#'i just think that the freedom to ask questions in whatever order you want is stupid. ace attorney didn't do that and that's why it's good'

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Bellatrix Lestrange having a daughter around Tonks/Charlie’s age who is like a younger, more unhinged but still somewhat replicated version of her this is very, very inspired by Jenifer Check, I love her sm so when you think of Lestrange!Daught it’s pretty much Chrck lmao which she thought she’d absolutely love except her kid won’t do anything she asks for her and absolutely will not serve the Dark Lord cause she worships the ground the Reader walks on, whatever they want and whenever they want it, she’ll do anything for them

Narcissa can’t help cause she doesn’t have a daughter for plots sake we’ll say Cygnus raised her alone meaning the kid had mad freedom, old man just wanted to chill after losing 2 of 3 daughters over politics so Bellatrix goes to Andromeda

and for a solid five minutes all Andromeda can do is laugh because her older sister is coming to her for vague parenting advise

inevitably Andromeda connects the dots and then starts laughing again pointing out the hilarious parallel about Bellatrix being obsessed with Voldemort and now her daughter being obsessed with her own morally questionable criminal or better yet the Reader isn’t a criminal but gets up to sketchy shit sometimes and doesn’t understand why this pretty, violent girl is following them around but goes with it anyways

worst part is that after Rodolphus and Rabastan died which I assume they did in Azkaban then Lestrange!Daughter would’ve inherited the vault, cutting off the death eaters funding and access to the Hufflepuff’s Cup hidden inside, because she’s not gonna betray her darling for some nose-less fuck

Are we talking like an OC?? Cause I actually really love that idea. Especially, regarding Harry’s twin!Reader or something like that, just the parallels between the two only Belatrix’s daughter is on the literal complete opposite side. But in the circumstances it would be Harry and twin!Reader with this older girl staliking following them around, especially outside of Hogwarts. Like, she just hangs out outside of 4 Privet Drive just watching, even breaking in and just wanting to be close to the Reader. You can bet Bellatrix’s daughter would give the Dursley’s a piece of her mind. Or maybe even just take Harry and the Reader to live with her.

I just imagine the Reader waking up in a completely new place all by themself with this older girl hovering over them. And the Reader being kind of okay with it since they’re away from the Dursley’s but they ask their captor/“savior” to go back and get their brother too.

The Lestrange house/manor/estate would probably become the new Order of the Phoenix headqaurters, mainly because Bellatrix’s daughter won’t part with the Reader so they can’t go with Harry to live with Sirius so Sirius moves in to keep an eye on everything. And his reaction to his batshit crazy cousin’s batshit child being obsessed with one of his godchildren would really be something. Like, FUCK NO!?!?!

Like, I could imagine Bellatrix’s daughter having been obsessed with the Potter twins since it came out that they were able to survive and best Voldemort even when being just mere babes. And just her like revolving her world around getting to meet them or something. Maybe when Bellatrix’s daughter was younger but still older than Harry and the Reader she ended up wandering to 4 Privet Drive or having her house elf take her to meet them or something and she did, even if it was for a few minutes.

When it comes to the idea of Bellatrix’s daughter being obsessed with a criminal or a bad witch/wizard, I could just imagine Potter!Twin!Reader having nicked something small or lied about something insignificant and from then on Bellatrix’s daughter was like “That’s the one for me”.

Also, just the idea of Bellatrix’s daughter having stalked Harry and his Twin!Reader for most of their life. Like, I could see them getting Cygnus or their house elf to take them to 4 Privet Drive and she would just watch the whole place like a hawk. Never taking her eyes off of it and getting excited at the smallest bit of movement or liveliness at the home. Or even having the house elf sneak her into Harry and the Reader’s school to pass herself off as one of the students and getting to befriend the Reader even just for a brief time. But afterwards, Bellatrix’s daughter would use that as her excuse to interact with the Dursley’s. She’d happily knock on their door asking the Reader to play with her, that she was their friend from school as to not draw any suspicion. Hell, Bellatrix’s daughter would go as far as getting one of the houses on Privet Drive just to stay close and ending up living there the rest of the time the twins are across the street/down the road.

[lillybean730]

anyway got into an argument last night where my brother tried to position himself as an authority on visual novels even though he's never played one ever -_-

[hbyrde36]

STWG Daily Prompt 3/9/24

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild

Prompt: Bite

Rating: G | WC: 867

Emotional hurt/comfort, Steve Harrington's parents being the worst, the best uncle Wayne Munson, supportive boyfriend Eddie Munson, the party loves Steve Harrington

Steve had given up on his dad long ago, he was never going to be the kind of man Richard Harrington had always wanted his sons to grow up and be, but he’d held out hope for his mom—hope that someday she would learn to love him the way she loved his brother.

More than ten years between them, and the fact that the Harrington’s had moved to Hawkins only after Christopher had graduated high school and gone off to college, meant no one really knew Steve had a sibling. 

The party, Robin, Eddie—especially Eddie because how could they have been dating for over a year now and him somehow still not know about this—were all stunned to learn of the existence of another young Harrington.

He hadn’t meant to tell them at all, but then Christopher and their parents made a surprise visit home so that his brother could take possession of their grandmother’s ring and pop the question to his girlfriend of a whopping 9 months. Less time than he and Eddie had been seeing each other and didn’t that get under Steve's skin to know he’d never get to propose to his boyfriend with a family heirloom, not only because gay marriage wasn’t legal, but because his parents would never dream of handing down a piece of jewelry to their least favorite son.  

Steve wound up having to make the rounds, letting everyone know movie night was canceled because his brother was in town. Naturally they all wanted explanations for why this was the first they were learning of this mysterious person, and by the time he got to Eddie’s place, Steve was a mess. 

Years of mistreatment and neglect bubbled to the surface, and not just the big things but the little sniping comments, the small injustices—inequities between the way Mr. and Mrs. Harrington spoke of their older son vs their younger—hurt feelings that he’d pushed all the way down in order to function, in order to put a fucking smile on his face and hide the fact that he was damaged goods who not even a mother could love. 

It all came spilling out of him on Eddie’s bedroom floor as his boyfriend held him, rocked him, was his rock, tethering him to the earth.

When it was all over and Steve was calm, Eddie asked him why he still spoke to them, why he still lived in their house when he and Wayne had both–on separate occasions–invited him to live with them instead.

“They’re my family.” Steve said, shrugging. “I don’t have a choice.” 

“Of course you do, Stevie. You always have a choice. If you were to decide right here and now that you never wanted to see or speak to them again, you are allowed to do that. You hold all the power here. I’ll support you in whatever you decide, but I have to say in my humble opinion, they never deserved you.”

Steve took the night to think about it, though in the instant Eddie had said the words, given Steve the power to take control of his own life, he’d known what he was going to do. It was his life, he could do with it as he wished. He was already doing that with almost every other part of it, so why was he still letting his mom and dad hold any power over him? Why did he subject himself to their passive aggressive comments and disappointed glares?

In the end he never went back, not even to get his stuff. Wayne and Eddie did it for him, leaving behind his keys and his beloved car. 

A small price to pay for freedom. 

He called the next day and left a final message on the answering machine. 

“Please leave your message after the beep.”

“Hey mom. You’re the hardest one to say goodbye to, the last member of this family I held out hope for so you’ll have to forgive me for not doing this in person. My car keys are on the table by the front door. I know the BMW is in dad’s name and I know he wouldn’t want me keeping it under the circumstances.”

“I am no longer a Harrington. I’m sure you won’t mind because you barely thought of me as one to begin with but it’s official now. I’m moving on, and moving in with my boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend, because I am nothing if not a consistent disappointment.”

“It took me longer to see it with you because I've witnessed the way you care for the people around you, most of them anyway, and what you’ve done for this community.”

“You are a good person, except when you’re not. And you were a great mom, just not to me.”

There was no bite in his words, just a sad truth finally spoken aloud.

Steve hung up the phone feeling lighter than he ever had in his whole life, and sat down to dinner with the people who really loved him. His found family, who’d all dropped whatever they were doing at a moments notice to throw him an impromptu moving-in party at his new home with Eddie and Wayne. 

Thanks to my beloved @penny00dreadful for having a look over this 🥰

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Hi I hope you’re well 😊 I’m here to request your thoughts on Tommy Shelby as a father. Like how many kids you’d think he would have had if he only had one love interest (no falling in love with Grace or marrying Lizzie). Or if you think he’d be a girl or boy dad (personally i’d like to think he’d be a girl dad and have a big family haha). You can make this headcanon or just simply respond to this ask however you’d like! Thank you for taking the time to read and answer 🥰

Thomas Shelby as a Father

Tommy x Fem!Reader

Trope: Wait till your father gets home Warnings: Angst, spoilers for most of the series, period-typical sexism, references to past ab-se.

What we see of Tommy as a father is that he's distant and seemingly detached. This, I feel, is because of his trauma in losing Grace and his growing obsession with obtaining power.

We do see that Tommy is aware of his children's emotional state but seems unable to comfort his son. He goes as far as to have Arthur be the one to talk to his son about why he had to shoot his horse.

Tommy clearly cares about his children. He runs through a field of landmines to save his son, when he had almost stepped on one to purposely end his own life. Tommy goes nearly mad when he finds out Alfie Solomons was involved with the enemy that kidnapped his son. He shot Alfie for that betrayal with the intent to kill.

When Ruby became ill and he thought was all due to a curse, Tommy hunted the woman down. He went on a bloody rampage because he thought it would save her. With all of this, we know he is a loving father. But without Grace, he doesn't seem to know how to show that love.

Let's say that there is no Grace, only you, and that no sapphire is ever put around your neck.

That Thomas might be different than the one we saw parenting Charles and Ruby. I think he would want more than two children. I think he would be the sort of man who would say "one is enough," but really he wants four.

He would never raise his voice in his home without good reason. Tommy knows what its like to have a father that rules through fear and honey. He won't be kind only when he wants something. He won't make his children afraid of him.

Personally, I do see him as prime girl-dad material. Like he would have one son and three girls. Regardless of the birthing order, he calls the boy his "heir," but spoils the girls. They each have their own horse, a wardrobe of beautiful clothing, and freedom to do literally whatever they want. He has opened his briefcase to find dollies and teacups from your youngest girl's tea set before. She thought he would be lonely at work.

His girls would be the sort to follow around staff and ask them intrusive questions. Tommy would not be immune. His daughters would probably ask him questions like: "Do you not grow hair on the back of your hand daddy? Is that why it's only on top?" At least one of his daughters would have a "I'm totally a witch," phase where she's flinging curses just like he used to. Only with her, it's cute because she's only nine.

The only son of Thomas Shelby would be safely tucked under his wing. At your imploring, he would take your boy on long car rides or out into town without his sisters to bond. The boy has a lot of pressure on him to succeed, Tommy doesn't always sympathize with that.

All four of his children would be little hellions. He would be dragged to see their school's headmaster on a near weekly basis. To the point where he isn't always sure which of his kids is in trouble sometimes. He just drops a donation to the school and the problem goes away. That's not to say your children are bratty or terribly spoiled. Well, they are, but not unbearably so...

Tommy makes sure his children understand where he came from. He brings them all to the Cut to watch the ships come through. Loves to leave them at Charlie's yard for an afternoon of mischief and bonding time with "Grandpa Charlie." They also get dropped off at Aunt Polly's home for weekends every now and again. The girls always come back with a new swear word.

They are new money, not old money. There are those who will look down upon them based on this alone. He makes sure his children are educated and well-rounded individuals. Tommy often worries about the state of the Shelby Empire after he dies. You remind him that he "isn't allowed to die," before you say so.

Tommy is still more distant than you would like him to be. He's so focused on his goals, it's like he forgets all about Arrow House and the family that lives there. The oldest two girls have said as much to his face once before. He took the family on holiday after that. You knew he would go right back to long nights in the office, but it was still sweet.

Life with him is hardly perfect, but it's closer to it than you could have with anybody else. And that's enough.

[meanbossart]

I gotta ask this has been rattling in my brain for a while.

How did your DU drow react when Astarion asked him for help with the ritual? What were his thoughts? Or was he simply like stop it, no, we aren't doing that. OH, How did you picture your Astarion and DU Drow react after he "died" and was brought back? I know that we don't really get that much dialogue or reaction from the companions when that happens (Praying they add something later down the line in another patch)

Again thank you for sharing your beautiful art and fanfic with all of us its so refreshing to see!!! :)

OHOHOHO I'm glad you asked. I feel like that first question is very revealing of DU drow's character and It was a fun moment to ponder upon, because I think much of his behavior might lead one to believe he would be willing to go along with whatever Astarion wants, instead of pushing back at all, at least on the surface.

There's two factors at play here - first, DU drow knows of his heritage at that point, and thanks to the blank-slate treatment of the tadpole he's gotten a brand new perspective on it by the time he learns of the truth. Prior to losing his memories, accepting the fate that Bhaal had bestowed onto him felt like a choice and the best thing that ever happened to him in life, a confirmation that he was special and destined for greatness instead of just damned to the lowly existence he had endured so far. After his brain is scrambled however, DU drow got a taste of what true freedom feels like while unburdened by his upbringing; he's strong, he's powerful, he's self-sufficient, he enjoys the fruits of his labor without appreciating what got him here - he does not feel like he needs Bhaal, and the fact he ever did is laughable at best and violating at worse. This leads him to abhor the idea of depending on higher power to succeed instead of just raising oneself up by their own merits, or abiding by any mentality where you take orders from a source.

So when Astarion speaks of ascension, and especially after he learns of the source of that power (Infernal magic) he's disillusioned by it. While his memories are still hazy, the situation still feels awfully familiar to him. He doesn't think Astarion needs that higher power because he doesn't, either, and to take it would surrendering to fear and giving away even more of his autonomy than he already has.

And if that sounds a little self centered and like he's missing some of the point, it's because he is. While DU drow has fallen in love with Astarion by that stage in the story and wants what's best for him (he actually entertains the idea of him ascending up to a point - he wants him to be happy) he still has a difficult time empathizing with others. Ascending feels like a bad choice, but he can only justify that feeling from his own, narrow perspective.

(I mused on about characterization for too long again. So more under the cut - the sky is blue the sun is hot etc.)

Then there's the uglier, far more vulnerable and knee-jerk reaction to it. Now that Bhaal is no longer his purpose in life or the gift he once felt it to be, Astarion has taken it's place. Bhaal needed DU drow, in his eyes, much like Astarion does now. And as much as the vampire might have told him that his feelings on the matter changed (and that he was no longer manipulating DU drow for his own ends alone) he can't fathom a reason to be kept around unless he continues to be needed. He has slotted himself as Astarion's protector and devotee, and a vampire lord does not sound like they need much of either.

As much as he would never admit to it, DU drow does not know a life where he doesn't pledge himself, body and soul, to another purpose. He seems like he's happy to barrel through life directionless, but he needs something that anchors him or he has an inexplicable feeling that something terrible will happen. And honestly, maybe he's right - for a man who loves killing, he has a much easier time applying some strategy to that desire as long as he's doing it to some an specific end. Without Astarion, he probably feels like his choices are to either submit to his hedonism entirely or just lie down and die.

I don't need to spell out that this is pure codependency at it's finest.

So, when Astarion asks for help to complete the ritual he is conflicted. He wants to do whatever Astarion wants, but his brain is setting off alarm bells that, if he acquiesces, this will be the end for them and for him. And whatever comes after is a terrifying void of nothing. While he loves Astarion and ultimately does the right choice in pleading with him to give up on this power, his motivations are far from selfless or pure, as much as DU drow may not yet realize it.

This is why, after everything takes place, and specially once he severs his connection to Bhaal and his mind clears a little further, DU drow would go on to grapple with a lot of guilt for taking this opportunity away from Astarion, as I have touched on in the fic and will continue to do so. He's happy to feel like he has a reason to be kept around, but the inevitable hurdles that Astarion must continue to face as a spawn are obviously painful to witness. This is why he dives full force into trying to "fix" his vampirism instead, following that.

NOW, FOR THE NEXT AND HOPEFULLY FAR BRIEFER ANSWER TO YOUR OTHER QUESTION (spoiler alert, it's not brief at all, god damn it):

Yeah everyone just standing around in that scene feels little weird LOL not that it took away too much from how dope a cutscene it was (I probably watched it with the attentiveness of a sport's fan witnessing a footbal game turning in the last 10 minutes of a match) but If I were to embellish it instead of just going with something like "everyone is shell-shocked and paralyzed", I would say Shadowheart is the first to rush over to see if there's anything at all she can do to help, and probably the first (and only, in that moment) to break down crying. I think she very quickly composes herself after he's brought back, tells him he gave her the scare of a fucking lifetime and that he's the luckiest idiot in all of the realms - but that she's glad he's back. No hugs for him though LOL

Astarion is pretty much the opposite, that he would stand there in shock feels kind of apt to me. Like, holy shit, what just happened? Did one of the only good things in my life really just get taken away in the blink of an eye? Am I just cursed to have everything snatched away from my hand as soon as I'm growing comfortable with it? Yes, of course I am. What else did I expect. When DU drow pops back up he's probably like "Oh yeah I knew it'd be fine" (plus the little Twee comment, that was very funny to me.) and DU drow is similarly going "Oh definitely, it was my plan all along to be killed and then resurrected by an ominous house-keeper skeleton this whole time. Anyway, smooch for a dead man?"

This... Clearly very traumatic little incident is probably addressed by them only later. He gets a kiss and a hug at camp and a very stern "if you do that shit again I'm raising you back up just to kill you myself" from Astarion and Shadowheart's just down to drink in celebration and drown her trauma away for now lmao.

OH YEAH AND GALE WAS ALSO THERE. There was a whole Gale debacle in my playthrough but, the TL;DR, is that especially towards the end of the game he was Not in the best of terms with DU drow. Still, I obviously think he's an empathetic person and had his own "oh shit" moment. I'd say he takes this opportunity to try extending a very sincere hand out to him later that day, both for his courage in defying a god and dumb-luck - which DU drow completely passes on like an asshole and just gives him a cold-shoulder about, leaving feeling even more dejected than he already was and probably further cementing his choice to pursue the crown of Karsus later, despite DU drow's disapproval. Good job buddy!

Thank you so much for the ask and for your lovely compliments!!! Sorry for writing you a dang ESSAY 😬

[randomshyperson]

A pinch of paprika | Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: The night when Vision cooks for Wanda end very differently than how it went because you show up to save the dinner (and the girl). | Writing Challenge

Warning: None, it’s pure fluff with teasing and bad jokes.| Words: 1.269k

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

“Wanda, no one dislikes you.”

She would have chuckled at the Synthesized's clumsy attempt to improve her mood - It was kind, after all. - But she didn't get the chance. Another figure was entering the kitchen at the same moment Vision made the comment, and your teasing expression drew a much more sincere smile from her.

"Oh, don't speak for me, Microwave." You told him, only to look at the witch standing at the stove the next moment. "I haven't decided my opinion on that cute little witch yet."

Wanda giggles shyly at the nickname, blushing at the greeting wink you throw her. She doesn't know exactly when you two fell into this playful and comfortable dynamic, she just knows it happened and that she wouldn't trade it for anything.

Or well, maybe she could add something more...

"Hello, Miss Rogers." Vision greets half-heartedly at the sudden arrival. "I did not realize that you were still in the Tower. I figured with the current status of the Accords, you would have joined your brother..."

You waved - cutting him off as if the Robot's questioning mattered little to you. It was true because Wanda had your complete attention. Or, rather, almost, because you seemed quite curious about the pot of food.

"What is this supposed to be?" You ask her with the same tone as before, but now, much closer, enough to press your arms together when you lean in to smell the contents of the pan. 

Wanda holds the spoon a little tighter. "Vision was making dinner."

You frown, looking at the robot in surprise. "I thought you couldn't eat, champ."

The machine clears its throat (Or mimics the motion, whichever way it operates). 

"I was intending to raise Mrs. Maximoff's spirits." He clarifies by exchanging a look between you and Wanda. "Given the current circumstances, a comfort food should bring, well, comfort."

"Got it." You murmur offering a forced smile to the Synthesized. Wanda has no idea of the jealousy that burns in your chest at having to witness Vision think about this before you can. Screw the Accords for keeping you busy often enough. 

The next moment, you taste the food, and your reaction is much more exaggerated than Wanda's, and maybe it's on purpose.

"Dude, whatever it is you tried to do here, it needs an intervention." You sneer and it's mean enough for Wanda to give you a gentle nudge for the robot's expression. You sigh begrudgingly. "Tell you what, Wanda and I will go get some ingredients at the market and you stay away from the stove-"

But just as you make mention of leaving the kitchen, Vision stands in your way. He exchanges a quick glance with Wanda to your confused chuckle.

"I'm afraid this isn't the best idea, Miss Rogers." He starts evidently uncomfortable with the whole thing. 

"Dude. what the...?"

"Vision." Interferes with the witch, stepping forward. " Aren't you letting us leave?"

The Synthesized, clearly embarrassed, tries to keep his gaze on you. "I'm very sorry, but those were Mr.Stark's orders. Y/N, you shouldn't even be in the tower, but now that you are, Tony fears that other incidents might happen... It's all to ensure safety-"

The shove throws Vision at least five steps away. He locks his jaw, but you glare at him angrily. 

"Get out of my way, Vision." You warn between teeth, raising a finger at the other. "Don't play Stark's butler on me. I'll have your ass unplugged."

With a gentle point toward the Stone on his head, you lower your hand. The Synthesized, though hesitating for a second, eventually steps forward.

"If you want to leave, you have every freedom to do so." He says seriously. "But Miss Maximoff-"

"Comes with me." You cut in, grabbing Wanda's hand with a tug. She gasps softly and holds your wrist with her free one, divided on not causing more trouble or just following you wherever you want. Your expression remains irritated toward the robot. "What kind of fucking attitude is that now, Vision? Betraying your own family and all that bull shit. I thought you cared about Wanda."

Vision's posture breaks, and it is evident that he would have blushed if he could. The Synthesized lowers his head in shame, and you sigh to calm yourself. When you speak again, it is much more tender than before.

"Me and Wanda just get something decent to eat. No trouble, no fuss." You say and move at a slow pace. Vision makes no mention of interfering now, and remains head down. "In the meantime, call Tony and tell him to stop being a dick."

Wanda bites back a laugh, gently pushing you out of the kitchen.

It shouldn't surprise her that you drive her into the garage, nor that you steal - borrow without asking - one of Stark's pickup trucks either. But still, seeing the set of backpacks inside, Wanda has to confirm:

"We're not going to the market, are we?"

You laugh. "Of course not, little witch." You assure her, stepping inside at the same time she does. The garage door opens, and you waste no time in taking the car out through the back of the Compound, the longer way but one that would arouse less suspicion. Splitting your gaze between the road and Wanda, you speak again: "I really thought there was something strange about this quarantine of yours, I had to check it out. Do you really think I was gonna let Tony Stark ground you? Even worse, with a guard dog at the door? Fuck them all. I'm taking you somewhere safe."

"B-but your brother..."

Your hand finds hers. "He will fight his own battles, as always." You retort gently, lacing your fingers over her thigh. "He's always done everything for Bucky, Wands. Nothing is going to change that. And I...I have someone like that now and I understand him. I finally do."

Wanda swallows dryly, shifting her gaze to your joined hands, her heart thumping in her chest. "This someone...you're talking about Natasha, right?"

You burst out laughing so loudly that you almost lose control of the car. Wanda would have slapped you if you weren't holding her hand. "Oh my god, I'm going all Thelma and Louise on you right now and you think I like Natasha? What the fuck..."

"Can you stop the car, please?" She cuts you off, and you grimace. 

"We should probably move further away before-"

"I'm going to kiss you, asshole, and I don't want you to crash"

"Oh. Oh... O- okay, sure." You mumble quickly, very flushed. You let go of Wanda's hand only to shift gears, and you've barely parked on the side of the road and she's grabbing the collar of your shirt. 

The first kiss you share on the highway exit under the starry New York sky tastes like chicken seasoning.

You and Wanda break into breathless laughter. 

"Vision really is a terrible cook." You comment, feeling your stomach fill with nervous butterflies at the way Wanda is staring at you.

She giggles at the comment, helping you wipe some of the smeared lipstick from your lips. "And I'm still starving, detka. Can we get something to eat on the way?"

"Anything for my little witch." You assure with a passionate smile, and Wanda kisses you again before letting you get back to driving.

Many hours later, when Clint finds you guys at one of Natasha’s safe houses, he would pretend not to notice the lipstick marks fading into the collar of your shirt, nor the matching purple marks on Wanda's neck.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Scorpio Curse (König x F!OC)

Part 2/3 of Valkyrie

(Part 1 here)

Summary: König gets an order to make a female SpecGru sniper talk, but König doesn't want to hurt women.

Category: Smut 🔞, angst, fluff

Tags & warnings: Explicit mature content +18 audiences only, strangers to lovers (slight enemies to lovers), dubious consent, threats of rape, virgin!König, size kink, size difference, p in v, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, squirting, hugs and cuddles, super fluffy ending. König will be named in later chapters. 

Part 2: Mostly König who is in desperate need of a hug (don't worry, he will get it soon enough :*)

A/N: KorTac and SpecGru are rivaling military contractors, Conor is König's superior (and a huge villain), and I just wanted to write angsty smut featuring our favourite Austrian boi. 

"You should've come to me, König."

He was still here.

No one had told him to leave his stuff and sign the papers and get the fuck out.

He had been called to see the team leader, though.

Immediately.

"It's true that we don't do that shit. Especially with the SpecGru, not after everything that already went through."

He told his side of the story, and apparently, the command agreed that Conor had made a mistake.

"Your superior officer slipped, but that doesn't mean you have the right to do whatever the fuck you deem more appropriate."

The leader's cheeks were red, and his voice traveled from peaceful, tired account to a booming loud yell.

"To tell you the truth, König, you're good at what you do. But pull this kind of shit again, and the KorTac will ensure you lose your rifle for good. They'll make sure you'll get spat in the face in every fucking PMC on this fucking planet, you hear me?"

He was surprised he didn't catch spit flying right now.

"Sir."

"Now go fix that goddamn fence."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

König, former weapons sergeant of the Jagdkommando and current operator of the special forces known as KorTac, felt like a fresh recruit when he turned heel and marched from the office. He thought about asking whether the surveillance tape would be destroyed or if it was already but sensed that this was not the best moment to ask questions. The leader's tired voice followed him as he walked away with cold sweat tingling down his back.

"Jesus. Where did you even get those bolt cutters.."

He worked half a day to get it right. Repairing the fence was easy, but fixing it so that it wasn't a weak spot in the area's defense was not. He had kneeled down in this exact same spot less than 24 hours ago, with a tense, silent cargo thrown on his back in a fireman's carry.

He had yanked the door to the surveillance room open to let the men know they could get a coffee break while he watched the prisoner — only to find that there was no one there. He had been played twice the fool, and she had paid the price. He wasn't man enough to tell her it had been all in vain when he went to get her.

He certainly wasn't going to tell her that he would still do it all again.

She stayed mute the whole journey to the fence, remained quiet even when he placed her gently on the ground and showed her the hole he had made on the chain link fence for her to crawl through.

"There you go, little Walküre."

She stared at his work for a while, sniffed, then looked up at him.

"You think you can fit through that?" He asked, although he had made sure the hole was big enough for even him to go through.

"Yeah…" she uttered her first words since forever before reaching for her road to freedom. Realizing she was still tied, she pivoted back.

"My hands.." she started, but he was already kneeling on the ground with his combat knife pulled out. With utter care, he cut her loose. She caught him after it was done, and he glanced at those tiny fingers that barely reached to close around his wrists.

"Thank you."

He raised his stare, and her eyes bored into his as she ensured her words had sunk in. Then she turned, dived for the hole… but turned back again.

"König."

He had enough time to discover that the naked pain in her eyes was of the exact same kind as the agony spreading in his heart before she leaped to him, threw her arms around him — and suddenly, he was home.

"Don't get yourself killed." Her voice was a muffled sob that hit his skin through the mask as she pressed her face against his neck and squeezed him with a surprising amount of strength. Dumbfounded, he raised his arms but wasn't sure if she would welcome the touch. He didn't want her to think he would seize her just when she had been offered a way out.

"Promise that you won't get killed."

He knew that he would probably get maimed for this. At the very least, he would lose his contract. But he hadn't even thought about it when he made that hole and carried her here.

She released him and pulled back. Her eyes were pure attention, a time-halting awareness that seized him without warning. It didn't matter that he was loaded with gear, that he had a helmet and a mask on. She could see him. All of him. And she smiled.

Then she reached for his mask.

He did nothing to stop her as she grabbed the hood and started to lift it. His vision went black with the ascending cloth for the longest second…

And then he could see again — see her wide eyes roam his face. The silence was pierced by a few raindrops, the first of an impending heavy rain. They landed on his helmet and on his arm guards, specked on her cheeks as they fell from the heavy clouds above them.

"Wow," she breathed, with parted lips and eyes that sparkled.

She grabbed his helmet through the cloth and pushed both the hood and the piece of metal away. The bundle landed somewhere next to him with a soft clunk a second before her lips pressed against his.

Rain fell, and with it, the paint from around his eyes — all the black he had surrounded himself with ran down his cheeks and neck, all the way under the collar of his shirt and over his heart that thumped like a maniac. They were in a warm August shower together, and she pulled him by his neck, threatened to swallow him, and he could do nothing but melt and surrender and answer with the same gentle hunger.

Her fingers swept across his chin; they caressed his temples, brushed his scalp, and tugged at his hair, not hindered by the fact that there wasn't much to grab hold of in the classic military undercut. They slid down his neck, grabbed his tactical vest, and pulled him deeper into the kiss. She sucked his lip, kissed the raindrops away, and he was hard as a rock even in the pants that were soaked and cool.

When she relented, all too soon, he would've given everything to freeze time and stay there. Under that hail, kneeled in that mud — with her, forever.

"I can't go through that fence unless you promise me," she panted in his mouth, and every single fiber in his body told him not to promise anything. He wanted to grab her instead, take her back, tuck her somewhere safe, and keep her as his own.

"Ok," he whispered.

A gush of hot air landed on his face as she gave a short laugh.

"Ok what?" She smiled against his mouth, her teeth colliding with his lips.

"I… promise."

"'Atta boy," he felt the words before he heard them, and she kissed him once more, and he could've drowned in that kiss. In those words.

"I'll never forget this," she said, lips wet with all that rain, eyes blinking through the drops that slithered down her face and got caught in her lashes.

I'll never forget you.

"No problem."

"No problem…? God. Could you get any more charming?"

She thought he was charming…

"Just one more thing, hero."

She bit her lip, looked down on the soaked grass, then up at him, and smiled.

“What’s with the hood? I really don’t get it. You look super nice.” She winked an eye at him. And then she turned and crawled through that hole and vanished into the darkness.

He was left alone in the descending rain, and there he had remained ever since.

He was convinced he still had her scent on him. He never washed that shirt he had been wearing the day he lifted her in his lap. He tried to catch her from it, and for a few days, he thought he actually did. But then that scent became only a memory.

Nevertheless, it followed him everywhere. No one knew that he was encompassed by it. That he was shrouded with her as he walked the base or rose on the plane.

Days passed by, and he still felt her lips on his own. Her taste in his mouth. Felt her legs around him, her soft walls surrounding him.

He replayed the frenzied vision over and over again in his head to remind himself that he had truly been inside her. That he had made her produce all those sounds. Made her clench around him and smell like honeydew and summers by the lake. He realized that he had started to truly live only after he had opened the door to that bleak room full of her. And then his life froze like a movie that was pressed on an eternal pause as he saw the soles of her boots push against the muddy ground to get her through that fence and away from him.

Three weeks passed — three weeks without her.

He did his job, went on missions, and executed orders to the letter.

But mostly, he was in his thoughts.

Mostly, he thought of her.

He thought of her when he had a rifle in his hand during ops. He thought of her during briefings, when he did deadlifts, racked a barbell after bench press, or sparred with training knives.

He thought of her in showers, in the mess hall, and most of all, in bed at night when he stroked himself to a release that eased his sleep.

He had never been so virile, not even as a teen. His libido was off the roof as the only thing he could think about was how he could get to jerk himself off in the shower stall or in his bunk after the day was done. Thoughts of her were his reward, the only thing that seemed to sustain him.

She was the most radiant thing in his life: everything else had faded away, turned to gray and black. Monotone, lifeless, empty. The pain faded for a while every time he came into his fist. Then it hit him with an even more crippling force as he realized that she wasn't real; she wasn't here.

Still, he fantasized what it would be like to hold her after, how they would drift off to sleep together. He envisioned her skin, her scent, her hair. The top of her head against his chin, her little hands around his neck, her laugh, all of it.

Sometimes when he had a hard day, he fantasized how her body would press softly against his back, and she would slide an arm around him, and it would disappear beneath his shirt. Her palm would come and rest right where his heart was, and she would just hold him.

On the worst days, he cried. He thought of the bullies and what they would say and how they would laugh if they saw him now, curled up in the soiled sheets with a cock in his hand, falling asleep on a tear-soaked pillow.

After a few months, he started to dissolve.

He got reckless on the field — jumped out of the helo before it had even landed properly, was all sloppy with his cover, wasted bullets, and revealed his position for the sake of getting up close and personal, for having the satisfaction of killing his opponents with a knife or with his bare hands.

People complained. Hutch complained, Fender complained — even Zero complained.

Some said it was just good old König, that he didn't care. Medics said he had a guardian angel with him when he never got hit, got barely even scratched when at the same time, some of the best operators were severely injured.

And some saw right through it.

"He fell in love with that sniper bitch. That's what's wrong with 'im," Conor had said.

He had nearly attacked the man for what he said — what he had called her. His angel.

But he knew that's what Conor wanted: to taunt him into making a mistake that would result in his dismissal from the force. Would probably destroy his chances to continue a career anywhere in the military. And then he would quickly find himself in civilian life, where he had never quite fit into.

"Promise me you won't get killed."

He had promised her to stay alive, and he couldn't disappoint her. So it became a prayer. Every night he made an offering to her, so she would keep him safe. No bullet could touch him. He knew that somehow she could feel his longing, the love he had for her. She would protect her like the war maiden that she was. And even if he caught that bullet, he knew it would only take him to heaven. She had already carried him there.

Six months without her, and people started to fear him.

His teammates looked at him with dread as he geared up for missions with the secret knowledge that he was practically immortal. The team leader said he resembled a machine, and he took it as a compliment. Even Lieutenant kept his mouth shut and looked at him with something akin to respect.

But he got even more time off when he wanted the exact opposite. He was pretty sure that there was a note in his file now. Right after the screaming red words released a prisoner without the requisite order from a superior officer. A comment that said he was behaving wrong, that he was unstable or something. They offered him cognitive therapy, sleeping pills, meditation groups, ice baths, even acupuncture. He turned it all down, knowing that it was no use.

And so they sent him home more and more often.

It was even worse there. He never wanted the leaves, but KorTac was firm in their protocol. Contract soldiers needed time off duty to prevent "substantial impairment concerning the operator's ability to work." Even if he wanted to, he couldn't stay in the barracks and get every mission he could get his hands on.

He sat in his apartment, slept late, went for a swim, went to the gym, and came back to sit and sleep. He thought of her when he walked the streets with a hole in his chest, a hole as deep as the Mariana Trench. He saw her in all the women of the same height and weight as her. At some point, he realized he had never paid so much attention to women as he did now.

"Go get a pint and a girl, König. Just get it out of your head."

Zero meant well, but he could've punched him too for saying that.

He didn't want a girl; he wanted her.

Pint sounded good, though. He had visited the nearest pub only a few times before, but the place had only reminded him that he was not home and that pubs were different from bierstubes. But right now, he didn't want to go back to that cold, dark flat to stare at the ceiling and wait till sleep would come.

He pushed the door open and stomped his feet on the mat even though it didn't rain outside. He walked further into the dimly lit hall and saw that early evening wasn't the busiest time in this place: more than half of the tables were empty.

And then he looked for the counter and saw her.

His Kriegsmädchen was there.

His Walküre was here.

She was here and looked just the way he remembered her — no, even more luminous. Glowing.

Perhaps he had finally lost it. But he kept looking, blinking, and saw her fingertips curl around a glass, saw the hair she had tied into a high ponytail, the smile that spread across her face just before she laughed.

The angelic sound went straight between his legs and stabbed a hole in his gut, and he was bleeding — months and months of pain, right there in the hallway of a quiet pub.

She was alive and safe, laughing, and so lovely that his hands started to tremble just as they had when his bullies approached him back in school. It was odd because she was everything but. He took a step, heart thumping and palms sweating, like he was approaching an enemy he knew he had to finish with his bare hands.

He walked to the counter in the eye of a storm, and she evaded his gaze and tried to act like she didn't even notice that some man was striding toward her.

Did men approach her often?

Of course they did. And she tried to look like an immovable stone, a prey that wouldn't draw attention.

"Walküre?"

And only then did she turn her gaze, eyes filled with both fear and hope.

Her mouth opened, and she drew a sharp breath, shoulders tense. He had to fight tooth and nail to not grab her and press her against that counter or kiss her, devour her while he carried her off out that door...

"... Valkyrie?" Her friend repeated sarcastically, with a birth of a laugh on her lips, staring at him like he was a circus attraction. He didn't spare even a glance her way.

Couldn't, because he was mesmerized by the most soothing gaze in the world.

"Hi," she breathed, voice almost breaking.

His eyes went straight to her lips as she said it, the sound far too similar in his mind to the breaths that had escaped her in that dull, grey room.

She cleared her throat and swallowed.

"Kate, this is… Siegfried. A friend from my old job."

He knew he should move, look to the side, and say hello. Act normal. But he couldn't move, couldn't even blink.

She pursed her lips and looked down at her drink, at her friend, and then back up at him.

"Nice to meet you," her friend spoke, and he finally managed to turn his eyes toward her and nod slowly.

“You must be the battering ram.” She took a sip of her drink with a flash of eyebrows.

He heard a sharp inhale from beside him and only wanted to ignore everything and everyone else in the room except for the one who gasped like that.

“You know, the one they send to charge through doors?”

“Done that too.”

The friend called Kate's eyes widened from the stare he knew made most people uncomfortable.

"What are you doing here?"

His angel spoke, and he turned. She was looking even more beautiful with flushed cheeks. It was strange to see her like this: sitting gracefully on that bar stool, wearing jeans and a bit of mascara. She wasn't covered in dirt and sleepless nights and fear, and he realized that he never wanted to see her like that again. He wanted her safe and sound, and happy; even if she had come on this earth to fight, just like he, even if she was deadly with a rifle. Even if she was a more able-bodied sniper than he ever could be.

"To get a lager."

"No, I mean," she laughed, sending warmth between his legs, "Why are you here, here?"

After a blink or two, he realized she meant the town.

"I'm on leave. I live here."

"Oh." She bit her lip. "Kate, um. Would you… Would you mind if we catch up a bit?"

He saw from the corner of his eye that the woman looked him up and down, and then a smile started to creep up her face.

"You know what June, I think I'm gonna head home. You two catch up for as long as you need and I'll see ya later, ok?"

Her name was June.

Like midsummer fests and seagulls and Radler.

Honey and raindrops…

"I'll go grab a table," he declared, thinking how odd that sounded, thinking whether his English was somehow off. As if he was going to physically grab a table and raise it in the air...

Kate chuckled behind his back as he turned and headed for a darker, more private corner.

"Jesus Christ, June… I knew you did some special commando shit, but that guy is -"

"Will you keep your voice down?"

"I mean… If you catch up all night, I doubt you'll be able to walk tomorrow."

"Kate…! "

The rest of the exchange of words faded as he reached the table and adjusted the chairs to be able to sit down.

Then he noticed that he was still wearing his jacket and got up to take it off. He saw her coming with her drink in hand, and she flashed a smile at him as he threw the leather bomber across the chair next to him.

"Nice jacket."

He looked down at the dark brown leather, worn and looking mostly what people called vintage or something.

"You gonna go get that beer, sweetie?"

Sweetie.

Sweetie.

"Ja," he nodded, turned, and marched back to the counter.

He ordered a beer, then asked what the lady over there was having.

"I think she, ah… ordered a mojito." The bartender extended his neck to the side to glance at their table. "Yeah, that's a mojito."

"One of those as well."

The man gave him a look that distinctly said You really think you're gonna get some of that? He didn't know what it was in his aura that told people he was a loser. Or a menace. And he didn't know which of those looks made the pain worse. But all of it faded instantly as she greeted him with a shy smile when he returned to the table with the drinks.

"Oh, you shouldn't have… I haven't even finished this one." She raised those lovely eyes at him, smiling, smiling… "Thank you, König."

Her fingertips brushed his as he gave it to her, the glass sweating with tiny cold drops of condensed water. She had pale pink, almost nude nail polish that made her nails look shiny and pure, her hands even more delicate. She watched as he scoured through the chairs to take a seat, pick a coaster and place his own glass on the table.

"A big one."

She then turned those playful faerie eyes on him, and he was suddenly grateful that he had picked the loose, black cargo pants to wear today… and that he was sitting.

"This is considered a small beer where I come from."

"I'm sure it is," she chuckled. The tight, white t-shirt she wore reminded him of the first time he had seen her, even though it was not one of those heavy cotton, military shirts. He grabbed the beer to do something, anything, and raised it to his lips, almost pouring the liquid all over him when he took a sip. She watched him gulp and smiled even wider. He was half hard at that point and had to spread his legs to accommodate and conceal what was happening in his pants and under the table.

"What about you, Walküre? What are you doing here?"

"I'm helping a friend -uh, Kate. She had an awful breakup."

He nodded and kept picking up his beer, drinking a small sip and trying to hit the center of the coaster as he set the glass back down.

"You're not with SpecGru anymore?"

"I signed off one week after… After. You know."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, even though he wasn't sorry at all. At least, not for the fact that she was out of harm's way.

"Nah, don't be. It was for the best. I'm able to sleep at night and everything."

She had trouble sleeping? Maybe that's why she looked even more radiant than before. She had slept well.

"I was worried about you."

"Really?" she tilted her head to the side, and her eyes started to shine even brighter.

"... that you might not find your way home."

"I'm a big girl. Trained with the Green Berets and everything.. But it warms my heart to hear that. I worried about you, too."

"You did?"

"Yeah. Sure, I mean… I was afraid you'd get into some trouble because of me."

Someone laughed at the next table, but the unexpected sound reached him through a comfortable haze; like he was sitting underwater. The battlefield wasn't nearly as distressing an environment as this peaceful pub - or any other place he rarely visited. But this time, with her, it was not too bad. His senses were blown wide, but he wasn't afraid.

"Also ja… They did yell at me."

"That's horrible. I could never yell at you."

He felt himself nearly choke on the beer, tried to breathe through his nose, and forced the liquid down with an audible gulp.

"You kept your promise," she said in a low voice, her smile fading slightly. Her eyes locked with his, and he basked in the warmth.

"Natürlich."

I prayed for you every single night, Kriegsmädchen.

She gave him a small, sad smile and looked down, swirling her ice-filled glass.

"You know I…" she started, took a breath, then another. "I've missed you, König."

He squeezed the tall glass before realizing that it might actually break at some point.

"I've missed you too, Walküre."

He looked at his beer, still halfway full, and then at the completely untouched drink he had brought her.

"You want to go to my place?"

Part 3:

[cosmicjoke]

Man, okay, chapter 58 of "Saezuru", and this one was a doozy.

As usual, the Yakuza plot is super complex and involved, and I think I'm going to have to go back over previous chapters to make heads or tails of it. So I'll just focus on Yashiro and Doumeki, and in turn, Misumi and Tsunakawa for now.

So the cat's just out of the bag with Misumi finding out about Yashiro's involvement with Doumeki (though it seems clear to me that he isn't really aware of their sexual relations at this point, and I dread to find out what his reaction will be if he does find that out). What I didn't expect here was for Tsunakawa to basically start shit by telling Misumi about Doumeki, seemingly just to see what his reaction would be. But clearly, there's some deeper agenda at play. I think he's trying to gauge just how involved with Yashiro Doumeki is, and seeing Misumi's over the top reaction to finding out that he essentially sent Yashiro to the same place Doumeki was is going to give Tsunakawa a pretty good idea. He's going to know from Misumi's reaction that Yashiro and Doumeki aren't just "friends" or associates, or working together on business. Misumi is obviously pissed, but I think he'll be a lot MORE pissed if he finds out that Doumeki's been going to Yashiro for, it seems, the last two weeks, every time he has a moment to (and I'll get into that in a bit here). I've said before that Misumi's possessiveness of Yashiro would cause him to be particularly unhappy if he were to find out Doumeki is back in Yashiro's life, because I think he sees Doumeki as a threat to his hold on Yashiro. Also just to add, Misumi saying "That fucker hid it from me", with regards to Yashiro, also seems to convey just how pissed Misumi clearly is.

I also found Tsunakawa's comment about Yashiro seemingly having it good, and Misumi's response to that really interesting. Misumi says "Is that how you see it?", which implies to me that Misumi is aware that he basically keeps Yashiro in a kind of prison. That he may appear to have the freedom to move about and do what he wants, but the reality is, he's been under Misumi's control and thumb for over 20 years at this point. He isn't free at all, actually.

And okay, so... I don't know what the heck Doumeki is doing or thinking at this point. The fact he's been going to Yashiro over and over, for the last few weeks, having sex with him and then leaving, all the while clearly driving home to Yashiro the message that he doesn't have any feelings for him any longer and is just using him for sex... I can't imagine the toll this is taking on Yashiro mentally, and I can't imagine what it is Doumeki is trying to accomplish with this, other than keeping Yashiro in traction and basically trapped. I'm just going to flat out say I don't like it, and I think Doumeki is doing Yashiro a lot of harm at this point. He needs to quit pretending he doesn't care, and I think in order to do that, Doumeki is just going to have to face his own fears of losing Yashiro and accept whatever happens. I spoke before about how Doumeki is trying to control Yashiro, to keep him from running away, and a lot of that is rooted in a possessiveness that, frankly, he has no right to. Again and again throughout his life, Yashiro has been treated like an object and a possession by other men, and I see Doumeki doing the same to him now, and it really sucks. He's fucking with Yashiro's head, whether intentional or not, and given Yashiro's mental problems, I think it's wrong and potentially irrevocably damaging to him.

I think Yashiro's agitation toward Kageyama is sort of indicative of his growing despair, too. Kuga comes in and starts questioning him about Doumeki, and just Kuga being there, with Kage, is serving as yet another reminder of Yashiro's own isolation and loneliness. He gave Kuga to Kage, basically, set them up together, and then Kage has the gall to ask Yashiro here if he's alright, and then bring up to him his feelings for Doumeki. Given their history together, and his own obliviousness to Yashiro's feelings, that must seem particularly insulting and like rubbing salt into the wound for Yashiro. Kage also badgering Yashiro to "get out already" of the Yakuza, as if it's that easy, all while remaining blissfully unaware that Yashiro is only in the Yakuza to begin with because of Kage and the sacrifice Yashiro made to save his friends life and career... yeah, I was feeling pretty pissed at Kage and his usual, shitty ignorance this chapter.

The final images, of the rain starting to come down, and Yashrio remembering his exchange with Doumeki before the time skip, asking him what falling in love feels like for him... well, this is what falling in love feels like for Yashiro. Constant rejection and loss. First with Kage, and now, seemingly, with Doumeki. That last time it was raining, Yashiro seemed to lose Doumeki, after watching him be shot and fall under Hirata's gun. And shortly thereafter, he let Doumeki go, casting him out of his life for both their sakes.

That we see him walking alone in the rain here seems to symbolize his eternal loneliness, the way he's fated to forever love and not be loved in return. The second to last panel, showing Yashiro's pained expression, his teeth gritting together, and his words "Spare me, really,", seems like a plea to the universe to stop tormenting him like this.

How much pain can one person take?

Anyway, these are just my initial impressions after one read through. This was a really dense chapter with a lot going on, so I may have gotten everything wrong, lol. I'm going to go back and read it again, more slowly this time, and if I have any additional thoughts, I'll add them.

Just an additional note. Yashiro replying "No, not really," to Kage's question of whether he intends to quit the Yakuza also seems indicative to me of Yashiro's general feelings of despondency. At the beginning of the time skip, Yashiro seems almost intent on getting out, making real moves toward that end, trying to make enough money to basically buy himself out. But now he's saying he's not even really intending on quitting. I feel like, given what's going on between him and Doumeki, Yashiro is started to feel hopeless, and his resignation to his position in life, despite the misery he's always felt being trapped in that world, seems like an extension of that.

[zel-zo]

Hey so you know how in the Izuru-Fuyuhiko conversation, Izuru assumes Fuyuhiko intends to use Izuru for his talents? And Fuyuhiko refutes that like right away. Based on the recent art you made, do you have any thoughts on Izuru making himself useful (as a meat shield apparently) anyway? Izuru usefulness complex vs. Fuyuhiko 'people arent tools' complex or something like that? Sorry if this is a strange ask to get out of the blue haha I am interested in the narrative.

Ok so this is a FANTASTIC question and it took all my restraint not to send back an entire essay lmao💛💛💛 (correction^ I wrote 544 words of this so, maybe a LITTLE bit of an essay)

So, here are my thoughts on Izuru and Fuyuhiko's potential relationship in DRS:US:

I feel like the reason that Izuru may in fact stay with Fuyuhiko in this scenario (I mean, he outright says that if he were told to be free without orders he would probably just disappear overseas and cut contact,) is Fuyuhuko’s resolve not to use Izuru for his talents. I think that, in one way or another, this wont sit right with Izuru, who can easily reason out the fact that he’s a passive force until acted upon, and if acted upon (or used) for the good of humanity, that would have an overall better net benefit to the world than valuing his independence and letting his talents go to waste. As little as Izuru seems to care about anything, the thought process behind letting him do whatever he wants and not like, idk, make him cure cancer, is an absolutely atrocious error in judgement and has to be the fault of some under-developed moral code of Fuyuhuko’s. I think this intrigue is part of why Izuru would want to stay with Fuyuhuko: to see how long it will take for Fuyu, given ample opportunity, to abandon his personal code and start using Izuru (weather for humanity’s benefit or his own).

Note: I also think this is why Izuru would “make himself useful” (like the meat shield incident). By showing how much he could benefit Fuyuhiko when his talents are used, he’s subtly testing his resolve to keep refraining from doing so.

On the FLIP side we have Fuyuhiko, who’s honestly got a point. He’s definitely not thinking of it in the same big moral strokes that Izuru is, but he is thinking of the basic gist of it: What should you value more, a person’s freedom or the good they can do? In his (learned) opinion, the value a person’s life has and the potential they have for good aren’t exclusive, but that person needs to do the good on their own for it to have meaning. His relationship with Peko comes to mind hard here as someone who has been given a role and carried it out perfectly, denying their own free will in the process. Fuyu doesn’t go through the same lesson in the same way as DR2, but it’s clear that he’s coming to similar conclusions about valuing Peko’s free will in their DRUS interactions. I feel like, similarly, Fuyu would just want Izuru to start giving a damn about being used by people and stop treating himself like a means to an end.

So, does this turn into a genuine friendship? Something more?... Maybe??? I see a lot of interpretations of Izuru’s character were he’s an unfeeling machine, which I personally really dislike. I mean, the man has enough emotion to be bored by being unable to be surprised by anything anymore. He does Cry, even if he doesn’t know why. In my eyes, Izuru is mentally incredibly developed, but emotionally underdeveloped because of his emphasis on learning and usefulness since his ‘creation’. So, these two’s relationship is both ambiguous and up for interpretation, but I do think it has room for Izuru to come to understand Fuyuhuko’s thinking and maybe even start caring for him eventually. Honestly it’s all up to your personal interpretation of Izuru’s character!

But yea, those are just my thoughts! Let me know Your own interpretation!! I love these characters and always wanna hear other people's thoughts on them!!! 💛

[drdemonprince]

I recently finished reading your book Unlearning Shame, and I absolutely loved it. I found the conceptual framework of Internalized Shame and your techniques for it so very helpful, especially when most ideas of mental health (anxiety and depression, trauma, etc.) have seemed insufficient and useless to me.

However, there was one thing that kind of bugged me the whole way through reading it. Your primary focus was the shame people face as part of marginalization, but often, this too felt insufficient for me. Like, I do face a lot of this flavor of shame: I'm an autistic trans woman, feeling like I'm cringey or childish or creepy or obscene or whatever are things that bug me daily, and restrict a lot of my freedom.

However, a lot of the shame I deal with stems from some kind of awful things I've done in the past, and this is perhaps the loneliest and most difficult kind of shame I deal with. To be fair, I think a lot of this has been very closely linked to my marginalization: people would interpret genuine mistakes of mine as signs I was some awful, manipulative predator, and quickly oust me from their friend groups as a result. If I had been an allistic cis man I would have faced far gentler behavior, or at least far more people would have justified the shit I did.

Regardless, very little in the book dealt with shame tied to guilt and wrongdoing. I remember there was mostly just this one tantalizing line about how even previous members of neonazi groups can benefit from speaking shame, but other than that, I didn't see much.

So my question here is, do you know how to deal with the shame of doing something really bad, and facing the consequences?

Thank you for asking, I'm glad you liked the book!

There are answers for you throughout the book, I think. Arguably, many of the examples of shame I outline involve feeling regret or shame over one's actions. People who do not recycle "enough" and feel profound shame and anxiety about it are people who have done something "wrong," in their minds. So are people who have repeated internalized transphobic/racist/fatphobic/etc messages to other people who share the same identities as them. These people's actions are systemically caused, and they are suffering from those same systemic forces that provoked them to take actions they feel bad about.

You aren't any more morally culpable than any of them, and you aren't qualitatively different from them -- even if you are likely telling yourself that what you did is so much "worse" and so much less justified.

You can find much of the advice that I apply to people who feel ashamed about an experience (a rape survivor, say), apply equally to you as someone who might have done something you view as "wrong." You can also look to the material in chapters 7 and 8 about finding grace and perspective for others who have done wrong to us, and apply much of that yourself. A person must be held in community before they can be held accountable, for example. Understanding the circumstances that contributed to your behavior is important, which it sounds like you've already done some work on, as is contemplating the needs you were attempting to meet with your actions, and the social supports you currently still need in order to move forward.

If someone has taken actions that go against even their own morals and they feel profoundly ashamed about it, I'd say they are generally still in a state of far-reaching systemic shame that goes far deeper and requires far more healing and support than just addressing the morality of their own actions. There's usually a lot of shame about one's identities, deprivation one is facing, fears of abandonment and attachment insecurities, and other major issues going on. Because a person wouldn't just violate their own moral precepts for no good reason.

No one wants to feel that they are a horrible person according to their own personal standards of goodness. A person's actions always make sense within their own context, and so when someone does something "wrong," either they have done something that they do not actually believe to be wrong, but fear societal judgement for, or they have been pushed to the brink by extreme distress, deprivation, abuse, indoctrination, political repression, exclusion, or likely a combination of those things.

I hope this is making sense. If you feel ashamed of something you have done, you need the exact same healing, safe vulnerability, social support, and trust as someone who is ashamed about something over which they have no control. There is no difference, you are no more deserving of that shame, and shame still will not prevent you from changing your behavior for the better. You can believe wholly that your actions in the past were wrong, and uphold your current values in the present, without deserving to feel any more shame about it.

[jester-lover]

I just loved your idea 'Dorm Leaders with a Girlfriend Who Wears Suits', it was so cute, beautiful and wonderful, it would be great to have a sequel. Do you think about continuing? Can I order a sequel please? Please!

Note: I totally understand if you don't want to. Continue to do a wonderful job.

Hi anon! Thank you for your ask! The suit post was my most liked post! I’m very proud of it, and I think it helped me develop my writing style. I’ve been wanting to do a part two recently, so here it is. You didn’t mention what you wanted by saying sequel, and since I personally think the dorm leaders have been already done, I’ll do my favorite group, the first years!!

The First Years with a Girlfriend who wears Suits

Warnings: fluff, stupid gender roles being destroyed, very flustered boys, insecurity (not from the reader), talks of gender roles/identity, whoever reads this is so cool, reader is so hot and confident (did I mention she’s so hot)

Ace Trapolla

Oh wow

No matter how much Ace tends to blab on and on, the moment he sees you for the first time he’s left speechless

He’s never met someone who takes up all the attention of a room in such a short time

Deuce, who’s sorta concerned at this point, pokes him and tells him to stop staring at you

But before his dark haired friend can stop him, ace runs up to you and asks for your number

Congratulations! You now have a little idiot boyfriend who would do anything you tell him to

He’s so obsessed with you his dorm members become a little concerned

Your confidence is so strong, you manage to talk him out of getting into trouble on multiple occasions

He knows your sheer presence captivates the students, so he asks you to be in your best suits for formal events

Pro tip: when you put on your uniform in the morning, ask him to help with your tie. He’ll be super flustered

You managed to make him feel shyer than he’s ever felt, butterflies in his stomach with every smile, slight glance or forehead kiss

He definitely takes you to a formal dance so that you can dip him during the romantic songs

“Y/N, I wonder how you stay so confident, I could never!”

Deuce Spade

I hope you understand that he’s willing to lay down everything for you

You definitely win over his mom, showing up with a bouquet of roses and being ever so polite

He’s so surprised someone so confident and beautiful like you would spend time with a wierdo like him

You quickly quell those feelings, he’s the only guy for you!

You help him fix himself up for special occasions, it always makes him feel special, it makes him feel worthy

Your confidence break’s open a certain floodgate in Deuce, suddenly he’s not as worried about appearing completely and utterly reformed every hour of every day

When he’s alone with you, dress shirts loose and ties loosened, he’s free to be himself

“Today has been so difficult, somehow you make it seem so easy.”

Jack Howl

A confident and strong girlfriend is perfect for Jack

Wolves mate for life, and he is so glad it’s you

You always know how to make him feel special, make him feel like the only guy in the world

His tail is wagging rn

You two tend to scare people together, him being really buff, you looking like a 1940s gangster

He opens up to you quickly, he trusts you more than anything

He definitely gets shy whenever you show up to any sporting event he’s playing in, but he plays better than he ever did

You tend to lead the relationship, often times leading him away to dates, spoiling him with presents

(He’s so househusband material)

“Hey! Don’t look at me like that, you know what you do to me…”

Epel Felmier

He wants to be with you, and he wants to be you

You have a level of courage in whatever you wear, while he’s forced to wear whatever Vil puts on him

Now, perhaps you should use your skills of persuasion to get Vil to allow him more freedom

This boy asks you so many questions

How does he appear masculine without Vil noticing?

How do you pair your ties and socks?

Why does his face get all hot every time you smile at him?

Answer him!!

He finds himself being more comfortable with himself around you, his insecurities of being less masculine go away for a brief second

He can be a man for you, and he doesn’t have to pretend

Epel is most grateful for your advice, a girl like you is hard to find

“I don’t even know where to start! We both radiate manliness right now Y/N!”

Sebek Zigvolt

He immediately deemed you sketchy the first time he saw you

Where you a threat to his Young Master?! He needs to keep a close eye on you!

You keep catching the cute mint haired boy staring at you, so you approach him and ask him why he’s staring

loudly

In front of everyone

He’s outraged! How can you make such a mockery of him? In front of Lilia nonetheless! (Cue Lilia, laughing so hard he’s doubling over)

Taking a pen out of your suit pocket, you scroll your number on his wrist, press a kiss to his cheek and walk away

Now he’s quiet, wondering what just happened

Guess he’s your boyfriend now

He definitely texts you good morning every day, asking what you wish to wear today, just so he can emotionally prepare for the fashion he’s about to see

He’ll never say in out loud, but the 70s era suits are his favorite thing you wear

Emotionally constipated crocodile boy has no clue what to do with himself

This one time he caught you without a suit jacket, your dress shirt untucked, just lounging on one of the shabby ramshackle sofas, you looked absolutely stunning, and he just stood there with his jaw open

“HUMAN! W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST SITTING THERE!? YOU’RE ABOUT TO MISS MY DUEL WITH SILVER!”

A sequel was never really in the cards tbh, but i read the request and this came to me. If you ever notice how extensively I write for Sebek, it’s because he’s my favorite hehe. Dialogue is my weak point. Thank you for reading!!!❤️

[transmutationisms]

along w ur plato post uve also mentioned disliking marxist syllabi that make you go chronologically just to understand one author (ie greek philo - hegel - marx)

i was planning to go down this route this yr to combine both my long overdue dive into theory and philosophy, and i actually found this to be less overwhelming than immediately diving into say, continental philosophy or critical theory. i wonder then what other route you'd suggest for philosophy? (since for marxist theory youve pretty much alr answered it in a past ask)

are greek philosophers still "useful" to read for beginners or is it much better off to start with contemporaries? is this a case of "we've actually been doing the math curriculum wrong this entire time" or is it just personal preference. help

depends what you're trying to accomplish, but if someone's in my inbox asking how to get started reading theory or philosophy then i think it's a) unhelpful, and b) needlessly deferent to received ideas of 'canonicity', to perpetuate the notion that there's a single correct order in which to read, and it begins with the same 20 ancient greeks writing about geometrical forms and elemental tetravalence. like, it's worth remembering what's missing from a typical global north university's philosophy syllabus: perhaps most obviously, reams of islamicate scholarship and centuries of dialogue between 'western' and 'eastern' writers often suppressed in favour of a 'dark ages' narrative that just sort of jumps up to the 'renaissance'... and there are so many other, egregious, historically unjustifiable lacunae like this.

it's noble enough to want to know where an idea comes from or what its genealogical lineage is, but to try to discover this by reading through a list drawn up by classicists or philosophy departments is dangerously optimistic about the politicking that shapes and perpetuates such lists. even just reading the works that an author is openly citing or arguing with is lacking: what about, say, hegel, whose idea of freedom and enslavement developed partially in response to reading newspaper coverage of the haitian revolution? he didn't exactly announce that in the text! to read the phenomenology of spirit as merely the next intellectual step after kant is deeply distorted; for that matter, kant's own intellectual influences came not only from a supposed philosophical canon but also from the scientific and anthropological discourses underpinning his biological theory of race and defence of racism.

my issue with the "read chronologically" approach isn't that it's bad to follow a topic over a process of historical change. it's that these received lists of 'canonical' thinkers are artefacts of their own social and historical contexts, and are both produced to certain ideological ends, & then appealed to later in order to enforce and even naturalise those ideologies. if what we want is the context to understand what hegel or marx or adorno were really talking about, we need to engage with the texts as historical documents and with the histories as products of imperfect, biased, and ideologically laden human labour.

i'm not here to tell you not to read whatever you were planning to read. for one thing, sometimes the intellectual influence named in the syllabus is a useful one (there are certain questions about marx and marxian ideas that are easier to understand and answer if you have read at least a little bit of hegel). but, in the context of the overwhelming gatekeeping of knowledge, and the hegemonic use of ideas about canonicity and the 'right' way to read 'classics', if someone asks what they need to do in order to read xyz, i'm pretty much never going to default to "start by reading plato". read things that are interesting to you, however old they are; read about their authors; make liberal use of online resources like the SEP if you need a crash-course on certain concepts or jargon. you certainly don't need to be afraid of reading one text to better understand another. i just don't think you need to be beholden to that mode of reading, either, especially not in a context where the common wisdom on whose work belongs in such a genealogy is predicated on centuries of colonial and imperial scholarship and disseminated by institutions structurally positioned to defend the idea of an enlightened and ennobling western intellectual tradition.

in a certain twisted way, these 'standard' (to whom?) or 'traditional' (since when?) reading lists are often presented as the shortcut to the 'correct' understanding of landmark texts or authors—only, this is a 'shortcut' that considers ideas as disembodied from their real contexts, relating only to one another in an intellectual realm and developing in more or less linear fashion often to some teleological end; and, by dint of the sheer amount of material involved, it's also a 'shortcut' that many people will never actually traverse. i don't have an inherent problem with reading chronologically. i just don't automatically defer to these kinds of syllabi, and i think dethroning them could do us all a lot of good.

[levmada]

it was mutual. right around the time levi learns that erwin's intentions with leading the survey corps aren't completely pure, erwin later is surprised to learn that levi has killed people.

in this case, i think erwin too learns that there is no idolizing levi. specifically being nothing but a force for good only. that he "can do no wrong".

the 1st time levi's feelings about erwin's reveal was directly brought up, it was during their argument about convincing erwin to stay behind. in a nutshell, levi didn't think it was safe, but it was what erwin wanted, so he let him.

the 2nd time, it was the last time they would speak, where the implication is that levi accepts this about him.

i think the two instances in the opposite case were 1st when erwin asked levi if he would take the responsibility of the syringe, and giving it to the person on the brink of death who would need it; specifically, erwin emphasizes that levi should get it and not himself because he is injured, and levi is better at making spur of the moment decisions. levi doesn't understand why he felt the need to ask if that is his mission.

yes everything erwin said is logically true, but still, why does levi get to decide who gets it over erwin? i think that question is why erwin asked levi instead of ordering him, and levi knows it too. erwin even asks "can i trust you with that?" but levi in return just asks what erwin's plans are if erwin's dream comes true.

i think the truth is that levi doesn't know if he can make that choice at this point. levi has not just chosen who should die for the sake of their mission now, but he has killed directly for erwin's dream - those members of the military police specifically - but not who should live.

i think that curiosity is why erwin asks instead of orders him. but levi doesn't consider what he can or can't do, or what qualifies him as morally good or not, when he answers. it's the case that if erwin wants him to do it, then he will.

hence why erwin would directly ask "can i trust you with that?"

i think he wants levi to think of himself - because after all one should wonder what guilt erwin feels for indirectly causing levi to murder human beings - but unlike with going on the expedition, levi won't give him what he wants. (which i feel the need to comment is almost a mirror of eren and mikasa's dynamic.)

the second and last time this is ever directly addressed - but still deeply subtextual - is when levi takes the decision of who should die and applies it to erwin and the cadets. he kills them. he will even do this too, because freedom from his dream is what erwin wants, but cannot and would not ask for. and of course later on, he would also make the decision of who should live.

tldr, levi's takeaway was accepting that erwin's dream was (i'll say for simplicity of discussion) the most important thing to him regardless of the harm it can or has caused to himself and others. levi doesn't agree with feeling that way, but regardless.

on the other hand, erwin's takeaway was accepting that levi has no concern about how guilty he should feel if it's in pursuit of erwin's dream, which in erwin's mind must diametrically oppose who levi is; levi is devoted to him whatever the context may be. erwin also wouldn't agree with this, but regardless.

[rafebaby]

Don't you want me - Rafe x reader

Part One

(enemies to lovers)

Writer's note: Hey cuties, this is my first time writing/starting something like this. I'm currently struggling through a tough time and found solace in the wonderful world of fanfiction again. I'm sure y'all understand. Feel free to let me know what you think, to ask questions or to just talk to me. And feel absolutely free to reblog 🤭 Also, I kind of took the freedom to not lean on the OBX verse, I just really wanted to let my imagination run wild (if you will). The characters in this story, including Rafe, are around the age of 22 or something. Like around university age. Mind you, I'm European so that might influence the writing and the scenarios to not be typically American. Idk I just felt like I wanted to clear that out. Love you 🌸

Warning ⚠️: brief mention of substance abuse, mentions of alcohol use

Enjoy ❤️

_______________________________________

Another night had played out at the same old bar, weaving through the well-worn tapestry of laughter, clinking glasses, and the reassuring predictability of familiar faces. That was until Rafe Cameron, kook prince and the epitome of entitlement had joined the party. From the moment he walked in, it was clear he was already under the influence of whatever concoction he managed to get his hands on. His dominant presence, fueled by the cocktail of confidence, sends ripples through the equilibrium of an otherwise normal night out.

Rafe's impulsive and destructive character, combined with his short temper and penchant for testing limits, stood in stark contrast to your cautious, analytical, and reserved nature. His mere presence easily triggered your sensibilities, and you couldn't understand how others effortlessly got along with him.Over the past few months, you reluctantly observed him becoming more integrated into your friend group, prompting you to accept the situation and attempt to minimize your interactions with him. After all, you weren’t the type to stir things up. Tonight was no different; so far, you had succeeded in limiting your exchanges with him to a simple gaze of acknowledgement when he joined the scene.

After two hours of laughter and chatter with your girlfriends, you felt the urge for another drink. Standing at the bar, waiting for your turn to order and hoping the bartender would soon notice you, you suddenly sensed someone standing closely behind you. Ignoring it, as the bartender finally walked in your direction, you prepared to speak up, but the voice from behind beat you to it. "One beer," it's Rafe! "And whatever she wants." A hand landed on your shoulder. Quickly turning to him, looking him straight in the eye, you were shocked but just as quickly turned back to the bartender, realizing it was better to make it quick. "Uhm," Shit! "Just red wine is fine, please." You smiled awkwardly. With a little nod of acknowledgment, the bartender disappeared to get the order. Your heart is racing. Your gaze is fixed straight in front of you. Hoping he doesn't have the need to interact any more.

“Always so polite,” Rafe says lowly into your ear, closing the proximity even more. What does he want you to react to that remark? You feel like he’s mocking you, belittling you, which is always his preferred tone for you. “Wish you’d be that polite to me too. Could at least thank me for the drink.” He adds, seeking to provoke you. “You don’t have to pay for my drink.” You manage to get out hastily. You don’t want anything from him, don’t want to owe anything to him. Your mind is rushing, looking for the fastest way out so you can go back to your friends, further ignoring Rafe. Chances of him interacting with you with the group around were significantly lower.

He lowers himself to your ear again, his dense body hovering over yours.”Can’t I be nice to you?” You hear the annoyance growing in his voice. You’re annoyed too, but nervous even more so. “That’s not what I meant,” You reply as you straighten your body to distance it more from his. “What do you mean than, (y/n)?” Your name sounds heavy in his mouth. “It’s almost as if you don’t like me.” Your breath hitches a second from his remark. Your eyes desperately follow the bartender’s moves. He’s finishing the order calmly and you want to yell at him to do it faster. “You know, (y/n),” You once read somewhere that using someone’s name when you talk to them is a sign of dominance and you wish he stopped using it that way. “I don’t even know what I’ve ever done to you?” The annoyance in his tone has made place for an insincere hint of sadness. He’s playing a game, you think to yourself. All he wants is to get to you and you remind yourself over and over again not to play along. But to Rafe, everything is a game. Especially people like you. Even without seeing his face, you know it has a dark amused look all over it. Your loss for words only feeds it, you’re aware. “Nothing.” You stammer out in a quick response. The fewer words you waste on him, the faster this will be over. That's the only tactic you have right now.

As you inhale through your nose, a heavy waft of his cologne envelops you. It's smooth and woody, honestly way too pleasant for you to remain unaffected. You dislike it. You dislike him. Rafe is a good-looking man, and he has all the girls wrapped around his finger. You knew that. Allowing yourself to view him in that light would be downright stupid. What could you possibly see in a guy who only brings bad news?

"See, that's what I thought too. And yet, you keep acting as if I did," he says, taking a dramatic pause. "Have you ever thought about how that might hurt my feelings, (y/n)?" He says a bit more quietly, coming even closer to your ear. To be fair, Rafe never did anything to you; he isn't wrong, but he is mistaken to think his reputation and name haven't always preceded him. Then again, you know well enough he isn’t actually that mistaken. Therefore, you know for a fact that what he aimed to do was merely torment you. He had the answers to his own questions.

As if by providence, the bartender finally returns to you. There is no more reason for you to stay at the bar any longer. But Rafe is pleased. He knows well enough the effect he has on you. Your drinks are placed next to each other on the bar, and you can't be fast enough to pick yours up and escape this trap the Cameron boy had ensnared you in. As he busily grabs some cash from his pocket, you turn around, pushing yourself past him, leaving him behind with a small "Thank you, Rafe..."

To be continued...

[hoezier]

Thoughts on that ceasefire statement?

So I have several people asking me about this. I do have some thoughts, but you'll have to forgive me, I am only able to engage with this passingly.

I want to make a few things clear: I'm originally from Iraq. I do live in the U.S. now, but I grew up in Iraq. And like most Arabs, the Free Palestine movement is unquestionable for me. I have been an uneqovical supporter of Palestine my whole life. Which means the past couple of weeks have been excruciatingly painful. And the horrifying circumstances of it have taken over almost my every waking moment. That, coupled with my own childhood of living through a war which the past two weeks have been triggered again and again, have really tanked my mental health. I mention this to make clear that I will speak to this question just this once, to articulate some of my thoughts around it. In order for me to do the work for Palestine sustainably which I fully plan on doing, I need space to step away from it. I'm choosing this website with the pretty images to be said online space. So I will not engage in any further discourse after this. Even now, I will engage only as far as my mental capacity will allow. As I'm sure you can understand, I am utterly exhausted, and what little energy I have left is better expended elsewhere. I thank you for your understanding.

I want to start by pointing out something that I unquestionably liked about his statement, because I think it's important and a lot of people won't read this whole thing: His mention of the West Bank. The media attention has focused a lot on Gaza, and rightly so. But Palestinians in the West Bank have been suffering gravely for the past two weeks under the tyrannical rule of the settler colonial Israeli government. You should all go read about this and learn more. Palestinians are getting arrested, kicked out of their homes, being brutalised, harrassed, and murdered. It's starting to get *some* coverage now, but still not enough. This would also be my time to remind you that the West Bank is not at all controlled by H*m*s so like, bitch what's your excuse now?

the gist of my thoughts: Is Hozier a Palestinian freedom rebel? No, absolutely not. Is he a hateful supporter of genocide? Also, no, absolutely not. I think Hozier is a well-intentioned celebrity with passing knowledge of what's happening, a publicity team that curtails his words for better or worse, and who has a lot to lose if he missteps in any direction. Whatever we may think of his actual politics that we can glean from his music is not quite the same as coming out with a very clear statement that could put him, and a lot of the people around him at risk. And I mean that both physical safety and otherwise. I think saying something very overtly pro-Palestine could very well put a target not just on him and his team, but possibly on fans attending his concerts in droves right now, especially since he's in the U.S. right now which is a) not his country and b) the country that's primarily funding this war so like fuck me the pro-zionist sentiments here are still STRONG (I just got egged yesterday at a protest and wearing the keffiyah has genuinely made me fear for my life for the past couple of weeks). This may be disappointing (it is), but I frankly have very little energy left to truly feel disappointed. More than anyone, I would have loved for him to come out, blazing fires in his eyes, carrying the Palestinian flag. But alas, I knew that wouldn't happen except in my wildest dreams. I understand that people want to hold him accountable. But it does feel to me like expending this level of energy on a celebrity whose statement was frankly more nuanced than what even media outlets have said is just not where I'm at. I understand if that's where you're at. But it's not something that I can currently engage with.

This is the extent to which I am able to speak to this at the moment. I am sorry if it's not good enough or extensive enough. There's so much that you can pick at, the framing of it, the specific wording that he used. Again, for better or worse, but I just do not think this conversation is where my currently very limited supply of energy should go to. It is up to you whether this is where you'd like your energy to go <3

I hope you're all well. Sending you all so much love.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

genuine qustion, bc i dont understand whump, why do you like it? whats the appeal? am i missing something?

I'm going to assume from the wording of this question that you already have an idea of what whump is, and you're asking why someone would want to read/write it, but if not here is a good post summarizing the genre.

This post is divided into two parts below the cut: the appeal of whump for me, and an explanation of why I like whump.

For me, personally, the appeal of whump comes from putting a character (whether that be an someone else's character, my original character, or a nameless whumpee) in Situations (with or without a whumper), and then having the difficult recovery or healing process (usually with a caretaker). Sometimes I deviate from this pattern, such as omitting the recovery, but that is usually my main focus.

A bit more emphasis on the comfort in hurt/comfort, but there's also hurt in the comfort.

My main love of whump stems from the tropes I enjoy:

Used as bait (where a whumpee is captured with the intent on using them to lure the caretaker into trying to rescue them in order to capture the caretaker too). I like this one because of the suspense of knowing it's a trap, and wondering if the caretaker will manage to rescue the whumpee, or get captured themselves.

Magic whump (whump but in the fantasy genre). This one gives more possibilities or twists on usual whump tropes by adding magic into the mix. Combined with my love for fantasy writing.

Captivity whump (a whumpee captured by a whumper, usually including various forms of torture). This trope is very versatile. Why were they captured? What does the whumper gain by torturing them? So many possibilities. Not to mention the rescue afterwards!

Sickfic (whumpee is sick, usually with a caretaker). Someone else mentioned this before, I don't remember who otherwise I would've linked them, but illness is something rarely seen in existing media. When a piece of media has whump, it's usually torture or a fight scene, but I've only ever seen sickness a handful of times. I like the idea of a character having all these cool abilities but still getting the common cold, especially when they have someone else to take care of them. Also it's easier to write from experience for this then, say, getting stabbed.

PTSD whump (when a character has trauma). This is more of a recovery trope. I hate it when a piece of media has a character go through an incredibly traumatizing event and then as soon as they're out, they're perfectly fine mentally. Let the character have ptsd, dammit! I don't really write this often, but when I do I love writing the nightmares in particular.

Immortal whump (with a character who, for whatever reason, cannot die). I love this one because it opens up even more possibilities for whumping. It usually depends on how the character's immortality works, but they can take a lot more damage than any other whumpee.

Realism in whump (realistic injuries, illness, and recovery). Really just a preference, as I'm studying in the medical field and already know a lot about how the human body works, so I use that knowledge and apply it to my writing. For example, fainting as portrayed in hollywood movies is a lot different from how fainting actually is. Involves a fair amount of research, but I personally think it's worth it.

(side note: I haven't really found any tropes which I strongly dislike, but out of personal preference I avoid smut and nsfw whump such as rape)

As to why I like whump? This was a tough question to answer, to properly articulate. It's fiction. And writing give me freedom to do pretty much anything to the characters and through the characters. I suppose whump is another way to exercise that creativity. "I know how the character reacts to this Situation, but what about this other Situation?"

I know some other writers use whump writing to work through their trauma, as catharsis. Props to them, but I don't write whump for that reason. I always liked putting my characters in Situations, and then a couple years ago discovered what whump was, went "that's a thing?!" and basically dove in head first.

The Tumblr whump community itself has also been very sweet and welcoming, I draw a lot of inspiration from the other writers, especially when I'm trying to figure out what to write next. I doubt I would still be writing whump if the community wasn't as welcoming, and I'm very glad it's not the case. If you go back in my archive, the first writing I started posting was whump. Nameless whump turned into oc whump, which turned into posting about my WIPs. So if the whump community gatekept me out, I probably wouldn't be posting any writing at all (and that's very sad to think about).

I hope this post was helpful to you! I can't speak for other members of the whump community, these opinions and motives are my own. If you have any more questions feel free to ask.