#but I feel like you should at least be honest about it

[bookyeom]

campfire - bsk

pairing: seungkwan x reader word count: 1.7k warnings: the tiniest mention of blood at the beginning request prompt: "What are we to each other?"

A/N: Thanks so much for all the support for my 700 follower celebration. You guys rock! I'm doing my best to get through the requests, but there were way more than I anticipated so bear with me!

"I’m bleeding," you wince. You sit down on one of the rocks, turning your foot to assess the damage. A small trail of blood leads from your ankle to your pinky toe, and you let out a little whine. "Gross."

Who’s idea was it to go on a hike at 5:30am, anyway? 

Yours. Right. It was your idea. 

You’d thought some of your friends would join you – you’re on a week-long cottage vacation. Why would you not immerse yourself in the nature all around you? But only one person had signed up to tag along – the one you thought liked you the least. You don’t even know if you would consider him a friend.

The hike had been mostly silent, awkward even – and then, like an idiot, you’d gone and tripped. 

Seungkwan wastes no time, immediately crouching down on the ground in front of you. He motions for you to put your foot up on his knee and you oblige, wincing again as you move. You can’t help but watch his face as he assesses the injury. His hair is messy from the wind, and parts of it are falling across his forehead as he leans forward. He looks kind of beautiful in this element, you have to admit. All sweaty and flushed from the exertion. You try and fail to suppress a shiver as his fingers run across your skin, and his eyes meet yours in concern. 

"Did that hurt?" 

You feel your cheeks heat up as you shake your head no, before breaking his gaze and looking back down at your foot. You watch as he pulls off his backpack, resisting the urge to comment on the fact that he has a first-aid kit in there (because of course he does), even though that’s what you do. You and Seungkwan are just that – two people who happen to have the same friends, and bicker over the dumbest shit. But right now, with the way he looks so soft and concerned, his lower lip between his teeth in concentration, you can’t find it in you to make a snarky comment. 

You’ve been finding it harder and harder to do that lately, if you’re being honest with yourself. You don’t know when it started to happen, but the teasing between the two of you just makes you feel warm all over now, instead of irritated like it used to. You’re starting to resent the way he makes you smile.

“This will hurt.” Seungkwan’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you nod, unable to find your voice as he presses a piece of peroxide-soaked cotton onto the affected area. You hiss at the pain, and his free hand gives your calf a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “It’s not sprained,” he tells you, “but it’s going to hurt like a bitch. You should be okay to walk on it, but we should definitely head back.”

He starts packing up his bag again, and you wish that you could find something, anything to say. You know a thank you is in order, but all you can manage is, “Since when did you become an expert in sprained ankles?”

Seungkwan snorts, but he doesn’t so much as flinch while he continues to put his things back in his bag. “Being the captain of the volleyball team has its perks, I guess.”

“And co-captain of the badminton and table tennis teams.”

That makes him look up. His eyes are wide in surprise, and you try to ignore how flushed you’ve suddenly become under his gaze. “Yeah,” he says slowly, “I didn’t know you even knew that about me.”

You can’t help the defense that shoots back up as you retort, “What do you mean? It’s all you talk about. We get it, you’re sporty.”

“Right.” His lack of response to your quip has you flustered. He simply hums, stands up and slings his backpack over his shoulders. “Can you walk on your own?”

You feel stupid all of a sudden. “I think so,” you respond, dejected by the weird energy between the two of you, and you can feel Seungkwan’s eyes on you as you stand, testing the weight on your foot. “I’m good, just go slow.”

You don’t talk to Seungkwan for the rest of the afternoon. He disappears when you make it back to the house, and all you get from him over lunch are some smiles and a giggle when you guffaw at Mingyu tripping on his own shoes. You spend the afternoon hanging out with Vernon and Seungcheol in the library, ankle propped up as you read in silence. 

A campfire is on the agenda for dinner, and you're told to sit back and relax as things are brought out from the cottage. You’re entertained from your seat by Seokmin and Mingyu as they begin cooking, and the rest of your group comes out one by one. The sun is beginning to set, and the sky is a beautiful array of blues, pinks and purples when Seungkwan sits in the chair next to you.

“How’s the ankle?”

“It’s fine,” you manage, and he nods. He settles in, eyes on the fire, and you can’t help but gawk at him. He chose to sit next to you?

The evening passes without much more chatter between the two of you. Your other friends are entertaining as always, and the time slips away peacefully until Jeonghan announces his early retirement, and others begin to follow suit. The fire is dwindling when Chan, Soonyoung and Seokmin announce that they’re headed in, leaving just you and Seungkwan, and you’re about to ask Seokmin to help you back to the house when Seungkwan interjects.

“I’ll help them.”

You flush at the chorus of oohs and ahhs that echo through the remaining group, but Seungkwan doesn’t even flinch, already maneuvering his chair in front of yours. 

“Come on,” he pats his thigh, “let me see.”

“Seungkwan…” 

He hums, focused on the task at hand. It’s quiet now as he stops fidgeting with the bandage, moving instead to gently massage the sore area around the wound. His touch is gentle but firm, and you feel electricity shoot through you. You’re holding your breath, and you feel a little dizzy; there are goosebumps on your leg from where he’s touching you. It’s not cold out, so you know you can’t blame it on that. It’s quiet, and all you can hear are the murmurs and occasional laughter of your friends in the distance, and the dying fire. 

“Why are you doing this?” Your question comes out harsher than you mean for it to, and you wince.

Seungkwan looks up at that, his fingers stilling on your skin. He’s silent for a moment, processing. “What, helping you?” He sounds incredulous, and you shrink a little bit back into yourself. He begins to gently press his fingers into the muscle of your ankle again, his eyes falling back to his work as he adds, “Didn't know you thought so lowly of me.” 

“It’s not as if you like me either, Seungkwan.” You wish you could pull your ankle away from him without it hurting, wish you could find a way to hide from whatever this conversation is about to be — but you can’t. 

Seungkwan shakes his head, the disbelieving huff of a laugh escaping his lips as he does. “Unbelievable.”

You cross your arms, defensive. “What?”

Despite being obviously annoyed, Seungkwan is gentle as he sets your foot back on the ground. “Nothing. Just let me help you back to the house, alright?”

You stare at him in disbelief as he stands, moving his chair back to its place before he holds out an arm to you. “No. What? You’ve got to be kidding me, Seungkwan.”

He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight as looks away from you and mutters, “Fine. Get back to the house on your own.”

“That’s not…” You fight back the sudden urge to cry, blinking rapidly. “Seungkwan.”

Something in your voice makes him turn back to you, and now his own arms are crossed in defense. “What, Y/N?”

“I…” You don’t even know what you mean to say, really, and it takes a moment before you whisper softly, “What are we to each other?” 

You can tell he’s surprised by your question. His eyes widen as he straightens. “I… I don’t know,” he admits honestly. “But I can’t figure out why you don’t like me.”

His admittance lingers in the air around you, and your mouth falls open as you process. “Do you like me?” 

Seungkwan’s hand lifts to run over his face as he sits back in his chair. He’s embarrassed, you realize, and your heart stutters over itself in your chest. “I mean, yeah, but I just meant — you think that I hate you or something, but I don’t, even though you don’t like me —“

“I like you,” you blurt out, cutting him off before he can ramble any further. “I thought that you didn’t like me because you’re always so competitive and want to beat me at everything, and you never seem excited to see me or try to talk to me at parties, so I just… gave up on trying to make you like me.” 

Seungkwan lets out a whine. “You intimidate me! You’re good at everything and yes, I’m competitive, but you’re an equal match and that’s so hot. But I thought you didn’t like me, so I didn’t try, either.”

“Oh my god,” you say after a moment. 

You stare at one another in the dim firelight for a moment. And then you both begin to giggle.

“Are we going to ignore that you called me hot?”

Seungkwan stumbles a bit, the arm he has slung around your shoulders tripping you up a little bit too, but he quickly catches himself. You bite back a smile. “Yes. Yes we are.”

“Why? I think you’re hot, too.”

Seungkwan fully stops the two of you now, turning to you with an exaggerated pout. You can just make out his features in the light from the cabin up ahead, and he looks so cute you could cry. “Don’t tease me,” he whines.

“I’m serious,” you tell him honestly. He looks away, but you can see the shy smile that’s formed on his face. 

“Fine,” he says as he begins to walk again. “We can talk more about that inside.”

@wheeboo @tae-bebe @waldau @eoieopda @gyuminusone @minisugakoobies @lvlystars @seohomrwolf @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @christinewithluv @wqnwoos @iluvseokmin @darkypooo

#seungkwan x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen imagine #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan imagine #seventeen fluff #my writing #bskfic #bookyeom700

[thoughtless-muse]

a/n: the title (and some other parts of the story) are inspired by the song ‘bad blood’ by taylor swift and no, i am not ashamed of it lmao. this is my first time ever diving into this type of story, so I’m equal parts excited and terrified. if you have any critiques/tips, please let me know below! also, “scout’s honor” is by no means abandoned. I’m going to be writing/posting chapters of each story at their own pace :)

chapter summary: you had been alone for over a month now, combating against stumbling dead people who slobbered for your flesh. when a random stranger finds you in the aftermath of a blackout, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to join his group. but he did, and in a desperate move to escape those four walls, you accepted – not knowing at all what was in store for you.

word count: 2.4k

c/w: canon-typical violence/gore, sassy!reader, fem!reader, language, past-established relationship, very subtle allusions to a troubled past

prologue

“hey, lady, are you, uh… are you okay?”

the words were garbled and a tad distorted, and for a moment, you thought you’d merely conjured the voice from the depths of your frayed conscious — but the boyish face that stared down at you when you fluttered your eyes open threw that theory straight out of the window.

for a moment, you simply stared in silence. you stared at the boy’s face, taking note of the pink flush of life to his flesh — not gray, not rotted, not bloody; pink. his face was clammy, sweaty, with the skin pulled in different directions to paint an expression of worry; an honest to god expression.

a person. this was a living, breathing, real person standing above you. at least, he seemed real enough, but —

“are you real?”

the question bubbled, croaky and hoarse, past your lips before you could reign it in. the boy scrunched his bushy brows together and his squinted eyes narrowed until they were near closed. a clear expression of confusion. huh, another expression.

“um, yeah, I am.” the boy responded, though, in his bewilderment, the statement sounded more like a question than a fact. a laugh wrenched itself from your chest.

“you don’t sound too confident about that, mystery man.”

“I-I’ve just never been asked that question before.” the boy sputtered, a tad defensively, lips pulling into a frown. expression after expression from this one, it seemed.

“I haven’t had to ask that question before,” you grumbled out. pain pinched your ribs when you propped yourself up on your elbows, no longer feeling the need to lay flat on the warm pavement. “don’t exactly see new faces in the city much, let alone breathing ones.”

“you mean you’ve been in the city this whole time?” the boy exclaimed quietly; his eyes were wide now, revealing orbs the shade of dark chocolate. they weren’t fogged over, dead, or unseeing, but glassy and expressive. human.

a ragged, raspy croak broke off your sentence before you could even start it. your muscles jolted in response, but before you could react, the boy let out a shocked yelp that was followed quickly by a wet squelch right next to you. you trailed your eyes down to find a small hand-ax splitting the rotted flesh of the groaner to your right. the one you swore you’d killed not long ago.

“huh. thought I got that one,” you noted mellowly, swinging your eyes back up to the boy to give him a small nod. “thanks.”

“yeah, uh, no problem.” the boy panted, returning your nod. his eyes darted from side to side before he thrust out a hand to you. all you could do was stare at it.

“it’s not safe out here in the open. we should really get inside a building or something,” the man suggested, words edged with subtle nervousness. you scanned your surroundings slowly; there was a cluster of groaners shuffling towards you, but they were at least twenty yards away — not much of a threat given the granny crawl they were traveling at.

mystery man, however, became more nervous at the sight of them.

“c’mon, I know a place that’s clear. it’s not far from here.” he urged, extended hand trembling faintly. you let out a huff and grasped it with your own. your ribs bloomed with pain once again when the man hauled you up, but you bit back the groan that it prompted; you’d had worse than this, and you’d long since learned to suck it up and just keep truckin’.

when you were stable on your feet the man released your hand and reached down to free the hand-ax from the fallen groaner’s head, his face scrunching in disgust at the wet sucking sound the action elicited. it actually amused you to an extent.

“okay, mystery man, lead the way to safety.” you stated flippantly, manipulating your arm in a ‘the stage is yours’ sort of gesture. the man gave you a bit of a stinky side-eye before jerking his head to the left.

“it’s just this way,” he whispered. he padded to the sidewalk quietly, head whipping in each direction, body tense as if he expected a groaner to simply jump out unannounced at any moment.

what a scaredy cat, you thought jocularly.

“also, my name is glenn, not ‘mystery man.’” he added in a mutter.

you merely hummed in acknowledgment, more so for the man than yourself; you knew that by sundown he’d be gone with the wind, you’d forget all about this glenn fellow, and his name would be lost to your memory forever. no point in trying to stick it there in the first place.

silently, glenn led you through skinny, trashed back alleys and skirted past dilapidated structures, until at last he reached a large brick building. the door, which looked to be some sort of emergency exit, was a cool, gray metal, the hinges lined with rust and the surface slightly bleached from the harsh rays of the sun.

“it’s in here,” glenn murmured, grasping the handle and yanking it open. the hinges gave a deep, audible screech as he did so. “we cleared this out a few days ago.”

“we?” you parroted, trepidation flaring in your gut. it was fine when it was just glenn, but the thought of a group of people, one composed of unknown numbers, set off all kinds of alarms in your head.

groaners you could handle any day of the week; they were predictable, simple — just ambling corpses with no real thought process. humans… humans were different. complex, unpredictable, dangerous.

glenn noticed immediately when you hadn’t followed him through the threshold of the door; he glanced back at you, brows scrunched once more in confusion — it only took him a few moments to register the look upon your face before his eyes were widening and he was sputtering, “o-oh, it’s fine, my group isn’t – uh, they’re not dangerous. they won’t hurt you. and in any case, they aren’t w-with me today – I always make runs alone.”

“I’m s’posed to take your word for it?” you shot back, eyes narrowed dangerously. glenn gulped audibly and flicked his eyes between you and the interior of the building, lips working without producing any sound. he looked so helpless, like a lost puppy, that you couldn’t stop yourself from deflating.

“I believe you,” you uttered. “at least, I will for now. I mean, you don’t look all that dangerous. I reckon I could knock you on your ass in two seconds flat.”

a threat wrapped up within a petulant jab; not exactly your proudest moment, but part of you felt cornered, and it seemed to get the job done. glenn’s eyes flashed with surprise, and maybe a bit of fear, and his voice was less than stable when he murmured, “there’s no one else in there, I swear.”

the tense set of his shoulders, his wide eyes, and the shakiness in his voice seemed so genuine, that you couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“are you actually scared of me, mystery man?” you jested, genuinely bemused by how sincerely glenn considered your concealed threat. was he actually taking you seriously? glenn’s throat flexed as he swallowed and nodded.

“well, I just watched you take down about a dozen geeks with just a pocket knife; so, yeah, kind of.”

you chuckled to yourself and gave glenn a once over. maybe he wasn’t so bad, after all. he appeared genuine and harmless. kinda cute, too; in an innocent, boyish way, of course – boyish had never exactly been your style, but you could enjoy the aesthetic of it.

“well, glenn, why don’t you go ahead and show me around?” you purred, rolling his name across your tongue and not bothering to wait for a verbal confirmation. you pushed past glenn and into the dank, dusty building, eyes immediately sweeping across the bare shelves and stained walls. not a groaner, nor human, in sight.

glenn ambled further in and shut the door behind him with a soft whoosh and click. the room became near saturated in darkness, the only light being that of the sunlight filtering weakly through the gaps between the boards nailed to the windows. glenn wasn’t lying when he said it had been cleared out, but he didn’t mention anything about it being groaner-proof.

“is this, like, where your group stays or somethin’?” you inquired, your eyes narrowed and scrutinizing of every detail. there were no mats or makeshift beds that you could see, no visible provisions, and the space lacked the tell-tale signs of human inhabitance.

“oh, no, uh, this is just a rendezvous point – or, it will be. like I said before, I mostly do runs on my own.” glenn passed by you as he explained, coming to a kneel in the middle of the floor where the sunlight was most luminous. he slipped a large, beige bag from his shoulder and planted it on the ground, flipping the top and burying his hand inside.

“runs?” you wondered aloud, watching the man closely as he began to pull items from the bag one by one. medical gauzes, bottles of hydrogen peroxide, boxes of bandaids, a couple cans of vegetables occupied the space beside him bit by bit.

“yeah, runs. we made a camp a while back, at an old quarry just outside the city. food and water aren’t much of issue there, but other things” – glenn glanced up at you a bit sheepishly – “well, they run short sometimes.”

“so they send you out alone to get them?” you surmised, prompting an airy chuckle from the kneeling man.

“ah, no, I actually offered. I know the city like the back of my hand. getting in and out is no problem for me.”

you nodded your understanding, chewing the tender skin on the inside of your cheek – you were inclined to believe glenn, considering he had yet to prove himself untrustworthy, but there was something that was gnawing at you; something that you needed some clarification on.

“so, uh, if you came out here to get supplies, why’d’ya come over to me? and why did you bring me here?”

glenn paused his task for a brief moment before sighing softly. his lips thinned as he seemed to ponder how to answer.

“because I made a promise to myself. I told myself that if I ever ran across someone here in the city, I’d ask if they want to come back with me,” glenn answered quietly, though by the clench of his jaw, you could tell he wasn’t quite done with his explanation, so you bit back the other questions swirling on your tongue. “I guess I just hoped to myself that if the roles were ever reversed, someone would do the same for me.”

the residual tension that had been locking up your shoulders ever since entering the building drained away like a river to the ocean. you smiled softly and plopped down on the floor a few feet away from glenn. with a teasing warmth in your chest, you queried, “so you saw me and decided you wanted me to come home with you?”

glenn rolled his eyes, but the flush in his cheeks betrayed the effect your suggestive comment had on him.

“not like that, it’s just – it’s just that things aren’t as easy as they used to be. your best chance at survival is with a group.”

“I’ve done fine on my own,” you responded back flippantly, planting your palms behind you and leaning your weight back atop them. “I mean, I’ve been here since it started.”

glenn swiped his tongue over his bottom lip nervously, scanning through the contents on the floor before rapidly scooping them back into his bag.

“yeah, I, uh, I noticed that you’re capable. it’s just that – things won’t always be so easy, you know?”

irritation shot through your chest like a hot lance, your somewhat good mood ruined instantly.

“did I say it was easy?” you seethed, anger punctuating your every movement as you swung your hands back in front of you and leaned forward.

just as it had at the door, glenn’s mouth began to open and close rapidly as he tried desperately to recover. his wide eyes flicked down to your waistline, the area he knew held your pocket knife, and he scooted back a small bit while simultaneously dragging his bag in front of his body; an attempt to keep distance between the two of you.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant that – that without a group, surviving will get harder and harder.”

you weren’t entirely sure if it was from lack of sleep, stress, or the cursed, buried memories that had been incessantly dragging themselves back up despite your multiple efforts to keep them down, but you had been highly irritable the last few days. every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face, you heard his voice, taunting you with the sweet nothings he whispered long ago. you still felt his phantom touches that had long since grown cold.

you just wanted it to stop.

you wanted to find the strength to throw that little box out of the fucking window, and to burn that one shirt he left, the only things left to remind you that he wasn’t just some conjured fever dream. that’s why you’d been out in the street in the first place, drawing as many groaners as you could to yourself just so you could picture his face as you plunged your knife through their soft, rotten skulls.

and maybe, just maybe, find the strength to drop the knife and let it end.

but you just couldn’t. you couldn’t throw the box out, you couldn’t burn the shirt, and you most definitely couldn’t let yourself die; it went against everything he taught you.

with a sigh, you opened your eyes, which you had never even remembered closing, and regarded glenn once more. his eyes were still wide, clouded with something that was a mixture of nervous and worried, his hand trembled atop his bag, and his bottom lip wavered.

“you said you promised yourself that you’d invite whoever you found in the city to your camp, yeah?” you quizzed, the question one that glenn had not expected you to ask, if the brief confusion on his face was any indicator. after a moment’s hesitance, glenn nodded.

“yeah… our camp is pretty well established, and I know we’ve got room for others. does that, uh – does that mean you want to come back with me?”

you’d never second guessed your choices, nor the consequences of those choices, and you weren’t about to start now — so, with a cheeky smile and a wink, you purred,

“sure thing, glenn. I’ll come home with you.”

a/n: so I recently checked my analytics and uh… 114 followers?? what??? like I’m — I’m speechless y’all. thank you so so much I can’t even begin to express how much it means to me <3 I promise I’ll be doing my best to dutifully deliver content to y’all as fast as possible <33333

TAGLIST: @daryldixmedown @alanalanalanalanalanna @just-always-tired @chylerluvschim @girlydollydarling @marvelcasey05

#daryl x reader #twd daryl #twd x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #the walking dead daryl #twd

[astoryisaloveaffair]

Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

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Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood. 

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye.  The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees.  The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane. 

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you  realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later. 

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead. 

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?” 

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how  incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them. 

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks. 

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.” 

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide. 

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now. 

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her.  “How could you?” 

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips. 

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.  

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life. 

“Bebita.” He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself. 

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes. 

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it. 

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to? 

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends. 

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence. 

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him? 

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

#fix you fic #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

[bibibbon]

MHA CH 421 rambles

Ok so this was a chapter ok. Iam personally not a fan of what happend here but you do you.

I hated AFO's little monologue. introspection thingy and to be honest sukuna does it better. Look Iam critical of both jjk and MHA as they fail in their own aspects on certain things but dam I couldn't care less for AFO and his monologue I seriously couldn't. Yoichi as already dead and if AFO's goal was to be a supervillain from a comic and to reunite with yoichi then why not just idk get the doctor to do it for him or just die to reunite with AFO 🤷‍♀️. His whole thing about tragedy making people stronger or him not feeling anything didn't even hit well because his development sucks and him coming back feels repetitive anyway

Sero getting to respond to the things about tragedy felt so underwhelming I didn't like it. Sero throughout the whole and entire series lacked any screentime and development for him to be getting a big moment that should be given to another character feels like a horrible move. We seriously don't know of anything that has affected sero aka hurt him directly in the manga (aka something just him) so it all feels underwhelming and disappointing. Unironically, I feel like sero should of been one of those characters who left the story or just stayed as a minor character because hori is trying to develop and give him importance way too late into the story.

Where is inko?!?!?! So we see everyone heck we see the civilians, gran Torino, Kota and Eri all comment and hope for izuku to do something but inko his own mother isn't present. Now this probably means something bad is happening or will happen to inko but if nothing happens and she isn't present then dam classic neglectful inko strikes again ig or if they make it a gag that she fainted out of stress i will just hate it even more

I hate that this is something out of the endgame and if hori was trying to be like gege by making everyone join it felt rubbish. Iam not a fan and I mean it I HATE the whole everyone joining in to fight AFO together type thing and I just do. To me it's Izuku's time to shine and people take down villains and do their jobs in other areas at this point everyone is doing more damage to AFO than Izuku who hasn't even landed a hit on izuku. Also why is it that character like Todorokis who have had their big moments here?!?!? It seems like this is a fight where hori is trying to make everyone have a moment before Izuku lands the final hit which doesn't sit right with me. Like there are characters here who have already had their moments like jirou, camie, yuuga, asui, mina and way more but they're here to ... Assist in the fight have another big moment and make AFO more of a potato character then a proper scary villain

present mic is back which I love. One of the good things is that present mic is alive, it's good to have confirmation of that

Even though I think erasers writing is heavily flawed at least someone is holding Izuku. At least izuku is getting something , some comfort out here at least someone is holding him but dam this seems like a disservice all of this seems like a disservice to izuku. Like I wonder do the civilians feel guilty does anyone feel sad or guilty for having this 16 year old child fight something way bigger than him in the name of peace and other peoples safety?

I think the whole thing with Izuku getting that guy's shirt is rubbish and underwhelming. It just doesn't sit right with me, that guy's shirt would of probably been dirty as hell considering it's the only thing we have seen him wearing. Like @mikeellee told me it would of been more impactful if the shirt was given to izuku and that guy had a healing quirk or helped izuku more directly. Now I get that this is supposed to make the guy more likable and show that he ahs developed which we can see and dam hori can actually give some decent development when he wants to but it all falls flat and doesn't do much for me. Also I have seen someone say that izuku wearing this shirt and it covering his upper half is showing how he is losing his ability to be a hero and dam that breaks me.

I can't with the Izuku running to the battlefield and the parallels kill me (we haven't really developed/moved on from chapter one considering the story just loops around itself). Izuku running towards danger quirkless thinking that it's his job because people who were supposed to help and protect him failed. Izuku now quirkless with only the tiny and fading embers of OFA thinning trying to defeat OFA with the damage of kudos quirk still effecting him. All of this to protect others to help them something he never got during the past. This fight will probably parallel all might but all of this happening and I feel nothing all of it falls flat and I feel bad for izuku that's it.

It was a chapter and considering how I hated previous writing decisions I was also gonna hate on the developed/expanded writing decisions either way

#mha critical #bnha critical #mha #hori is a bad writer #horikoshi critical #izuku deserves better #bhna critical #bnha #mha 421 #bnha 421

[jewish-vents]

I can't with this anymore uhhhhhhggggg

"AITAH for creating a private doc to keep notes on what my racist teacher said"

I have this teacher who said a lot of shit (eg. "Ashkenazi people were Europeans forcefully converted by invading Jews", "the Torah mentions Jesus and Mohammed", "Judaism started in Ethiopia because it's the oldest religion and therefore must come from where all people do", "getting angry at Houthis for attacking Israel is like getting angry at a l*nched man for struggling on the noose", etc.). No one cared that she said these things besides a boy she kept deadnaming, a girl who she used as an example talking about slave r*pe, and a kid who she humiliated in front of the class a few times.

When I reported this shit to the dean he was concerned as fuck and 100000% on my side because he's really cool. And to report the stuff, I'd been using a private google doc to keep track of what she'd said. The principal though was overly optimistic and decided instead of talking to the teacher in private, she would hold a class discussion! Yaaaaaaayyyyyyy. I was less than pleased by this, and at the discussion most people took her side. I eventually decided to share the doc with the other three kids so I could get better firsthand accounts.

But then the doc started spreading.

One of the other kids shared it with this boy who she used to mock and throw under the bus, and he shared it with his friend. Who shared it with another friend. Things went like whisper-down-the-lane until someone, I don't know WHO, got a hold of it and shared it to the whole. Fucking. Class. Including the teacher. People started claiming the doc was Islamophobic and didn't elaborate why, and saying we were only "attacking" the teacher because she was Muslim. Or that we only reported this stuff to get drama and attention. The principal herself even said that this was happening because we have varying cultures, which is BS because I have plenty of Muslim friends who have never said ANY of the shit this lady has. That is waaaayyyy more Islamophobic of a statement and I felt offended on my friends' behalf with that one.

I feel bad for the teacher for seeing that doc, but then again, I myself am suffering because someone leaked all my personal opinions to the class. I'm a super conflict avoidant person because I have severe ADHD and OCD and mild autism (ASD1, to be specific), and I hate being involved. I want to sympathize for her. I really do. But when asked to apologize for what she said, she started defending herself and saying we were all closed-minded for not thinking what we previously thought was wrong. My mom wants to take me out of the class to do an independent study project so I can pass the required course without being in that classroom. Because nothing gets in the way of Jewish parents. Especially during Passover.

My classmates are saying she's a sweet lady and it was wrong of us to get upset at her, so are we the bad guys and/or am I overreacting to this scenario.

Anon I'm going to be very honest here. You are absolutely NTA here. And you're not overreacting at all. Your teacher is being very offensive, not to mention historically wrong.

And the doc? If she didn't want to have her offensive opinions called out in front of everyone, maybe she should stop being offensive.

I'm going to say, personally if she were my teacher the doc would be the least of her problems. She would not like me very much.

I hope you're safe tho, you and the other students she's hurt. You don't deserve to be treated like this

-🐺

#jewish vents #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism

[taylorswiftstylequestions]

Sorry this ask turned into an essay — as I explain I have a personal connection to this topic and a lot of thoughts on it, ha

On the topic of Taylor’s discussion of Joe’s depression — I have never seen anyone claim that she has made fun of it, but I have seen some discussions from people who feel that she’s been unfair or insensitive with how she’s spoken about it, or that she broke up with him because he was “too depressed” and that she was blaming him for things he can’t control. Renegade has been used as an example of this, and more recently So Long London (specifically “you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days).

I don’t want to speak for anyone but myself here or invalidate anyone’s feelings of hurt with how Taylor addresses these topics (because that is entirely fair to be hurt by if you interpret it in that way), but I will say this: as someone who has been on both sides of this equation (I have clinical depression that I’m in the process of getting medication for, and I’ve also had multiple relationships with people who were going through severe mental health struggles that I was trying to support them through), I don’t think that the way Taylor has referenced Joe’s depression affecting her in her music seems cruel to him. I’ve never gotten the impression that she is blaming him for struggling or that she expected him to just stop struggling and get better, or even that that’s the reason their relationship ended. I think there’s a lot of frustration in those songs, and while I understand why some may balk at that, it can be really frustrating at times to love someone who doesn’t love themselves, or who is pushing you away at every turn. It’s not their fault, and I don’t think Taylor is framing it as such, but that can make it even more frustrating when it feels like things are breaking down and there is nothing you can do to fix it.

And I feel like it’s kind of taboo to talk about those feelings because (in my experience at least) they’re wrapped up in so much guilt? I was in a relationship very similar to the one described in Renegade once, and I would get into this cycle where my partner would be struggling, I would try to help them, they would push me away and/or say things that would really hurt me, I would feel upset and hurt, but then feel so guilty for being upset and hurt because I knew they didn’t mean it the way it felt and that this wasn’t about me, so I would just keep those feelings to myself and say nothing, and it would start all over again. These aren’t pretty emotions at all, and I fully understand why some people are hurt by the way Taylor talks about them, but I think there’s a big difference between “I’m frustrated because my partner is struggling and I feel like I’m giving them everything I have but nothing ever changes and it’s hurting me” and “my partner is too depressed to deal with, why won’t they just get over it?”

I’ve had loved ones tell me tell me to just stop being depressed before — I know that hurt very well, and at least to me, this feels different. Honestly I really appreciate songs like Renegade and So Long London because hearing someone else talk about that experience has made me feel less like I was some uniquely horrible person incapable of being the perfect supporting partner that I should have been. I think it’s just a shitty, frustrating situation where no one is solely to blame, and I think that’s how Taylor presents it.

But again, this is just my opinion — I can totally see how and why people might interpret them differently and feel hurt by them, and I don’t want to speak over those feelings at all

Hi friend! First of all tysm for being so open and honest about your personal struggles with both yourself and past relationships - I'm grateful you feel you can be safe here talking about that. And secondly in your grace and empathy in understanding the many potential sticky layers of feeling here and how this might be ruffly and uncomfortable for people. I love that so much.

My interpretation has always very much been in alignment with yours. And I think if this album was seeking to do any one thing it was to wield honesty like a blunt force instrument - even and especially when the truth is uncomfortable and can be alienating. I've never once interpreted her documentation of a partner's mental health struggles as "get over it" (is there anyone who better understands how fucking hard it is to get over literally anything than Taylor?). But I feel the line that haunts me most is, "I gave you all my best me's / My endless empathy / And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier". And the uncomfortable truth is that it is so incredibly painful to be in love with someone who doesn't love themselves and who has proven (despite years of begging and pleading and patience and kindness) that they are not interested in becoming someone who can love you better. And it's unfair and shitty and horrible to have your "spine split from carrying [both of you] up the hill" for years. You feel sad for them. You feel sad for you. You feel sad that you feel sad. And then you feel mad that they are making you sad. And and and.

#tss ttpd party #opinion

[watchmegetobsessed]

OLD GRUDGES (part 3)

A/N: i know it took me way longer than it should have, but at last im here with the next part and that's what matters, right? thank you for the support on the prev parts, hope you'll enjoy this just as much!

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: Harry and Y/N go way back. Working together was like a dream when 1D was still going strong. Now, years later, when they end up working together again, things are very different. Mostly because Y/N seems to be hating Harry passionately. But he has not idea why.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Meetings never really excited Harry, but lately, they have been his favorite along with studio sessions. Because these were the times he always got to see Y/N. 

Today he is going in with her favorite cookies in his bag that he picked up on his way, taking a detour just to drop by that one place she loves the most. It’s been a recurring thing for Harry, picking up a cup of coffee for her, buying her favorite snacks for their sessions or surprising her with lunch from that taco place she adores so much. He’s been doing practically anything to get a smile on her face because he feels like that’s the only thing he is destined to do. 

He’s been ignoring the fact that her time working on the project ends in two weeks, according to the contract. The only chance to stretch it longer if the required songs are not finished, but they are all practically done at this point. Harry tries his best not to think of what it will be like when he doesn’t get to see her as often as he does now. 

The meeting was scheduled only yesterday, so Harry has no idea what it is about, but it doesn’t really matter, they are supposed to record afterwards, so he only cares about spending more time with Y/N. 

However, the smile fades when he walks into the room and doesn’t see her. It’s odd, she is usually there before him, but now it’s just a couple of the studio engineers, Niall, Liam and Blake, the kind of weird manager from Modest who’s been working with them since they started recording for Midnight Memories. Harry has been getting these eerie vibes from him, but he just can’t put his finger on it, so he’s been sucking it up and ignoring it. He gave no reason not to be trusted so far. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Harry greets everyone walking into the room. 

“Ah, Harry! You’re here!” Blake smiles and they shake hands before Harry settles in a chair. “I was just telling the boys what this meeting is about. Good news, you are set for another album after Midnight Memories is released!”

It’s no surprise, to be honest. One album after the other, the pace has been just like that for a while. 

“Great,” he nods. “Do we know who we’re gonna work with?”

Blake then hands him a paper with a list of names and some other details. Harry runs over the names, looking for a particular one, but it’s not there.

“What about Y/N?” he asks.

“Ah, I wanted to tell you guys. She got another project kind of last minute, so she is done with the album for now and won’t be able to join for the next one, it seems like,” Blake explains casually and it doesn’t stand out to anyone else either, but it hits Harry in the chest pretty hard.

She is done with the album? Why didn’t she say anything? They talked on the phone just two days ago, why didn’t she even mention it?

And why isn’t she gonna work on the next album? Harry doubts she is booked that far ahead, she is just getting recognized in the industry and she told him herself she is living from one project to the other, works on the next album won’t start at least until they start touring Midnight Memories.

It’s not adding up, but on the other hand… Harry has no right to question her. Even despite how close he’s been getting to her, they are still just… coworkers. Friends. 

But nothing more. 

“Alright, now that we are talking about the next album, I have a little sneak peek of a song that could be a big hit!” Blake seems enthusiastic as he opens his laptop and then soon a demo starts playing, but Harry can’t really focus, he is too stuck on the fact that he has no more time left with Y/N. He even pulls out his phone, ready to text her and ask her how all of this happened, but then talks himself down. When he finally starts to listen to the song, it sounds familiar at first, but there are no lyrics and Harry often finds random songs familiar lately, because he just hears so many new melodies on a daily basis, they tend to blend together. 

“You like it?” Blake asks him and Harry just nods.

“Yeah. What is it called?”

Blake smiles confidently as he shuts the laptop down.

“Night Changes.”

The weather is finally good enough for grilling and the rowland household would take an opportunity anytime for that. Filling up their backyard with the people they love the most and feeding them burgers, hotdogs or basically anything Mitch is able to throw onto the grill. They usually have a gathering like this every month if their schedule and the weather allows. 

Now it’s finally the first official grill party of the year. 

Harry is sat outside by one of the tables, his plate is empty by now, but he knows he’ll get another round at one point. Cards are scattered on the tabletop, along with glasses of lemonade and beer, the kids are playing in the back somewhere by the treehouse, everything feels and looks idyllic.

For the past about two hours Harry couldn’t stop looking for Y/N. Stealing glances when she was talking to Sarah or playing with the kids, trying not to ogle her too obviously when she was laughing at something at the other table. He wanted to walk up to her a thousand times already, but he is trying to act cool and figure out how to act when there are other people around. 

It’s an unknown territory for sure. 

When Harry sees her walking towards the house he just can’t stay put. Excusing himself from the group he tries his best not to look suspicious as he follows her inside. Once the sliding door is closed behind him he quickens his steps down the hallway towards the bathroom, guessing she went there, but as he is approaching the door he notices it’s closed.

Should he try his luck and open it? Or maybe knock? Or…

Suddenly, the lock rattles and the door moves the tiniest bit, light coming through the gap. His heart skips a beat as he leaps forward and pushes the door open more so he can step inside.

And there she is, standing by the sink, checking herself out in the mirror when Harry walks in and closes the door behind him. Then slowly, she turns her gaze to him, for the first time today and for a moment Harry thinks she might tell him to fuck off and get out, but when he sees her lips part, he knows what she wants.

Him.

They collide fast, their usual hunger for each other taking over in a heartbeat. Demanding kisses, rough touches, they both know they should be in a hurry, Harry can’t even remember if he locked the door, it would be rather awkward if someone walked in on them.

Especially because no one knows about them, or whatever is going on between them. 

It’s been over a week since the dinner party that ended up with the most confusing but also mind-blowingly amazing sex they have ever had. When it was over Harry simply left and kept to what she said, that they would not talk about it and that’s exactly what happened. They never talked about it, but it happened again. 

Twice since then. 

And now they are going at it again. 

“Fuck,” Harry growls into her mouth when she reaches into his pants with quick but confident moves, because it’s not the first time she is doing it and he can only hope it’s not the last either. 

“Quickly,” she pants and he just nods, bunching up her dress and tugging her underwear down. It’s no surprise he is already hard, following her inside was like a foreplay to him, the secrecy, the chance that she might tell him to fuck off, his pulse has been rising before he stepped into the bathroom. 

They moan together when he thrusts into her, but then he gets back to kissing her to keep their voice down as he starts moving. Usually, they don’t talk when they are having sex, but Harry feels like changing that up, trying out how she reacts to something different. 

“You knew I would come after you, huh?” he pants against her lips.

“I did,” she breathes out, one arm curled around his neck, her other hand gripping the edge of the sink to keep her balance. 

“You thought about me fucking you all day?”

To that, she doesn’t answer and Harry almost regrets opening his mouth, but then she looks at him and nods.

“I did,” she repeats herself and even cracks a smile before pulling him closer to kiss him hard. And just like that, a tightening but warm feeling spreads in his chest. 

They don’t need much time, Harry is the first to come and she follows soon right after. Her head falls against his chest , rising and falling with his deep breaths and he tries to fight the urge, but then gives in and bringing up a hand he runs his fingers through her hair. Part of him fears this move might be too intimate for her and that she’ll shake him off of her any moment, but it never happens and Harry enjoys it, probably way more than he should. 

They clean themselves up and soon it’s just the sparkle in their eyes that proves what they just did. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asks, fixing her makeup in the mirror. 

“Are you asking me out or something?” Harry cheekily asks and she just smacks his chest playfully.

“I have some stuff I’ve been working on that I want to show you.”

Harry’s pulse fastens again. This is just like it was before, when it was just the two of them, sharing the songs they were working on. 

“I would love that,” he smiles at her, watching her walk to the door. 

“Alright. I’ll text you then.”

Y/N walks out and Harry knows they are back to not talking and for a second he wonders how long he’ll be able to keep going like this. 

When he walks out he is still deep in his thoughts, but then when he reaches the kitchen he comes to a halt, seeing Mitch by the kitchen island, sipping on some lemonade, a knowing look on his face.

“Hey man,” Harry clears his throat and joins him instead of walking outside.

“Hey. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Want to share why I just saw Y/N coming from the same direction as you just did?”

“Uh… you know, we just…”

Harry can’t quite find the right words, especially because he doesn’t like and can’t really lie to Mitch, but he also wants to keep the no talking rule. Mitch stares back at him with a blank face for a second, but then his eyes go wide.

“No way.”

“What?” Harry laughs.

“For real?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and… you and Y/N?”

Harry doesn’t answer, but that’s quite the answer to Mitch.

“Oh my God, how long has this been going on?”

“Keep it down!” He hushes his friend. “It’s… it’s nothing official or anything.”

“But it is something, right? What is it?”

Harry once again just stays silent.

“You two are having sex?” More silence. “Oh my God! Did you just do it in the bathroom?!”

“Shh!” Harry tries to shush him again, but he also can’t hold back his smile, thinking about what just took place in that bathroom. 

“Harry, what the hell! When… How did that happen? You know what? I don’t want to know about that,” Mitch changes his mind quickly, making Harry laugh. “But like… what is it?”

“I told you, it’s nothing o–”

“No, I mean… what do you want it to be?”

Harry sighs as he turns so he can look out at the backyard through the sliding door. And there she is, with a glass in her hand as she is talking to Sarah, laughing at something and Harry wishes he knew what it was. 

“I just… I like her. A lot.”

“But you two had been hating each other passionately, what happened to that?”

“I think we took the passionately part and turned it into something else,” Harry smirks cheekily, his eyes still glued to her figure outside. 

“Oh my God, you are so gone for her,” Mitch breathes out, shaking his head. “You’re falling for her!”

Harry turns back to Mitch and hesitates before speaking up.

“I already fell for her. When we worked together years ago. But then she basically disappeared and when we met again, she acted like I was her mortal enemy,” Harry chuckles. Calling himself the enemy sounds ridiculous, but it’s the most fitting he could say. “And now…” he hums, but doesn’t finish his thought out loud.

“And now you’re falling for her again?”

“I might be,” he nods.

The Sun has set, but the party's still going. Well, it’s not raging, some of the people who came with kids have left and Scout has been put down by Mitch as well, but a handful of guests are still out on the terrace, playing card games and sharing stories. 

Y/N sits right across from Harry and he has noticed the change. She is losing her cold act towards him, slowly but surely. They can finally talk and joke around almost like back in the days. Harry however doesn’t want to let himself go deeper than he should, he knows he is on an unstable field with her and he feels like it all could snap any moment, but…

It feels so amazing.

Making her laugh, sharing knowing looks, teasing each other like old friends, Harry missed being like this. 

When he notices that she’s probably cold his first thought is to offer his hoodie, but he is quick to stop himself, he’s sure it might be too much at once so he instead just asks around who needs a blanket as he is heading inside anyway so he can easily grab a few. 

But then as the night comes to an end, he still decides to try and dance around the unsaid boundaries.

“Hey, I just ordered a car, added your address as well.” Harry tells her when he sees her open the Uber app on her phone.

“Ah, no need, I can just–”

“Already ordered it,” he insists, hoping she’ll accept it and luckily, it seems like she is not in the mood to argue. 

The car ride is quiet, but not the uncomfortable kind. She is on her phone, reading what seems like emails to Harry and he notices the change in her instantly.

“Everything alright?”

She looks up with a frown and then sighs, locking her phone. 

“Just work. I have this annoying assistant, called Daryl up in my ass on another project, he is trying to get me to give way more than I’m obligated to. I don’t even know who his boss is, the damn guy is like a mystery for some reason.”

“Like, they want more music from you?”

“Yes,” she nods. “They want to listen to stuff I’m working on in case something fits the album, but I’ve already delivered what I was paid for.”

Although he is eager to know more, to offer his help, he stays silent, staying within the boundaries this time, not pushing his luck even more. It’s a miracle itself that she even said this much about anything personal. 

“So tomorrow?” Y/N asks when the car stops in front of her house. Harry looks at her and for a moment, all he can think about is the last time they were here like this. 

“Yeah, I’m free,” he manages to speak up, snapping out of his memories.

“I’ll text you. Bye then,” she nods before climbing out of the car and heading towards her front door. Harry watches her for a bit before he tells the driver to leave. 

She still hasn’t texted him. It’s four in the afternoon and he hasn’t heard of her since she got dropped off last night. 

He was up early, went for a run, because he definitely needed to put his extra energy into something instead of continuously checking his phone, hoping for a text to pop up. Then he grabbed himself a bagel on the way back, brewed a coffee when he got home and had his breakfast while staring at his phone like a sore loser. 

He took that damn phone everywhere he went. Literally everywhere. But the hours passed by and he got no sign and at first he just thought she got busy with something, but by the time he was done with lunch, it turned into a worry. 

She was as punctual as one could get and she would have already texted him by now, even if it was just about that she is running late with whatever she was doing. A decent session lasts at least three or four hours and she is not one to pull an allnighter.

He has kept ordering himself to be patient all day, but now he lost the last bits of his bearing. At last he decides a text is fine, she can answer whenever it’s convenient. 

HARRY: Hey, are we still up for a sesh? 

He keeps the conversation open and watches his message sit there, its status staying delivered for what feels like forever. Then, about twenty minutes later, it changes to read and the three dots start dancing at the bottom of the screen as Harry’s heart threatens to jump right out of his chest. He knows he is acting ridiculously, but he pushes the thought to the back of his head for now. 

The dots then disappear, but no message arrives. A minute goes by and they reappear and this time a gray bubble follows.

Y/N: I got a bit of a situation on my hands rn.

Then a photo pops up of her house with two police cars parked at the front and Harry’s stomach drops.

HARRY: I’m going over.

He sends the message before he could even think it through and he is already out the door by the time she reads his reply. 

When he arrives one of the police cars is still there and Y/N is out front, talking to an officer. She is lacking her usual on-spot style, wearing a baggy sweat set, her hair in a state of mess he has never seen before, but even despite the worried expression on her face, she looks annoyingly beautiful. 

She spots him as he gets out of his car, crossing the lawn with a slow jog.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asks, on the verge of losing his marbles if he doesn’t find out what happened immediately.

“Give me a minute,” she tells him, turning back to the officer. “Thank you for everything. I’ll let you know if I find anything that’s missing.”

“Take care, Miss. We’ll have a car patrol around the neighborhood every hour for the next 24 hours, though it’s unlikely they will come back.”

With a nod, the officer walks over to the car, gets in and they drive away.

“What the hell happened?” Harry asks when Y/N finally turns to him.

“Someone broke into my house,” she says and then just simply heads back inside. Harry jogs after her. 

“What? When?” 

Y/N is walking straight to her kitchen and Harry follows her, locking the front door behind him. 

“I went to a yoga class in the morning. When I came back, I noticed my lock was picked and the door was open.” 

Harry watches her rummage through a cabinet before grabbing a bottle of tequila along with two glasses. She shoots a questioning look to him, to which he just nods, though he is still lost, confused and kind of angry. She pours a generous amount into both glasses and then hands one over to Harry before chugging hers down faster than ever. 

“Did anything go missing?”

“Literally nothing,” she laughs bitterly. “Everything seems untouched and I just don’t understand it at all. Why would someone break in if they don’t take anything valuable?”

“Money? Jewelry? Everything is here?”

“Everything. I checked everything.”

Harry is now just as clueless as Y/N. It doesn’t make any sense, but it’s also somehow even worse. Whoever broke in had a reason to, but it’s completely hidden for now. 

When she reaches for the bottle again he notices how much her hands are shaking. She is a nervous wreck. 

“Hey, you don’t want to lose your rationality right now,” Harry softly warns her as he grabs her hand and stops her from pouring another one. 

“I’m fucking terrified, Harry,” she admits, her voice shakes and so weak like never before. Harry’s heart breaks for her. “Have you ever felt unsafe in your own home?”

“I have,” Harry answers without hesitation and that’s when she finally looks him in the eyes again. “I had a few stalkers throughout the years and attempted break-ins.”

And just like that, something changes in her. The last bits of the wall she so carefully built up between the two of them are destroyed and she lets him see her fully and so naked emotionally. Her lips tremble, tears dwell in her eyes and just as the first sob breaks out of her chest, he is pulling her into his embrace. 

For a second Harry thinks it might be just luck, that she is only opening up to him like this because he is the one who is physically here with her, but he then wipes this thought and just focuses on being the support she truly needs. 

He holds her tight as she cries into his chest, pressing kisses to the top of her head until she calms down and regains control over her breathing. 

“Pack a bag for a few days, stay at mine for a bit, okay?” he softly says when she finally pulls back, just enough to look at him. She doesn’t try to put up a fight, just nods and lets him walk her up to her bedroom. 

He helps her pack, she grabs the clothes while Harry packs her laptop and chargers. Half an hour later they are getting into his car before heading over to Harry’s place. The car ride is silent and Harry doesn’t even try to talk her through it. He knows how important it is to let her find her own peace in this situation instead of trying to just temporarily divert her attention. 

It’s actually her first time at his place, so she is curiously examining the place when they finally arrive. Harry shows her around quickly and then they reach the bedrooms upstairs.

“Choose a bedroom, personally my favorite is that one,” he smiles softly, pointing at the one next to his own bedroom. She walks closer and peeks inside, then into his bedroom and he watches her patiently.

“Can I… sleep with you?”

Her request surprises him, but he would be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t hoping for it. 

“Sure, of course,” he nods and gestures for her to walk inside. 

He sets down her bag to the ottoman at the end of his king sized bed while she looks around. Harry grabs a towel for her from the closet and hands it over to her.

“Take a shower, I’ll make tea for you, how does that sound?”

She just nods, holding the towel to her chest and he can’t believe how vulnerable she looks. The Y/N he’s known for the past few months is nothing like the woman standing in front of him right now. 

“Alright, then I’ll…” 

He clears his throat and then turns around to give her privacy, but he doesn’t even get to take a step before she grabs his hand and pulls him back. He opens his mouth to ask what else she needs, but he is met with her lips pressing against his, hard and needy and he wastes no time to return the kiss just as passionately. His arms curl around her tightly, like an armor, ready to protect her from anything and everything. 

They stumble into the bathroom and she pulls away, just enough so that she can start stripping out of her clothes, but Harry stops for a minute before things get too heated too fast.

“Wait, are you… Today was a lot, are you sure you… want to…?”

“I’m sure. I need this,” she nods and even though she appears just as vulnerable as before, there’s some kind of strong will mixed in her state now. Harry stares back at her, looking for any kind of sign that this might be a bad idea, but then she adds: “I need you.”

And Harry knows in that moment that he would give her anything in this world, because he fell for her again, but this time, it’s nothing like he has ever felt before.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

[mrs-snape5984]

„You’re not alone, together we stand. I’ll be by your side, you know, I’ll take your hand…”

“Just stay strong, ‘cause you know, I’m here for you…” (“Keep holding on” by Avril Lavigne)

I decided to set a trigger warning on this post: Miscarriages, high risk pregnancies, ICSI treatments, traumatic wish for a child journey, hysterectomy. So, please feel free to skip the following x paragraphs, if you feel triggered by these topics. Thank you.

Those of you lovely people of Snapedom, who know me and my way of blogging about Severus and my personal hardships might have noticed, that I’m mostly venting about ME/CFS and the crumbs, which are left from my former life. Since I can’t do much about it right now, I decided to “fix” another one of my countless issues…an internal wound, which desperately needs to heal!

As some of you might remember, I’m a mother of three wonderful children. There are my eleven years old twins and then there’s my six years old daughter. My pregnancies were the result of a long and painful journey of ICSI treatments, several miscarriages, way too many tears, about ten surgeries - due to Endometriosis and myomas - which eventually ended in a hysterectomy four years ago.

My desperate wish for a child led me to some decisions and life choices, which I probably wouldn’t have made, if I would have been clearer…maybe more stable in my whole mindset. One of these choices was a totally over rushed marriage to a narcissistic man, who made me believe, that he wanted the same. Gosh…I’ve been so desperate and so fucking stupid! Well, at least I got my twins because of him.

I went to the appointment for the transfer of the embryos on my own. He didn’t want to join the procedure…and I should have known, that he was already saying “goodbye” back then.

The pregnancy was rough. I had to lie in bed from the 8th week of pregnancy until they were born as premature babies in the 29th week of pregnancy. The last 4,5 months of pregnancy, I had to stay in the hospital…fighting for my babies’ lives all on my own. The father of them had decided, that he didn’t want to be a father anymore…wow…

I don’t want to go further into details about this phase of my life…at least not yet. I commissioned my friend @alinearthp for this project and asked her for several drawings of the different phases of my journey to become a mother. This artwork will be the start of my healing process…and I’m incredibly grateful, that you’re doing this for me, Aline! I know, that you’ll need time to draw all these wishes of mine, but I’ll be patiently waiting for each of your breathtaking pieces of art, my dear!

So, for the next couple of months, Severus will accompany me on my path through this phase of my past…just like he did back then, when I spent months in a hospital bed in “Trendelenburg” position. During this period of my life - and to be honest, in so many other phases of the past 21 years, as well - I clung to my imagination of Severus in order to feel less helpless and alone. His resilience and determination have always been my inspiration to keep going through all these hardships, which life kept throwing at me. He’s the love of my life…and he will forever be the guiding light in my darkness.

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

#Severus x Julia #Sevy x Jules #Severus x oc #twin mom #icsi #this will be my personal healing journey #mom of 3 #fuck me/cfs #disappointment #I have to heal #horrible pregnancies #severus snape #he was there #at least in my mind #i love snape #snape #i love severus #pro snape #snape love #pro severus snape #snape content #severus snape art #snart #snapedom #severus fanart #severus snape fan art #snape art #mecfs #single mom experiences #commissioning artwork is my goddamn coping mechanism

[ebonysplendor]

psst 👀 you should check out “Where He is King” by mellowbile on itch.io

Hmm...heard 👀

TL;DR: He's a joker, a jester, an absolute clown...but the pain that he puts us through is no joke

That was horrible, I know. I couldn't think of anything else. Plz let me live ._.

Game Link: https://mellowbile.itch.io/where-he-is-king

Notable Features: Nameless MC, Female MC, Demon/God LI(?), Yandere LI(?), Choice-heavy story Spiciness: 0/5 -- Unless you're into the whole dismembered from the inside out thing, then 5/5. No kink shaming here LI(?) Red Flags: 5/5 -- Physically abusive, Torture, Sadist. That's about it, but it's pretty gruesome/vivid stuff

Wanna know more? Not if you're not at least 18! Y'all were good until it got updated a few days or so ago due to the gore. Anyways, if you're part of the 18+ club, let's get into it!

!! C O N T E N T !! !! W A R N I N G !!

He looks more like a jester to me, but it may trigger that whole fear of clowns thing...just a heads up

So, this one was a request, which I'm always excited about, so of course I had to give it the old college try. To be honest, I saw and played this the same day that I had gotten the request (hence why I wrote the whole "y'all were good until a few days ago" thing, because it was a few days ago at the time), but I really wanted to get that Trembling Essence review out first, and then, I started adulting and lost track of time, and then a month went by, and yeah. Not to mention that I was looking FOREVER for a particular ending; I'll get into that more once the review portion comes along. Anyways.

Now, admittedly, this one wasn't too much of my style but...actually, just take a look at this:

I actually appreciate the disclaimer because, admittedly, the first thought I had was "This feels gorey for the sake of being gorey", but after remembering what they had said about it being more emotionally charged writing, I realized that it actually was pretty emotionally charged. Like, the writing itself was actually pretty solid and the art? Ugh, I loved the visuals. Those of you who have been rocking with me for some of my reviews know that I get completely undone over sprites, CGs, and all that visual stuff.

Admittedly, I don't really have too much to say in the intro. All that I want to say seems more appropriate for the review portion, so I'm going to go ahead and jump into talking about the game itself. As per typical, I'm going to tell you as much about the game without ruining the game itself.

So boom.

We're on the run. Well, let me rephrase that: we were on the run, but our ankle is kind've AFK, at the moment, and running isn't really an option right now. Just as a little backstory, the reason why we're trying to get away from him is because everything is literally going to shit, or Hell, more accurately. Villagers are disappearing, children are either becoming runaways or being abducted, and there's this hypnotic music that's (assumed to be) always playing in the background from a taunting distance, being just barely heard. Not long after, a devil -- that was intentional, by the way, because he's not the devil, but a devil. He ain't that special, but he's still dangerous -- catches up to us.

Friedrich "JunJingl" Marchosias. Yeah, I jumbled the pronunciation of that last name, too, but just know that that's his name lmao.

Naturally, he starts to taunt us, calling us a "broken toy" because our ankle is sprained, and we aren't much for running right now, which makes his pursuit less amusing for him. This wouldn't be such an issue if, one, Sir Jester Douche wasn't a literal psycho and a pretty serious threat, and two, we weren't literally the last human alive. That's right folks: we're what remains of humanity. Okay, well, maybe not that dramatic, but it seems that way because the people that would've been in the surrounding area are either dead or they were a part of his army, but that's not reassuring either because he only took the children for his army -- we're a full grown adult, so our fate isn't looking too good.

At this point, he's getting pretty pissed at us. That's because he's been talking mad shit this whole time, but we've been silent throughout his whole lil' speech. Like, oh, pardon me for my brain shutting down and putting survival at the top of the list, my good sir.

We indulge in his arrogance briefly, but just long enough for us to stall him while we make a gameplan. Now, here's the thing: if we make a run for it, we're probably going to die because our ankle is pretty messed up, but if we stay and keep talking to this psycho clown...we're probably going to die.

Huh. Okay then. With that being realized...

We bolt. We are outta of there. Point blank period, because it's like, if our chance of death is pretty much inevitable, we may as well make him work for it.

That's kind've falling flat though, because he's right on our tail, and he's not even putting in the effort while doing it. We can't worry about that for too long though, because we hear this music playing and...oh shit.

It's going from bad to worse. Now, we have to worry about his entire army chasing after us, too. It doesn't matter though because survival is still at the top of the list, no matter how slim or nonexistent the chance may be; we keep running. We run and run and run and run until we get to this well. Granted, it may have been a stupid move, but we actually managed to get a good bit of distance, and we stop to get a drink from the well. Like I said, probably a stupid move, but shit, we don't have much of a chance of survival if we're dehydrated. ...Actually, we don't have much of a chance of survival if we are hydrated, either, but a bitch is thirsty, so we get that damn drink, or so we thought we were going to. What we were expecting was a well full of rainwater.

It's full of blood.

We don't even have time to be scared before Friedrich pops up behind us. With our survival instincts kicking in, we get on our gangster shit. We notice that the bucket was silver and recall how a lot of the things in the village had been replaced with silver dupes because it could ward off evil. When I say that we got a good ass grip on that silver bucket...

And absolutely knocked his shit in?! We blasted the hell out of him with that bucket. Look at this man's face.

Lmao, no babes. Not that face.

Lol not that one either...

Ah, yes. We...might have just plummeted our inevitable chance of death to an inevitable certainty of death...

And the story continues from this point, my friends! Actually! This is only one route of ten! Which ending is this you ask? Lol like I'm going to tell you. You'll have to play the game for yourself to find that out. Just be cautious, because it does get a little...messy.

Okay, so! ...Wasn't really my cup of tea, not gonna lie, but it wasn't bad!

First and foremost, let's get into the visuals of this game. The art was definitely pleasing to look at. Like, ugh, I love CGs and sprites and visual effects and all of that, and this game had a looooot of them. Like, take a little lookie look.

Chef's kiss work right there. I really, really, really loved the artwork. Definitely my favorite aspect of this game.

Now, like I said in the beginning, the gore was pretty "in your face" and definitely gives the initial impression of being gorey for the sake of being gorey; however, I made sure that I read it with the "emotionally charged" disclaimer in mind. Pleasantly enough, I actually could get that vibe. The dev gave the go-ahead for personal interpretations but, mmm, nah. Even though I'm not the most analytical person, I was going to let you all in on my weird thoughts, but nah, I think I'll pass on that for another day.

Put it this way though, obviously, I took it as a metaphor for being in pain, but hear me out (TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUICIDE BY THE WAY): it's not just physical pain, but that pain that you feel from the inside. You know, that internal pain that's so intense that it feels like it's literally tearing you apart from the inside out. The worst part about that type of pain is that, even though you want to die, there's something that's keeping you alive, and it feels like literal torture. To me, the game was a huge metaphor for fighting to survive but staying alive feels like torture, and you're just left constantly wishing for it to just end -- maybe a sprinkle of being haunted by past mistakes and a possibly wavering faith? (TRIGGER WARNING END). Anyways, that interpretation may make more sense if you decide to actually play it for yourself. Lol I guess I did let you guys in on my thoughts after all. Guess we're getting kinda close at this point, huh?

Also anyways, another reason why it took me so long to post was because for the LIFE of me, I could not frickin figure out how to get ending number 7!! At the time, the game was extremely new. Like, still in the box wrapped in plastic new, and I was like "Shit, I'm on my own, and I'm dumb". I spent so much time and literally revisited the game on different days to see if I had accidentally skipped something and found nothing new. I looked through the files, and I was like "Bro, I've literally seen all of these sprites and CGs. What am I possibly missing?". When I say that it was driving me nuts... BUT THEN! I WENT TO THE GAME PAGE AND I SAW THIS

OH BLESS IT. I WASN'T BEING AN IDIOT; ENDING 7 JUST DIDN'T EXIST. THE RELIEF THAT I FELT. At the same time though, I was like "...why was there no ending 7?" But minor concern. Very minor.

Overall, the game was pretty damn solid! Lots of gore for sure, and I definitely didn't mind it, but the initial reaction was gore just for the sake of gore; however, when you really give it a chance, the writing's actually pretty okay. My favorite thing about it was by far the art and my other favorite thing was that we got to blast Friedrich's ass with that bucket. That was so satisfying. I mean there were consequences, yeah, but we still got our lick in lmao.

Welp, that's pretty much all from me! I recommended giving it a solid playthrough or two! I recommend it so much, I'll put the link right here so that you can give it a try. Also! Apparently they have a tumblr page for their art, and I'll link that here as well! I didn't see anything for a donation, but if you find otherwise, I'm sure they'd appreciate the monetary support. If you're broke, like me, send them some encouraging words and let them know "Hey, you did a thing, and I think that you should continue to do that thing because you're pretty good at it!"

But yeah, I'm going to end it here so that way I can FINALLY get this posted! Sorry for being MIA for a little. Adulting really be adulting, and I am ill-prepared for it a lot of the time ^^;

Anyways! Remember to drink water, don't be dumb, and hope to see you around~!

Where He Is King

Dev's Art Tumblr

#yandere visual novel #yandere vn #yandere boy #male yandere #visual novel review #vn review #yandere #visual novel #yande.re #yandere visual novel review #where he is king #where he is king visual novel #where he is king vn #where he is king visual novel review #where he is king vn review #friedrich junjingl marchosias #where he is king friedrich #whik #whik vn #whik visual novel #whik vn review #whik visual novel review #anon request

[mariclerc]

A project of love | ls2

Summary: where you have to do a project with your crush and you try not to fall for him.

Warning: none.

a/n: requested and dedicated by @bananaleclerc I hope you like it!! And yes, I need a break from posting so much 😂😂

You're hunched over a textbook at a library table, surrounded by scattered notes and a half-eaten granola bar. Just then Logan enters the library, a whirlwind of energy and a backpack overflowing with what looks like every microbiology textbook ever written.

He slammed his books down next to you. “Hey there, study buddy! Ready to conquer the microscopic world?”

You jump a little, startled. He flashes a dazzling smile. “Uh, yeah, hi Logan. I was just... uh... reviewing.” You say, trying to sound casual.

“Awesome! Me too. Though, to be honest, my brain feels like it's about to explode from all these bacteria names.” He pulls out a chair dramatically and sits down. “Did you get a chance to look at the project outline Professor Davies sent? Apparently, we're germ-fighting partners!”

Your stomach flips. Internally screaming, you manage a smile. “Yeah, I saw it. Partnered up, huh? Makes sense, I guess.”

“Definitely! We balance each other out, right? You with your quiet genius vibe, and me... well, I bring the enthusiasm.”

You laugh nervously, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I wouldn't call myself a genius, but hopefully, I can keep up with your... enthusiasm.”

“Oh, you will, trust me. So, what do you think? Should we start with some foundational stuff, or dive straight into the exciting world of, like, antibiotic resistance?” he grins.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus. “Maybe foundational stuff first? That way, we're both on the same page when we get to the more complex topics.”

”Sounds like a plan! But hey, don't worry about keeping up. Like I said, I'm basically a walking microbiology encyclopedia. Just ask away if you get lost.”

You nod, but your mind is racing. Trying to focus on the project feels impossible now that you're so close to him.

You clear your throat. “Okay, so... cell walls of bacteria... what were we talking about those in lecture?”

Logan launches into an explanation, peppered with jokes and pop culture references. You try to concentrate, but all you can think about is the way his eyes light up when he talks about something he's passionate about.

Later, after a productive study session, you're packing your things.

“So, should we meet again tomorrow? Same time, same place?”

You feel your heart pounding. “Uh, yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“Great! Hey, you seem a little quiet today. Everything alright?” he asks softly.

You force a smile. “Yeah, no, I'm just... tired, I guess... All this studying.”

“Studying can be draining! But hey, at least we're suffering together, right?” He winks at you. “See you tomorrow, germ fighter!”

He flashes another smile and throws you a peace sign before walking off. You sigh, a mix of frustration and a secret thrill bubbling in your chest. Studying with Logan might be the most nerve-wracking, yet strangely fun, experience of your university career so far.

You watch him disappear into the library crowd, a bittersweet pang in your chest.

You mutter to yourself. “Germ fighter, huh? More like heartbreaker.”

You gather your things, a sudden wave of determination washing over you. You like Logan, a lot. But you can't let that distract you from the project. You take a deep breath and head out of the library, a plan forming in your mind.

***

The next day, you arrive at the study table a few minutes early. You've spent the morning making flashcards – not just on microbiology, but also on Logan's interests you've gleaned from his conversation snippets. Genetics? Check. Obsession with the movie "The Andromeda Strain"? Double check.

He bursts in, a little late and slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I'm late! Professor Davies got us sidetracked talking about her research on bioluminescent bacteria. Apparently, there's a kind that glows neon green – can you believe it?” He says hurriedly, making you laugh a little, just then he notices the flashcards on the table. “Whoa, flashcards? You serious?”

You nod smiling, not as nervously as yesterday. “Just thought they might help us remember all this complex stuff. Besides, I found some fun facts related to the topics we need to cover. Maybe a little trivia can keep things interesting?”

His eyes wide at your words. “You got fun facts about bacteria? Okay, you officially win coolest study partner ever! Shoot, let's hear one.”

You pick up a flashcard and grin. Maybe studying with Logan won't be so bad after all. Maybe you can find a way to balance your academic focus with a sprinkle of something more.

***

The following week becomes a whirlwind of flashcards, late-night library sessions fueled by takeout, and a slow, simmering tension between you and Logan. Your knowledge of bacteria trivia becomes legendary, earning you surprised yet impressed glances from Logan. He, in turn, starts bringing coffee (with extra whipped cream for you, which you secretly adore) and peppering the study sessions with personal anecdotes, revealing a surprisingly deep and caring side beneath his bubbly exterior.

One rainy afternoon, hunched over a microscope analyzing bacterial cultures, Logan asks. “Hey, you ever wonder what those bioluminescent bacteria actually look like in real life?”

You glance up, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. “Not really.” you admit, “but Professor Davies said she has some under a special microscope in her lab. Maybe we could ask if we could take a peek after our next class?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Perfect... We can make it a little research adventure.”

The stolen glance you share sparks a warmth in your chest, a silent acknowledgement that this is more than just a study session. The next day, after you convince a hesitant Professor Davies to let you glimpse the glowing bacteria, you find yourselves alone in the dimly lit lab.

As you peer through the microscope, Logan leans closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “Wow.” he whispers, “they're incredible.”

You hum in agreement, captivated by the tiny emerald lights dancing before your eyes. The silence stretches, charged with unspoken emotions. You can feel the heat radiating from him, his breath tickling your ear.

Suddenly, the lab door bursts open, revealing Professor Davies returning from her meeting. You and Logan jump apart, both cheeks flushing a deep red.

“Did you get to see them?” she asks cheerfully.

“Yes, Professor,” you stammer a little bit, “they're amazing!”

As the week progresses, the air between you crackles with a new awareness. You find yourself stealing glances at Logan as he talks, your heart skipping a beat when he laughs at one of your jokes.

During a particularly frustrating attempt at culturing E. coli, you blurt out, “Ugh, these bacteria are so stubborn!”

“Hey,” Logan says softly, placing a hand on yours, “we'll figure it out together... Like always.”

His touch sends a jolt through you, and you meet his gaze, your eyes locked in a silent conversation. In that moment, you both know this partnership has become something more, a budding connection waiting to bloom amidst the petri dishes and microscopes.

The shared look hangs heavy in the air, the frustration of the stubborn E. coli forgotten. Logan's hand lingers on yours, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and a blush creeps up your neck.

“Maybe,” he starts, his voice a low rumble, “we should take a break from these little buggers. Grab some coffee, clear our heads?”

You nod mutely, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Stepping out of the lab, the rain has stopped, leaving the air fresh and clean. As you walk side-by-side, a comfortable silence settles between you. You steal a glance at Logan, his profile sharp against the setting sun.

Reaching the familiar coffee shop you frequent, you order your usual, Logan opting for his favorite with extra whipped cream (a detail that makes your stomach flutter with a strange mix of amusement and affection). Settling into a quiet corner booth, you both sip your drinks, the tension still simmering beneath the surface.

“Thanks for sticking with this project,” Logan says, his gaze fixed on you. “It wouldn't have been nearly as fun without you.”

A shy smile graces your lips. “It wouldn't have been so bad with you either.”

He leans closer, his eyes searching yours. The air crackles with unspoken desire. In a voice barely above a whisper, he asks, “Can I do something?”

Your breath catches in your throat. You nod hesitantly, a shiver running down your spine. He closes the distance between you, his hand cupping your cheek. His touch is soft, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

The kiss is tentative at first, a brush of lips that sends a wave of heat through your body. But then, something shifts. He deepens the kiss, his hand moving to cradle your head, tilting it for better access. You melt into him, the taste of coffee and something uniquely Logan swirling on your tongue.

The kiss is brief, broken by a gasp for air. He leans his forehead against yours, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Your eyes flutter open to meet his, a goofy grin plastered across his face.

“Wow,” he breathes, a mixture of awe and amusement in his voice.

You can only manage a shaky smile, your heart overflowing with a mix of exhilaration and nervousness. The world seems to tilt on its axis, and for a moment, only you and Logan exist in this small corner of the coffee shop.

As you pull back and smile, a newfound confidence sparks within you... Maybe this partnership, born amidst bacteria and microscopes, could blossom into something more. And you, for one, are eager to see where it leads.

#formula one x reader #f1 x you #logan sargeant #logan x reader #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x you #logan x you #logan x y/n #logan sargeant fluff #mariclerc fics

[sil3ntfr34k]

I'd love to see some nsfw hc stuff with postal one dude (especially any where he bottoms if you have any idea for it!)

(Minors DNI this is Adult™️ stuff SCRAM)

NSFW P1 Dude Headcanons

Isn’t very fond of sex to be honest. It scares him to death having to be naked in front of someone. It feels too vulnerable, and he’d rather be dead than show his full self to someone

The only way to ever get in his pants is having to somehow get him into a romantic relationship with you (good luck) and then staying with him for at least 8 years. Like I said, he’s not every fond of it

Possibly asexual, but he still masturbates. Although it’s not often. Dude is too busy patrolling his house and being worried all the time to let himself relax and rub one out. Especially not with Champ around. And lord knows he’s not letting Champ out of his sight

Doesn’t watch porn, like at all. Thinks it’s ‘unnecessary’, whatever that means. He knows about sites like Pornhub and Xvideos, but he just never looks at anything,,,

Although Dude is tough and trigger happy, he’s really skinny and kinda fragile. He’s kinda like a bag of bones and could easily get hurt, he’s agile enough to get out of most situations.

Flexible. Should you ever have sex with this man, you could twist him into a pretzel and he would be fine with it. Okay well not fine with it, but he could definitely do it for you.

To add to his skinniness, his dick isn’t much either. It’s definitely there, but not really. He’s about 2 inches soft and 4 inches hard, but it’s skinny so it doesn’t look like a lot. This doesn’t bother him, but if your looking to have ur holes filled, he’s not the one for you 😔

He’s actually not self conscious about his body, which is why he lets himself go a lot. Doesn’t see anything wrong with his ribs showing so prominently and his veins being visible. This also carries over to you too, he doesn’t care what you look like, at all.

Sex with Postal Dude is very,,, awkward, especially the first time. A lot of ‘is this okay?’ And ‘does it hurt?’ left his lips out of worry. You’re the last person he wants to hurt, so if he ever hurts you so intimately it would crush him.

He probably enjoys being a bottom/sub. His poor head is racing a million miles a second, so anytime he can ‘relax’ and not have to do any work, Dude will take it. (Both metaphorically and physically)

Wont tell you if anything hurts tho, so you gotta really watch him to see if he’s actually enjoying it,,

He has sort of an oral fixation, so you could probably get him to eat you out before actually having sex with him. Dude actually would rather use his mouth than his dick. If he had a choice, he would eat you out everytime and never actually have proper sex

For pussy haters, Dude shakily let’s his hand dip down and explore your folds, fingers slowly slipping inside before he quickly retracts them after you moan

For dick haters, Dude probably plays with your balls the most. The shaft kinda scares him, the way it violently twitches freaks him out a bit. (‘OoOoO bUt He HaS a DiCk WhY wOuLd He Be ScArEd??’ Homie hardly touches himself.)

Overall, he’s very nervous and would rather not have sex, but for you, he will. Be gentle and slow with him and he’ll try his best.

#postal #x reader #p1 dude #postal x male reader #postal dude x male reader #postal headcanons #postal game #postal dude

[radicalmommyxx]

Idk man…I’ve literally never heard of men shaving bc their leg hair is ‘itchy’ or the hairy feeling is ‘uncomfortable’. Somehow I doubt that it’s a feeling only affects females.

#if you feel like you have to do it or face negative consequences then ok #do it #if you’re scared to let your body hair grow #I get it #but it feels like lies #you can just be honest #no one is perfect #not everything you do has to be explicitly feminist #but I feel like you should at least be honest about it #it feels so odd #like we both know the truth #we both know it’s a lie/excuse unless you have some sort of medical condition but again #surely this condition can’t only affect women or effect SO many women who are indoctrinated into shaving

[queer-reader-07]

it is so vitally important to me that aziraphale and crowley not only love each other but choose to love each other.

i don’t want it to be fate. i don’t want it to be god’s will. i want it to be a conscious and continuous choice.

i want aziraphale choosing every day of his goddamn existence to love crowley and all that he is. i want aziraphale choosing to love crowley not in spite of being a demon, but because he is a demon. i want aziraphale choosing to love crowley’s curiosity and creative wonder. i want aziraphale choosing to love crowley’s love of plants and gardening.

i want crowley choosing to love aziraphale’s passion for books. i want crowley choosing to love aziraphale’s desire to do things the human way even if he could just miracle it. i want crowley choosing to love aziraphale’s angel-ness because it is a fundamental part of him.

i want aziraphale choosing to love everything about crowley and vise versa. and i want it to be a very conscious and intentional choice.

it being fate negates the entire point of the story. good omens is a love story between an angel and a demon, yes. but that’s not all that it is. it’s a story about two occult/ethereal beings who choose humanity over the great plan. two beings who choose the world over armageddon. and they make those choices because despite it all they have chosen to fall in love with the world and with humanity.

it only makes sense that they choose each other. that they choose their love. it being fate or god’s will ruins the foundational pillar of their relationship. that they choose each other over and over and over again. year after year, century after century, time and time again. they always choose. they choose the arrangement, they choose saving the other from harm, they choose lying to protect the other.

it is always a choice. and it better stay a choice or i am going to be so devastated.

#look i’m good with most anything for s3 #as long as they end up in the south downs & hug at least once i will be happy #but this is one thing that isn’t necessarily a need but more like a deep rooted desire that will break me if not met #like if it’s all ‘haha this was god’s plan all along’ i will be so upset #disappointed even #because neil can do better than that #he’s a better writer than that #not to mention it makes absolutely no sense in the context of the story #like i understand how it’s fun to play around with ‘they were made for each other’ #but i really want them to choose each other despite everything #because if i’m being honest it’s one of the things about aziracrow that feels fundamentally queer #to say ‘yeah fuck that’ to what the systems in power tell you you should act like #or who you should love and care for #and instead say ‘i choose this’ ‘i choose you’ to the people and things that actually fulfill you #that is powerful and that is foundational to queerness and queer liberation in my opinion #it’s not about fate or being made for whatever #it’s saying ‘i don’t care if it’s fate or the divine plan or not. it just is and you can’t change the fact that it simply /is/.’ #and maybe that’s just me #but it sure as hell makes sense in my mind #good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #ineffable wives #neil gaiman #good omens meta #aziracrow meta #gomens meta

[katyspersonal]

People that headcanon Maria as butch lesbian and/or Eileen as black woman and still are kind and respectful to different takes are good and beautiful and lovely and Great Ones can't even help them to ascend any further because they are already perfect and they get so many bitches.

People that headcanon Maria as butch lesbian and/or Eileen as black woman and trash on different takes while accusing people of bigotries are terrible and dumb and absolutely repulsive and do not take homophobia/racism seriously if they think having different headcanons on fictional characters is any of these bigotries, they should stop using the pretense of caring about real world issues to get away with shunning, passive aggression, bullying and cruelty in the fandom for the "awful sin" of being different and Rom would never want to be friends with them

People that started to dislike these headcanons just because of bad experiences with toxic fans should temporarily stop keeping track on fandom updates so they can heal and rediscover them, contradictory spirit doesn't make you free from bad people but makes you another side of the bad people coin and true freedom lays in raging individualism, don't let them claim headcanons as their weapons because butch lesbian Maria and black Eileen did nothing wrong to you and exist to make people happy, it is their enforcers who are bad.

#I kinda helped someone for whom mariadeline got ruined because of toxic fans to like ship again so?? #but I was not able to help someone who went disliking black eileen because of bullying for saying that she- #-did not have canon face so people could not act like she was a representation #bloodborne #fandomry rambles #both bullies and their victims should reject the 'community' mindset and fix their eyes on SOURCE material #what do YOU honestly feel and think? without influence from the fandom? #THIS is your priority #not bending to enforcers nor having different headcanon 'out of spite' #only your honest true non-influenced opinion is real manifestation of your creativity #and anyone who questions your beliefs over HEADCANONS is objectively evil and manipulative #at the very least thankfully bullies are not as organized as they COULD be #they are more like groups of bandits (the screechy guy and their mini-horde of mutuals) #if the Discord Church started pushing this mentality and hire hunters we'd be even more fucked! #doesn't change the fact that these groups of bandits should not exist though #'ugh I hate the community mindset' *makes a post that is nothing but caring about community's mental state* #lol lmao even #anyways I grab both enforcers and 'contradictory' haters and bonk their heads together #do better!

[agp]

unfortunately im a chaser for cis dickgirls that arent so invested in transmisogyny. the harder they are to find, the more precious they become, and the more of a chaser i become

#i need a fat broad with autism and a critical approach to gender #god i hate how you cant say that without it being a dogwhistle for reactionary transmisogyny as opposed to critical thinking #this feels like before my time cause ppl were already using the term by the early 2010s #but whats going on with critical race theory atm has a similar possible end #not that it starts to represent some particular fringe group invested in some other form of structural violence #but that it becomes more and more meaningless and putting the terms race and critical together becomes more difficult #i dont know why this post turned into a tag commentary on robbing black people of language but here we are #trying to be abrasive with other trans lesbians is hard to do without getting distracted #and just being honest about observations #also the more i think about it i dont want to make that kind of commentary about racism just for the drama #that post about hypervisibility wasnt supposed to get a hundred notes lol #i dont think i should be playing chicken like this so much or at least give it a limit idk #at least not when i chose to engage the world that way #honesty or just existence as a trans woman is already a game of chicken #fml these tags are like twice as long now

[quackcitylimits]

.

#sometimes i wonder what would have happened if i said my opinion on the you know what situation when it was happening #like i saw ppl going crazy on here and was like mmmm i should keep my mouth shut #i think especially bc the person i talk to the most about discourse is my irl who also loves mcyt and not just the echo chamber of tumblr #like i was finally seeing how many ppl on here really are just too online #like if it brought up bad memories for some ppl that's one thing but some ppl just reacted so quickly it confused me #idk i thought i was being insensitive but i really think it was just completely blown up and at first i thought it was just bc i didn't want #to see dream in a bad light but if im being fully honest he's probably the person in dtkq i feel the least attached to #i post about him yeah but ive never been a dream main or anything and idk i think it counts for something that i know i can easily distance #myself from him and i don't think he did anything worth the reaction it got #this whole ramble is incoherent and i know it's a tired topic but i never really made a comment on anything and i kinda wanted to for anyone #who wants to unfollow bc i will still post about dt probably so that's perfectly fine #um anyways