#i mean... i added the word fucking but it was implied in the original anyways lmao

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 | ghostface!darren (pig) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | he probably wasn't even invited to this party, because who would invite him? but he came anyways... just to torment you. far more than you could've imagined, in fact.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 2.5k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | NONCON DARK SMUT 18+ ONLY!!, public sex, degradation, pain kink, knife kink, a bit of predator/prey, blood kink, smoking, unprotected sex/implied risk of pregnancy, darren is kind of an incel lmao

It was a pretty traditional high school party— overcrowded, loud and sweaty, bad music and worse liquor— but at least the sea of costumes, ranging from scary to silly to sexy, added at least some new layer of interest to the whole thing.

You hadn’t tried very hard with your devil costume— more accurately an attempt at a ‘sexy devil’ costume— but you put on horns and heels with a tight red dress and nobody can really complain.  You weren’t really here to get into the ‘spooky spirit’ or whatever anyways, just an excuse to drink and maybe chat with some people you’d been missing.

The person you ended up chatting to right in that moment, though, was exactly the last person you wanted to talk to.

You didn’t even know there was someone behind you until you felt him press up to your back, suddenly hovering right by you.  “Want a drink?” he asked, shoving a cup towards you, but you were too busy nearly jumping out of your skin to care— you almost knocked the drink over, actually some of it did splash onto another partygoer, but she was too drunk to notice.

“Fuck!” you yelped, turning to see the gangly boy behind you.  “Christ, Darren, do you have to always sneak up on a girl like that?”

He just smiled and tried to offer the drink to you again.

“M’already holding one,” you pointed out with a frown, “didn’t ya notice?”

“O-oh yeah,” he mumbled, lowering the cup finally.  “Costume looks good.”

“Thanks,” you shrugged, though you suddenly felt the urge to tug down the bottom of your dress.

“You’re not worried what the boys are gonna think with you dressed like that?” he asked, and you glared at him as you shoved his shoulder.  

“Don’t you think before you open your fuckin’ mouth?” you spat.  “What are you, anyway?”

The black robes didn’t really tell you anything— not until he reached behind his head and pulled a Ghostface mask over his face.

“Oh,” you snorted, “not the most original, is it?”

“Don’t like t’movie?” he wondered as he pulled the mask back again.

“I mean, it’s pretty good,” you relented, “but—”

“You wanna fuck ‘im, don’t you?” he insisted suddenly with a lascivious grin. 

“What?” you squinted.

“Ghostface,” he clarified, “you’re one of the girls who thinks he’s fit, yeah?”

“Why are you always such a creep?” you asked him with a grimace, but then you decided to change the topic quickly.  “Kinda thought you’d be a pig or something,” you admitted, “with the nickname and all.”

“Nah, that’s stupid,” he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms— which made you notice the prop knife in his hand.  It actually looked pretty good, shinier than most plastic costume knives.

Just then, Jimmy O’Doyle sauntered up beside you, slipping his arm around your shoulders.  “Ay, little devil,” he greeted, flicking the red horns on your head as you smiled sheepishly.

He hardly acknowledged Darren, spare for a quick nod, but Darren was staring at Jimmy for a little too long before he looked at you again.

“Thought you said you didn’t want a boyfriend,” Darren said sharply, glowering a bit.

Jimmy scoffed and you shifted uncomfortably; Darren tended to be… what’s the word… desperate?  Clingy?  Overall bizarre?  He certainly couldn’t take much of a hint.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said first, though that didn’t really matter— you didn’t need any reason to reject Darren, outside of your natural self-preservation instinct.  He actually wasn’t bad-looking, but it was hard to tell past those leering eyes and the uncomfortable smile.  He wasn’t smiling now though… he looked quietly enraged, sipping pointedly on his drink as he glanced away for a moment.  

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Jimmy smirked at you, hardly waiting for your nod before disappearing back into the crowd.

Suddenly, as you felt Darren’s livid gaze from awkwardly close, you decided that you needed a little fresh air.  And by that, you really meant a cigarette.

Not wanting to tell Darren that you were going outside for a smoke, you instead mumbled some excuse about going to the loo— somewhere he was just sane enough not to follow you to— and bumped through the crowd until you found a door out into the neighbourhood.

There was a slight drizzle still going outside— more of a misting, really— that made everything all foggy and grey, spare for the yellow-y glow of the streetlamps dotting the way.  It wasn’t a full moon, as cool as that would be, but near to one… regardless, it wasn’t visible behind low, dark clouds, leaving the night starless and dreary.  There wasn’t much to look at in the alley as you lit your cigarette and took slow drags from it, so as you stared blankly forward at brick walls with chipping whitewash, your mind wandered a bit.  Nothing of great merit: upcoming assignments, the possibility of an afterparty, the lingering hope you could find a steamy hook-up for the night… you didn’t just put this outfit on for the pictures.

Before you could get too far into your imagination, you were startled by a distant sound, jumping slight as your head turned towards it— but it was just the dark alley, not much to see.  You squinted, trying to make out movement in the shadows, but for quite a while you couldn’t see anything.

Only when you turned your head back forward with a shrug was there any sign of what you’d heard, just a shift in the corner of your eye.  You looked at it again, and you hated to admit it, but your heart froze up for a second when that white face emerged from the darkness.

Of course, you gave your best unaffected scoff when you actually processed what you were looking at.

“Quit it, Darren,” you warned, willing your voice to sound stable as you shouted down the road towards him, “you’re not gonna scare me.”

You watched him move closer, stepping into the light so you could see him better, and tried to ignore the way the hairs on your neck stood up.  If he knew he was getting to you, he’d just keep doing it; you rolled your eyes and took a drag through your cigarette to try to seem nonchalant… but you had to stop your hand from shaking just a bit.  Only because it was chilly out, surely…

You thought it was a joke— a stupid joke, but still just a joke— until he dragged his knife along the brick wall as he stalked toward you.  The sharp, high-pitched screech of metal against stone was unmistakable… and that was how you realised it was a real knife.  A very sharp, very real knife; he’s going to actually kill me, you thought, just before you let out a primal and instinctive scream.

Turning on your heel, you ran as fast as you could.  Each rapid pulse of your heart pumped adrenaline through your veins, and you felt so shaky that you worried the light night breeze would knock you over.  

These were far from running shoes, though— they were pretty excruciating to just stand in, actually— and it was only a few blocks of a chase before you tripped.  Yelping in pain, you tried to scramble up or even crawl forward… but just as you rolled over and winced from landing on your hip, you saw him stalking forward into the flickering light of a streetlamp.

He was probably just going to take the mask off and laugh at you, right?  Reveal the whole thing was a silly prank and the knife was fake and that he just wanted to prove you were scared of him.  Yes, that would be the most sane thing for him to do at that moment, even after being so not-sane by chasing you with a knife.  Instead, as you tried to crawl back, he just tilted his masked head curiously at you, and with his free hand reached down and palmed at his groin.  He was hard— you could see the outline of it through his costume, his hips rocking forward slightly into his palm as you heard a muffled hiss from his mouth.

He knelt down and grabbed your kicking legs, roughly yanking you closer and hovering above you menacingly.  “C’mon and scream for me,” he ordered with a delighted purr, pulling his mask back, laughing when what came out of you was more of a wail or sob instead.  “Louder, y’little whore—”

“Get off me!” you shrieked, trying to fight him away, whining as he laid down over you instead and licked your neck.  You turned your head with a grimace, shuddering as his weight pinned you against the slightly-damp pavement.

“G’na show Pig how tight the little hole gets when you’re scared— aren’t ya, fuckin’ slut?”

“Be serious, Darren— s’not funny, get away from me!”

You struggled less when he flashed the knife; as little as you could, in fact you actually nearly froze as he teased you with it, running the tip down the front of your dress with just enough pressure to pop a few sequins off, making you whimper in terror.  He laughed, though— a small, dark, chuckle.  “Quiet now,” he noticed.  “Don’t make a fuss, sweetheart.”

You had to bite your lip to hide a shout, though, when a gloved hand up slipped under your short dress, grabbing greedily at your lacy panties.  He licked his teeth, bared by his grin, as he stared at you with those haunting eyes of his.  “Wet, aren’tcha, girl?” he taunted— not that he’d be able to feel it through his black gloves, but past your own groaning you could almost hear it (though you tried not to).

“You’re such a creep!” you spat, though you tried to regulate your tone as you glanced at his knife again, held against you by one of his hands on your arm; maybe part of you still thought he would stop and admit it was a joke, but the darkness in his stare made you doubt that more and more.  The gravity of the situation still hadn’t really set in yet— sure, you were coursing with fear and had goosebumps all over, but it didn’t totally feel real.

“Won’t take too long,” he promised with a sigh as he hastily tugged his costume out of the way, still pinning you down with one hand (if not as effectively).  When he roughly yanked his cock out, proudly brandishing it between your legs as your eyes went wide… that’s when it felt real.

“Don’t,” you gasped instantly, looking up at him with pleading eyes.  “Don’t, Darren, please— you can’t—”

“Shh,” he hissed quickly, “s’good— gonna feel good, alright?”

He gasped loudly as he pushed inside you, eyes shutting tight before he dropped his head down onto your chest.  “Fuck, girl— what’s a whore cunt so tight for?”

Not wasting any time, he pulled his hips back and roughly thrusted forward into you again, making you choke on your cry.

“S’for me, isn’t it?” he decided with a sick sort of grin.  “Want Pig to feel good?  Like t’squeeze the thick cock, don’t ya?”

“I— I fuckin’ hate you,” you whimpered, shutting your eyes tight, in disgusted disbelief that this was happening— that it was him inside you, holding you down.  But you couldn’t forget it, not with him moaning and purring above you, mumbling stuttered praises… and the feeling of it, it was impossible to ignore, as much as you hoped to somehow.  It was a deep stretch, each thrust making your chest tighten out of more than just fear.

“Mmf, fuck,” he grunted, holding onto you tighter— another reminder he still had that fucking knife.  “Pretty— it’s a pretty thing… it’s warm inside…”

Grimacing, you hated the way your body responded to his lewd comments about it; your walls clenched on him slightly, you could tell by the way you felt even more sore inside than before.

He pressed the knife up against your neck, growling in amusement at your wince of fear.  “Think Pig’s gonna slice you?”

“I… I don’t know,” you stammered out your answer, eventually.

“Waste of a pretty face, no?” he smirked, moving the knife up and caressing the side of your face with it— not that it could really be called a caress, all rigid and cold like that… “Say please.”

“Huh?”

“Say please,” he repeated, “beg me not to hurt you.”

“Already are,” you sneered at him, but he pressed the knife to your neck with a little more intention— a little more pressure, a wild look in his eyes suddenly— as he insisted again.

“Wanna hear you beg,” he spat.  “Do it or Piggy might hurt you worse.”

“Please, please,” you whispered shakily, shutting your eyes.  “Please don’t, Darren…”

You gasped sharply as he pressed the knife down just enough to draw a thin line of blood, only to pull the blade away and lick hungrily at the wound.  Feeling dizzy and sick, you winced at the sting of his tongue lapping at your pierced skin, lips wrapping around and suckling as teeth dug painfully into your pulse.

He thrusted faster, recklessly so, and bit down on his lip as he breathed heavier.  You were too focused on how painfully deep he was going to really process anything when he started to slow down— that is, you felt that he was slowing down, and didn’t think for a minute about why he was slowing down.  

His loud, low groan gave it away; you snapped back to reality and looked up at him in a new kind of fear.  “Fuck, Darren, did you just—?!” you whimpered, squirming harder as you realised what he’d done.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed you sharply, hissing as he grabbed a tight hold of your hip.  “Stay fuckin’ still, girl— fuck, I’m still coming—”

You yelped and tried harder to fight him off, but he kept you pinned down easily, even forcing you into a rough and sloppy kiss.

He sighed into it after a second, relaxing on top of you until it was a little hard to breathe under his weight.  You whined and tried to break away, but the hand with the knife still in it held your jaw, the cold metal pressing threateningly against your face.

Whimpering and blinking up at him, you met his icy gaze and he smiled proudly down at you.  “Little devil, eh?” he smirked as he toyed with your horned headband, which had become quite dishevelled from all the running and struggling.  “Your blood matches the outfit— poor whore, red all over…”

“Darren,” you choked, fighting a sob of disbelief as you felt him pull out of you with a hiss— a steady, sticky leak giving away how much he’d come.  “What the fuck did you do?”

“Don’t be fussin’, girl, like I said,” he rolled his eyes, though he was still grinning wide.  “Ready to go back to the party now?  Or do you just want Pig to take y’home, sweetheart?” 

#darren pig x reader #disco pigs #cillian murphy x reader #darren pig smut #darren pig dark!fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy dark!fic

[midnight-fauna]

"i just wanna trust what is mine" (huskerdust)

Pairing: Angel Dust/Husk

Chapter: 1/1

Word count: 5,063

Summary: Five times Angel didn't want to be touched by anyone. And the one time he did.

A/N: Originally posted on my Ao3 under "TheExtrovertOutcast".

Trigger warnings: implied physical/sexual abuse, heavy swearing, canon-typical amounts of innuendos, touch-aversion, brief descriptions of panic attacks

i.

Angel staggered into the Hazbin Hotel, slamming the front doors shut behind him. He was practically limping. Valentino had worked him to the goddamn bone, insisting he tried out new kinks that Angel didn’t even know people could have. Sick bastards. 

He plopped down on one of the barstools in the lobby, groaning indignantly at the added discomfort for his ass. “Whiskers, I’m gon’ need your strongest shit,” he said, mustering up one of his flirty smiles. He sure as hell didn’t need the new “bar-therapist” to comment about his current state. “And if you could top it off with one of them cute li’l umbrellas, that’d be wonderful,” he added, drawing out the last syllable. 

Husk scoffed. “The fuck does this look like?” He gestured pointedly around him. Given both Husk and the bar were fairly recent add-ons to the hotel, there wasn’t a lot other than cheap alcohol and the occasional roach. 

Sighing over-dramatically, Angel got up off the stool, ignoring how his entire fucking body protested. “‘Gotta do everything myself,” he complained. He circled behind the counter and began inspecting what they had. 

“You can’t just-” Husk began.

“Listen, toots, I get you’re the bartender and all that, but that don’t mean you’re the only one who can make a drink worth shit,” Angel interrupted, his multiple hands searching through the rows of bottles. Alastor clearly didn’t give a rat’s ass about stocking the hotel with half-decent booze.

Husk threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. Whatever. It’s not like I get paid to deal with you fuckers anyways,” he muttered. “‘Bar’s all yours.” 

With that, Husk shuffled to move past Angel. Given the cramped space, Husk had to brush up right against him. 

Angel froze. 

He could do touch. Hell, touch was his entire goddamn career. Outside of work, he touched people all the time. He’d flirtily caress practically anyone who crossed his path. He’d cup their cheeks (face or ass, depending on his mood), whisper filthy shit in their ear, trace his fingers over their lips - whatever worked to give him some semblance of control over the situation.

But people touching him? He wasn’t in control. He wasn’t the one initiating. And all too soon in scenarios like that, no matter how innocent the touch, he’d be reminded of all the sick shit Valentino had him do.

It was almost funny, in a fucked up way: a pornstar that hated people touching him. 

Immediately, Angel yanked himself away from Husk, practically bolting to the other side of the bar. Husk shot him a confused look. 

“You’re, uh, right,” Angel coughed out, desperately trying to cram down the panic rising up in his gut. “There isn’t anything in those bottles worth putting in my body. And that’s saying a lot, comin’ from a guy like me.”

The joke didn’t land as smoothly as he hoped it would. Fuckin’ Husk and his judgemental cat eyes. He felt like the man was staring right into his chained soul, seeing every last vulnerable part of him. 

“Tell Alastor to get better stuff,” Angel added in a futile attempt to sound casual. Offering another bullshit grin, he hurried away from the bar, feeling Husk’s eyes on him the entire time. 

ii.

It wasn’t often that Angel met someone he couldn’t seduce or at least get some kind of sexual reaction from. Obviously, there were exceptions - lesbians, asexuals, and, occasionally, a straight man with no taste. But as far as people who were attracted to men? Angel never had a problem riling them up. 

That was why Husk confused him so goddamn much. 

Angel knew the bastard liked dick to some extent; Husk had mentioned a previous gay fling he’d had when he was still alive. And yet, Angel couldn’t get so much as a blush. A stutter. Fuckin’ anything. It bruised his ego more than he’d like to admit. 

“Man, stop staring at me. You’re creeping me the fuck out.” 

Husk’s voice snapped Angel back to reality. The two were on couches across from each other in the hotel lobby. The book Husk had been reading was bookmarked and his full attention was on Angel. 

Showtime. 

“‘Can’t blame a guy for starin’ at what he likes,” Angel purred. Everyone liked flattery, especially in Hell where a solid ninety-nine percent of the population was egotistical shitbags. “Those reading glasses you got on are enough to make anyone fuckin’ drool, toots.” 

Unfortunately, that made Husk promptly take them off, setting the glasses down on the wooden coffee table. “Cut the shit, Angel. You know that stuff doesn’t work on me.” 

“Oh, come on,” Angel whined. He got up off the couch, sauntering over to Husk. He made a show of stretching out his limbs, letting his crop top ride up even higher. Shit like this would make most people hot in all the right places, but Husk didn’t even look fazed. 

He was practically showing off his entire lower torso by the time he swooped down to Husk’s couch, lounging as close as he could to him. “I know folks who would kill to touch me even once,” Angel crooned, “and here I am offerin’ myself up to you and you ain’t gonna do nothin’ about it?” 

Husk snorted in response. “Just because you’re a pornstar doesn’t mean everyone wants to sleep with you.” 

Angel wrinkled his nose at that. Of course everyone wanted to sleep with him. That was his whole fuckin’ appeal. That’s why he was Valentino’s favorite, for fuck’s sake. 

Deciding to amp up his antics, Angel raised his hand up, gently caressing Husk’s cheek. Maybe he liked ‘em sweeter with less dirty talk. It wasn’t Angel’s favorite role to play, but he could pull it off. 

He ran his hand down Husk’s jaw, trailing down his neck, going to his chest-

“Stop.” Husk’s arm shot up, grabbing Angel’s wrist a little too tightly and yanking it away from him. And suddenly, the pressure was all-too-much like Valentino’s chains, his sharp nails, the goddamn bruises-

“Okay!” Angel yelled, much louder than he’d intended to, snatching his wrist back, pulling it close to his chest. “Fuckin’ okay! I get it!” 

It wasn’t Husk’s fault. Deep down, Angel knew that. He was the one who had crossed boundaries, gone too far. But fuck it, it was easier to be pissed at Husk than to take responsibility for himself. 

Angel turned abruptly, speed-walking away from the lounge, away from Husk, away from the situation, away from anything that could bring those memories back. He nearly tripped on Nifty and, despite growing kind of fond of her, he ignored her. 

Charlie rushed into the room. “Angel! I heard yelling-” She stopped, looking at him worriedly. “Angel, are you-”

“Just leave me the hell alone,” Angel snapped, pushing past her. 

He fucking hoped she didn’t see how close he was to crying. 

iii. 

The day had been a shitshow. 

For some goddamn reason, Charlie decided to show up at Valentino’s studio, try to convince him to chill (like that’d ever work), and then accidentally set fire to fuckin’ everything. In response, Valentino had made him do every disgusting act known to man, all without breaks. And to top the shitty night off, Husk had the gall to judge him - call him “fake”, treat Angel like a goddamn kid, and try to fuckin’ act like he was anything better than Angel.

Fuck Husk. Fuck Valentino. Fuck everyone except for the booze in his hand and the loan sharks around him paying for it. 

“Hey, baby, be a doll and bring me another one,” Angel cooed to the shark beside him that looked like he had a spiked dildo for a nose. “Daddy’s out of juice.” 

Angel lounged back as Dildo-Nose got up and headed towards the bar. Even with what felt like gallons of alcohol in his system, Angel was still exhausted - both physically and emotionally. He had genuinely thought things were getting better for him. The hotel had seemed more welcoming than it used to. For a while, he actually felt like he had some semblance of home. Sure, the place was filled with fuckin’ weirdos, but they’d begun to grow on him. Except for Alastor. That motherfucker still creeped Angel out. 

Dildo-Nose’s raspy voice snapped him back to reality. “Here you go, darling. Just for you-” He was about to hand Angel the drink when he was suddenly snatched backward. 

“Nice try, fuckhead.” 

Angel physically gawked at the sight of Husk grabbing Dildo-Nose and flinging him straight into the jukebox. He barely had time to register what the fuck was going on before Husk grabbed him, throwing cards like they were ninja-stars at the remaining loan sharks. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Angel protested loudly, tripping over himself repeatedly as Husk dragged him out of the nightclub, the two narrowly missing the several bullets being shot their way. 

By the time they made it out onto the sidewalk, Angel had finally begun to process the situation, but he still couldn’t understand why it was happening. “Husk, what the actual fuck are you doing here?” he demanded. 

It was then that his senses caught up to him and he realized Husk was physically restraining him. Despite what his films would have people think, Angel fucking hated being held still. It made him feel helpless in all the wrong ways. It made him feel trapped, weak, easy to use, easy to abuse. 

“Let go of me!” Angel shouted, hating the way his voice cracked when he did. He tried to yank his upper set of arms back. He needed his fucking control back. He was panicking and it was beginning harder and harder to hide it. 

Husk kept his grip firm. It was infuriating that he was stronger than Angel. “No, I’m taking you back to the hotel,” he said. 

Heart racing for all the wrong reasons, Angel continued to struggle against Husk. He tried telling himself that he wasn’t at the studio, that he wasn’t with Valentino, that he knew Husk wouldn’t try shit, but- “Get off!” 

Angel yanked back hard enough and finally - fucking finally - Husk let him go. “That fucker put something in your drink,” Husk hissed. 

“You don’t think I can tell if someone spikes my drink? I do this all the fucking time.” Angel’s heart was threatening to break out of his ribs, pounding so loud he could barely hear Husk. He wanted to run, but he didn’t want to risk Husk grabbing him again. 

Husk stared at him in disbelief. “You just let people drug you all the time?” 

Angel was about two seconds away from a breakdown. “You think I ask for it?! I don’t ask for any of this shit! I didn’t ask to be this way! I didn’t ask for Charlie to save me! I didn’t ask for you to save me. I can handle myself.”

“Really? Because I just saw someone self-destructing,” Husk retorted. “It seems like - I don’t know - you might need a bartender to talk to.” 

Despite all the hiding and masking and acting Angel had done for as long as he could remember, he broke down right in front of the guy who he was seeking approval from most. He admitted fucking everything - the pretending, the escapism, the self-destruction, the hatred, the fear, all of it - laying out his deepest insecurities for Husk to see. 

And, to Angel’s surprise, Husk didn’t judge him. In fact, he admitted to once being an Overlord and the mistakes he made that led him up to then. 

It was almost comforting, knowing that someone else got it and really understood what Angel had been through. What he was still going through. 

It was kind of nice. 

iv.

“Alright! Thank you everyone for coming to today’s group bonding session!” Charlie cheered happily, clapping her hands together. She, Angel, Husk, Vaggie, Nifty, and Sir Pentious were gathered in the hotel lobby. Thankfully, Alastor was nowhere to be found. “For this afternoon’s activity, we’re all going to go around in a circle and everyone will give each person in the group a compliment! A great way to build trust is to feel appreciated by those around you!”

“Compliments?” Sir Pentious asked with a head tilt, drawing out the last consonant in a hiss. “Like telling someone they would make a worthy adversary?” 

Charlie sucked in a breath. “Um, kind of! Sure!” she said, her painfully optimistic personality trying its best to shine through. 

“I get hundreds of compliments a day about my looks, so I expect some original shit from you all,” Angel said with a grin. He was lounging on one of the lobby couches, Husk beside him. Since their fight and eventual make-up a month earlier, they’d begun to get along surprisingly well. They were a hell of a weird pair, but somehow, they made it work. 

“Angel actually brings up a great point!” Charlie shot him a pleased smile. “We should all try to make our compliments sincere and about the person themselves, not just about their appearance! Angel, how about you go first?” 

Angel nearly choked on air, covering it up with a cough. “Uh- I don’t know. Sentimentality ain’t really my thing, sweetheart,” he said, glancing around at the group. Sure, he’d say he was friendly with everyone, but he didn’t know the first thing about “sincere” compliments. “With my line of work, I tend to only praise people’s dick size.” 

“Oooookay!” Charlie exhaled, still beaming from ear to ear, but her eyes revealed she did not know how to respond to that last part. “Well, er, even if they’re not… perfectly sincere compliments, how about you just give it your best shot?” 

“Alright, fine, fine,” Angel said, waving his hand in the air dismissively. “Uh, here goes nothin’, I guess. Nifty,” he began, looking down at the carpet where she was sitting, grimacing at the number of dead roaches in a pile beside her, “you are… without a doubt, the most insane woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowin’ and that’s sayin’ something.” 

“Angel-!” Vaggie sounded like he was about to scold him, but was abruptly cut off by the sound of Nifty’s borderline-maniacal giggling. 

Nifty rushed over to Angel, offering him one of the dead roaches like a pleased housecat offering her owner a mangy mouse. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she giggled, a familiar crazed look in her single eye. “I’ll name one of the stains on the carpet after you~”

Deciding it was safer to take that shit as a sign of goodwill, Angel nodded, picking up the roach by a leg and setting it to the side. “Wow, uh, thanks, Nifty. That’s… wonderful.” 

She skittered back to her roach pile, humming softly to herself. 

“Vaggie,” Angel paused, for a second, knowing he’d have to choose his words a little more carefully, “you’re scarily good at killin’ people and takin’ charge. The hotel’s, uh, lucky to have you protectin’ it.”

“That was surprisingly decent of you to say,” Vaggie said with raised eyebrows. 

Angel turned away. Hell, this all felt humiliating. He wasn’t one to make people actually like him for anything other than sex. He never even signed up for this goody-two-shoes shtick. Initially, he’d only joined for the hotel so he had a free place to stay as far from Valentino as possible when he wasn’t working. 

He glanced at Charlie, giving her an expression along the lines of, “Do I really have to keep going?” Unfortunately for him, she gave him a nod and a vaguely encouraging thumbs up. 

Deciding to try and get it over as fast as possible, he quickly rattled out, “Charlie, you do great at running this hotel. I used to think you had a zero percent chance of redeemin’ Hell’s worst, but now I think you have a solid eight percent chance, so that’s progress. Sir Pentious, you’re fuckin’ weird as hell, but I’m beginnin’ to like you. And, screw it, if you want to go after Cherri Bomb, I ain’t gonna stop you. She bit her last ex’s head off, so to be honest, I’m more worried for you.” 

Charlie was silent, clearly trying to process all the bullshittery that spewed out of Angel’s mouth. Sir Pentious, however, seemed elated. “Really? So, you think I have a chance with her? This is brilliant news! I will have my dear Egg Bois set up a courtship invitation with her!” His weird-ass snake eyes were practically shimmering with excitement. 

Apparently relieved at Sir Pentious’ positive reaction, Charlie smiled again. “That seemed to go well! Perfect! Now, you just need to give Husk a compliment and we can move on to the next person!” 

Right. Husk. Angel tried to swallow down his nervousness as he turned to Husk. He was cool with everyone else at the hotel. Friendship might be a strong word, but it was something like that. But with Husk? There was something deeper: a mutual understanding, shared trauma, maybe actual trust - if that was still something Angel could actually fucking feel. 

“Come on. Surely, you have one nice thing to say about me,” Husk said with an easy-going smile, light sarcasm lacing his tone. 

Angel scoffed, trying to keep his usual air of nonchalance. “I don’t know. Nothing’s comin’ to mind. I guess you’re a half-decent drinking buddy,” he said, teasing a little. “You, uh, get me… in ways other folks don’t. And because of that, you’re pretty damn patient with me, even when I’m a whiny asshole, which I appreciate. A lot. You’re fun to hang around. I feel comfortable around you, which, shit, I don’t think I’ve ever felt since workin’ for Valentino. You’re a real cool son of a bitch and I’m lucky to have you.” 

He suddenly became very aware that the room had fallen silent. Hell, even Nifty wasn’t doing her creepy ritualistic-sounding humming. He’d been rambling. He’d let too much spill. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“That actually means a lot to me,” Husk said, a little grin on his face. He reached up and placed his hand on Angel’s shoulder. And for a blissful second, it felt fine. It felt okay. Until Angel’s goddam mind became too acutely aware of how close Husk’s fingers were to his neck, how easily he could grab him by the throat just like how Valentino did so often. Angel knew Husk would never do that. Of course, he knew that. But the fear was still there. Consuming him, fucking torturing him every second that Husk’s hand was on his shoulder.

Angel shrugged his shoulder and thankfully, it made Husk’s touch fall away. Trying to recover, Angel cleared his throat loudly. “Right. Okay. Next person.” 

It took until the end of the group activity for Angel’s heart to finally calm down. 

v.

Angel had been at Hazbin Hotel for over five months and it had genuinely begun to feel like home. He couldn’t remember the last time a place felt like that, even back when he was alive.

He was helping restock Husk’s bar with better shit after the two of them had gone out and bought about three dozen bottles of actually decent booze. In all honesty, Angel couldn’t care less about the quality of their alcohol (he’d drank a lot worse, both on Earth and in Hell). Lately, he’d been looking for more and more excuses to spend time with Husk. 

It wasn’t a crush, per se. Angel was a fucking pornstar, for Lucifer’s sake. He didn’t get horny-people shit like that. It was just that he enjoyed Husk’s company. That was all. 

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. 

Speak of the devil, Husk came around the bar, a box of bottles clanking together in his arms. “Vaggie offered to give us some of her collection that she used to hide from Charlie. I took a look at them and honestly, she has some good shit in here.” 

“Yeah?” Angel smiled in spite of himself. “‘Doesn’t surprise me that she hid it. I don’t think Charlie’s still too thrilled that we got a bar in her redemption joint.” 

Husk shrugged, setting the box down on the bar top. “I don’t know. Maybe she could turn it into a lesson on healthy moderation.” 

Angel snorted. “Sure sounds like somethin’ she’d do.” 

He began sifting through the bottles, taking a few of them out to inspect the labels. After a while, he became very aware of Husk’s eyes on him. The gaze wasn’t judgemental like it once was when they first met. It felt warmer than that. Softer than that. Angel sure as hell wasn’t used to anyone looking at him in that way. 

“These’ll do,” Angel said, feigning a nonchalant demeanor. He turned to begin shelving them away, only for his high-heeled boots to catch on one of Nifty’s roach corpse piles. He nearly went careening to the ground, if not for Husk’s hands grabbing onto his waist, hauling him back up before he could smash both the bottles and possibly his skull onto the hardwood floor. 

“Shit-” Angel scrambled to get back his footing, pausing for a few seconds to regain himself before the continued sensation of Husk’s hands on his waist caught up to him. 

It’s just Husk. It’s just Husk, he tried to tell himself. God-fucking-damnit, he hated the way he couldn’t handle even innocent physical touch, not even from the man he trusted the fuckin’ most. What is wrong with me?

In an attempt to save himself from an oncoming panic attack, Angel yanked himself away from Husk, awkwardly smoothing down his clothes. “You’d think I’d be more careful where I step after livin’ with Nifty for as long as we have now,” he joked, willing himself to calm down.

Husk’s gaze told Angel he wasn’t buying it. “Angel, do you not like being touched? At all?” he asked, his voice gentle, careful. As if he was afraid that Angel might break down if he was too direct or harsh. His tone made Angel want to cry and he didn’t know whether it was out of shame or relief. 

“What? Psssh, nah, what are you talkin’ about?” Angel set the bottles down, giving Husk what he hoped looked like an easy-going grin. “I just don’t want you to get an STD or some shit from me.”

Husk frowned. “You and I both know you can’t get an STD from something like that.” 

“You never know! Hell’s a dirty place! There’s probably diseases all over the place, especially on me.” Angel tried to laugh it off, grimacing when he saw Husk’s expression remain serious. “Look, I swear it’s nothin’. You’re worryin’ too much.” 

“I’ve seen you, both with me and a few of the others,” Husk continued. “It seems like you’re fine when you touch us. But the second any of us touch you, even slightly? You shut down. I can see the panic in your eyes every time.”

Angel swallowed, wrapping his two sets of arms around himself. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“It clearly is to you,” Husk said, stepping closer, while still maintaining comfortable space between the two of them (a sentiment that Angel’s heart warmed at). “I don’t know nearly anything about what that asshole moth does to you or makes you do, but I’m gonna take a bold guess and say this-” he gestured to Angel’s closed-off posture, “-is because of him. I want to know what you’re uncomfortable with because I never want to make you feel the way that motherfucker makes you feel or the way Alastor makes me feel. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Going quiet for a long moment, Angel nodded. “Yeah, I hear you.” He glanced around the lobby, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. “Look, I really enjoy being around you. You make me feel like I can be myself and not- whatever it is that Val wants me to be, y’know? I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think I don’t trust you or shit. ‘Cause I do. It’s just… something about being touched without warnin’. I don’t know. It makes me feel like I wanna crawl out of my skin.”

Husk nodded. Thank Lucifer, his gaze didn’t seem like he was pitying Angel or seeing him as some fucked-up mess that needed to be coddled like a damn baby. He just seemed understanding. Empathetic. And fuck, if that didn’t make Angel’s guts do a flip. 

“I’ll tell Nifty to keep her roach piles away from the bar,” Husk said, mercifully changing the subject as though sensing how uncomfortable it made Angel to bear his soul (that wasn’t even really his anymore) to him. 

“Thank you,” Angel mumbled quietly, hoping Husk knew he wasn’t talking about the roaches. 

vi. 

They’d done it. They’d actually fucking done it. They’d fended off the Extermination.

The hotel was in shambles, to say the least. Hell, Angel didn’t know if it could be considered a building anymore at that point. Because of the extreme damage, only a few rooms had been left (somewhat) intact. Charlie had promised they’d finish renovations tomorrow with the help of her dad, but she insisted everyone rest after the whole-ass battle they’d had.

Given the very limited selection of rooms that weren’t extreme safety hazards to sleep in (four to be exact - Vaggie had counted), Charlie had everyone pair off. Angel had a feeling it was more to give everyone a sense of companionship given they all had a new sprinkle of PTSD added into their already shitty mental states. Charlie and Vaggie had obviously gotten one of the rooms to themselves. Rosie had insisted on keeping Alastor company. Why the hell someone would want to spend a second with that creep was beyond Angel’s understanding. Nifty and the remaining Egg Bois had grouped up in one of the smaller hotel rooms. And that left the remaining room for Angel and Husk. 

“Seriously? The sharing one bed shtick?” Angel scoffed, plopping down on the mattress. “‘Sounds like something straight out of one of my porn movies.” 

Husk raised an eyebrow. “I can sleep on the floor if the thought makes you uncomfortable. I know, uh, being reminded of your work isn’t exactly your idea of a good time.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Angel insisted, clambering into bed, already in his pajamas and having cleaned most of the angel blood out of his hair. “It ain’t like I think you’re gonna pull shit or anything.” 

With a shrug, Husk reluctantly got into bed beside him. The room was already near pitch dark thanks to the electrical system being blasted apart. The only light was from the crimson sky of Hell, serving as a forever reminder of their damnation. 

Silence fell between the two of them for a long while, a comfortable few inches of space between them on the king-sized mattress. Angel was beginning to think Husk had already fallen asleep until he finally spoke. 

“It’s hard to believe he’s gone, you know?” Husk said quietly and Angel immediately knew who he was referring to. An uncomfortable sensation of guilt panged in his stomach. Fuck, he hadn’t even been thinking about Sir Pentious. In all the chaos, he’d nearly forgotten about the insane, but admirable, shit he’d pulled. 

“Yeah,” Angel breathed. “And just as I was beginnin’ to like him too.” 

Husk exhaled out a long, tired sigh. “I wish he’d been the one to magically show up, not Alastor. Fuck, for a second there, I really thought I was free.” 

“I’m sorry” was all Angel could muster. Hell, he was shit with words and even more shit at comforting people. He wished he knew all the right things to say to make Husk feel better, show him that Angel really did care about him. It was probably more than just care. Angel didn’t know what it was that he felt for Husk, but he knew damn well it was strong. Even stronger than his initial admiration and adoration for Valentino back when he’d first met him. 

Without giving himself time to hesitate, he reached forward, enveloping Husk in a hug. At that point, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his fears. All he wanted was to comfort Husk. That was the only damn thing driving him. 

“Whoa-” Husk mumbled under his breath, surprise evident in his tone. “Angel, I know you don’t like this sort of thing. You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Angel interrupted.

Cautiously, Angel felt Husk relax and carefully wrap his arms around Angel, embracing him back. To Angel’s immediate surprise, he didn’t feel the all-too-familiar sensation of panic rising up in him. If anything, he felt the opposite. He felt safe. He felt accepted. Shit, he felt loved. 

Husk was pressed right up against Angel’s whole body. His face was buried in Angel’s shoulder and Angel could feel Husk’s breath gently puffing against the top of his chest fluff. Under any other circumstances, Angel would be yanking away, shoving the person off of him. His heart was beating slower than usual, rather than faster. He didn’t know if it was some sort of freaky cat magic, but he genuinely felt calmer. 

It dawned on him that it was the only time he’d felt someone pressed so completely against him and it didn’t feel sexual at all. 

“I don’t think I can remember the last time I hugged someone,” Husk mumbled against his shoulder.

Angel huffed out a quiet laugh. “Shit, people wrap their arms around me all the damn time. But uh, yeah, this… feels different. ‘Feels better.”

He could’ve sworn he felt Husk smile a little and Hell, it made Angel’s stomach flutter like he was a goddamn teenager. 

They laid there for a long time until Husk’s breath slowed, his weight leaning more into Angel as quiet snores escaped his parted lips. Someone falling asleep on him was definitely new to Angel. Even on set, Valentino didn’t give a shit about aftercare or, honestly, any care at all. 

Despite telling himself over and over again that he’d never trust someone again after Val, Angel found himself drifting off next to Husk, feeling safe and secure in ways he’d been craving for decades. 

#hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #angel dust #huskerdust #hazbin husk #angel dust x husk #oneshot #fanfiction

[ramenheim]

About prev reblogs: I have never seen TME used to complain about & demarcate cis men's behaviours.

Despite the term ostensibly lumping together *almost any gender configuration that isn't binarily trans woman*, the only times it's used recently is to complain about (trans) ppl that get lumped in with cis women (as intersex ppl trans or otherwise are *never* factored into this dichotomy anyways), including cis women themselves.

I have never once seen it used to delineate trans women from cis men, even as it gets used to delineate cis women's experiences from trans women's experiences. I have only seen /haphazard/ acknowledgement of non-binary experiences included in TMA, but only really as an afterthought or when it's framed as the precursor to 'fully realizing trans womanhood'. I've only seen intersex folks brought up if they elect to use the terms TME/TMA for themselves, with bizarro interrogations into 'how' they were raised/had their genitals 'corrected' only once they individually disagreed with the terminology or had a confounding opinion in a public discussion.

It is regularly used to delineate trans men from trans women; but its users almost uniformly deride any attempt by trans men to coin a term to describe their own unique combinatory transphobia that isn't TME; again despite TME literally just supposing to mean 'transmisogyny-exempt'.... so why would it be used to discuss trans men's *unique* experiences with hatred directed at the fact that they either "are/aren't (real) men" by anyone who wants them to suffer?

It's been *changed* into hastily recycled AGAB terminology bc of wider recognition of the flaws with /that/ but without the driving flaws of that **tool for analysis** ever being fully addressed; and therefore has gotten subsumed into the 'new euphemism' for the Innie vs Outie false dichotomy as its usage became more widespread.

I think it still is a useful discussion tool ONLY when it's viewed *as a tool* and not some inherent marker of identity. It is DEFINITELY just bigotry when used as a NOUN that has negative behaviours ascribed to it, esp in the context of complaining about trans men** as a whole homogenized group, instead of highlighting individual behaviours/belief systems for the harm they contribute to against TMA trans/nb ppl.

Young queers really need to stop swallowing the tradcath radfem juice of "Women Pure + Good & Men Bad + Evil" [**that tumblr feminism has always had a problem with] and acting like you aren't being a transphobic shitheel by adding the word Trans in front of it-- & This is ESPECIALLY a problem when non-trans "Allies" do this, as it sets up trans women for failure whenever they make a mistake/can be reframed as 'being a cause-traitor' since women are punished more harshly for any percieved failure of Righteousness, AND allows them further to enact their unbridled transphobia onto trans men (& enbys/genderqweirdos) and pass it off as 'being an ally to trans women'..... despite them just being extremely transphobic (+ misogynistic + homphobic + intersexist) & then hiding behind """"TMAs"""" as a negative PR meatshield.

TL;DR if you are using TME to mean (nc)AFAB in vent posts, just have the guts to fucking use that as the word & see how it reads then.

(**since transmasc & transfem do not imply either a 'starting' or 'finalized' gender state; they are personal adjectives in and of themselves. Please do not warp them into new innie vs outie binary divides).

[**see related: the raw ass treatment of 'AMAB enbys' on here and in similar online/irl "feminist" environments. (Which was one of the driving factors behind the original TMA/TME coinage & is where I still find useful inter-trans discussions utilizing it as a term; importantly I don't think the term should stop being used altogether!!)]

#(nc is the non-coercive perisex gendering to seperate it from the coercive gendering that intersex babies face) #(I don't think that's the term but it's what I'm trying to describe; I can edit if there is a better way to say that!) #also it's not above my notoce that most of the women using it in a shitty way came out of incel heavy spaces like. #if you KNOW you came from misogyny heavy spaces & you KNOW about the ideological pendulum effect-- #then you should take more time to step back and analyse WHY you think certain ppl are '''acceptable targets''' to lash out at #bc none of these bitter ass TME posts EVER complain abt behaviours or spaces associated with cis men #but DO complain abt spaces associated with 'women and women-lite' and have a specific spite towards ppl who celebrate queer men #it's not that cis men & their hobbies/subcultures are an OK target; but their noticable exclus from complaints is Informative in'n'of itsel #anyways if you see someone talking about their experiences with transmisogyny using it to talk about themselves-- that's not what this's abt #if you see someone noun-ing tme to complain about 'trans afabs' oppressing women then you've found a trans radfem & should act accordingly

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

my thoughts on sandy milkovich:

(buckle up because i have a lot to say, as always)

so, for starters, one thing that i’m not incredibly fond of is how her character isn’t really original. like, it is, but it isn’t. her name is sandy, for christ’s sake- which is literally one letter away from mandy, also not to mention the fact that she was practically raised as mickey’s sister. and in many way’s she’s like a female version of mickey, i’ll explain why:

obviously one way she’s like mickey is that she dated a gallagher, but i think that the way she acts in the relationship is very much like how mickey acts in gallavich. well…acted. more seasons 1-5 gallavich.

she’s a bit less… idk, fearful than mickey was? i mean, it’s understandable why mickey was so fearful- have you seen terry? did you watch 3x666? or 4x11? i would’ve been fearful if i were him, too. we don’t know much about how sandy was raised, but she probably wasn’t raised well. again, she seemingly was raised as mickey’s sister rather than his cousin (he does have a brother who is also his cousin, to be fair, but that’s not what i mean) but sandy’s parents may not have been as threatening or terrifying as terry was. terry does seem to be the most well-known milkovich. everybody knows terry. maybe sandy’s parents were homophobic in a way where they looked down on queer people, but didn’t literally murder them. you can see how much more open she is with the whole “he’s gay, terry. i’m gay. people are gay.”

but sandy can be mean. and so can mickey. i love them both to death but sandy’s fight with debbie in season 11 really reminded me of gallavich in seasons 2/3. specifically “you’re nothing but a warm mouth to me” and “you love me; and you’re gay” she wins the fight by using something to hurt debbie, and it works.

and what was the fight all about? sandy leaving her husband, who she was with as a teenager but felt no love for him whatsoever, and also leaving her kid. sound familiar? ian never held yevgeny and svetlana against mickey, but it’s similar.

and when they break up on the front porch all i, and many other gallavich fans, could think of was “5x12!!!!”

also she was a drug dealer and in juvie and it was implied that she was in prison. this isn’t exclusive to mickey, the only milkovich i can think of (other than yevgeny) who hasn’t been incarcerated is mandy, but we don’t know for sure that she hasn’t been to juvie before. she’s certainly done things that could land her in prison for a very long time.

and i feel like with the same amount of time and development sandy can be as great as her cousin is, because mickey changed A LOT over the seasons which made him even more lovable.

but sandy’s ending was pathetic and i hate the writers for it. it was unnecessary and damaged debbie’s character when she didn’t need it because sandy left literally 4 EPISODES BEFORE THE SERIES FINALE. the only thing that sandy leaving added was the evidence that debbie would stick with franny no matter what, but fuck that, it was too late in the show for most people (not me ofc) to give a shit about that. people overlooked that a lot.

i feel like sandy helped out debbie’s character a lot, while simultaneously fucking her up even more. but i loved sandy for most of her run on the show, i just wish that they had done more- or less. idk. they made her character more complicated than she needed to be, and it’s hard to put my feelings about her into words because they didn’t give us enough to work on.

i think that her relationship with royal was bad, and i think that he was probably a creep who impregnated her, and i bet that he knew she was a lesbian after they got married and things probably got messy. the way that royal described sandy’s choices to prince was good, though. i respected that.

anyway, if they kept making shameless seasons (which they wont) i would love a sandy redemption. possibly like the returns of mickey, jimmysteve, or kelly.

im not reading this over before i post it so if it doesn’t make sense then oh well

#shameless #sandy milkovich #debbie gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #gallavich #female gallavich #royal shameless #prince shameless #shameless us #sandy was good but she left too soon #they were just starting to develop her then they fucked it up and wrote her off #it’s sad tbh

[applepies-and-starlight]

hi, hello, you mentioned you have ocs and i would like to learn abt them if thats ok, could i get some fun facts abt them?

Y'know, I was planning to make a list of OCs anyway so this is a good excuse to do that

Gonna giving their names and fandoms with a couple of facts under cut (i feel like this might get long Very quick)

(Mid-edit Apple: minor Canto VI spoilers, nothing really story-related but I do use terms mentioned in 6.3 in passing; better safe than sorry tho)

Tamami Mochizuki (Persona Series)

As her last name implies, she's related to Nyx

She's my watsonian/in-universe explanation to where the rest of the arcana shadows are

Her persona variant is Akhlys; heavily based off Riordan's interpretation of her, meaning she can control poison

Her appearances changes a lot more than her brother's since the collective idea of suffering/misery changes over the ages while death stays stagnant (I've been considering making her look gyaru since that seems to be associated with japanese mean girl tropes)

Ena Kutsuki (Persona Series)

Initially, her name was Era, but I changed it somewhere down the line (did you know that the name 'Ena' has japanese origins too?)

Demigod of order; got a certain cup's magic handed to her after Striker's AI takeover attempt

Her bones are fucked up because of said magic (her spine can literally burst out of her back and turn into extra arms doc ock style)

She is being rizzed up by the goddess of misery and neither are aware they're in the slowburn plot and mutually believe they are friends (both of their friend groups can see how lovesick they are)

Cai An-Yue (ProjMoon; Lobcorp)

She's named after me! (My chinese name is Cai An Yu)

She has stolen her world's Library and made it her own

I'm considering classifying her as some flavor of Erlking because she's been fucking around the timelines and superimposing herself on various people and/or corpses

Transfem, any pronouns; ENA Dream BBQ is her voiceclaim (both voices)

Unit O-1 // Cordelle (Smash Bros/Kirby)

Their favorite attack is F-smash; their second favorite is Side-B (hammer flip)

They have a weird relationship with their creator (Octave), since they were initially made as a murder protocol and ended up accidentally developing a personality along the way; by the time the incident cleared out their creator went "wait, shit, I didn't expect that to happen I'm not ready to be a mom–"

They're on good terms for the situation they're in though

Their original name was Ocean before i changed it to Cordelle (Ocean started to sound less like a word the more i said it)

Whaleship Essex (Azur Lane)

Heavily inspired by Ishmael from Limbus Company

Very post-adventures 2!Shadow the Hedgehog coded

Feral; very prone to biting people regardless of whether they're friend or foe

(I'll be adding more on another post since someone else asked about her specifically and I'm still figuring out what to say about her)

Galatea "Gamma" Soliel (Miraculous/Genesis)

Ladybug holder; she's in a different timeline where the Miraculous have landed outside of Paris

All of her teammates are idiots and she only Vaguely tolerates the Black Cat because she Knows he's in a perpetual state of "Nagito Komaeda in his bad luck cycle"

Has shanked the Butterfly once; the Butterfly keeps trying to do homoerotic swordfights with her (they're similar in age)

May or may not be inspired by Mitsuru Kirijo from Persona 3, I can't tell you because if she was then it was likely subconscious

#apple asks #ocs #as you can see #i'm not good at making men #most if not all of my chars are girls #comet chasing

[threehousing]

storm ily please rant about thropes nonsensical worldbuilding and how they fucked up the noble hierarchy by having too many dukes <3

shyd. shyd.

IT MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE AND I'M SO MAD. LISTEN. LISTEN.

So, in the irl historical uses of the european terms (since Fire Emblem uses European terms, that's what I'm referring to), there's a hierachy to noble titles which tends to be pretty similar across the board. The words differ slightly depending on the language, (some of which have the same root somewhere, which is neat) so like, marquis (french) and margrave (anglification of German markgraf) are different terms for similar positions.

So, using the terms fe does, USUALLY IT'S LIKE (and this is a simplification. I'm not an expert asfgk):

sovereign (I'm disregarding the differing positions of king vs emperor vs archduke here, bc its not relevent for 3 houses. obvs they're different irl, but it is irrelevant here)

(sovereign heir)

Duke

Marquis/Margrave - usually used for a noble with land on a border, so worth extra distinguishment. That's especially true of 'margrave' from what I can tell, but 'marquis' did originate from the same use (medieval latin "marca", meaning "borderland/frontier") i like language. ANYWAY.

Count

Viscount

Baron

Lord (as in 'of the Manor')

Now. NOW. There can obviously be multiple people in the same rank, barring sovereign and heir, but. Thropes did this funny thing where they were like: what if we added new nobles not mentioned at all in 3 Houses, with very promient titles that would imply they are high ranking.

Faerghus? So you got Duke Fraldarius - tracks, the Fraldariuses are the Blaiddyd's right hands - and Margrave Gautier - also tracks - implying the Gautiers and Fraldariuses are basicially the highest ranking noble families in Faerghus, apart from the royal family. Makes sense.

But what if we added a new Duke? said Koei Tecmo, Just to fuck with Storm, specifically?

So KT dropped not just one duke - IFAN - who up until now was never mentioned, which. A duke is pretty fucking important. Important enough to BE LABELLED ON THE PRE-EXISTING MAP, I'D SAY. Anyway. But not satisfied with this, they ALSO said hey. Why not just put a marquis in Faerghus? For funsies. A marquis. A title of different linguistic origin to margrave, but the same status? Margrave, as in, the established Margrave Gautier? Whatever, we worked out a fun linguistic thing with the Empire, which I actually love, but it's the principal of the thing.

So there I am, screaming into my pillow, trying desperately to make some semblence of sense out of these goddamn retcons, which is, we all know, a hopeless endeavour. But it bugs me. It bugs me SO MUCH.

NOT TO MENTION, they seemed to have made "Duke" Ifan's territory so, incredibly tiny. Like. A duke you say??? Sure.

They also added just. So many viscounts. So many counts. SO MANY. DEMOTE SOME OF THEM. Seven whole viscounts - four new ones - and five counts - two new ones - while there are only two barons. Demote some of these fuckers for the love of god. The political power balance is all outta whack.

Adrestia and Leicester were also not spared this. Leicester was gifted just. Too many viscounts (WHERE are the lesser lords? in the basement??). And while Adrestia has the most reasonable balance of barons there are still so. many. viscounts. Like who the fuck are the von Fenjas? von Fenja the fuck up.

I'm not even gonna talk about how it makes NO SENSE for Arundel to only be a "Lord" - he's the regent??? Obvs this is a Three Houses thing, not a Thropes thing, but are they telling me he didn't get a fancy title to go with that fancy land and fancy crown. intsys I'm gonna need 3 pages double sided of your thought process there. I know I know, they didn't think it through that thoroughly bc it doesn't actually matter, but what about me? will someone please think of me, left out in the rain, behaving very exceedly not neurotypical about this game??? 😔

#there's definitely typos here. i'll find them later shhh #pretend you don't see them #shyd i love how you like to crack open my brain and unleash the worms within #koei tecmo's poor writing got me actin UNWISE #storm.txt #thropes #another lore to haunt me #I'd make a rant tag but every time i post its some form of unhinged ranting #you know what you all signed up for <3

[pissenchanted]

Pokemon sexual dimorphism dissertation?? -grabby hands-

omg hiii okay so i’d just like to say u brought this on urself (i’m so sorry)

also i was exaggerating when i said dissertation it’s more like a rabid monologue situation. anyway. so i saw a video on instagram where meowth and oshawott are confessing their love to a purrloin and purrloin’s trainer is like uhhh purrloin is a guy, and meowth and oshawott are shocked. and it made all the wheels in my brain go brrrrrr. so i wrote down my train of thought to send to my friends (i altered it here for clarity because when i wrote it i was just spitting all the words out like a mama bird. also i added some stuff bc i got side tracked when i initially wrote it and forgot my original point somewhere along the way, so i threw that in there. okay go (under the cut)

this video raises some fascinating questions about sexual dimorphism (or apparent lack thereof) in pokemon, bc in some pokemon sexual dimorphism is very apparent (take pikachu or wobbuffet for example), but in others it doesn’t appear to exist at all (like we see with purrloin in this video. also oshawott do not have any documented sexually dimorphic characteristics). i have two main hypotheses for the surprised reactions we observe in meowth and oshawott when they are told purrloin is "a guy"

1. purrloin don't exhibit sexual dimorphism and do not have visible reproductive organs. meowth and oshawott assumed purrloin was not “a guy” because purrloin don't exhibit sexually dimorphic or identifiable reproductive organs, and meowth and oshawott just thought it was hot and assumed it was not a guy, despite a lack of sexually dimorphic characteristics

2. purrloin do have visible reproductive organs, but this particular purrloin has characteristics that align with a biologically female phenotype (or otherwise do not align with a male phenotype), which led meowth and oshawott to the conclusion that purrloin was not in fact "a guy". sexual dimorphism is kind of irrelevant to this hypothesis because if the circumstances of this hypothesis were true, whether or not sexual dimorphism was involved wouldn't change the reactions of meowth and oshawott - they would still be surprised either way, because this hypothesis is concerned about whether or not meowth and oshawott were mislead by visible reproductive organs.

if the first hypothesis is correct, we can assume that pokemon do not have external/visible reproductive organs. this is interesting since pokemon lay eggs - even the mammal-like pokemon (though it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to apply our taxonomic system to pokemon). this also calls into question - what the fuck is moo moo milk? if pokemon aren't mammals, is that even milk? or is it some other biologically produced liquid that happens to resumble what comes out of mammory glands in the animals of our world (like a convergent evolution type beat perhaps). i'm going to table that truckload of worms though because we already touched on it in a different discussion. (as a side-note im currently of the opinion that there is a cloacal kiss situation going on but thats not what this conversation is about)

both hypotheses raise interestings question about sexual orientation in pokemon. purrloin’s trainer told meowth and oshawott that purrloin was “a guy”. since meowth exhibit documented sexual dimorphism (varying whisker length in males vs. females), we can assume the trainer knew meowth is male (not even going to get into him talking/his voice/things he says). the implied meaning behind the trainer stating that purrloin in a guy is that, since purrloin is a guy, it would not be interested in meowth or oshawott.

but now there are more questions!

why does the trainer assume meowth and oshawott aren’t into “guys”?

how did she know oshawott is male? oshawott don’t exhibit documented sexual dimorphism. she presumably couldn’t tell oshawotts sex or gender by looking at it, so even if she’s homophobic and thinks boy pokemon can’t be in love with each other, for all she knows, oshawott could’ve been a girl. maybe she just knows that the majority of oshawott are biological males, and made the assumption based on statistics? or maybe she has internalised misogynistic and sees male as the default?

this is kind of going back to the first point but why does she assume that purrloin’s sex and/or gender is correlated with its sexual orientation? perhaps she's not assuming at all - i mean, we do see purrloin say something before she states that it is a guy. maybe purrloin stated that it was a guy, and she was simply translating. maybe purrloin is the homophobic one afterall???

it's important to acknowledge and discuss potential sources of error, such as biases the trainer may have, as well as other environmental and contextual biases that i havent even touched on. these factors make it difficult to use this interaction alone to make grand inferences on topics of sexual dimorphism, reproductive morphology, sex, and gender of pokemon as well as the intersection between these topics. that said, this interaction provides important data that can be helpful for a variety of people and fields, for example; researchers seeking to further the body of knowledge on such topics, pokemon healthcare providers whose understanding of pokemon physiology impacts the quality of their care, and breeders who stand to better raise their pokemon with an improved understanding of these topics.

an interesting potential avenue for further investigation would be understanding whether purrloin could be used as a proxy for other pokemon that humans have not or cannot distinguish as sexually dimorphic. if purrloin is determined as a suitable proxy, then this research as well as other purrloin-related research could give us insight onto the sexual dimorphism or lack thereof of a wide variety of pokemon species.

another avenue for further research could be determining whether pokemon can precisely and accurately identify the biological sexes of pokemon species that do not have documented sexual dimorphism, using visual cues alone. if they can accomplish this task successfully, researchers can learn an astonishing number of things based on what types of pokemon were more or less successful and how that correlates with the types of pokemon they could accurately sex. widespread success at this task could also provide insight on cues that humans are less tuned to picking up that pokemon have a better sense of.

lastly, and perhaps the most important future research path would be investigating how. the. fuck. pokemon reproduce and why do they all lay eggs and shit and oh my god i need to create my own taxonomic system for them so so so so bad.

okay thank u for reading my literally brain juice spewing everywhere <3 <3 <3 #< <3 <3 <3 <3

#i am so so sorry for putting this out into the world #if anyone has notes or wants to have an in depth discussion/debate about this i would be so into it (read: maybe argumentative but like in #a fun way) #itfc #pkmn #ask

[another-fckn-incorrect-svt-blog]

Chan: Don't worry, you're fine. No one else is going to ask Jihoon out.

Soonyoung: Why not?

Chan: Because Jihoon is fucking terrifying.

#incorrect svt #incorrect svt quotes #incorrect seventeen quotes #incorrect kpop quotes #incorrect seventeen #chan #soonyoung #jihoon #soonhoon #source: victorious #i mean... i added the word fucking but it was implied in the original anyways lmao

[wheelsup]

kissing lessons

summary: one of your classic movie nights with spencer turns into a learning opportunity

A/N: this is really fluffy, but the whole story centers around kissing. use your own judgement! i’d say it’s at worst 16+

category: spencer reid x gn!reader, fluff (with a bit of spice)  best friends to lovers (sorta)

warnings: just kissing, a brief implication at the end

word count: 3k

Occasionally, the team will spend an extra night in their hotel before heading home from a case. Be it due to poor weather conditions, or the fact that your case wrapped in the dead of night, the reasons for flying don’t ever matter. Because the majority of the times when you have to stay that extra night, you and Spencer have sleepovers.

The routine is pretty much the same. You’ll stock up on gas station snacks – sour peach rings for Spencer, salted microwave popcorn for you – and reconvene in one of your hotel rooms. Preferably, whichever of you got the better deal that week – a bigger tv, a room further away from the ice machine. And you’d rent the cheapest movie available on-demand, the options spanning from low-budget sci-fi to poorly written rom-coms. That night, the viewing fell under the latter category.

Spencer perched at the foot of your bed with both feet tucked under his legs, criss-cross style, while you laid against the headboard to watch. Every now and then, you tossed out your commentary and he’d ignore it. He always says you’re too critical of movies and you’re of the belief that he’s too forgiving.

“I don’t think they should end up together,” you mumbled, words slurring around your mouthful of popcorn. You pulled a face right as the movie approached the romantic climax, after spending the past ninety minutes actively rooting against the couple. Spencer ignored you, pretending to be engrossed in the movie to spite your disparagement of it. “They both suck.”

You groaned, slumped further against the pillows, and shoved your sock-clad toes under Spencer’s left thigh in a call for attention. He jumped at the intrusion, but ultimately, your efforts were futile.

And then the big kiss commenced, and your booing finally piqued his interest. “Gross! I feel bad for people who kiss like that.”

A small bell went off in his head and he took a curious glance at you over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He stopped chewing and the piece of candy in his mouth pushed out his cheek, giving him an adorably innocent look. His brows scrunched in the middle and his nose had a tiny crinkle in it, utterly confused.

You scoffed and matched his expression. “Are you serious?” You jerked your head in the direction of the television and Spencer whipped his head back, squinting. He couldn’t figure out what you were pointing out, what it was that was so obviously wrong to you. “Spencer, he’s swallowing her chin!”

Oh. He hadn’t noticed.

Feeling dumb, he muttered, “I thought that’s how you’re supposed to kiss…” It wasn’t the deepest confession to admit to you that he lacked some knowledge when it came to kissing, but he still refused to look at you as he said it.

“Spencer, please tell me you haven’t been kissing people like that.” You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head, sitting up straighter in bed. He shrugged and lowered his head, focusing on his snack as his fingers dug into the packet of gummy rings in his lap.

He popped another piece into his mouth, pretending to be occupied with eating so as to avoid your prying. “I dunno.”

It didn’t occur to you until that moment that Spencer might have learned everything he knows about kissing – among other things – solely through watching movies. How else could he look at that and think it’s normal? And you’re left wondering if he’s ever even practiced it with another living human. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but unfortunately, that only heightened your interest. You had to know.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” You kept your voice low, your tone implying that you were ready to exchange this secret with him. You wouldn’t judge him if he admitted he hadn’t.

He scoffed loudly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you’re positive he rolled his eyes too. “Yeah, of course.” Then quietly, he added on, “But it was only like… for four seconds.”

You nodded thoughtfully, considering how this new piece of information adjusted your existing view of Spencer. For some reason, you couldn’t tell if you actually expected him to be experienced or not.

He didn’t exactly scream that he’d… gotten around, for lack of better words, but you’re still surprised to learn that he’s barely done it at all. You supposed he was objectively cute, that maybe you could see it if he weren’t your best friend. And yeah, he’s a little awkward, but he’s smart and kind, so he has three great things going for him, and you’re surprised more people haven’t swooped him up yet.

Your lips curled down in thought, brows raised in curiosity. “And was it good?” It was a genuine enough question, because you’ve never really thought about Spencer Reid and kissing in the same sentence before. As it turned out, there was a lot of missing information relating to those two things.

“I don’t know! I didn’t get, like, a feedback form,” he grunted, angling his shoulder even further away from you. If you could’ve seen him, you’d notice his face boiling and turning red with heat. All this inquiring made him think harder about his … talents … than he’s ever had to before, and he’s not a fan.

You were prepared to do some more digging when the slump in his back made you feel a tinge of guilt. It was your fault he looked so defeated. You pressed too hard, disregarding his boundaries just because you wanted to know more. And now, he was wondering if there was something wrong with him, because you wouldn’t leave it alone.

He barely noticed as you swung your feet from under his thigh and rocked onto your knees, leaning forward to nudge his shoulder with your palm. It hauled his attention out of his thoughts and back into the room. You wanted to apologize, but instead you settled with “I’m sure you’re fine, Spence.”

He nodded unconvincingly. By the glow of the screen, you could see he was still gnawing on the inside of his cheek, focusing his eyes as he played with a loose hangnail on one of his fingers. It made you feel even worse. “Are you actually worried about it?” you asked, laden with concern.

“What if I am bad at it?” He whispered, like saying it too loud would make it true. “And that’s why it’s only happened once?”

A large exhale puffed out of your nose as you weighed your options.

You could go back to your original plan and apologize for setting him down this path of doubt. But that wouldn’t do anything to stop him from worrying, anyway. You could tell him there’s no correlation between the way he kisses and how frequently it’s happened; that you’re sure the reason isn’t because he’s bad. But you don’t know that for sure.

So, fuck it, you thought, grabbing a fistful of his pajama shirt and tugging him closer to you roughly, pressing your lips onto his.

This way, you’d at least have an informed opinion to be able to tell him if he was good or bad.

His lips were softer than you expected – not that you’d thought about them often, they’re just impossibly softer than they look – and invitingly warm. But they were completely stiff.

You could tell he was trying to kiss you back by the way his mouth ferociously moved over yours. He was trying to be a passionate, engaged partner, but he forgot about the aspect of tenderness.

His lips felt like two solid objects just sliding around on your face. They didn’t move in any sort of accordance with yours. There was no push and pull, your lips didn’t mesh perfectly together to form a solitary unit as they moved in unison.

It felt more like his lips were your opponent, putting up an attack and defense play against the actions of your own.

You pulled away, resisting a giggle at his bewildered face. “You’re not so terrible,” you swipe the corner of your mouth, smudged with Spencer’s flavored chapstick, “But it could use some work.”

He was at a loss for words, mouth gaping open as his eyes darted around the room and all over you. Maybe he’d find an explanation for what just happened carved into the walls somewhere or written across your forehead.

What happened was that you kissed him. And he was a little bit bad. Simple as that.

“I-I wasn’t ready!” he stammered, chucking up his hands defensively. He’d process the fact that he’d just made out with his best friend at a later time, right now the bigger concern was the slight cringed look on your face. He sulked and folded his arms.“What was so bad about it?”

“Well,” you scratched the back of your ear, trying to gauge if he’d react well to getting some advice, “my first tip would be to relax your lips.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“And don’t think too hard. You should react to what’s happening in the moment, not worrying about what your next move is gonna be.” You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to envision what that would play out like in a real situation. “You wanna try again?” you offered, figuring he’d learn much faster if he was more hands-on about it.

He nodded, and you leaned in close, waiting for him to go for it. His heart quickened under the pressure of performance, eyes screwing shut as he closed the gap. His mouth smashed into yours as he dove in hard. It was toeing on the side of too harsh, but you let that one slide in hopes it was just a byproduct of his nerves.

You had to tap his knee to remind him to relax, and he loosened some of the tension he had in his lips. He slotted his between yours, allowing them to be pliable to your movements and remembering to react, not plan.

He moved his mouth leisurely against yours, trying to match your pressure and pacing. They actually started moving in time with yours at some point. The kiss took on a shape of its own as he started getting out of his head, letting himself enjoy the kiss for what it was in that exact moment.

It was already better than before. Leaps and bounds better. But then he tried to deepen it, building on its intensity but adding more… something into it. You couldn’t even tell what it was he was trying to do.

“Okay, second tip…” you inhaled sharply, pushing him off of you with a palm against his chest. Whatever it was, it needed to stop. “You kinda do this thing like… where you’re blowing air into my mouth?” You scrunched your nose, punctuating your dislike. “That feels weird. Don’t do that. If anything, do the opposite.”

“I’m supposed to suck the air out of your mouth?” His face contorted, voice already slightly exasperated. He barely understood what the air thing was that you claimed he did. He didn’t realize in the process of trying to add pressure to the kiss, he was just forcibly blowing against your mouth.

“Not literally, no.” You laughed a little, rubbing your palm in a comforting pattern on his chest.”But you can use your lips to suck on mine, or my tongue… just nothing involving the exchange of breath. We’re not in CPR training.”

He eased up a little with your joke, adjusting to your advice he gave it another try. After a few moments, he latched onto your bottom lip with his own, sucking it softly into his mouth. “Yeah, like that,” you mumbled against him, voice pitching high in encouragement. He sucked on it with a little more greed, holding it for a second, then eased up, varying the pressure of his movements just like you did before.

You made a mental note to praise him for that at a later time, deciding to instead part your lips to see if he’d venture into further experimentation.

He caught on quickly. He parted them further, prodding his tongue against them as you opened to allow him entry. Just as you started to really enjoy it, he ran his tongue over the inside of your mouth, moving it fast and roughly like he was a washing machine.

“Stop,” you grimaced, tearing away quickly. You had to swipe your hand over your mouth to get rid of the excess saliva that really shouldn’t have been an issue in the first place, given how brief the frenching was. “Your tongue is way too aggressive.”

Overwhelmed, he tilted his head to the ceiling and let out a frustrated grunt, slapping his hands down to the top of his thighs.

There were too many factors to worry about. He had no idea how you looked at him with a straight face and told him not to think too much when there were a million things he needed to remember all at once; he needed to vary his moves to keep it interesting, but make sure he’s not ruining the flow by changing things up too much, and to be gentle but not timid.

All of this was second nature to you, but it was brand new to Spencer. Could you really blame him for not getting the hang of it right away? You decided to stop your list of critiques short for this round to spare him. He’d get there eventually, but not if he felt discouraged too soon.

“I don’t see why people like it in the first place,” he huffed, his head returning to it’s normal posture. In Spencer’s eyes, there truly wasn’t any appeal to kissing with tongue; it looked sloppy and unnecessary, and as you’d just confirmed, it actually was.

You thought about his statement for a second. There’s a certain allure to it, and you didn’t know how to describe it to him. So instead you cupped his cheeks in both your palms and slid your mouth over his again. As his jaw slacked its tension, you slowly pushed your tongue past his lips and gently pressed it against his own before swirling them together.

You sighed softly into his mouth, running your fingers through his hair and tugging carefully at the ends. He made a small noise against you, something like a whimper, and you swallowed the vibrations of it. As you retreated, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth and gave it a light, teasing tug. You soothed it again with your lips before releasing it, a proud giggle forming in your chest as Spencer chased after your lips as you broke apart.

“That’s why.” You smirked at the dazed look on his face. His eyelids remained closed longer than necessary, still feeling the ghost of your mouth on his and a tingle where your fingers were in his hair.

“Oh.” His voice came out meek as he slowly came back to reality, brows wrinkling up his forehead as he opened his eyes.

He put both his palms down on the mattress, one laying flat on either side of you, and dove forward to resume the kiss right where you left it. A surprised squeak left you as his mouth collided with yours with an insatiable hunger. You brought one hand back to his hair, and he was a goner.

He unfolded his legs from under himself and shuffled onto his knees, following his hands until he practically crawled into your lap. Each of his legs hooked onto either side of your thighs as he hovered over your lap, leaning his body entirely into yours.

The physics of it didn’t hold up; he’s taller than you are, and his chest was too heavy for you to carry. The balance was off center and it sent you tumbling back onto the mattress, bringing him down with you until his chest laid on yours.

It was the perfect force – the weight of him on top of you. He tasted like peach candy and sour sugar, and you found yourself craving more of it.

You shuffled higher up the mattress, giving him space to stretch out his body as he followed yours. One of his hands found your waist, gripping tightly, while he placed the other on the mattress beside your head, using it to steady himself. Sliding your legs out from under him, you wrapped them on the outside of his hips, using them to pull him closer down to you.

It only broke off in moments when both of you absolutely needed to get air, gasping as you pulled apart for brief reprieve before colliding again. He followed every word of your advice, getting better with each passing second until he exceeded expectations by leaps and bounds.

Your fingers weaved through his hair, passionately tugging the wavy strands to angle him against you and igniting his nerves under your touch. A soft moan leaves him and you’re encouraged to tighten your grip on them. His hips bucked reactively at the sensation, and he quickly pulled back, a slight embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. He got too carried away.

You took in his flushed face and swollen, kiss-bruised lips. They’d turned a shade of red brighter than you’ve ever seen them, and it was all you could do not to dive for them again as his tongue sweeped over them, soothing the burning heat you’d left on them.

Before he could apologize for his eagerness, you nudged your nose against his, your smile skimming against his lips. “So what else don’t you know how to do?”

☆

☆

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#spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid #mgg #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid smut

[spacedikut]

the blessing of a blizzard ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: a blizzard leaves the team holed up in the bau office. spencer can’t stop thinking about your elusive boyfriend, mike, who might not be your boyfriend after all. 4.3k

a/n: festive fic! kind of! im too scared to do a final check so if there’s errors or i misuse pronouns just lemme know ily happy holidays ! thank you to the incredible @homoose for helping with dialogue :D

Mike. His name is Mike, and Spencer hates him.

Full name Michael, Spencer presumes, which comes from Hebrew meaning “who is like God?” A rhetorical question, implying there is no person like God, Michael was one of the archangels in Hebrew tradition and the only one identified as an archangel in the Bible.

What Michael should mean, however, is the guy that stole your heart and left Spencer thinking things very unlike him – that Mike, a man Spencer has never met and that clearly makes you very happy, has a really stupid name, for example.

There are three things Spencer knows about him:

1. Ever since you started deciding on his wardrobe, ladies love him. It makes you a little jealous, apparently.

2. You love baking him homemade treats whenever you can. Like a movie playing in his head, Spencer can perfectly remember you excitedly chatting with Garcia and Emily, animatedly explaining how excited Mike gets when he sees you’ve made something just for him.

3. Mike can be a bit of a dick, actually. There have been several mornings you’ve come in with a long face, leaning back in your desk chair far enough to view the world upside down and whining about how grumpy Mike was that morning, how you had to tip-toe around your apartment lest he get mad.

You’d called him your soulmate, added that he’s a light in your life you didn’t know you needed until you had him. You’re a person who chooses their words carefully, so when you’re walking around putting Mike and soulmate in the same sentence, you mean business.

That business is ripping Spencer’s heart out of his chest, apparently. Because you’re busy showing JJ pictures of him on your phone right now, blissfully unaware of the subconscious glare Spencer is lasering into your phone as he leans against the jet counter.

Spencer’s never had the honour of seeing Mike (a genuine word you used – honour) and you know what? Spencer doesn’t want to know what Mike looks like. Spencer doesn’t care. Mike’s probably ugly, anyway, and Spencer’s confidence within himself grows day by day and if there’s one thing he’s learnt recently it’s that comparison is the thief of joy and-

“Oh!” JJ exclaims, “He’s gorgeous!”

Fuck Mike. Really, fuck him.

+++

The floor is slippery beneath everyone’s feet, the surrounding area slowly losing its mixture of colours to blend into one coat of white.

It’s snowing.

Garcia greets the team, a steaming cup of tea in her bejewelled hands, and everyone gets to work right away. There’s whispers of the snow getting heavier and sticking and covering more and more ground with more and more depth; people are rushing against the proverbial clock to get done and get home before they’re all stuck.

But that won’t happen, right? If people were genuinely concerned about getting snowed in, surely everyone would’ve been sent home early as a precaution. Right? Right?

Wrong.

Rossi’s the one to notice it, calling out, “Check it out. Snow’s pretty bad.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like they’ll race to the windows then deflate with disappointment because you couldn’t even create a single snowball with that light coat, but holy hell people are walking around with snow up to their ankles and it’s still coming down thick. And then the lights are flickering and JJ is making frantic calls home to Will and Hotch is exiting his office, phone pressed to his ear, calling everyone to attention:

“There’s a blizzard incoming. It’s too dangerous for anyone to be on the roads, so we’re being told to sit tight. You should all try to call home, just in case; we don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

Some people still brave it, still try to head on home, and whether they make it or not is up to the Gods. The team glance around, varying expressions – Emily and Derek look pissed, JJ is worried, and you and Rossi are straight-faced. Penelope is bouncing in excitement.

“It’s like a sleepover!”

All Spencer can think about is how Mike will have to suffer another day without you. He bites back a smile.

+++

Spencer’s straining his neck, butt barely on his desk chair, in attempt to see around all the bustling people that stand between you and him. Through the glass BAU doors, on the phone, your shoulders are slumped and you kick your boot against the floor a few times to channel your multitude of emotions into something. He hopes Mike isn’t giving you a hard time for something that isn’t within your control.

Emily looks up from her monitor, where she’s doing Christmas shopping even though it’s Christmas Eve, and looks thoroughly amused by Spencer’s internal battle of wanting to watch you but not wanting it to be obvious.

“You good, Reid?”

Spencer flinches like Emily pinched him. “Yeah, good. Fine. Are you good?”

Emily makes a show of slowly turning to look at you, still on the phone, then slowly turning back to Spencer’s wide-eyed gaze. She smirks. “You think they’re talking to Mike?”

Yes, Spencer does think that, but he’d made a point to not fully acknowledge it. And there’s something about Emily’s smugness that tells Spencer she’s teasing him – she knows something he doesn’t and it makes his eyes narrow. “Probably. Why?”

Whatever the response is, Emily’s barely opened her mouth before she’s interrupted by Penelope Garcia gracefully clapping her hands, getting the attention of every BAU member. The team quiets and all eyes are on Penelope. Except Spencer, who watches with concern as you sneak back to your desk, a furrow to your brow and downward dips either side of your mouth.

“I know these are less-than-great circumstances, and we’re stuck in work of all places, but that shouldn’t mean we can’t have a little fun! So…”

She wildly gestures for Hotch to step forward, a cheesy grin on her face and a gleam in Hotch’s eye that tells everyone he’s also smiling but internally, and she takes the three large boxes he was carrying like the good sidekick he is.

“We’re building gingerbread houses!”

There’s exclamations of surprise and joy; Emily lights up at the idea of doing anything other than work or sitting at her desk, and JJ takes a box to look it over before asking, “Where did you get these?”

Hotch answers. “They were supposed to be for the kids,” He shrugs, holding back a smile, “However, I guess we can use them now.”

“Yes,” Penelope nods, “Yes, we can use them now. Get your game faces on, because this is a competition. Hotch and Rossi are the judges, because they’re grumpy old men, and the rest of us will be in teams of two fighting to build the best gingerbread house the BAU has ever seen.”

Derek speaks up for the first time, just to insult Spencer. “I refuse to be on a team with Reid. He has no creative skills.”

Members of the team laugh and Spencer reacts indignantly. He wants to reply, but you’re already speaking.

“Hey! I’ll take him! Spencer’s great.”

Many heads snap to you when you speak, Spencer’s surely got whiplash, but you’re looking at him and smiling at him and him alone. He’s breathless at the sight, how you chose him and have literal stars in your eyes, yet all he can think is how undeserving he is of such a beauty. How undeserving anyone is, mostly Mike, to exist in the same reality as someone who puts the definition of beautiful to shame.

Spencer’s about to make the best damn gingerbread house the world has ever seen.

+++

So, building a gingerbread house? A little more difficult than originally thought.

Maybe it’s the sticky icing, or the temptation to simply eat all the sweet decorative candy rather than use it for its intended purpose, or…

Maybe it’s the pretty teammate Spencer has that keeps brushing against him, keeps brushing against his hands, and like a virus to a computer you completely wipe Spencer of all thoughts other than: Y/N.

Spencer caught you watching him while he was rolling up his shirt sleeves, caught you staring at his hands and trailing your eyes up his forearms, following the sleeves as they moved inch by inch up to his elbows.

Then, when Spencer was holding two pieces of gingerbread together, you were too lost in thought to put the icing between the cracks and cement them together. Your eyes were trained on the fingers pressing the pieces together. Spencer had to call your name three times to wake you up.

Then, something weird happened (if the previous instances weren’t weird enough). You two had been in your own bubble of hushed tones and accidental touching, surrounded by bickering and collapsing houses and at one point Emily offered Rossi twenty bucks if he just votes for her and JJ without them making a house, and suddenly it’s silent. All he can hear is his heartbeat, his blood pumping in his ears, and all he can feel is the warmth of your breath on his ear because you’re right there, over his shoulder, joining him in hunching over your creation to decorate it with all kinds of shapes and colours.

The close proximity is too much. It’s too much.

You lean even closer, shoulder and arm pressed directly against Spencer’s, and lift another hand to place a miniature candy cane next to the gingerbread door. The action causes your hand to brush Spencer’s, and for the first time ever he’s not jolting away like he’s been electrocuted, no, his hand stays there, hovering, waiting and hoping for more.

Hoping for more of you.

And you seem to realise, too, that Spencer’s reaction is abnormal. He can’t decide if you’re testing the waters, or if it was a mere accident. But what are you testing the waters for? Why are you trying to touch him? Why do you want to touch him?

He takes a sharp intake of breath. From the corner of his eye, he sees you turn to look at him, and he almost doesn’t reciprocate. Almost.

You’re so close, face so close to his own. You take the softest breaths, in and out, sending the gentlest puffs of air onto Spencer’s lips.

He has no idea what the fuck is happening. He doesn’t want it to stop.

Your eyes, always shining and full of an emotion Spencer can’t decipher, dance around his face – his eyes, to his nose, stopping on each cheek, back and forth and up and down. Spencer’s captured by them, unable to tear himself away, which has become quite the habit since he’s known you.

Then you’re looking at his lips.

Spencer blinks, hoping to clear away the obvious hallucination he’s having, but no. Nothing changes. Your gaze remains, unwavered, making Spencer subconsciously open his mouth. The softest gasp leaves it when your pupils dilate.

This is the perfect moment to kiss, right? Right here, in front of the gingerbread house you made together, decorated together, and now begin the start of something else together. It makes sense, it’s almost poetic, and Spencer’s thought about you and him in a relationship enough times to consider this opportunity good and sweet enough to regale everyone with in the future.

Can you imagine it? “We had our first kiss in front of the gingerbread house we slaved over together. We won the competition, too.”

There’s a loud clang – Penelope found an actual gong from somewhere – and Rossi announces that the timer has gone off and it’s time for the judges to vote for the winner.

When you gently pick up yours and Spencer’s creation and take it to a cloth-covered table, where Rossi and Hotch ominously stand with their arms crossed, Spencer is frozen in place.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

There’s no way you wanted to kiss him. It isn’t possible. You’ve never looked at him like that before. It must’ve been a mistake.

But you were so close…

No. If Spencer made that move, it would’ve ruined everything – your friendship, the festive fun, the atmosphere of the entire evening. Everyone’s expected to be stuck here for at least another six hours, and making it tense and awkward was not something Spencer is willing to do.

But your eyes…

Spencer can’t think about that fact too much. That could mean anything – dilated pupils don’t necessarily mean you’re in love. You could’ve gotten a good whiff of the gingerbread and felt hungry, or a song you really liked started playing from the playlist Penelope created. Or, most likely, Spencer thinks, you were thinking about someone else.

Your boyfriend, for example.

You have a boyfriend. Mike.

Of course, you were probably thinking of Mike. Your boyfriend.

Spencer almost kissed someone in a relationship, and he’s pretty sure you almost kissed him too.

+++

Much to Derek’s chagrin, you and Spencer win the gingerbread house contest.

Penelope was baffled, frantically gesturing to the Jacuzzi she made with icing and- Derek made miniature weights? Somehow? It looked chaotic.

“Practicality, my dear,” Rossi told her. “Who, living in a gingerbread house, is worried about working out?”

Even though you and Spencer were the winners, Derek and Penelope and their pouting (and calls for a rematch) took the attention away from the obvious awkward tension between the winners. Spencer stayed at the desk you worked at while you took your house to the judges, stayed at the desk when you were crowned and stayed at the desk when you cheered.

You looked at him, wide grin and happy eyes, and all he could do was tightly smile back. Give a thumbs up.

He gave you a thumbs up. You nearly kissed less than ten minutes prior. And all he could do was give you a thumbs up.

The light in your eyes dimmed, but you seemed to understand.

Understand what, exactly? Spencer’s not so sure either. But something clicked in your head – you nodded to yourself as if confirming whatever you’ve concluded, and turned your back to him.

That was an hour ago. Now, the team has spread across everyone’s desks. Turns out, Hotch is a big fan of gingerbread - he’s consumed most of Derek and Penelope’s creation, icing and all, while Rossi has decided now is a good time to open one of the many bottles of whiskey he has in his office.

Spencer believes having that much alcohol in your work environment is breaking some kind of rule, but the snow isn’t letting up and it looks like a sleepover in the BAU office is likely. He deserves a little whiskey.

And where are you in all of this?

Spencer won’t lie and pretend he hasn’t had you in his line of sight the entire time, so he’ll recap what you’ve been doing: laughing at Derek’s jokes, plaiting Penelope’s hair, eating the candy Emily and JJ didn’t use on their house.

You’d left the room to call home and check up on things (check up on Mike, Spencer thinks bitterly) and now you stand in front of the large window by the BAU elevators, watching the snow fall.

Spencer has the perfect view of you through the glass doors. When the call ends and you stay there, he grabs a paper plate, grabs one of the walls from yours and his masterpiece and makes his way towards you.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say, or how he’ll even act, but he wants to talk to you. Things feel weird after the almost-kiss, and Spencer never wants things to be weird with you. He can’t have things weird with you. You hadn’t talked to him once since the competition, and he has a feeling you’re waiting for him to make the first move.

So he does. If that’s what you need, he’ll do it.

(He’s making this more dramatic than it needs to be, really, but he feels everything so deeply when it comes to you)

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice perfectly matches the snowy atmosphere. It makes you feel warm inside, like you’ve just taken a sip of hot cocoa, and so often he’s left goosebumps on your skin just from speaking.

Seeing the outstretched paper plate in his hand, you take it gratefully. “Hi there. Thanks.” You nod to the gingerbread that you begin breaking up.

You hand him the first piece even though he brought it for you, and it’s silent while you both chew thoughtfully and watch the pure white outside. It doesn’t feel weird, necessarily, standing here, shoulder-to-shoulder with you, but you’re certainly more in your head than usual. You’re thinking a lot and, as much as it hurts him, Spencer knows you’re likely preoccupied by your boyfriend and not what transpired between you earlier.

It’s that thought, that disappointment settling into his chest, that opens his mouth unconsciously: “How’s Mike? Does he know you’re not making it home tonight?”

He regrets it immediately, worsened by the way you stop mid-chew, eyes dimming like Spencer’s taken a baseball bat and shattered the lights inside.

This is unchartered territory – talking about Mike with you – and you know it. Who, in their right mind, willingly asks the person they have feelings for how their relationship with someone that isn’t you is going? Does Spencer enjoy pain?

Although this is the first time Spencer’s mentioned Mike to your face (he’s mentioned Mike plenty to a laughing Derek), he’s been so close to presenting the topic many times. He wants to know so badly – wants to know how well Mike treats you, really treats you (he will profile you), if you see a long-term future with him and if not, on average how long does it take you to get over your exes? Just an estimate?

You swallow the gingerbread you’re eating. “He’s okay. My roommate has to take care of him, but at least he’s got someone.”

Huh?

Since when do you have a roommate?

And why is your roommate taking care of your boyfriend?

Oh. Guilt blooms in Spencer when it registers that he’s been thinking ill of a person that might be sick. No wonder you dote on him so much and seemed devastated to make that phone call home earlier - Mike needs you, you can’t be there for him, and you feel horrible for it.

Spencer feels horrible for having the subject of his anger be someone you so clearly cherish, so deeply love. He’s embarrassed that if he was asked to explain why he hates Mike so much, he’d have to tell them it’s because Mike has you, and you’re what Spencer wants. What about what you want?

“Take care of him?” Spencer asks. The concern is genuine, which is an emotion he never thought he’d have in regards to Mike. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” You shrug. “He needs someone watching over him at all times, that’s all.”

That’s all?

You continue. “Make sure he eats – and only eats what he’s supposed to. Give him his meds. Make sure he poops. Those kinda things.”

What?

“Your… roommate makes sure your boyfriend poops?”

Now, Spencer knows what you look like when you’re confused. Honestly, he has every facial expression you’ve graced him with tucked away in a proverbial box he spends too much time thinking about. He knows that when you’re trying not to laugh, you bite the inside of your left cheek. When you’re frustrated but need to present a professional front, you bite the inside of your right cheek. Happiness fills your entire face, like every inch is consumed by it, and you’ve trained yourself to transport anger to your hands, where they twist into tight fists and leave fingernail marks in your palms.

Confusion is one of his favourites (second only to joy – for obvious reasons. Have you seen your smile?) because it takes many forms. You’ve pursed your lips, narrowed your eyes, tapped your foot on the floor. When you do them all, Spencer considers it a jackpot. There’s something about the way you look when you’re presented with something you can’t quite figure out yet, when you’re perplexed, that just-

You make it hard for him to concentrate. He can’t be a genius when you’re around because you’re so pretty. You’re a vision and he can never rattle off information to you specifically because he will trip up and divert to talking about the beauty that is you and that would be embarrassing for many reasons.

But this type of confusion? The way you’re looking at him right now? He’s never seen this before. Your jaw has dropped, your brows are furrowed so deeply they might fall off, and you look… horrified.

“My… my boyfriend?”

Spencer mirrors your expression. “Yeah, your boyfriend. Mike?” He looks around, waiting for cameramen to jump out and tell him he’s being pranked, because why don’t you know who your own boyfriend is?

You move slowly, placing the half-eaten plate on the windowsill before turning to face Spencer fully. You take a second to compose yourself.

“Mike is my cat.”

Mike is…

“And he’s having digestive issues, so he needs to be watched pretty much full-time.”

Silence. Tense, weird silence.

“…You thought Mike was my boyfriend?”

Spencer sputters, then, because of course he did! “Yes! The way you talk about him was… it was… it seemed…”

He flustered, oh so flustered, hands flailing and face enflamed and burning from the inside out. How had he not known?! How had… how had your wires gotten so convoluted, so mixed?

Does everyone know that Mike is a cat? Is Spencer the only one out of the loop? The look Emily gave him earlier, that knowing too-smug look, was that…

She was making fun of him. She knew he thought Mike was a person, not a pet, and was teasing him because of it.

All at once, the world seems lighter and dimmer – a contradiction that leaves Spencer’s chest heaving – because the past year feels like a lie. He’s spent so long seeing the way you come to life when talking about Mike, sitting opposite you on the jet as you awaken like a dying flower watered when home got closer and closer, and it was all for… a cat?

There’s a mist over Spencer’s eyes as he recalls every overheard declaration of love and coos of how handsome Mike is, and you’re laughing. Spencer’s having a crisis in front of your very eyes and you’re laughing. Hunched over, a single tear falling from your eye, clutching your stomach because it hurts from the ferocity of your giggles.

By the time you quieten, your hand is over your mouth to cover the big grin that grounds him, gives him something other than this revelation to focus on. Spencer’s still baffled, frazzled, but there’s the tiniest of smiles on his face because of how overjoyed you look. And he did that. Albeit his stupidity did it, but Spencer’s stupidity nonetheless.

You’re out of breath. “God I… I don’t even know what to say. You really thought my cat was my boyfriend?”

Spencer’s fighting a smile, lips wiggling. The way you’re looking at him now, all blinding smile and crinkled eyes, alleviates him of any anxiety he earlier had. Like you’ve wiped away his plate-full of worries, all the times it felt like he took an arrow to the heart, all the times he caught you smiling at your phone because you were looking at pictures of Mike, it’s all worth it. Because you’ve never looked like this while talking about Mike, and Mike is a cat. He isn’t a person, isn’t your boyfriend. Mike is a cat and Spencer has a chance.

Spencer has a chance.

“Does this… this means you’re single, right?”

A somewhat terrified look overtakes his face.

“Oh, shoot, you are single, right?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. “Yes, Spencer. I’m single.”

He lets out a breath. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He repeats your nod, realises what he said could imply, and starts shaking his head. “Not-not good good. You’re incredible and need to be appreciated, but… good, because that means we could, you know…” He gestures vaguely. God, why can’t he get coherent words out? “If you wanted to, we could-“

“Are you trying to ask me out, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

Just to cause immense emotional distress, you raise an eyebrow, mischief clear on your face, and wait for him to continue.

“You want me to actually ask?” He winces.

“I’ve spent the last year convinced you didn’t like me, so, yes, I want you to actually ask.”

The new information sends ice down Spencer’s back because what? Since when? “You- what?“

“I’ve liked you for a while, Spencer,” You cross your arms over your body, slightly embarrassed. “But you always kept your distance so I did too, I guess.”

“I thought you were taken!” Spencer exclaims. “If I’d known I would’ve-we could’ve- I would-“

“You’d what, Reid?” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, but there’s no denying you’re incandescently happy.

He takes a deep breath and asks what he’s wanted to for far too long. “When this is all over, would you like to go on a date with me, Y/N?”

Relief flashes in your eyes, like you didn’t fully believe what was happening until he finally asked, and words have never sounded as pretty as when you say: “Yes. Yes I would.”

Like lovesick idiots, you stand in front of the window with the snowfall as a backdrop, grinning at each other. You can’t help it – you lean up, press a kiss to his cheek that immediately sets his skin ablaze, and fall back onto your feet with a smile sweeter than all the sugar you’d consumed today.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.”

Somehow, despite the nerves and the way his heart is trying to leap into your hands, he manages to tell you, “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

+++

(Three weeks later, Spencer meets the Mike. Turns out he’s a nice guy. Spencer takes the first opportunity he can to apologise for all the bad things he said about him behind his back. The purring tells Spencer he’s forgiven)

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @prettyboy-reid @shadyladyperfection

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #genuinely if anyone reads this and has suggestions on how i can improve as a writer #and maybe as a person in general #pls message me #something about this feels OFF and i cant tell what

[aro-is-gay-af]

Slavic Names in Twilight | Meta

This post is going to be long, so if you don’t have time, I advise you to come back here later (or not come back at all, up to you).

Honestly, I have no words for Smeyer anymore. I, probably like most of us, read the books while being an adolescent. When I was 12 I didn’t see a lot of things that happened to be in the books and were:  a) misogynistic  b) sexist c) abusive d) racist and that the story itself was bound to Mormons (sick!). 

If you want to read about it a little bit more I strongly recommend this post by @stregoni-benefici​ and @carlislesscarf�� 

This post isn’t going to be about how Smeyer treated The Quileute Tribe, indigenous people, people of color or women. This post is going to be about how lazy Smeyer exactly was while creating this story and how her prejudices influenced and created false image of yet another culture. 

Why am I making such a fuss because of this? A few days ago I was reading something about Garrett on Twilight Wiki page. By sheer luck, I clicked on Kate’s character and, what I saw there, outraged me to the point where I needed a little while to calm myself. 

I was 12 when I first read the books. I never bought official twilight guide, I only used Twilight Wiki to keep myself up to date. I clicked on Kate’s character and saw that she hails from Slovakia. Forgive my utter confusion, when I remembered other sisters’ names. Tanya and Irina. Also, Kate was created by Sasha, who also created Vasilli (an immortal child), which is why she was executed in the first place. 

While the story is charming, WHY THE FUCK DO THEY HAVE SUCH NAMES?! 

To understand my rage, I need to elucidate the matter a little bit for all of you. This will be the historical part. 

According to Twilight Wiki, Sasha was changed before 1000 AD. Then, she created Tanya, and not very long after, Kate and Irina. And now. What were the historical odds while it happened? 

Before 1000 AD, Slovakia wasn’t Slovakia but Great Moravia. Great Moravia lasted about a century - the time span here is approximately circa 820 AD to 906 AD. When Great Moravia no longer existed, territory was taken by Hungarians (Magyar tribes also referred to as Hungarian clans) and the development of future Kingdom of Hungary began. Then, around 1000-1001, King Stephan was crowned as the first King of Hungary. Some elements from the former Great Moravia were acquired by The Kingdom of Hungary. 

King Stephen managed to establish eight counties within his kingdom. Around 1015 some territories of today-Slovakia were acquired by Boleslav I of Poland (later king of Poland), however, King Stephen managed to recapture the territories in 1018. Wikipedia isn’t consistent here - while on History of Slovakia we have these information, the History of Poland during the Piast dynasty says: 

From 1003 to 1004, Bolesław intervened militarily in Czech dynastic conflicts. After his forces were removed from Bohemia in 1018, Bolesław retained Moravia. 

and:

[translation here is mine as the site is in Polish] Between 1003 and 1025/1031 the lands of today's Slovakia were part of the Kingdom of Poland after being conquered by Bolesław Chrobry. The Polish-Hungarian Chronicle described that "The Polish borders stretched as far as the banks of the Danube, to the town of Ostříhomia, then to the town of Eger, and further to the river called Ciepla [Topl'a] as far as the town of Salis, and there the borders between Hungarians, Ruthenians and Poles ended". 

Than, probably around 1031 AD the territories were acquired back. King Stephen died and his kingdom fell into internal conflicts. Soon, in 1042 AD emperor Henry III mingled to acquire some lands for himself (he was the Holy Roman Emperor). Anyway, then came 1048 AD and that’s what happened: 

In 1048, King Andrew I of Hungary conceded one-third of his kingdom (Tercia pars regni) in appanage to his brother, Duke Béla. [...] During the following 60 years, the Tercia pars regni were governed separately by members of the Árpád dynasty. [...] The dukes accepted the kings' supremacy, but some of them (Béla, Géza and Álmos) rebelled against the king in order to acquire the crown and allied themselves with the rulers of the neighbouring countries (e.g., the Holy Roman Empire, Bohemia).

The history of the Tercia pars regni ended in 1107, when King Coloman of Hungary occupied its territories taking advantage of the pilgrimage of Duke Álmos (his brother) to the Holy Land. Although, Duke Álmos, when returned to the kingdom, tried to reoccupy his former duchy with the military assistance of Henry V, Holy Roman Emperor, but he failed and was obliged to accept the status quo. 

Source for the two quotes above. 

You may ask, why on Earth did I just present to you part of history of Slovakia, Poland and Hungary. Because I want you to understand how completely ridiculous and simultaneously offending are the names of characters that Smeyer gave within this coven.

History shows us that, even though, these times weren’t exactly peaceful, there wasn’t an ongoing war. We have Hungarian tribes and the part, when some territories were acquired by a Polish king. What I mean by that, is that probably names around 1000 AD varied as to where your family lived, what was your social status, and probably were influenced by newly adopted Christianity. It is more likely that people on this lands were named with names of Hungarian origin than Russian. And I still think the majority of names were of Slavic origin, only with some local variations going on. 

Now, a little bit of common knowledge. People who descend from Poland, Slovakia, Czech Republic and Hungary are best buddies for life, even if they never saw each other. We have mutual respect for these countries and for ourselves, as our history brought us together multiple times (bad times and good ones). Russia IS NOT a part of this “mutual respect pact”. Mostly due to events that happened during both World Wars (i.e. Katyń Massacre), as well as other ones (Partitions of Poland, Eastern Bloc - communism). 

Most of the names used by Smeyer are of Russian (or Greek, or Hebrew) origin. Not Slavic origin. And while Russia is also the part of Slavic languages, there’s a significant distinction between West Slavic Languages (Slovakian, Czech, Polish language), East Slavic Languages (Belarusian, Russian, Ukainian) and South Slavic Languages (i.e. Serbian, Croatian, Bulgarian). 

It makes difference to the point that if I go to Slovakia or Czech Republic I'm able to communicate with people in my native language (Polish) while they can answer me in their native language. Not everything is going to be the same but you're able to maintain a conversation mostly about every topic that you'd like to discuss. It isn't impossible to do so with Russian or Ukrainian but it's much harder and there are more differences, and sometimes you aren’t able to communicate this way. The same goes with i.e. Croatian or Bulgarian.

Don’t get me wrong, dear friends from Russia (if anyone from Russia will ever read this). I’m pissed off because even though Smeyer created not one, but four characters with SLOVAKIAN origin, she didn't use at least one name which fully originated in that territories (and probably was used) around 1000 AD. She went for Russian names because, sure, let's do that, there's no big difference anyway and it’s easier. To add to that, Smeyer used Russian names which are widely used NOWADAYS, not ones which were probably popular (or just used) thousand years ago. 

Now, quick briefing on very popular names from that time (c. 1000 AD) in Slovakia and Czech Republic. 

Here’s the full article on Slavic names.  

While some of these names are used today, some of them aren’t at all or are used in a different, more evolved form. 

Now, to the names of our characters. The most explainable and justified name here is Kate’s name. In Twilight Wiki we can find that her actual name was Katrina and that her preferable name now is Kate. Let’s see the origins of the name Kate. 

Full article here. 

While we can read that variations of that name in Czech are: “ Katka, Kateřina, Kačka, Káťa, Kačenka, Káča, Kačí, Kačena” and in Slovakian “Katka, Katarína” still the origins aren’t Slavic. 

Next, Irina. 

As Wikipedia says:

Irina is a feminine given name of Ancient Greek origin, commonly borne by followers of the Eastern Orthodox Church. It is derived from Eirene (Ancient Greek: Εἰρήνη), an ancient Greek goddess, personification of peace.

Diminutive forms in Slavic languages include Ira, Irinka, Irinushka, Irisha, Irka, Irochka, Irinochka.

Here, we also don’t have Slavic origin. While it’s better than with Kate’s name because origins here seem to hugely blend, the proper origin of Irina’s name is Ancient Greek. I will never believe that a peasant girl from around 1000 AD was named Irina.

Here’s the full article. 

Next, Vasilli. 

Wikipedia doesn’t say much, except it’s a RUSSIAN NAME with Greek origin.

Full article here. 

Now, finally, we’ve two names left. First, Sasha. 

Finally, first one, which has Slavic origin. And while this name has many variations in many languages, I don’t believe that anyone in Slovakia prior to 1000 AD would name their child Sasha. This name gained popularity in 1970s, and I believe that it would be used rather as diminutive of a name in 1000 AD than a name itself. 

Full article here. 

Last, but not least, Tanya. 

Here, also, it isn’t a full name. Full name is Tatiana, and Tanya, especially in Slavic it is used as a nickname implying intimacy with the person OR used for baby talk. 

Full article here. 

What’s my point here? Even though two of these five names are partially Slavic in origin, they sound like Russian names. Not Eastern Slavic in one fucking bit. Sure, Smeyer could do a simplification and say that, yeah, girls acquired other names as centuries passed. Agreed, even strongly. 

BUT

Smeyer never said anything like this. Also, I’m under the impression that this names were meant to sound Russian. And, people, don’t get me wrong, I really hold nothing against Russians, but because of doing such thing Smeyer has perpetuated certain patterns and beliefs that have become firmly established in US culture and West culture in general by now. 

No wonder why some people never distinguish between Russia, Slovakia, Poland, Czech Republic or Ukraine, or other countries from Easter Bloc. How can they, where in majority of mass media they’re taught that IT IS EXACTLY THE SAME THING. Why should they bother? 

I have many friends among Slovakian people. Slovakia is like a second home to me. I also have a few friends from Czech Republic. And before, I’ve never been bothered by this name thing because I was a child. Today I couldn’t be silent about it. 

It’s sad that another culture and fantastic history was just blended in with Russia because why not. I don’t understand why in Western movies or books all people from former Eastern Bloc need to be Russian. 

I am Polish and to me it’s just extremely sad. We (and I think I can count in here Slovakia, Czech Republic, Hungary, but also Croatia or Serbia) have fantastic culture and very long, eventful history. People from these countries are welcoming and share great hospitality. 

I don’t know why Smeyer did something like this, but I suppose it’s just a thing she does to everyone. Rip away their culture and pretend she didn’t do it. 

I am grateful that this fandom is a lot wiser than the creator of the books. This is what I said in the beginning of this post. Smeyer could’ve gone to library and read a little about the history and the names. I mean, If she didn’t found it on the Internet, because it was 2006, I believe, so she could research it. If there was nothing on the Internet, I’m sure a library would do. 

She did a poor research or didn’t do it at all. And that’s what happened. Was it worth it? I don’t think so. 

***

Everyone, please, comment, but be kind to each other (and to me xd). I wrote what I felt. As I’ve told you already, I’m Polish and I really felt that I should write this meta/disclaimer from a point of view of a person who lives in Slavic-origined country and has many Slavic-origined friends.

I still feel triggered because of this. Reblog this so others could see and say what they think. 

#twilight meta #slavic culture #polish culture #history #cultural and historical references in twilight #smeyer being an ignorant discourse #smeyer nonsense #this woman is bound to white supermacy #Slavic names #Polish & Slovakian historical background #twilight revival #the twilight saga #smeyer cannot use library properly #neither can she use internet #slovakian culture #why the fuck should you confuse Slovakian people with Russian people? #Hungary mentioned #twilight #twilight saga

[eirikrjs]

Whilst this may not exactly be a direct source, I believe it is where yubiyubis (sorry if I got the name wrong) may have first heard of that theory about YHVH:

https://megamitensei.fandom.com/wiki/Talk:YHVH

Under section 'If YHVH isn't the real problem, what is?'

I did look for that interview before, but regretfully I never found it. Would be awesome if someone did.

Please have a nice day

Damn, nice catch.

Kazuma Kaneko has gone on record saying that God (or YHVH) is not the source of all evil. In fact, I've heard that it's implied that YHVH's evil-doings are a symptom of something wrong with the bigger picture. But what could that be? Is it possible that part of Man's conception of God is responsible that part of God's character, and in turn responsible for the evil acts? Or is it something else entirely? 20:15, November 3, 2011 

And 10 years old. The interview in question is on Megatengaku. It’s the Q&A session from the Doublejump Nocturne guide and the particular question, about “why is the Judeo-Christian God the prominent villain in the series,” is the second to last. Here’s Kaneko’s answer:

This is a delicate question, but as mentioned in the last question there are many mysterious common motifs, like the flood legend, in mythology, so I like to investigate mythology from all around the world. For instance, the aforementioned flood legend, the creation process at the beginning of the universe, a hero going on a journey to overcome trials, and sights at the end of the world, etc etc.

 And when I thought about which mythology served as the basis, I concluded that it was the Old Testament. Which means YHWH, the god of the Old Testament, is the basis for all the gods around the world, from a folklorist’s standpoint. Now, I would like you to know that in Megaten, YHWH is not portrayed as the embodiment of evil.

I cut some out but Kaneko begins by talking about comparative mythology only to introduce the “YHVH is the basis for all gods” puzzler that we’ve found has certain corollaries to JJCAT (see Hachiman) and his other comments about Mesopotamian religions. But that’s veering off-topic.

So after not really answering the person’s question, Kaneko abruptly ends with the infamous statement that YHVH is not the embodiment of evil. And... there’s nothing more to it. From Kaneko’s perspective, YHVH is just who he is, the embodiment of Law. That YHVH needs to slaughter all of humanity to get his way may seem extreme, but that exact thing happens in the Bible. You know, the Flood and, eventually, Armageddon.

But on the wiki talk page, notice that Kaneko’s actual “YHVH is not the embodiment of evil” quote has been telephone’d to “YHVH is not the source of all evil.” Thus the onus is on finding a source of evil in the series (of which there isn’t one). And thus immediately after, there’s speculation of “something wrong with the bigger picture” that came from another, currently unknown, source. And this is where I’ll speculate: the idea that YHVH could act so mercilessly and cruel is difficult to reconcile for people living in predominantly Christian countries, where the “loving” God is the cultural standard. Example: the Giant Bomb YHVH page that’s mostly my work from a decade ago, including the deck at the top EXCEPT where someone else added to it “an evil version” and “whose true name is YHWH” (lol, what the fuck) which, as I’ve explained and will continue to explain, misses the point:

Thus, something has to be “wrong” about how this JAPANESE game portrays him (even if the largely Old Testament/Hebrew Bible version of Yahweh they use is somewhat obvious). And I do think that low-key racism has something to do with it. “How can ‘they' understand 'our’ religion?” says someone who doesn’t understand Japanese religion or Buddhism and has never set foot in the country. Alternatively, there’s the more common “why is God always the villain in Japanese RPGs, hur hur hur” line. 

But it’s very easy to understand why Japan doesn’t have the most positive views of Western monotheism, which can be traced to the Portuguese Jesuits who arrived on the Japanese islands in the 16th century. They had some limited success but, uh, let’s say things didn’t end well. So there’s the historical angle plus the fact that monotheism is simply antithetical to Japanese culture; (simplified) the Japanese worldview depends on spirits populating everything which informs everything from the veneration of nature to cultural festivals to views of death. Modern Japanese can be fascinated by the monotheistic religions but few actually adopt one as their own.

And think of how silly Christianity would sound to someone unfamiliar with it: the only God in existence had to manifest himself as his Son who had to be killed so that people could avoid eternal suffering before God himself in the end times brutally tortures and destroys all those who don’t accept his form as the Son. Now think about that but there’s white guys brandishing guns at you. Thankfully, Japan managed to avoid colonization.

Anyway, one problem I see in the western fanbase that leads to these types of theories is not fully understanding that most of SMT’s content is adopted from elsewhere (mythologies). Like it’s obviously commonly understood where the angels and YHVH are from but inversely most other demons can be unfamiliar and perceived as general RPG monsters (or caused if the writing is bad, like in Apocalypse), and existing religious explanations for, say, YHVH’s behavior are eschewed in favor of original theories. The game script becomes the only text that is studied or scoured for information and that’s how we get corrupted YHVH and stuff like Hijiri-Aleph. This is when “multiverse” thinking can become distracting and miss the forest for the trees.

Speaking of YHVH, there’s text of his cut from SMT2 that I think offers some pertinent advice in this situation:

Wow, uncanny, huh? But I agree that the official word is the most reliable source of information for SMT that we have. We’ll never know more than the actual creators; like, I would have never known JJCAT was relevant without Kaneko and the others talking about it. And even if Atlus recommends bad books, those books genuinely explain what happens in the games. Speculation is fun, but I think both knowing about and having access to these interviews & more could nip a lot of the wilder theories in the bud.

#shin megami tensei #yhvh #smt #atlus #megaten #kazuma kaneko

[trash-writings]

Pariston x Fem!Reader

A fic swap I did with a friend, so here is some evil husband Pariston NSFW content! I’m open for commissions if you’re interested. 

Warnings: Subtle mental abuse implied, mentions of weight (pariston implying clothes do not fit), and subtly mean pariston overall. 

---

“There will be a lot of important people there, as you know. I can’t have you embarrassing me in front of them. It would be a real shame if the night was ruined because you can’t get yourself together in time. I’m expecting you to be at your best, my dear.”

You let out a tired breath laying on your back after your workout on the treadmill, looking up at the pole beside you. If it weren’t for Pariston’s stinging words in the back of your mind, you’re not sure if you’d have the energy to pull yourself up onto the pole to work the rest of your body before taking a shower. Knowing tonight is a big deal to Pariston is nerve-wracking. You want to just be the perfect wife for him; even if that’s damn near impossible.

“----, darling!” The sing song nature of Pariston’s voice is unbecoming, but something about it makes you want to leap from the shower to answer him. However, you rationally open the door to the shower, peaking your head out to reply.

“Yes, dear?”

Pariston leans against the bathroom counter, on his side by his skink looking at a few of the things you’ve laid out for after your shower. He moves them delicately to your side before looking up to answer. “I just wanted to remind you we have to be there a bit early tonight, so hurry along. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

You nod before closing the shower door and finishing up with your routine. While you know it’s still early in the day, and that Pariston is simply rushing you for his own pleasure, it’s hard not to feel suddenly anxious while you shave your legs. You nick your knee, the blood slowly making its way down the front of your leg mixing with the water. It stings, but your irritations stings more. He will notice it.

You finish up, getting out and applying your skincare routine, making sure your skin is prepper for the makeup you’ll be applying next. Your knee irritates you still, but not the pain. The dress you have picked out for tonight wouldn’t look great with tights, so now you have to decide on another one. Looking through the closet you settle on a black dress that’ll compliment your thigh-high tights with closed-toe heels well enough, before getting ready for the night.

“I thought you were wearing the red dress I bought you… did it not fit?” Pariston kisses your neck softly, his hands wondering your waist and back.

“Pariston, it fit.” You say coldly. “I just thought this looked better with your suit. So that it compliments, not overshadows.” You lean up kissing his cheek. “We’ll be late if you keep dotting over me like this,” you will be the good wife for him tonight. It’s easier that way, for you most of all. Sometimes you wonder if Pariston really cares whether you do as he wants or not, he always has fun either way.

--

The Association Galas are always extraordinary, especially when Pariston is involved. The draping of gold fabric throughout the ballroom, the hints of red jewels placed along the flower arrangements would, have matched your original dress perfectly, no wonder he had picked it out. Part of you feels guilty now for not wearing the dress, but it’s too late to consider having an assistant drive you home to change now.

“Why don’t you go say hello to the other wives, I’m sure they’ll be excited to see you,” Pariston points in the direction of a few of his associates wives. You barely know them, but it’s clear he wants you to step away from him for a moment. “Don’t be long, though. No lingering.”

What does he really want tonight? You wonder this the entire time you talk about the dresses, shoes, and ridiculous jewelry of one of the wives that aren’t particularly liked by this clique of women. You nod and smile along, letting them lead and just adding a short comment or snarky remark before properly excusing yourself to join Pariston once more.

“They seemed happy to see you,” Pariston hands you a glass of champagne then wrapping his arm around your shoulder once you sit beside him. He keeps you close to his body, with no one around it’s easy for him to whisper to you without being heard. “You’ve done practically everything I’ve asked of you tonight. I’m so proud of you.”

“What is this all for anyway?” You ask curious about the odd timing of this event with nothing on the news showing any big feat for the association recently.

“Oh, this and that.” His hand motions here and there, distracting from your question. “Nothing to concern your pretty little head with.” His hand over your shoulders teases the bare skin above your breasts. “I’m more concerned with how lovely you look tonight, despite not wearing your new gown I worked so hard to get.”

“Pariston-“ his other hand pinches your thigh, making you stop talking.

“I wasn’t done talking yet, my dear.” His lips are only a millimeter from your ear, his voice raspy now. “You’ve been so good, let’s not ruin it now.” His hand that had once pinched your thigh now grazes the skin softly, his fingertips passing under the hem of your dress. “Think you can be quiet for me for just a few minutes? We don’t want anyone looking under the table now do we?”

You nod.

“Good girl,” he chuckles before his fingers graze the outside of your panties. You inhale quickly, remembering you have to remain quiet. Your eyes scan the room as his fingers push aside your panties, slowly parting the lips of your cunt. No one is even looking your way, but it feels like all 200+ eyes are on you and Pariston as his skilled fingers tease your clit.

Biting your lip hard you try not to moan, but Pariston wants to elicit some kind reaction from you. He wants you to slip up. You know it, so you won’t. You’re going to be perfect for the rest of the night for him. No matter how hard it is, you will keep quiet for him. Even as his fingers slide down lower, easily guided by your wetness and one finger slips inside.

“You’re doing so good!” Pleasure is in his voice; he wants you to fail. He wants you to fuck up. “What about this?”

He slips another inside, your walls squeezing around his digits, making it harder to not let a peep slip past your lips. You close your eyes, casually leaning into Pariston letting your face burry into is chest. To anyone looking, they would just see a wife leaning into her husband’s chest; possibly a little too drunk and wanting to rest her eyes. The picture-perfect couple.

“I’m impressed,” he praises. “I’m going to excuse myself and in two minutes you’re going to follow me the same way, I’ll be waiting for you ----.” Your name lingers in the air as he moves. He pulls his fingers from you, wiping them on a napkin on the table in front of you before walking out to the left.

The two minutes pass so slowly, making you antsy to get up and follow him, but you have to let them go by fully. It’s been so long since you’ve been this excited to see what Pariston has in store, even if its brutally fucking you by not letting you make a sound. The time finally passes, and you hurry through the crowd and out the side door behind a curtain you watched him pass through and find yourself in a dark storage room.

“Finally,” Pariston’s voice fills your ears before you feel his hands on your hips. He grinds into your ass, and you feel his cock already hard against you. “I thought you’d be late. You’ve been almost too perfect tonight, my dear.”

“Fuck,” you groan as his fingers take their place teasing you once again. The wetness now making you feel sticky between your thighs.

“You’re so responsive! Does the thought of someone walking in to find us being intimate arouse you, dear?” His breath teases your neck making the hair rise on your skin. His fingers work your clit before he pushes his pants down just enough to release his cock form his pants and underwear.

Words are caught in your throat, nothing coming out despite the thoughts that swirl in your mind. He’s right, someone could walk in and you’re not sure you’d even be upset by that. It’s been too long since sex with Pariston has been this… this… thrilling!

“You’ve been nearly perfect,” your panties pass your knees, hooking dangling around your ankles. “You deserve a reward.” His cock passes between your thighs, teasing the lips of your cunt, covering him with your wetness. It makes it easy for him to bend you over a cloth covered table, and slide into you with little resistance.

You groan as he fills you, your walls clasping around him. Your fingers grip the end of the table as he starts to roughly thrust into you. He skillfully intertwines his fingers in your hair, managing to keep it relatively in place before pulling your head back as he fucks you. If keeping quiet while he fingered you under a table is hard, then this is near impossible. ‘

Soft moans pass your lips, each one he hears makes him thrust rougher, losing his composed pace he started out with. It can’t be helped, the feeling of him taking you so urgently is overwhelming. You moans slowly get louder, and each one making his grip on your hips tighten more and more. Your body burns from the heat inside of you, growing hotter with each moment. You feel your release nearing and want to desperately cum around him, but he’s not given you permission yet.

Do you need his permission this time? You don’t care either way. It’s o overwhelming from the teasing before to try and even hold back for him now. “Pariston, I’m gonna-“ before you can finish your statement he reaches around, his fingers stimulating your clit sending you over the edge. You cum around him biting your bottom lip to keep from crying out too loud. The pleasure hits you in waves; the first overwhelming you but the second making your legs wobble.

Pariston lets your knees buckle, by manages to guide you enough to kneeling before him. A smug look crosses his face for a moment before his normal delightful composure takes its place on his face. He takes his cock in his hand, starting to pump it quickly.

“Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.” He says tapping your chin with his thumb. He strokes your bottom lip softly before you oblige, opening up for him. He grunts quietly a few times before shooting three spurts of cum onto your tongue and slapping your cheek gently after, signaling you to swallow.

“Good girl. Now,” he pulls his pants up fixing his belt with them, “get up, put yourself together, and go make sure everyone knows I’m adored.”

#pariston hill #pariston hill x reader #pariston smut #Hunter X Hunter #HunterXHunter #hxh

[faakeid]

fab nygmobblepot moments that remind you of kd uwu

OMGGGG AHDAHDUIADHAD

I want to use this moment to be sorry to everyone that follows me but keeps seeing my blog full of Nygmobs/Smaylor instead of kaisoo. I usually don’t get attached to otps like this and it happened in an unexpected way for me. But it’s here and I need to compensate for all the years I didn’t watch Gotham and had no idea about Nygmobs spamming everyone and making my heart warm.

But in general, nygmobblepot isn’t a vision of ideal relationship. Both Edward and Oswald (their surnames Cobblepot and Nygma were the ones who originated this name) are stupid and do stupid shit to each other during most of the series. So, a lot of moments related with the actors counterpart (Robin is the actor who plays Oswald and Cory who plays Ed) reminds me of kaisoo more. But a warning here! Although they have a HUGE chemistry on and off screen, they’re mostly friends. Robin is married for almost ten years so it doesn’t mean their closeness is romantic or sexual. But still, some details remind me of kd.

Similarities with nygmobs:

Height difference: it applies to Smaylor as well because it’s their height but it’s really visible in the series. Cory is a bit taller than JI I think and Robin is like 1.65 but KS is not that taller (I can’t believe he’s 1.73 at all, sorry). But, again, this factor is evident during the series and in some moments and it’s cute.

(the way he moves his feet to reach Ed’s head ;_;)

(when they hug, Oswald barely reaches his shoulders [their hugs are the equivalent to kisses in Gotham])

the closest gif I could find where we can see kd’s height difference without me stealing other people’s gifs.

Penguin reference? That’s pretty obvious. Of course I didn’t start shipping nygmobs because one of them is small and has the Penguin nickname but it made so much easier for me to read some of their fics with kd as characters because they fit the profile so much! And also, I believe KD would totally fit the “murder husbands” couple if someone did a fanfic where they just kill everyone. The closest I remember of a fanfic with this criteria is Juice Pouche where Kyungsoo is a vampire and he protects Jongin and Jongin is kind of badass as well. But the kd fandom needs more fics like this. There’s also “(Before the night is over) come see me” where KS is also a vampire and JI a young werewolf but it focuses more on their relationship than a murder husbands idea Gotham shows so well. 

How they met: Gotham’s history has a lot of differences if you compare with other universes, so keep that in mind. In Gotham, Ed works with GCPD but doesn’t feel like himself with the good side. Oswald is the character that spices things up and is a rage of death and destruction and manipulation. But Oswald is infatuated with Jim Gordon (so isn’t the first time it’s implied Penguin is gay) but he goes to the police department to see him. Ed sees him and wants to talk to him no matter the cost. And he does that... And things don’t end that friendly for him because Oswald thinks he’s a weirdo and asks him to fuck off, basically. It reminded me of kd’s first meeting where KS was the one admiring JI all along but JI get frightned. But, during their second meeting, they bond and become friends. For Nygmobs it takes more time for their second meeting but they end up developing and being in good terms :’)

Their personas, sort of: Ed is the tall one, younger and logic. Oswald is the oldest, smaller and that thinks with his heart. I love how JI could show the more logic side of himself during the last few years and, again, while reading Nygmobs fics using kd names, it was easy to fit the profile for me (that was during the time I wasn’t too deep into nygmobs and I didn’t knok them that well. KS looks cold and deatached and that’s why many people got impressed when he said, during Knowing Bros that he would choose love over friendship. He doesn’t play the part but, considering all the context, it fits him pretty well and reading this description of Oswald made me so familiar because it fits KD well. Ofc I don’t know their private lives and whatever but it’s just the impression I had as a viewer and random person;

Drama issue: when I say drama here, it’s related with how people percieve the two OTPs and how different people visualize LGBT relationship in media. Nygmobblepot had a lot of drama involved because they’re the fucking Riddler and Penguin, two of the most famous Batman villains. People saw them in different sorts of media before and others idolize those characters because of videogames and comics. So, when Oswald mentioned expressedly that he was in love with Edward, it caused an uproar in the fandom. People accused the producers and Robin of messing with the comic canon because the fucking Penguin became gay??? Robin was outspoken about the homophobia behind those statements since he’s a gay man himself but yeah, the drama existed. Part of the people invovled with the series rooted for Nygmobblepot, including some writers and the actors (Cory was the one with ambiguous messages about the nature of their relationship but it’s not even close what happened with other series like Supergirl, Supernatural and Sherlock). But it was aired by FOX, a right wing channel and, as you may imagine, they didn’t become canon per se. Actually, after Oswald said he was in love with Ed and planned on confessing to him, the writers presented a clone of Ed’s ex girlfriend with no explanation and purpose, only to separate them for most part of the series future. After that, some people seemed to have FORGOTTEN Oswald was once in love with Edward, rationalizing many things that are hard to explain with a “bro explanation”, they had a scene where the characters would have evolved even more but it was CUTTED and CHANGED and execs added the sentence “we’re brothers” to make EXPLICIT that Nygmobblepot’s relationship wouldn’t be interpreted as a romance at the end of the series (but, honestly, the actors went for the romance path anyway, the deleted scenes and the final episode can’t convince me otherwise).

What’s related with KD, may you ask? I think you’re familiar with all the drama KD faced since 2016 and how many stuff exploded during that time. How many parts are involved into creating a certain image and shifting it to be appealing and “friendly” is similar with what happens with idols. It’s no secret now about many scandals of bullying and other issues that are considered problematic and how they need to be pushed under the rug for companies so idols can make money and be profitable. Especially for male idols, it’s important that they are viewed as desirable and an object of the fans affections. That’s why he needs to be handsome and kind and look like a person that doesn’t exist. If an idol is openly gay, this person isn’t viewed by the major public with the same interest because they can’t fit the fantasy. That’s why scandals involving idols being gay need to be forgotten and deleted from people’s minds, otherwise that celebrity is ostracized. Although we tend to see the Ocident as “progressive”, there’s similar things happening in that industry. If a celebrity is openly LGBT, they don’t receive certain roles or opportunities because of it. There’s still a huge stigma that needs to be broken and we, as a society, are so far way from it. But recognizing those differences exist it’s a step forward.

Similarities with Smaylor

For me, one of the reasons Nygmobblepot works so well is because of the actors. They portrait a good chemistry because of their friendship off screen and some non verbal signs they display around each other are amazing. Those are things that remind me more of KD as we see them in a lot of moments. So, I wanted space to show those comparisons below:

Mutual admiration: it’s something both Smaylor and KD display a LOT and is extrememly outspoken. I really love watching their old interviews because the affection and admiration is so genuine it makes me drawn to them despite not being romantically involved.

(full gifset)

(there are more moments than these but I don’t want to steal gifs and there’s not much on the gif research and that sucks. Same with KD’s).

Stares and touches: Robin was the responsible for the deep stares and Cory for the random touches. There’s so many gifs of it that is hilarious. It’s like JI divided himself in two cells because we know he’s more known for both >.<

(Cory was touching Robin all the way during this interview rip)

(the gifset!!!)

You’re pretty moment: Robin, like KS, is the one that mentions about Cory/JI’s physical attributes. They have a moment pretty similar and, for KD its famous among shippers:

(gif link)

(actually, Robin called Cory dashingly handsome but its okay)

Cory lost it

There’s another series of gifsets with Robin calling Cory handsome LMAOO

:))))

Synchronization: for specialists in body language, it’s a factor that shows two people are close. That’s because of the mirror neurons we have that makes us copy movements, actions or words that someone we have empathy/we are close with do or say. Both kd and smaylor do this and it’s really soft.

(one of the classics)

(classic 2)

whole gifset (i love this interview so much)

(gif)

The fact the actors came up with their OTP names: people tend to forget that KD’s real otp name (according with Jongin) is dika. Cory also came up with Nygmobblepot name and Smaylor too <3

So, meanwhile Nygmobs has thropies that work a lot with KD AUs, Smaylor has healthy dynamics seen in public appearances KD made. Like I said above, there’s a huge polemic about shipping Smaylor romantically because Robin is married. On social media, is visible he loves his husband and it’s pretty cute to see. Cory himself mentioned that their relationship was sort of a platonic friendship (whatever that means) but it’s really genuine in terms of affections and display of admiration, something KD has as well.

Probably someone will question that it may changed the way I see KD or if now I ship them as bros. Nothing about that changed. With KD, although there are some similar details, there are internal AND external factors that made me support them in a romantic perspective in the first place. And it didn’t change. 

But both of them (Nygmobs too) make me feel that I’m testimoning something genuine, which is really hard in both kpop and media universes. In one side, we have a LOT of fanservice. And, in the other, it’s mostly a work interaction with lots of queerbating. Yes, Gotham has queerbating aspects in it but it’s not full of queerbating, if it makes sense. The message the actors and some writers wanted to convey are there and really display a romantic direction with character evolution and growth. And, considering the way media is nowadays, it’s nice to see.

[lovely-english-rose]

@dekuanon: #yes#also#saw your tags#do not care what its about plz give us that rant

aw fuck i cant believe youve enabled me- im laughing but also *cracks knuckles* there is work to do-

now to preface, the doozey of an ice cold take of the week is: the three goddesses are sisters, therefore bearers of the triforce cannot be shipped in any instance because this makes them related so it’s inc*st.

whoof...

are the golden goddesses sisters? yes, yes they are. are link, ganon, and zelda related to the goddesses? no. do they always bear the triforce/does the triforce always make an appearance? also no! link, zelda, and ganon are not descendants nor reincarnations of the golden goddesses. now, zelda is the goddess hylia reincarnated, however hylia is not at all related to the golden goddesses, and iirc they are never even mentioned in the same games? at that, hylia is reincarnated as zelda one time, the rest of the zelda’s are her descendants.

the triforce itself is a relic created by the goddesses, largely as a source of hope for the people of hyrule, but also a means to bestow power on mortals if necessary. it is an item that can be taken, passed, or bestowed upon a user. an example, ganon tried to seize the whole triforce for himself in ocarina of time and as a result the triforce broke itself into three. while ganon managed to claim the triforce of power for himself, the other two pieces went to find their own chosen users because ganon’s own power/wisdom/courage were out of balance with each other and therefore made him unworthy of bearing the whole triforce. there have also been instances where one person did bear the whole triforce for themself (a king mentioned in adventures of link, link himself in skyward sword, king daphnes in wind waker, etc) and even instances of one person bearing two of them at once (a prince mentioned in the original games, ganon briefly in twilight princess, etc).

now, what have we learned so far- the three are not at all related (which should be obvious anyway) and the triforce itself is a superficial feature that can be taken, given, or removed from a person. so aside the power it gives a person, it is largely meaningless for their interpersonal relationships.

now the person of the original take mostly focused on shipping with link and zelda, only briefly adding ganon to the conversation so i will focus on the former here (plus i dont wanna get into all.. That when you add ganon to the mix). now i literally do not care at all if someone likes them together or not, it has absolutely zero impact on me. but it does bother me, not even in this case specifically but in general, when people will make such wild accusations to justify their personal dislike of whatever the subject may be and even harass others instead of just moving on with their life. they aren’t at all related, it is ridiculous to lay that claim instead of just saying you don’t care for it or even just - not saying anything at all because it literally does not matter (shocker!). there are several instances where link and zelda are implied, and even canonly love interests to each other (skyward sword, breath of the wild). it is understandable and reasonably that people would like them together? even if those instances didnt exist like.. who cares you know? it hurts literally nobody if some people ship link and zelda.

people will really come up with the most asinine things to justify not liking something instead of just saying they dont like it or blacklisting things like a normal person- and while we’re at it, i am so so sick of people throwing around the words inc*st and p*dophilia like its confetti- they are heavy, serious words with meaning, and people using them to describe literally anything or anyone they personally do not like waters down the weight of those words and that is extremely dangerous! nearly every single time i see them used online these days, they are never being used properly, and so many people being desensitized to seeing them used.. it’s really not okay.

thank you for coming to my ted rant 😤

#this shit gets my blood! boiling!!!!!! #felix's ramblings #read more bc i threw out paragraphs and its a bit long

[blinder-secrets]

Lion Tamer - Part 4

part one | part two | part three

also on ao3

an: i am so so happy to be finally updating this, please let me know what you think!

wordcount: 2800

It’d been two weeks since you’d seen Arthur, two weeks of Tommy coming back and fourth, with no sign of his brother in tow. No word of how London was treating him. Naturally, it had begun to bother you, or rather, it had bothered you - now it just pissed you off. You hadn’t expected Arthur to check up on you, at least not religiously, but it was hardly asking much to want a phone-call from him; he could at least let you know how he was.

After the first week, you’d given up on hearing from him. The days continued as they always did: you went to work, you went to the Garrison, and you went home. You gave Pol the numbers, you bought John a beer, and then you ate alone in your kitchen. The same day, relived seven times over.

On the Saturday, you went for a drink with a man Lizzie knew. An ex-customer. You didn’t know if he knew that you weren’t a whore, but he was tall and nice, and well, it didn’t really matter what he thought. Anything that would shake up your routine was welcome to you.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he’d said, sitting back in his chair, stomach full and face rosy.

You’d smiled. It wasn’t genuine but he didn’t seem to notice.

‘I’d always thought you were spoken for,’ he said, ‘when I’d seen you about.’

‘Never am,’ you replied, before lifting your glass to finish the last of the wine. You knew what was implied - when he’d seen you about, with them, the Shelbys. He’d thought you were out of the question, untouchable, and who wouldn’t? Especially now Tommy had more say in your love life than you did.

‘Do you want another?’ your date asked, quickly, like he was worried that you were about to make your exit.

‘No.’ You pulled your coat from the back of your seat. ‘Shall we go?’

He’d agreed so you’d taken him home and then sent him away again once it was done with. Not through any fault of his, he was sweet, and gentle, but once you were both spent it felt like an intrusion. Like he’d disturbed the little peace that you’d created, and every minute after was just another chip from your woodwork. It had been a while since you’d let a man in.

After he left, you’d cleaned the house entirely despite the hour, you’d even washed the kitchen floor. Just about anything to keep your mind occupied. Anything to make your home feel yours again. It did strike you that it never felt that way when Arthur was visiting, he even had a key like it was as much his right to be there as yours. You chased the thought away with suds. It was only like that because you were used to him, because he was there enough. Or perhaps because his visits were never more than a friend stopping to say hello.

On the following Wednesday, John was in the Garrison before you were, waiting with an ale in hand. He cleared his throat as you entered the private room, sitting upright as you shut the door. ‘Tommy says you’re avoiding him,’ was his welcoming statement.

‘Does he now?’ You undid your coat and sat across from him, setting your bag on the table between. ‘How can I avoid the man I work for, John? I’m in the office every day.’

He shrugged. ‘Just what I heard.’

You sighed. You hadn’t been avoiding Tommy, you just hadn’t made conversation. Or eye contact. Every day you went to work, at the desk two down from the door to his office, and then you left when the clock said you could. That was it. ‘He doesn’t like me,’ you told John. ‘Why should I pretend to like him?’

He put his hands up, claiming ignorance to the conversation he had started. ‘Am just saying what I heard.’

‘You Shelbys gossip like fish wives.’

‘Nah,’ he snorted around the word, ‘just like to stay updated on what I miss when I’m in London.’

‘Which appears to be never.’ You reached across the table, knowing he wouldn’t stop you, and stole a mouthful of his beer. ‘You’re in here every night,’ you said.

John laughed, watching you drink again, before adding, ‘Not by choice.’ He sighed and relaxed into his seat. ‘Esme would kill me if I wasn’t. Specially now she’s pregnant again, s’like having a fuckin’ firecracker in the house.’

‘One you lit yourself, John.’ Satisfied with your beer-wetted tongue, you went into the first pocket of your bag and pulled a cigarette from the box tucked in there. You barely had it in your mouth before he was questioning you with raised eyebrows.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ he said.

‘It’s a recent habit, keeps me company.’ You lit it and took a drag, still awkward in the motion. ‘Something to put my lips round.’

A deep laugh burst from him, sinking into a snort before he could reply. ‘If Arthur fuckin’ heard you then,’ he scoffed.

Your eyes rolled. You took another drag and let the menthol sink into your throat before exhaling again. Arthur never laughed at jokes like that. They rubbed him the wrong way, though he never had the balls to say why. ‘He hasn’t given me a second’s thought since he left for London,’ you said. ‘Fuck him.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Have you spoken to him?’ you asked, watching his chin dip as soon as you did. You both knew the answer to that one.

‘It’s not his fault,’ he started, ‘it’s all that fucking snow. He hasn’t come up for air.’

‘Cocaine?’ He nods. You didn’t know Arthur used it. ‘That doesn’t seem like a good idea,’ you said.

He laughed once, emptily. ’Nothin Arthur ever does is a fuckin’ good idea.’

‘Right.’ That you could agree with, at least now anyways. Before he left you might have argued that he was perfectly capable of making good decisions. Of knowing how to conduct himself, for the most part. But the more days that passed, the less inclined you were to defend him. If you were so far out of his mind, why should he be on yours?

‘You worry about him too much, y’ know,’ John said.

‘No,’ you corrected, ‘I don’t worry about him at all.’

- - - - - - - 

It was Friday again when Ada called. She wasn’t speaking much to Tommy, nor any of them, and you could hardly blame after losing Freddie. But she did what she could for them, and for you.

‘Here,’ she said, sweet treacle down the phone, ‘I got the number of the hotel where Arthur’s staying. He isn’t there much, but it’s something.’

‘I don’t want it,’ you told her. ‘He’s been gone two weeks and I’ve not heard anything.’

‘If I believed you didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have rang.’ She sighed. ‘Have you got a pen?’

After she hung up you sat and looked at the paper in your hand. You’d scribbled it quickly, wanting to get it out before your pride could intervene, and it had made your handwriting almost illegible. Almost. You knew where he was now, you could find him if you wanted. Your shift had long ended but there wasn’t a phone at home, and this wasn’t a call you could make at the pub, so you lingered in the offices still. The decision itched at you. If you called and got an answer, what would you even say? Half of you just wanted to see if he was conscious, if he was even in London at all. The other half wanted to call him a prick and hang up again.

‘One bell,’ you said aloud, reaching for the telephone. You’d ring once - just to see - and then you’d put the idea to bed. There was no point agonising over what-ifs.  

You asked the operator to connect you to the hotel and waited while it rang, your grip tightened around the stand as soon as the call was answered. ‘Hello,’ you said, ‘I was wanting to speak to Mr Shelby, I was told he’s staying with you?’

The receptionist confirmed that he was. You don’t what emotion that registered, but it wasn’t quite relief. He was saying something else but you’d missed the first part. ‘Can I take a message?’ he asked. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’

You cleared your throat. ‘Sorry?’

‘For when he returns, Ma’am.’

Your gaze sat, unfocused, through the painted glass of Tommy’s office door. ‘No,’ you told him eventually. ‘No, it’s okay. Thank-you.’

The receiver was back on the stand before he could say goodbye.

You’d originally planned to go straight home after work, to treat yourself just once to some real, genuine quiet. But your feet clearly had other ideas; you found yourself in the Garrison, having walked subconsciously toward its warm glow, its Friday night hum. You’d been sat at the bar barely ten minutes before someone joined you and, as God would have it, it was a Shelby. Again.

‘Hello, Polly,’ you greeted her, as she sank into the bar stool to your right.

‘I thought I’d find you here,’ she replied, looking down her nose at you. She always looked that way but it wasn’t insulting like it was on others, it was knowing. A settled confidence that she’d seen you, seen you right to the centre, and she was amused by what she found. She ordered a gin and put her gloves on the bar-top. ‘I wanted to speak with you.’

You gestured for her to go ahead. Your glass was full, you had the time.

‘Are you happy here, [y/n]?’ she asked, turning with her body toward you, facing you wholly. ‘In Small Heath?’

You drank, only looking at her briefly when you answered. ‘As much as anyone can be,’ you said. ‘Why? Taking census for the council?’

‘An opportunity has come up,’ she replied, ‘a chance for something new.’

‘I haven’t been doing well with new.’ It was the old that you missed.

‘We’ll be opening offices in London, once it’s safe, and we’ll need people to fill them.’ She looked at you over her glass, sipping gin between the lines of the proposition. ‘I’d like to offer one of those places to you.’

You snorted. ‘Does Tommy know?’

‘As company treasurer, it’s my recommendation that he listens to. You’d be an investment for the company, someone we can trust.’

‘Thank-you,’ you told her, ‘really. But, I don’t want to move.’ You hadn’t even paused to consider it, it was a no as soon as the words left her lips. You liked it here, you liked your flat, your friends. There was nothing for you in London.

She looked you over, carefully, before reaching to put your glass down for you. It was only half empty, but she set it away from you like you’d finished. ‘You aren’t yourself,’ she stated. ‘You left the day he did.’

‘I’m just the same, Pol.’

She snorted. ‘Yeah, right, and I’m the Madonna.’

You finally turned to her, knees bumping, and asked what you really wanted to ask. ‘Why me? For London, why me?’

She took a moment to consider. You could see in her eyes that she was reading the script you’d withheld, hearing what was implied before you’d implied it. ’If you think I’m asking because of Arthur,’ she said, ‘you’re wrong. I don’t want you there for him.’

‘But for the company,’ you finished. Sure, it was always for the company.

Polly leant forward and put a hand to your wrist, her hold was warm despite how hot you felt yourself. ‘Love, I asked because you deserve to want something more. Something bigger than Small Heath, than Birmingham.’

You didn’t reply, you just looked at her and your world collapsed into itself under the possibilities. You’d never thought of leaving, you’d barely thought of tomorrow, and that was enough in itself.

‘London is an opportunity,’ she continued, ‘for all of us.’ Satisfied that you were understanding, she sat back again, reaching for her drink. ‘I want you to think about it.’

‘Pol, I don’t-‘

‘No,’ she interrupted. ’Just sit with it. Think it through.’

You nodded. She didn’t want an answer yet, which was lucky because you had no fucking idea what to tell her. You couldn’t even think about London as a place of work, or a home, without first dealing with the Arthur-shaped cloud that hung over it. If you were to even consider the offer, you had to resolve that.

‘When does Tommy next go?’ you asked her, coming around from the quick pattern of thoughts you’d just had. ‘To London?’

‘Tomorrow,’ she answered, a faint smile growing. ‘Why?’

- - - - - - - 

The gravel was wet beneath your feet, gripping and scuffing against your soles as you attempted to run faster still. You didn’t know what time he was leaving, only that he’d be gone by the afternoon and, well, that left very little room for error. It was already pushing eleven as you approached Watery Lane. You hadn’t meant to leave it that late; you’d sat at your table, turning the idea over and over in your head, wondering if Tommy was even civil enough to do you a favour in the first place.

The thing that eventually made you decide yes, fuck it, you’ll ask him, was that he wouldn’t hesitate if he were in your shoes. If Tommy wanted something from you, he’d say it without the slightest doubt that you’d decline. It was only fair you showed him the same grace.

That’s why you found yourself half-running, half-trotting down Watery Lane to catch him. You couldn’t see him on the approach, thank God, the thought of Tommy Shelby seeing you running frantically toward him was almost vomit-inducing; you were running for your own sake, not his. When you reached the car parked by the bookies, you found it empty — minus the driver—and came to a thankful and panting stop.

You’d packed quickly, and light. Just enough to keep you for the weekend. Now you were stationary, you felt inclined to check the bag that hung over your shoulder, as if the small gift you’d put atop your clothes would have somehow fallen out. It hadn’t. It was still there.

You’d almost left it behind, having decided that the last thing Arthur deserved was a present, but then your heart beat your pride and you’d picked it up anyway. Perhaps something normal was what he needed. It was a book, a favourite of yours, packaged in brown paper with a card between the wrapping and the cover. A note that said you were missing him. That you hoped he could find you between the pages.

When the door opened behind you, you span, and let the flap fall closed over your bag. Tommy stood in doorway with a half-raised eyebrow, his suit smarter and neater than usual.

‘Tommy,’ you began, having lost all track of the words you’d intended to use. ‘I need a favour.’

He considered you for a long minute before replying, only speaking once he had begun to step around you. ‘I don’t have time for favours, love, it can wait ’til Monday.’

You cut him off, putting your body between him and the car, though the pavement allowed you very little space to do so.

‘I want to come with you,’ you said quickly. There was no time for sales pitches, you had to say it now or not at all. ‘I’m coming with you.’

To your surprise, he didn’t laugh. He just blinked once, shook his head, and then said, ’Go home, [y/n].’

‘Polly said I could come,’ you explained. ‘She said if I wanted to move to London, I’d have to visit it first.’

He put a hand to his brow, like you’d just put a pain directly behind it, and sighed. After a moment he said, ‘Alright,’ and from the tone of it, you knew he couldn’t believe it himself. ‘Alright, get in.’

‘Thank-you,’ you said, smiling. Catching him just before he left had worked in your favour, he didn’t have time to argue with you. As you started toward the car, your fingers on the handle, he stopped you again.

‘But one fucking word about Arthur, and I stop the car.’ He brought his face an inch closer to yours. ‘I don’t care where it is, I’ll stop the car, and you’ll get out. Alright?’

You knew if you disagreed you’d lose your spot. You wouldn’t get to see the city, to taste the new life Polly had tempted you with. You wouldn’t get your needed breath away from the black stones of Birmingham. And, as much as you tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t the purpose of your trip, you wouldn’t get to see Arthur. So, you agreed.

‘Alright,’ you told him. ‘I promise, no Arthur.’

Read part five >>

#Arthur Shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy x reader #i literally could cry ive been trying to update this for so long i feel so accomplished oh my god #i feel good about this