in magic. i exist more in these places than anywhere else. not necessarily out of choice, but here i am. so i’m not worried about asking for it anymore. about getting it. about the wide eyes and shaking heads. about feeling younger than my age and dumber than i look. about being put in the lowest role the world can make you feel: the victim, the dirt. so i don’t lock my car door so obsessively. i let my windows roll down. so i become a victim in one moment, in one context. so what. the sun comes up in the morning and it’s a whole new day. there are infinite aspects to my life, not just one or two. maybe i die, okay, let’s be real—you can’t live like death is in your control. that’s a miserable prison. i was in there and i got really really sick and bored of it. so i just don’t feel the fear the way i used to, i don’t know. i’m not ashamed to die.

[tfwarfare]

Transformers Warfare: Darkstar Crew

A small group of Autobots, the Darkstar crew was the closest team to Earth when a distress signal was detected on Earth. Arriving to find the Autobot forces scattered, Optimus Prime missing and presumed dead, and the Decepticons preparing to take over the planet, Skyhammer Magnus and his team must do the seeming impossible and reunite everyone to save the Earth.

Skyhammer Magnus

A highly ranked Autobot, Skyhammer Magnus is the leader of the crew of a starship known as The Darkstar. One of the few flight capable Autobots unassociated with the Aerialbots, he is one of the most graceful flyers known, second only to the treacherous Starscream. Despite this, he is most famous for his arsenal of weapons, a large assortment of firepower capable of taking down the toughest of foes.

Skyhammer Magnus transforms into a MH-60R Seahawk. He is armed with a heandheld EMP Shotgun, missile pods mounted on his forearms, and an Energon Sword, personally bestowed upon by Optimus Prime.

Roulette

Skyhammer Magnus's right hand bot, Roulette was a victim of tragedy when her sister, Pirouette, was murdered during an invasion on her home planet, Velocitron. Sparkbroken, Roulette made it her life's mission to ensure that she would spare anyone else a similar grief. She migrated to Cybertron and joined the law enforcement, a path which set her on the path to becoming an Autobot... a journey which led to her reencountering her last living sister, Silhouette, now going by Shadow Striker, a hyper competent and resourceful Decepticon with a grudge with Roulette for abandoning her to her grief. Though the two are on opposite sides of the battlefield, Roulette holds hope that one day, she can resolve things with her sister.

Roulette transforms into a Dodge Viper (VX I). She is armed with a standard issue laser rifle.

Ulchtar

Formerly a Decepticon who idolized Megatron and his ideals, the Decepticon quickly fell out of favor for Ulchtar when he realized Megatron doesn't care about his troops or value their lives after he was left for dead. When Optimus Prime encountered Ulchtar, the bot joined with the Autobots for a chance to make Megatron pay, but it was Optimus's compassion that changed his motivation from revenge to a genuine desire to do good.

Ulchtar transforms into a Saab JAS 39 Gripen. He is armed with a sword that is formed from one of his jet mode wings.

Red Alert

An Autobot medic, Red Alert is a cautious bot, emotionally dedicated and often reluctant to participate in a fight. Some blame it on the Decepticon ambush which robbed her of her left hand, others on an unending state of paranoia. Whatever the reason, she's a reliable source of medical aid, and should the situation call for it, she'll brave the battlefield to help those she can.

Red Alert transforms into a Nissan Patrol Rescue SUV. She normally doesn't use weapons, but she carries a particle beam rifle for when she's in a desperate situation.

Backfire

A Velocitronian who has mastered the use of speed on a battlefield, Backfire may be small, but in his optics, that just means his enemies have a tougher time catching him. Indeed, the little Autobot is famous for his dodging, but his lightly armored frame mean he's more susceptible to damage. It's only a matter of time before a Decepticon gets lucky, but Backfire is sure he'll spring back up in case that happens.

Backfire transforms into a Can-Am Spyder. He is armed with a plasma cannon.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers warfare #transformers au #darkstar crew #skyhammer magnus #roulette #ulchtar #armada starscream #red alert #backfire