#I'm sure their loved ones are devastated and i take no joy in that

[thedreadvampy]

Ok so it sounds like rather than dying in a nightmarish waiting game the 5 richos died too suddenly to even be aware it was happening. which being the case can we Please stop acting like this is a bigger tragedy than shit that happens every day to Not Rich people who didn't bring this entirely on themselves?

not even just talking about the thousands of people regularly dying unjustly in the Mediterranean and the Channel because of hostile anti-refugee policies but like. it's 5 people bro. 5 people die preventable deaths every like. minute. and most of them aren't their own fucking fault or nearly as laden with irony.

keep seeing people posting the Against The Logic Of The Guillotine article about this. bro I didn't fucking kill them they killed themselves despite plenty of opportunities to not do that. nobody's doing bloody vengeance here rich people are offing themselves in an incredibly stupid and predictable way. this isn't lining your enemies up for the guillotine it's your enemies deciding they have to pay more money than most of us will ever see a fraction of for the thrill of getting a guillotine haircut and everyone's like 'you know this will kill you right? but they laugh it off, get up and pull the string themselves and their last words are 'haha wow it's so stupid that people tried to stop me getting a revolutionary haircut.' and then when you say 'holy shit what an idiotic thing to do' someone's like CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WANT TO EXECUTE MILLIONS. I don't know how to explain to you that abstract schadenfreude isn't the same thing as revenge.

[virgo-79]

I'm disappointed and sad and pissed, for sure. But there are some things that are keeping me from being totally devastated. There are things that give me hope for what might be to come.

David Jenkins confirmed that the industry took notice of our campaign. We saw the articles and interactions that confirmed people were taking notice of our campaign. And we got new eyes on the show. Whatever else it's up against, future queer media can only be helped by that.

Maybe at some point we actually will get an on-screen continuation of OFMD. Again, from David's mouth, the lack of pickup is down to an industry in chaos -- not a lack of interest in the show. Obviously that industry chaos is a problem, and for a bigger reason than just this one show. But this transitional period also means there's an opportunity for change, and that's why I think we need to keep being vocal about OFMD, about WB and MAX, and streaming in general. Keep the action and conversation going, both for the sake of influencing the direction the industry goes in, and for showing that interest in OFMD isn't waning. Because there's always that chance that once the dust settles, there will be at least one platform in a position to bring OFMD back. Giant companies aren't suddenly going to grow souls, but they'll look out for their own interests. All we need is someone to decide that those intersect with ours. We've come to the end of the road, yeah, but there's always another trip to pack for.

And finally, I think it's HIGHLY possible we'll get another show by David Jenkins that features Taika, Rhys, and a lot of other OFMD actors and crew. Every single person who has talked about the experience of making this show has absolutely spilled over with love for it. Everyone had a good time, everyone loved what they were creating. Taika and Rhys adored working together again. Taika said being Ed made him fall in love with acting again. All of the actors got to have a hand in their characters' creations. There's so much positivity, respect, and encouragement passed back and forth between the people making the show and the people watching. Which is all my long way of saying that whether it's more OFMD at some point in the future, or a completely different show, I believe strongly that this team is going to work together again and have more stories for us. And I have every confidence that that story will radiate as much love and joy as OFMD. I am and always will be head over heels for the characters and storylines of OFMD. But my delight in them goes beyond the characters to the people who made them, and I'll be there for any project these people collaborate on. I trust them to give it the same heart our silly queer pirate show has.

[love-hatred-stuff]

"Doll, don't ignore me, please. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

All he heard from you was some unhappy mumbling. You looked at him with annoyance before you disappeared into the bedroom. Something he wasn't used to at all. Something that made him feel like someone you might hate. His heart wrenched in sadness.

There's nothing in this world he could hate more than you being upset with him. It made him feel lonely and even more angry at himself than you probably were. It was torture.

Bucky continued to sit there at the kitchen island, his face in his palms, devastated. He loved you so dearly, you were his god damn life and now you wouldn't speak a word to him. It felt like a knife was stuck in his ribcage and he couldn't seem to get it out as long as you were so mad at him.

He knew a relationship couldn't always be perfect. But with you it was. Nothing was as easy as loving you every step of the way. Sure there were some ups and downs, but nothing that wasn't fast to be solved.

He sighed in desperation. He didn't know how to make you talk to him again. All he could give you was some space. But it was your choice if you wanted to forgive him or not in the end. He knew that.

So he waited. Smoked more than usual, drank more than usual. On a Tuesday? Didn't matter as long as you wouldn't give him another chance.

He wrote you an apology letter, a love letter, bought your favourite flowers everyday.

He was lost without your love and everyone knew that. It was hard to overlook. You two weren't just lovers, you two were partners, friends, soulmates and everything in between. Bucky cherished the ground you walked on. Because you were always there as his emotional support, you calmed him down, made him feel safe and complete. He needed you.

James often worked from home, so he felt your absence immensely since you were always out until noon. And if you were home and not going anywhere else but work just to avoid him, you were never in the same room as him.

He could call himself lucky to still be able to sleep in the same bed as you. You weren't evil, you wouldn't let him sleep on one of your small leather couches alone, those were great for cuddling and taking a nap but not for a seven hour long rest. Besides, you knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if not beside you.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Everything went on for about a week. Until everything came crashing down on him.

Bucky couldn't sleep. He just couldn't stop thinking how you were slowly but surely falling out of love with him since the day that he decided to use your trust. And he couldn't help but start crying at this heartbreaking thought. First it were just tears that didn't seem to stop flowing but after a few minutes he couldn't stop letting out those heartwrenching sobs coming out of him. Of course you noticed it and it didn't bring you joy or whatsoever. It made you feel like crying too.

"Bucky? Bucky, please." You sat up immediately.

You shoved all those hurt feelings to the side for a moment and moved towards his side. He turned around slowly and looked at you. You couldn't describe how broken the man in front of you looked.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/n. Please forgive me. I- I need you. I can't breath-" He broke down again.

You brought him to your chest, letting him hug your waist while crying into your shirt. You shushed him, held him against you and gently stroked his hair. Until he slowly stopped sobbing and crying, though he didn't intend to let go of you anytime soon.

"James, I know you're sorry."

He looked up at you. That's the first words you spoke to him in days and you call him James? Tears were gathering in his eyes once again.

"Oh, my love." You touched his cheek and took a good look at him. Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. That sounded much better.

"Bucky." He snaps back into reality, opening his eyes and seeing your gorgeous face, that he missed so much looking at.

"Kiss me, you moron." And he immediately did, more than eager to rest his lips on yours after such a long time.

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A/n: lol, just felt like breaking my heart again

[fairydares]

loook i get why the idea of riding the "anti/pro" fandom disk horse makes people gag a little in their mouth and try to opt out entirely, but here's why i went from feeling exactly the same way to taking a firm profiction stance. I've been meaning to make this post for a while.

~10 years ago, I posted a fic for the first time and it got its own harassment campaign. The fic wasn't even sexual, and wasn't going to be (it remains incomplete). It was accurately rated T on fanfiction.net. Anyone in the Fairy Tail fandom will understand this: I literally got harassed for writing a "Lucy leaves the guild" fic💀.

After many nice comments, someone left a pretty nasty one. Hurt, I messaged them back. They acted super attacked that I'd responded (lmao) and after we argued, threatened to "rip my shitty story apart in the comments section" if I responded again. I told them "go ahead lol."

They went ahead.

Now know that it was a relatively small harassment campaign, but at the time, it was devastating. Right around then, I wound up in the hospital. After I got out, I went to excitedly check my fic, and found several reviews saying things I wouldn't repeat to my worst enemy. I was suicide-baited more than once, told "thank fuck you finally abandoned this shitty story, dumb cunt," stuff like that.

There were several accounts involved, and I can't say for sure, but I suspect at least a couple different people were involved, though probably at least half of it was one person.

All the other comments were screeching about how I hadn't updated, mostly. "NO UPDAAATEE WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS TO MEEEE??!!!" was one that stood out after I'd been miserable in a hospital for an extended period of time.

Idk what people think is going on when FT fic authors write this trope, and frankly I don't give a fuck. Because while I was partly writing the story out of some young, cringe feminist rage, I also did genuinely have a real story I was compelled to tell. I was inspired by another, popular fic I loved which used the trope to talk about how trying to shoulder our burdens alone really just hurts both ourselves and everyone who cares about us.

My own story was ultimately going to have similar themes, with more focus on strength, what it means, and in what contexts earning and having it actually matters. In retrospect, no wonder I wound up in hot water, because at the time "Lucy vs. Strength vs. Misogyny" was the FT fandom's Designated Nonsensically Activist Debate™. But that's partly why i wanted to write about it; engaging with the fandom had gotten me thinking about it 🤷‍♂️

Not too long after that, FFNet oh-so-benevolently granted us the ability to delete comments from our own stories (they never took my reports seriously at all, afaik). I deleted all or most of the harassers' comments (may still be a one or two up, and i'm fairly sure there's a couple comments defending my fic from the harassment) without saving screenshots, which I really regret now. I was just so mortified and full of self-loathing about the whole thing that i wanted to forget it completely. Something that had brought me joy at a very lonely, vulnerable period of my life had turned so negative, and i couldn't even tell the people closest to me about it without being made fun of for writing anime fan fiction.

I didn't understand why this happened at the time, but--after a period of trying to forget/bid out of it all with a slight anti lean (a common approach I see people use, and one which I'm not proud of adopting)--I just had to figure out What the Fuck Even Happened There. And I'm telling you, after years of reflecting, wrestling with both sides, and educating myself, that this "status quo of harassment" culture which pervades fandom goes way deeper than you think and comes out of a way darker well than you probably realize. An astonishing amount of this is, quite literally, TERF shit and evangelical shit.

Trying to be in fandom and take a stance of, "Anti/Pro shit? Ew, I'm Not Touching that," is like swimming in a heavily polluted river and being like, "Poison? Cringe. Not me lol."

You might be lucky enough to be in a less-polluted part of the river (AKA a relatively non-toxic fandom, in which case good for you!)...but tbh this rhetoric and peer-signalling will still seep in.

I can't stress enough that pro-fiction, AKA "proship", is the normal, leftist-about-art-and-sex opinion. Pro-ship is against all the horrible things you're against; in fact, pro-ship isn't trivializing real trauma by equating it with fictional trauma, or trying to apply literal evangelical/radfem solutions--which are proven not to prevent or help. Profiction/proship is literally just saying, "Fiction is fiction, reality is reality, and the two don't have a 1:1 relationship. And historically, trying to censor just things we've decided are bad has done nothing but get LGBTQ+ and POCs censored. Therefore, depictions of illegal things shouldn't be censored." That's it. "Proshippers all ship problematic ships," is a brazen lie. Many of them share other fans' disgust for those ships, they just don't believe in censoring fic authors over it.

It is also taking a stand against harassment because--and I hope my own story has helped drive this home--as with all groups who adopt ingroup/outgroup thinking, antis are defined by their tactics, not actual stances on real, serious issues. What happened to me was absolutely a result of anti, "it's okay to 'bully out' anything I just don't like" mindset pervading fandom. In a way, this was the mindset's final form. They didn't even feel the need to cite a reason the trope was "bad" or "wrong"; it annoyed them, and they viewed their own feelings as a valid enough pathway for policing to go right ahead and do so.

In the interest of offering solutions instead of just bitching about problems, I might make a "how to know if you've bought into these types of views"-type post sometime. Also might come back to this and provide some sources/citation.

[fanfics-with-coffee]

To be kind, To be a fool

This has only been proofread and edited by a sleep deprived me sooooo, I also wrote it in a daze from 1AM to 6AM. I'm back in my Baldurs Gate 3 hole and I've been so very inspired from so many other fanfic writers I got back on this blog

You did it, you saved the prisoners from Moonrise Towers and everybody is back, safe and sound at least for tonight. You and Astarion are holding back from the festivities, instead talking about your act of heroism and why you do it. You say you choose to be kind for who else will, he says you're choosing to be a fool for what else is kindness if not foolish.

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort Pairing: Astarion x reader Words: 4400

Its doubtful if Last Light Inn had been quite so lively as when you returned in the raggedy old boat with the prisoners from Moonrise Towers. Once they had been cleared, everyone had ran to their loved ones or simply rejoiced in the warmth of the fire, ever burning away the darkness that threatened to creep inside any crevice it could get it's cold claws into. And of course they soothed their dry throats with the little wine and ale that was left behind when the shadow curse had blanketed the land. The two boys manning the bar were running around relentlessly, trying their best to fill every empty goblet and mug they could spot, leaving no one without a drink. It’d probably only be hours before Jaheira had to call it a night so they wouldn’t run out of the little liquid joy they had left. But until then, the celebrations were loud and proud.

For a moment, things were bright, despite the dark sky. 

“What a ruckus, you could almost think that Lathander himself had been in attendance.” Astarion mused, one hand gracefully swirling a glass of wine while the other rested on his upper arm. He was leaning against the wall beside you in a corner of the inn that hadn’t been filled with people. Not that it was difficult, even with the prisoners free it was barely enough to fill the tables and chairs. You smiled, watching the tieflings try to catch up after the devastating nights apart. 

“If Lathander was here, I think there’d be a lot more dancing on tables and a lot more wine.”

“True… And a lot more fucking.” Astarion replied with that signature cheeky smile he always pulls when he’s said something salacious or teasing. You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, nodding along to his line of thought. He wasn’t wrong. 

“You’re probably right. Well at least we could let these people see another dawn, I think in a sense maybe Lathander really is here.” You pull your eyes from the happy faces and let them reflect in your mug of ale before downing another mouthful of it. The smooth, delicate taste of honey coats your tastebuds and leaves a pleasant warmth in your stomach.

“I didn’t take you for the god honoring type, you know? Besides, these people didn’t need Lathander, they had their own little ray of sunshine coming to their rescue anyways. Our own little goody-two-shoe altruist in shining armor.” He teases you, reminding you that there weren’t any gods in the belly of Moonrise Towers. Yet beneath the lighthearted tone you detected something else, a familiar bitterness and disapproval that he had given you before. That he gave you whenever you did something ‘too nice’, ‘too self sacrificing’ or ‘too cheaply’. You had long ago started ignoring it, instead taking it as a sign you probably did the right thing.

“Mmmh, mayhaps. I mean we were there anyways, and I wouldn’t have wanted to be left there to the Absolutists if I was stuck either.” You give him an answer you know he’ll hate and you made sure to slather some extra kindness in there as well just to really make a point. “And I find enough reward in watching these people.”

Astarion rolls his eyes hard enough you worry they’re gonna get stuck to the back of his head. You watch him, unable to hold in a laugh as he pretends to vomit from how ‘disgustingly sweet’ you are. You don’t say anything for a moment as he lets his eyes roam the room, the soft light of the torches reflecting upon his white locks of hair. You can see the disgust in his eyes as he watches them, and you could only guess as to why he felt so strongly about your acts of kindness. 

“I can’t wait to see the day you realize that none of these people would do the same for you… When someone betrays your kindness and I can stand there and laugh, telling you ‘I told you so’.”

He says it nonchalantly, as if it’s a fact. He let’s his own hatred for the world seep through every syllable yet he hides it behind a face that says he doesn’t care. You expected comments like this to come from him, you expected resistance to helping the helpless. Yet something about his words right now makes your chest tighten in anger, the notion that you were simply too stupid to realize that not everyone was kind. That he was maybe smarter and more experienced than you for seeing the cruelness in the world. You turn sharply to face him, slamming your mug down a little too harshly on a table close by. Astarions eyes meet yours, he never expected you to react like this, you had never before raised your voice at him. The air has grown tense. 

“Astarion, I am kind. I am not a fool, and you should do well to remember that there is a difference.” Your words are sharp yet you’re thankful no one else has seemed to notice you two. “I know that people will hurt me, and betray me. That people will not always do the same as I would’ve done. But if I don’t help, then who will? I have the power to make a change and I’ve chosen to use that power. You don’t have to agree, but you’re not allowed to tell me that I am wrong for deciding to be kind.”

He can see the hurt in your eyes as you correct him. That it’s not a question about your own navïte making you help others, but the fact you put conscious effort into being kind, despite the risk it has. Cold, uncomfortable embarrassment washes over him like ice water. A feeling he despises and so he sets it alight with anger instead, feeling himself burn with it as he finds himself again. His fingers clench around the half empty glass of wine he continues to hold onto. Thoughts swirl around in his head, trying to find the ones that will hurt the most, a painful payback for embarrassing him.

“And pray tell what is the difference? You waste not just your own time helping these idiots, but ours too. We were here to find a cure, yet all we’ve done is listen to sob stories and rescue people who will most likely die on the road to Baldurs Gate anyways. What kind of fool would waste so much energy and time on things that will lead to the exact same result anyways, I believe that’s actually what people call insanity.” He makes himself appear taller as he pushes himself off the wall and stands in front of you, scowling as he meets your gaze. 

How dare you tell him that he’s wrong? After 200 years of cruel torment and nights spent around people who could not give less of a shit about him, you’re telling him there’s people out there that care? And if so then it’s even worse, because that would mean no one simply knew he was in pain. Was Astarions own torment not enough for people to even notice?

No, he knows what he went through. No one cares about others' torment unless there’s something in it for them, even if just so they could feel a little better about themselves and comes at no expense of theirs. It’s always just about ourselves, Astarion just skips the other steps and puts himself first. Why could you just not do the same? Why did you have to go out of your way for anyone else?

“Fine, call me a fool. Insane, även. Say what you want about me, Astarion, but I will always choose to be kind. I’m sorry no one made that choice for you before, I am. B-”

“Do not tell me about kindness, y/n, there is no altruistic kindness like the one you speak of it’s a performance people put on for others.” His words are cold and sharp, they bite into your heart in much the same way his teeth pierce your skin. Painful. “We should all put ourselves first, it’s what everyone wants to do anyways! Skip the damn pleasantries and just be honest about it at the very least. I’m tired of having to look beyond the kindness just to see their true intentions.”

He’s rambling without thinking, remembering all the kind words and touches he’s received just because someone wanted to get in his pants. All the faux acts of kindness he watched Cazador perform so he could get what he wanted, or even just to make sure whatever cruel act he had in mind would hurt even more. All the nights in the beginning where he debated how he could save a victim, just to realize he’d get nothing but pain in return. The kind acts he himself performed in hopes of receiving something kind in return. 

The way he seduced you just to make sure he had safe passage to Baldurs Gate, to a cure. 

You were left speechless, caught off-guard by the outburst of emotions. You knew he was selfish but this was rooted deeper and maybe you should’ve realized when he had finally told you about Cazador and his ‘siblings’. You clenched your hands, trying to find something to refute his points. To prove him wrong. Yet you have nothing of worth to sooth his pain. He sees your hesitations and assumes he’s finally gotten through to you, he’s won. His red eyes leave yours to once again look at the others smiling faces, not wanting you to see the disappointment grow in him as he realizes he was right.

“So you’ve never been kind just to be kind?”

“No. Never.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, letting the motion tilt his head back as he finally raises his glass of wine, downing the rest of it. The sudden action makes the glass flow over the corners of his mouth and the deep red liquid coats his chin and drips down on his chest, staining the white fabric of his shirt. It bleeds into the criss-cross stitching and travels further down before he has time to react. 

You gasp and grab an old handkerchief stuffed in your pocket, quickly moving to try and save his favorite shirt. It's instinctual, thoughtless. Even when you’re mad at him and even though he’s furious at you, you try to help him. As soon as the cloth touches him, shame spreads like a disease through him, regret taking root in his chest somewhere where his beating heart should’ve been. 

He hates it.

“Don’t touch me.” He bites back, snatching the handkerchief from your hand to do the job himself. You instantly step back, putting your hands up to make sure you give him space.

“Tsk, I’m going to bed. Good night, y/n.” He’s aggressively dabbing at the stain as he starts walking away, trying to soak up as much as possible but it’s clear it's a useless endeavor, it will forever remain stained.

“Astarion!” You call out to him before he gets too far and he stops momentarily, turning to finally look at you. 

He’s met with pity reflecting off of your eyes in the lowly lit room. 

He hates it.

You say something else but suddenly the sounds of the celebrations drown out whatever it was. He doesn’t even try to listen and simply turns around to find the room that he had been given as a thank you from Jaheira. He didn’t need your pity, he didn’t tell you about his past because he wanted your pity, anyone would feel pity for him if he told them what had happened to him. He wanted you to… care. Foolishly, he wanted you to care about him, about what had happened to him. He wanted you to listen to his issues and maybe, just maybe, you’d want to help him like you helped everyone else around you. And maybe you’d do something without asking for anything in return. 

Yet tonight, he reminded himself that no such thing as true kindness existed. And to expect you to care about him despite who he was at his core was foolish itself. Your kindness came at a cost he hadn’t even thought about; You expected him to change in return for your kindness. He was mean, he was selfish and he wouldn’t let you change him for anything.

He turns to close the door to the room he was staying in, the feeling of his shirt clinging to his chest uncomfortable and wet. Astarions eyes find you in the same corner he left you, yet your eyes didn’t meet. Gale and Karlach had come up to you, pulling your attention to them. You had quickly started smiling and laughing again, one hand on Karlachs shoulder in a calming manner. 

Why had he even let himself hope that you would follow after him?

He closed the door.

The hours dragged on, the darkness in the Shadowlands making day and night nearly indistinguishable. The only thing that made time feel real was the ever waning torches, slowly burning out. And while you felt like it must’ve been a fortnight of drinking, laughing and talking, it can’t actually have been more than three hours based on how many torches had already burned out and been replaced. You had been convinced to join Karlach by the grill, Wyll telling stories of his time as the Blade of Frontiers in the soft glow. You listened and laughed, at points discussing the actual validity of these stories. But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t let the thought of Astarion go. He hadn’t left the room he was staying in, all alone in there, perhaps still trying to clean the shirt he always seemed to wear. 

As people finally sated themselves and found their companions, the celebrations died down to  a quiet mumble amongst those unable to sleep. The children had long ago been told to head to bed, only occasionally peeking their heads out from the dorm or coming out to ask for a late night snack. Jaheira herself had taken over the bartending but was now stuck pleasantly talking with some fists that had sat down after their patrol shift. Even most of your companions had headed to bed, either in the dorm or at camp depending on their preference, Astarion had specifically called dibs on the single private room. 

“Well, I think it’s best I call it a night as well!” Karlach stood up and stretched her muscular arms over her head. “You should do the same, soldier, can’t have our tactician getting sloppy!” She smiled at you, expectantly putting her hands on her hips as she waited for you to stand up and walk with her.

“Oh, I think I’m going to stay up just a little more. I’m sorta enjoying the quiet murmur in here, and I haven’t really had the time to speak with Jaheira since we came back.” You lied, trying to give her a convincing smile. But you couldn’t hold her eyes with yours, instead turning your head to watch the door to Astarions room, trying to make it look casual. 

“Riiight… You know, I don’t know what’s going on between you and fangs but I wouldn’t take anything he says to heart. He’s sorta dumber than he wants us to think, so whatever he told you… Eh well, I dunno, I’m not the smartest myself.” She laughs at herself, the alcohol having had an effect on her after quite a few bottles. “But I am the strongest! So if he needs  a good assbeating then I’m here for ya. I know he can say some pretty rude stuff at times even if he doesn’t mean it. What is it people say? Hurt people, hurt people?”

“You’re right Karlach...” You smile at her, she may say that she’s not smart but she knows people better than most. “But it’s fine between me and Astarion, we just had a disagreement but it’s nothing to worry about, I don’t think. Though I know an assbeating wouldn’t help, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Well if you say so, soldier! I’ll see you in the morning then I guess.” She gives you a hard pat on your back before leaving, yawning loudly as she walks towards the dorm room, softly ‘shoo’-ing another tiefling child back into the room.

You spend some time just watching the embers of the firepit burn, feeling the heat hitting your face in waves and drying out your lips. You drink the last of the wine in your cup and lick your lips, standing from the stool to leave the empty cup at the bar. Your eyes find the wooden door again and you spend a long moment debating if it’s a good idea. Facing Astarion right now would be awkward and draining, it would even risk you two blowing up at each other again. Yet you know he was hurt, that much was obvious.

The knock is soft and you’re uncertain if he could even hear it over the sound of the fireplace in the room. You consider that maybe he had gone to bed in the end, it had been hours since you saw him after all. 

“Astarion? Can I come in?” You call out softly, afraid to wake him if he was in trance but wanting to give it at least one more shot before you give up. It takes a moment but suddenly the door opens ever so slightly, just enough to let you know it was open but not enough to see him in the doorway. You take that as a ‘yes’ and carefully push it open further. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps come to the door nor leave, yet when you slip through the crack of the door he’s sitting on the bed. The room is dark, long shadows being cast from the dying fire. The moon lights up his pale skin and even paler hair, reflecting off of him as a glow. His legs are crossed and he’s leaned back on his hands, his chest exposed. He looks as if he’s made of marble, his chest doesn’t even move with breaths as you watch him, a quirk of his vampirism you’ve realized. You make sure to close the door behind you, never turning away. 

Neither of you say anything. There’s a book open  next to him on the bed, it’s the sequel of some book he had picked up early on in your adventure. You had gotten the sequel for him after he expressed his enjoyment for the first one, it had cost you a gold but it was worth it. You stare at it, unwilling to meet his gaze directly. Yet his is firmly placed on you, indifferent and icy.

“Well? Were you just here to get your handkerchief back or did you want something?” He spoke first, raising an eyebrow.

“...Is it as good as the first book?” You ask, finally looking him in the eyes. He furrows his brows before he looks at the book next to him, realizing what you meant.

“It’s decent. I liked the twist in the first book so it has a lot to live up to, but it’s an enjoyable read. But I’m sure you’re not here for some midnight book club so out with it. What do you want?” He’s clearly pushing you away, but the fact that he opened the door when he heard it was you must mean he’s willing to listen.

“I wanted to come see how you were doing. Did you manage to get the stain out of your shirt?”

“I’m fine, thank you. And no, I did not, I will have to try to find someone who knows prestidigitation to get it out, I believe. Now if you excuse me, I’d quite like to get back to my bo-” He’s about to pick his book back up, clearly done with the conversation if you weren’t going to get to any point.

“I also wanted to apologize.” 

He raises an eyebrow and looks at you, giving you his full attention and newfound interest in the conversation.

“I snapped at you, and while I don’t think I was in the wrong for doing that-” He rolls his eyes, making it clear he disagrees with you but he lets you keep talking. “I shouldn’t have made it sound like being kind was an effortless choice and that you always can and should choose. It’s not easy every single time. So I’m sorry.” You try to gauge his reaction, see if he gives you any sort of response. He doesn’t at first, his face difficult to make out in the drastic lighting. The distance between you may only be a couple meters but right now you feel like there's kingdoms between you.

“...You say that yet you make it seem so damn easy. You never question why someone needs help, if it’s their own fault for getting themselves in that situation. You never assume people have any other intentions than what they tell you up front. You’re kind as effortlessly as some breathe.” He spits out the words as if they’re venom, once again speaking as if he believes you’re a fool. “Even to me, you’re kind. You ask me about my wounds, if I like the books I read, if I’m comfortable, where I learned to sew… I thought you were just trying to get in my bed at first, something I’m used to. I’ve given my body to countless ‘kind souls’, but now I’ve realized you just want me to be another victim you saved. Another person you’ve fixed. So you can play hero and get all the love and praise that entails. ‘Hero of Faerûn saves poor vampire spawn! Look at this poor sucker!’” He uses his hands to show off the fake headlines.

“Pun intended.” There's a sarcastic smile on his face as he stands up, grabbing your bloodied and wine stained handkerchief from the bed table before approaching you.

“That’s not why I did those things, Astarion, please. I care about you, just liste-”

“Well jokes on you, your kindness has been wasted on me. I’ve used you for my own gain, you know?” He throws your handkerchief against your chest, forcing you to clutch it so as to not let it fall. “I played with you just as easily as any other poor fool I’d find in Baldurs Gate’s whorehouses. You were ridiculously easy, just a few kind words and charming smiles and you were wrapped around my finger! Not that I blame you, have you seen me? I’m hard to resist. But it’s time to drop the pleasantries, the kindness, you’ve just been a tool for me to find a way to survive and I’ve just been another notch in your belt. But I am not another helpless pawn for you to feel good about ‘fixing’. I am pessimistic, I am selfish, I am merciless and I am cruel, and you won’t ever be able to change that.” He finally finishes his monologue, still forgetting to mimic the act of breathing as he stands before you in eerie silence. There’s a sense of vulnerability within his eyes despite his posture. Like a cornered animal lashing out in a desperate attempt to be left alone, to not be hurt.

You’re standing close to him now, mere decimeters away from each other's bodies. Yours heated and warm and his forever cold to the touch. You move slowly when you finally decide what you want to say, what you need him to realize. His eyes notice your hand raising and he tenses up even further, preparing him for what? He’s not sure. Then your hand reaches his face, softly cupping his cheek with your palm. Your heat exchanges with his, your hand slowly warming his skin while yours cools to the touch. He’s in shock, unable to say or do anything, just watching your face to try and read what your intentions are.

“I’ve tried to tell you, even before you went in here. I will always choose to be kind to you, Astarion, just as you are.”

He finally sucks in air, his lips parting to make sure his lungs fill fully and it’s as if it's his first breath since he died in that alley. That’s what you had tried to tell him before he left. You smile, moving your hand to brush a strand of his hair out of his face, observing his features. The dark, angry and nearly sadistic expression he carried before when he was trying to hurt you has washed away, leaving only the face of a lost young man standing before you. Eyes wide and mouth agape as you fully brushed off all the cruel things he said to you. Could he do nothing to scare you away, force you to back off? Keep you locked out of his heart?

He closes his mouth finally, eyes cast down to the floor as shame once again flowers in his chest, the thorns digging into every nerve.

“Even when I make it a difficult choice?” He asks quietly, shyly.

“Yes, even when it’s a difficult choice. But I don’t find it difficult to care for you Astarion. If you let me… I wouldn’t even find it difficult to love you.” You laugh a little, the question was silly to you after all. 

“You really are a fool.” A smile forms on his lips, the smile lines you’ve always adored finally showing themselves and his eyes as softening. He could never understand you, you’d never make sense to him. No matter how many times he thinks he has you pegged, you always go over and beyond his expectations. And once he thinks you’ve reached your limit on kindness, he finds a little more, even for a monster like him. His hands, which had consistently remained at his sides until now, moved up to find your hips. Astarion pulled you in closer to him, soaking in your heat and digging his head into the crook of your neck. You can’t help but laugh again, loud and happy, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer to you.

“I will always be kind, even if it does make me a fool.”

[intermittent-showers]

Oh God

A thought just came to me, and it's making me emotional. @autisticbuckley , your anon is to blame (affectionate)

So, Buck doesn't have a baby box. We know this and we know how fucking devastated he was to realize he doesn't have one. (And also like jfc that entire episode fucking hits, but we all know that too)

However, as much as I adore Tommy having a box, probably a shoe box or something practical, for Evan, filled with tiny little trinkets that remind him of Evan and their time together. How fucking beautiful would it be that Buck makes damn sure their kid has a baby box?

It's the first thing he gets when both he and Tommy decide they want to start a family. (I'm thinking surrogate because I want them to experience all the things). He puts a picture of their surrogate in the box, he adds the first ultrasound picture, he writes in a journal about all of the things he's excited for and also a few he's scared of when it comes to being a father.

Then, there's Tommy. Who had no one growing up. Buck had Maddie to teach him to ride a bike and other such things, but Tommy had to learn and do everything alone.

So, while Buck takes on the baby box, Tommy dreams of all the experiences.

The first birthday, with a smash cake just for the birthday boy or girl. It'll be messy, but he knows the joy on his kid's face will somehow heal a tiny bit of his broken inner child.

Then there'll be stories of the tooth fairy and bedtime hugs. Having ice cream for dinner on a random Monday night. They'll go camping and fishing and have family game nights. There will be bedtime stories and staying up late to watch just one more episode, please, Daddy, please!

And when their child is scared at bedtime, be it the dark or a bad dream or something that goes bump in the night, Tommy and Buck will hug the fears away. They won't tell their child to "get over it" or "leave them be." Instead, they'll pat the middle of their bed, make sure their child feels safe and loved, and seen and they'll all snuggle together in their bed, completely happy with this life they've made.

[parvulous-writings]

no idea if nail polish exists in the 5e world, but it does now. how about a chill day for the companions where everyone does their nails? or is tav/durge doing the painting for everyone?

Summary: Camp has a nail day!

Warnings: Minor spoilers for Shadowheart's various arcs, same for Karlach. One swear word.

Notes:  if it doesn't exist, it sure as hell does now! Also apologies that this took so long - New year is a busy time at work, and I've got a minor injury with my hand, so I'm working as fast as I can, but it's a little slower than normal!

I've included all the recruitable companions, besides Minthara, who is not included purely because I cannot accurately write for her just yet!

My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my image

Time on the road where everyone is able to relax is very scarce commodity, so when it does crop up, you're always the first to suggest grabbing it by the horns and making the most out of the day - not by training, or planning your next moves, but typically with something more laid back.

You're camping close to Rivington when you get the first day-long break in weeks, so that morning you venture into town to have a quick browse of the stalls; perhaps you can find some food that will remind the various Baldurians in camp of their home? As you're starting to make your way back to camp, something catches you eye - a nail polish kit, going for quite cheap. You can hardly restrain yourself from buying it- you already know that it will bring a lot of much needed joy into camp.

Astarion is quite intrigued when you announce the spoils you've returned with. For too long he's craved petty vanity again; and even if he can only get it from painting his nails, he's willing to grasp at that chance. "What's this?" He hums, peering over your shoulder, trying to get a good look at all the colours that the kit contains, as well as the equipment. The first thing he does, given the chance, is start tending to his nails - cleaning under them, pushing back the cuticles, trimming and filing them into shape, the works. He spares no time making sure that everything is as he envisions. Sure, the colours he eventually settles on may not match the rest of his armour, but his new manicure matches his more comfortable clothes, so that's good enough for him.

Gale is... Unsure if this is the right kind of thing for your journey. "We have many more pressing matters to worry about, besides our appearances." He practically grumbles to you. "Might I suggest actually focusing on planning our next move?" It doesn't actually take a lot to convince him to sit down and let him do one hand of nails on him. You paint his nails a lovely shade of dark navy blue, which looks black in the shade, but blue when hit by light. You start speckling dots of white here and there to make them mirror the night sky, when Gale tells you he'd like to do his other hand himself. Of course, you let him, and about twenty minutes later, he's back to proudly show you his work. It's a lot shakier than the side you had done, but he looks so proud of himself for being able to emulate your skill even a little bit, you don't even nitpick in a teasing way. When it inevitably starts to chip away, he's absolutely devastated, but doesn't say anything until you all get an opportunity to rest properly again.

Justiciar!Shadowheart instantly dives for the black varnish. Nothing more, and nothing else. She doesn't dwell on it, but in some vain way, she feels like she's carrying a part of her goddess' revered darkness with her, even if it will chip away eventually. That just reminds her that everything on this plane is fleeting, and finite, always eventually consumed by loss. Selunite!Shadowheart adds a little more colour to her nails - dots of white, or purple are incorporated, intricate little designs that pay homeage to both her life as a Sharran, and her family heritage as Selunites. She takes great pride in the designs she makes, and often spends a very long time making sure that they are just like how she imagines in her head.

Lae'zel doesn't particularly like painting her nails - she feels it takes away from her aura of formidable warrior. She will, however, sharpen her nails on a regular basis - just as a back-up plan if she loses her weapon, or perhaps gets caught by surprise and needs to scratch out some eyeballs.

Karlach pre-upgrade loves to watch you do your nails. As in, she will actively sulk if you don't let her watch, or have some tiny level of input. She'll huff and pout, but eventually goes to sit elsewhere with a quiet "fine, whatever.." Post-upgrade Karlach is so eager to have her nails done, she's bouncing back and forth on her feet. She can't decide on a single colours - especially not by herself. "They all look so pretty!" She exclaims, waving her hands about in glee. So, unable to make a decision, she takes her favourite colours, and has all of them on her fingers - repeating a similar process on her toes with her second favourite colours. "This is the best thing we have ever done! ... Besides beating the shit out of Thorm... so, the second best thing!"

Wyll tidies his nails - similar to Astarion. He wants them to be a much nicer shape than they have been up to this point - makeshift files had not been too kind on his nails, and he was tired of catching them on things. He takes great care in shaping them and removing any chips or quicks - it's an activity he takes great pride in, and he'll happily do the same for you if you ask him to! As for colour, Wyll likes to go for a clear coat, purely for protecting his nails; though he has been known to paint his nails black, for dramatic effect. He loves his nails - not to the point that he preens them at any given moment, but enough to give them the time and care they need to keep healthy.

Halsin doesn't particularly like the idea of polish. Sure, it looks pretty, but he'd rather not wear it himself - there are other ways, he's found, that you can change the colour of your nails. (When you ask him what he means, or even to just elaborate a little bit more on how he knows this, he simply replies with "I once had a... Somewhat rebellious streak in my youth.") So it's likely that the only thing that he uses in this particular kit is the file and buffer - which looks absolutely tiny in his hands, it's quite funny.

Minsc doesn't do his own nails - at all. He won't even file them, he just either bites them or they snap off (usually it's the former). Instead, he takes care of Boo's claws. "Now, now, my friend. Do not call me strange - if I do not care for Boo's mighty claws, then who will? The paws of justice must be well cared for!" Insists that every few days he must re-file and re-buff Boo's nails, and will not take no for an answer. He also tries to convince you that Boo is trying to tell you the same, but by the way the little rodent's head shakes when he sits on Minsc's shoulder tells you otherwise.

Jaheira almost laughs when you suggest doing her nails. She wants to them herself, but, eventually she does ask you to help her. "It seems I'm a little out of practice.." She chuckles. "Perhaps some company wouldn't be so bad... If your offer still stands, of course." She LOVES having green nails. Sage green is her favourite, but she likes all of them really. Sometimes, if she's feeling particularly happy, she'll let you paint little golden leaves on her thumb - but that can be a rare occasion, because she doesn't want such skill to always go to waste.

[fascinorous-argonaut]

I am still full of the love you want

Hello, everybody! It's my first time posting a fic here. Well, it's my first time here on Tumblr at all, so please, be kind. English is also *not* my first language. Grammaly helps but don't do magic. Enjoy. ~ Daredevil.

Once again, there he was—her husband—lying on the couch at 3AM with a book in his hands. *Again*.

Clarice understood. He had only just returned from prison, wrongfully convicted of a crime he didn’t commit.

It had devastated her, but she managed to pull through. She had stayed by his side, just like they had both promised three years ago when they got married.

When the news came that he was being released, that his team had found the real culprit, Clarice cried with joy. *Her Spencer* was finally free, and that meant he was coming home—back to *her*.

But the man standing before her now wasn’t the same *husband* she remembered. He barely spoke to her, and ever since he came back from prison, he had been sleeping on the couch. It had been nearly two months.

*She understood*. He was angry, sad, and likely traumatized by whatever he had gone through while locked away.

But she missed him in every way imaginable. She missed his random conversations, his laughter, and *God*, even his touch. She missed *him*, and the fact that he was physically there but emotionally distant was breaking her heart.

All she wanted was to be there for him, but every time she tried, he shut her out.

And there she was again, standing there with her arms crossed, an almost pleading look in her eyes as she watched him.

"It’s 3AM… can’t you sleep?" she asked softly, careful not to step too close to him or the couch. She didn’t want to upset him.

Spencer glanced up from his book, his expression blank. "No, I’m sleeping. Can’t you tell?" he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Clarice lifted her hands slowly, showing her palms to him as a sign of peace while taking a step back. "I’m sorry, honey," she whispered, looking down at the floor before glancing back at Spencer. "I didn’t mean to disturb you."

Spencer sighed heavily. He closed the book he was reading and placed it on the coffee table in front of him. The only light in the room came from a lamp next to the couch. He ran his hands through his hair, visibly frustrated.

"No, you’re not disturbing me," he mumbled quietly, pausing for a moment. "I just... I just need some time, I guess."

His tone wasn’t as sharp or harsh as it had been on other occasions.

"Yes, I... I get it," she continued in a whisper, as if afraid that raising her voice above a whisper would stir up a storm.

Spencer glanced at her. She was walking on eggshells around him. He could see it in the way she spoke, the way she stood with her hands raised, palms forward, and the way she took slow steps backward.

He felt like a wounded animal, and she was approaching him carefully, trying not to scare him away or trigger his defenses.

"Hey... could you come here, please?" he said, motioning her toward him.

She lowered her palms and, step by step, quietly walked toward Spencer, watching his every movement. "Sure."

The reply was simple, but if there was one thing certain about the situation, it was that neither of them was sure of anything.

Spencer patted the spot on the couch next to him, gesturing for her to sit down.

"I'm not going to bite you," he said with a slight hint of humor in his voice—a rare occurrence these days.

He knew he hadn’t been the most welcoming or communicative partner since he had come home. To say he had been unpleasant would be an understatement.

Finally, she sat next to him, on the edge of the couch, keeping both hands in her lap.

Even though she maintained a calm facade, her heart was racing. Being this close to him, after everything that had happened, was unusual. It was so rare that she had no clue how she was supposed to behave around him. Saying they were strangers living under the same roof would be generous. They were worse than that. They were two people who knew each other deeply yet didn’t know one another at all.

He noticed her body language:

The stiffness in her shoulders, the way she kept her hands clasped in her lap, the tension in her expression. This didn’t feel like the easy-going relationship they had shared just a few months ago.

He missed that.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer looked at her, his gaze steady.

"You know you don’t have to act like a stranger with me, right?" he asked quietly, trying to dispel the tension between them.

"I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you anymore." She wanted to take the words back, but the truth was too heavy to swallow.

It was a brutal truth.

Spencer's heart sank a little at her words. The fact that she didn’t know how to act around him stung.

For a moment, he said nothing, just looking down at his hands, his expression unreadable.

But when he spoke, his voice was soft—almost vulnerable.

"You could start by treating me like your husband again."

"Treat me like your husband again." Those words felt like a hard slap to her face. Clarice could swear she felt her cheek burn from a touch that never came.

"What I know and what I feel are two entirely different things." She ran both hands through her short hair. "I know you're my husband. But I don't feel you anymore."

His breath caught in his chest.

Deep down, he knew he was responsible for that. He had shut her out, pushed her away, kept her at arm’s length. But hearing her say those words out loud made it all too real.

"I..." he started, but the words trailed off. He didn’t know what to say. He knew she was right. He wasn’t the same.

"I'm sorry," he muttered after a moment. "I know I’ve been distant. But prison changed me, I—"

"It's not your fault. It is not your fault," her tone was firm yet soft.

She wasn’t blind, of course. Clarice knew he was suffering. They both were. They were lost in a storm of unspoken feelings and painful memories.

"But it is," Spencer insisted, frustration creeping into his voice. "I'm not the same person I was before. And I’ve been taking it all out on you. This isn’t fair to you."

He paused, looking directly at her, his gaze intense.

"I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight, but I can't keep pushing you away. I don’t want to be the reason we’re so distant."

"Please, for the last time. It’s not your fault. It’s not as if you could avoid the changes. It would be strange if you hadn’t changed at all. You went through hell and back, and I—" the pain in her throat reminded Clarice of the tears she was holding back. "This isn’t fair to us, honey."

Spencer felt a pang in his chest as her voice cracked. He saw the pain in her eyes, the tears she was trying to hold back, and it killed him.

"I... we," he corrected himself. "We went through hell. Both of us. And I’ve been too wrapped up in my own pain and anger to see how much you’ve been hurting too."

He reached out and gently took her hand in his.

"And I’m so sorry for it. I’m sorry for shutting you out. I’m so sorry, baby."

The sudden touch surprised her, but in a more positive way than she expected. Her eyes met his, oh, those beloved brown eyes.

But there was more than just his usual tired demeanor. Finally, she started noticing the environment around them. The book Spencer had left on the coffee table was marked about halfway through. By now, he should have finished it. Knowing how fast he could read, an unfinished book could only mean one thing.

"When did your migraines come back?" she asked softly.

Spencer froze. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it from her for long, but dammit, that woman was perceptive.

He sighed heavily, letting go of her hand and rubbing his temples as a mild headache began to emerge.

"Two weeks ago," he admitted. "They've been pretty bad, but I didn’t want to worry you."

He grimaced, his expression a mixture of pain and exhaustion.

"Are you taking any medication?" Her tone was calm but serious.

His history with Dilaudid was no secret to her. And after the incidents in prison, he had to get clean all over again, which only made him even more cautious about any kind of medication.

The result? Spencer didn’t take anything—not even vitamins.

"No," he said with a sigh, still massaging his temple. "I’m not taking anything. I don’t want to risk... you know."

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. They both knew his history with addiction. Now, he had a strong aversion to any medication because of it.

"I've just been trying to manage them the best I can," he continued. "Taking it easy, avoiding too much stress, that kind of thing. But it’s been a rough two weeks."

"Let me help you, Spencer," she whispered, still looking deeply into his eyes.

Spencer met her gaze, a mixture of exhaustion and vulnerability in his eyes.

He was so used to handling those migraines on his own, but God, he missed having her by his side.

Her presence, her touch, her soothing words... she had always been his comfort during his hardest days.

He nodded slowly before speaking.

"I need your help," he admitted quietly. "I can’t keep doing this alone."

Clarice gently lifted the hand he was holding to her lips.

"You’re not alone, Spencer. You never are."

His heart ached at her touch and her words.

He knew he wasn’t truly alone, but these past two months had made him feel like he was.

He was so glad he had been wrong.

He looked at her with a mix of sadness and gratitude, his voice hoarse. "I don’t know what I would do without you."

He squeezed her hand gently, adding, "I’ve missed you so much."

"I miss you too, Spencer. So much."

Clarice let go of his hand gently. "I’ll be right back," she muttered before standing up and disappearing toward the kitchen.

Spencer watched her go, a mix of curiosity and anticipation in his eyes. He wondered what she had in mind.

He remained seated on the couch, still rubbing his temple in a futile attempt to soothe the building headache. He waited patiently, taking deep breaths and trying to ignore the pain throbbing through his skull.

She came back moments later with a large bowl of hot water and a towel draped over her right shoulder.

"Careful," she warned as she placed it down next to his feet.

Spencer's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the bowl and towel. He knew what she was about to do, and a rush of emotions coursed through him. His headache seemed to intensify for a moment, pressure building behind his eyes, but he stayed still, watching her closely. He leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath.

"You don’t have to do this," he said quietly. "It’s not your problem."

"You," she said, her tone firm yet with a hint of playfulness, "married a neurologist, Dr. Spencer Reid, and truly expected me to just sit here while my husband, who won’t even take an aspirin, suffers through a migraine? Tell me."

She had a point.

Spencer chuckled softly, despite the pain. He knew there was no arguing with her once she was in this determined mode. He opened his eyes and looked at her, a mixture of affection and resignation in his gaze.

"You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good," he said, his voice full of warmth. Then, in a softer tone, he added, "And I don’t deserve you."

After placing the bowl by his feet, she gently took each one in her hands and submerged them in the warm water, massaging them with skilled touches.

"You deserve the world," Clarice whispered, lifting her head and looking up at him.

The warm water, combined with her expert touch, sent waves of relief through his body, and a small sigh escaped his lips.

He looked down at her, his expression a mix of pain and pleasure. At her words, a small smile crept onto his face, his heart swelling with gratitude. But after a moment, his expression grew somber again, and he shook his head slightly.

"I don't deserve you," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

"You deserve the world," she softly echoed.

Spencer could almost feel the love in her words wrapping around him like a warm, comforting blanket. It was exactly what he needed. He closed his eyes, his breath catching as the headache began to ease, little by little.

For a moment, he remained silent, savoring the feeling of her touch and the closeness they hadn’t shared in so long.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"You are my world."

Clarice felt her heart warm at his affectionate declaration. It had been so long since he had said something like that.

Too long since they had said anything like that to each other.

In his words, she recognized someone she hadn’t felt in a long time: her husband.

The headache continued to ease as she massaged his feet, her touch like a soothing balm to his aching muscles and mind. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of peace and contentment in her presence.

He watched her in silence, taking in her every feature, her every movement. He had missed this closeness. He had missed her so damn much.

He reached out a hand and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I’ve missed this... I’ve missed you," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and nodded slowly. "I miss you too, honey," she whispered, as if speaking too loudly might make him vanish into thin air.

The sound of her voice, soft and sweet like honey, only made him want her more. His heart ached with the need to pull her closer, to feel her body against his, to kiss her, to hold her.

"Come here," he said, his voice gruff and hoarse. He patted his lap, his eyes dark with longing. "Please."

He needed her closer, needed to feel her, touch her.

Clarice left his feet in the bowl and slowly stood, drying her hands with the towel. Then, slowly, she sat in his lap, wrapping her arms gently around his neck and resting her chin on the top of his head.

As she settled into his lap, Spencer felt a wave of relief and contentment wash over him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in deeply, taking in the scent of her skin and hair. A wave of emotions—sadness, relief, love, desire—washed over him, all intertwined and overpowering.

He held her tightly, as if afraid she might disappear, and he whispered against her skin, "I need you... so much. I love you so much."

She tightened the hug. "I love you, Spencer. So much. I'm not going anywhere."

Those words, coming from her lips, settled something deep within him. She wasn’t going anywhere. She was there, in his arms, where she belonged.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. His eyes, filled with a mix of sadness and love, met hers.

"Promise me," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Promise me, you'll never leave me."

"I promise you. I'm not leaving you," Clarice replied in the same tone.

Spencer felt a wave of relief wash over him at her promise. He squeezed her tightly, his eyes closing as he buried his face back in her neck. He inhaled deeply, savoring her scent and the feeling of her body against his, trying to memorize every detail, to imprint this moment in his mind forever.

He whispered against her skin, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"I don't deserve you."

"You deserve the world," she whispered, closing her eyes as his warm breath brushed her neck.

She let out a soft gasp at his kisses—familiar, yet somehow new.

"Spencer..." Her whisper was a call. A call for everything they had left behind, for all the future would bring, for the love she used to know, for the man he had become, but above all, for her husband. Her Spencer.

Her gasp, a mix of pleasure and recognition, sent a jolt through his entire body. She was feeling the same thing he was.

His hands continued to explore her skin, desperate to relearn every curve and contour he had missed. He pressed his lips to her collarbone, his voice a rough whisper against her flesh.

"I've missed you," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. "I've missed holding you, touching you, feeling you... I've missed us."

"Spencer," she whispered, lowering her lips to his ear, "Are you done sleeping on the couch?"

He chuckled lightly, both at her words and the feeling of her warm breath against his ear. He pulled back slightly to look at her, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Are you trying to invite me to our bed, honey?" he asked, his voice low and sultry, his thumbs tracing small circles on her hips.

"I’m summoning you," she whispered before pressing her lips to his forehead.

Her words, her touch, her invitation sent a shiver down his spine. He was powerless to resist her, not that he ever had before.

His hands moved to her hips, pulling her even closer, as he nuzzled his face into her neck. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin above her collarbone, his voice a low rumble.

He hummed at her words, his heart swelling with love and desire.

"And it worked. I yield completely to your beck and call" he said, his voice dripping with affection and an edge of humor.

He tilted his head, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss, his hand coming up to cup her face, his thumb tracing her jawline.

"Take me to bed, love" he whispered against her lips.

Dear @whoisspence , I hope this is what you were looking for. ~ Daredevil

[thelonelyshore-if]

Another amnesia ask (although I'm a different anon).

But how would the RO's and Willow react if MC loses every memory, except for one thing. They can remember the RO. Maybe not their name, not their experiences together. But they remember their face. It was that face the reason they were able to escape the fog, even if they lost everything else.

This means they are unable to remember Willow. But they do remember the RO.

I'm sure it would be devastating.

Ooooh fun scenario!! Answers below the cut <3

Beck- would probably try to have a bit of fun with it. Not at MC's expense--but if MC still remembered them? They'd jump into it. Remind MC of who they are, and then go full-on romance movie. Re-create all their previous dates, try to jog MC's memory...and if they can't, build new experiences together. It doesn't have to be miserable.

Croft- they'd be surprisingly soft with MC. Make sure to go at MC's pace, to let them take the lead. They don't to push themself onto MC, even though their shared love thrums like a living thing in their chest. They want the MC to feel safe and loved and welcomed back home.

Jay- also would be incredibly gentle. The fact that they're the thing MC remembers--even if they don't remember Jay's name or their life together--would make them legitimately cry probably. They'd just hold MC close. They'd never want to stop holding MC. They'd do whatever MC needed, to make sure they're happy and feel supported.

Perri- it would make them emotional, too. They'd be flustered and so incredibly happy. Chances are, once MC's adjusted to being back a bit, they'd sit together and try and help MC figure out what happened. Was it aliens? Evil ghosts? They'd get to the bottom of it. More than anything, though, Perri would be overcome with joy at being the thing that brought MC back.

Ravi- he'd be. Hesitant. Is this some kind of trick? The fog, trying to make things right after stealing away the one he loves the most? It can't be real. I think he'd really struggle to trust MC, even as MC remembers his face, remembers their love, if nothing else. After some time, though, I think he'd slowly start to thaw to MC again. After all, he loves them just as much as they love him.

Yasmin- she'd be shaken, too, but in a different way. MC coming back and remembering her, in a way, would remind her of what else she's lost. She'd be able to move past it quickly--she tries her best not to live in the past--but it would be like. Oh. So this can happen. Still, she'd be overjoyed that the person she loves is back. She'd probably cover them in kisses lol.

Willow- you're right. They'd take it badly. Even a Willow whose relationship with MC is contentious. How can their sibling remember this random stranger better than they remember Willow? Their sibling? The person that has shared their entire life? It would devastate them, yes, and also infuriate them. They respect their sibling's relationship (lmao depending on who it's with), but this feels wrong. It would destroy them!

[fanstuffrantings]

Alright now that her actual death audio was played in the Magnus Archives: I'm going to reaffirm my stance on my love of Gertrude Robinson. Was she a horrible person? Yes. Did she kill people? Yes. But ultimately for what she was faced against, she was exactly what the world needed at the time. Every single entity either hated or feared her, maybe both, because she was willing to do whatever it took to stop them. She wasn't even above losing her own life in the process.

Yes, she sacrificed Michael to hinder the Spiral, and that's devastating, but it's not like she found glee in the prospect of doing so. And she couldn't exactly sacrifice herself and bank on her successor managing to get as far as she had when Magnus kept a close eye on everything happening within the Archives. Repeatedly any risks she takes are ones she weighs, any actions are thought out and crafted.

It should also be noted that I don't believe she ever thought she would fully stop the fears from happening, more that she was aware of how the disrupt the rituals to make it much harder for them to bring terror and chaos across the world for that time.

Gertrude was an asshole, she was cold and calculating, and for sure she found joy in the way the entities and their followers hated her for what she did. But she's such a layered and interesting character that I don't know if I'll ever stop enjoying her. All of the women in the Magnus Archives are fascinating characters with a lot of thought put into them and I love them dearly. But Gertrude has always stood out in a way that kept me wanting to finish the show.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.126 Uncle Luca

I loved how my dad loved Sophia. She was his new favorite sim, it seemed. If I ever lost him at a party, all I had to do was find Sophia because he was always somewhere nearby, admiring and watching over her. While Mama was filling me in on Alessia's situation, I saw him give Sophia a gift. He could have simply put it on the table just like everyone else, but he had to hand-deliver it so she knew he cared. If she weren't so wonderful, I think I'd have the right to be jealous, ha ha.

Just like at her birthday party, Sophia was the first one to hit the dancefloor, and one by one, everyone joined her. Even Alessia came out from wherever she was hiding. Previously, Chi Chi had latched onto Sophia and talked her ear off all afternoon, but she found a new friend in my mother, and that made me very nervous. I overheard Mama gushing about becoming a grandmother, and Chi Chi reminisced about Luna's infancy. I just knew they would eventually start talking about me, so I grabbed Less and got out of there.

We went upstairs, and as I stepped inside her room, the reality of her situation hit me hard. The familiar purple and blue color scheme I remembered remained, but everything else had changed. Three cribs had replaced her bed—two blue ones and a purple one. A changing table and other infant furniture crowded the walls, and baby play things lined the floor. These babies not only turned Less' world upside down with their presence, but also they displaced her, and now she slept in my room. I couldn't judge her for not appreciating the joy and privilege of becoming a parent because I had never faced the devastation of having my world upended like that. Me and Sophia's world would change with just one baby, but Less was having THREE she never wanted, and I felt for her.

"Less... I know this is a lot, especially since you didn't want any of it. But you're not alone. Me and Sophia will be here for you."

"No, you won't." Her voice sounded so hopeless and sad. "You're gonna have your own family to worry about and forget all about me."

"What? How could you think that? Yes, I'll be busy with my family, but you're still my family. I could never forget about you. You're my sister! And these babies are my family too. I might not be able to come all the time, but I'd never leave you in a lurch."

"Luca, I... I can't handle this!"

"You can! As soon as you see the babies, you'll know exactly what to do. It's in you! And maybe you won't like them, but you'll love them. And because you love them, you'll do whatever it takes to make sure they have everything they need."

"How do you believe that?" she asked.

"You come from a long line of amazing mothers. I'm sure you'll find your way."

"I doubt that, but I'm glad you believe in me."

I hated seeing her so down and wanted to cheer her up so badly. This moment was probably all wrong for our story, but she loved gossip even more than Mama. If I framed it right, maybe it would boost her spirits.

"You wanna know something Mama doesn't know?"

Her face was still droopy, but it lit up ever so slightly, just as I expected it would.

"Me and Sophia had trouble getting pregnant."

She gasped.

"Turns out we both had low fertility. We had to do IVF."

"Oh, Luca! I feel like such a dunce for complaining around you!"

"It's okay. You didn't know."

"Yeah, but still. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I mean, it doesn't segue well in conversation. 'Luca, I'm pregnant!' 'Oh yeah? I might not be able to have children.' Nah. Besides, by the end we were just so depressed like you are right now. We didn't want to bring anyone into that."

"I understand. I hate that for you, but I'm glad you finally got your baby. Do you want to meet mine? I know they'll be in love with you."

I was very surprised she invited me to feel the babies and hoped she was slowly coming around. I still couldn't believe she had THREE of them in her little body. I placed my hands on her tiny belly and felt an itty bitty bump. It was small, but it was there. Suddenly, hit me that I was an uncle! I never thought I'd be able to say that.

"Hey, little guys! This is Uncle Luca. I know it's a bit crowded in there, but play nice and be good for mommy, okay? I love you all so much!"

"You're such a doofus."

"Thank you, big brother. I don't deserve you."

"It's gonna be okay, Less. We got you."

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading roundup: April 2024

oh my god you guys I've read SO MUCH this month!!! I got BIG into reread N.K. Jemisin's tremendous Broken Earth trilogy and it's been jaw-dropping, and I have been reading a HEAP of comics and manga a

on the extremely off chance there's anyone following me who doesn't think comics, manga, graphic novels, etc don't count as "real reading" lmao lol get out of here??? you're on the Reading 1000s of Pages of Old Batman Comics blog. go feel the whimsy of reading a whole graphic novel in one afternoon and maybe you'll calm down.

ANYWAY!!! what have we been reading?

Earthdivers Vol. 1: Kill Columbus (Stephen Graham Jones, Davide Gianfelice, Joana Lafuente, 2023) - Stephen Graham Jones is one of my all-time favorite authors, and I was super excited to check out his first comic series. Earthdivers takes place in the wasteland of the 22nd century, where four Native survivors have hatched a plan to try to stop the disasters that are killing the world: use a time-travelling cave to send one of their number back in time to kill Columbus before he can launch the colonization of North America. it's a one-way trip, and the time traveler will have to be ruthless to achieve their goal. beyond the attention-grabbing hook of killing Columbus, this story dives (you see what I did there) deep into an exploration of what it means to sacrifice everything for a cause and find the will to be ruthless in pursuit of the greater good. I'm not 100% sure I tracked all of the twisting threads of time travel in this first volume, but the hook is compelling and Gianfelice's art is beautiful, so I'm really looking forward to seeing the series progress!

Spoiler Alert (Olivia Dade, 2020) - at this point I've written 8000+ words about this book on my patreon and it's becoming difficult to figure out what else to say or how to say it briefly. this book ties itself up in knots with its contrivances and makes both of its protagonists look dumb in the process. I don't like either of these people but - spoiler alert! - I still think April can and should do better. Olivia Dade please call me I just want to talk.

Delicious in Dungeon Vol. 1-3 (Ryoko Kui, trans. Yen Press, 2017) - I don't need to explain Dungeon Meshi. surely you've seen the gifs of Dungeon Meshi. all that matters is that I fucking love Dungeon Meshi, this shit rules and it's going to be so hard to hold off on reading Volume 4 while I try to prioritize some other books first. this world is great, the characters are a delight and a joy, and the way that Kui is so fascinated by the food and biology and exploration of adventurer fantasy tropes in her world makes my brain go wheeeeeeeeee!!! I'm having so much fun.

The Fifth Season (N.K. Jemisin, 2015) - historically I've very seldom reread books, but I'm starting to think that I need to change my stance on that. revisiting the Fifth Season years after I first read it, with the time to really enjoy it and also the maturity and perspective to actually appreciate what Jemisin is cooking, has enhanced the experience immeasurably. a thing that really struck me this time was how artfully Jemisin depicts the way orogenes are conditioned and groomed from the jump to be subservient and scared and willing to settle for life at the margins of society; it's not something that I could totally understand the nuances of when I read this book fresh out of my first year of college. this novel and its sequels are so brilliantly devastating, I cannot say enough great things about them.

My Pancreas Broke, But My Life Got Better (Nagata Kabi, trans. Jocelyne Allen 2022) - I did it, I'm officially caught up on all of Nagata's works that have been translated into English! and man, I'm still worried about her. the experience of reading My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness hasn't quite been replicated for me; I think that was a once in a lifetime event, although I've certainly found a lot that I relate to in Nagata's subsequent struggles to sort of out anxiety, independence, art, and figuring out what kind of relationships she event wants to have in her life. at this point I feel like I'm just reading the illustrated life updates from a friend I haven't seen in a long time who stresses me out because her life is a mess. which is still interesting! but god I hope something good happens to this woman soon.

The Obelisk Gate (N.K. Jemisin, 2016) - The Fifth Season is a book about the end of the world and of one woman's personal apocalypses that happened prior to that. its sequel, the Obelisk Gate, is a book that's extremely preoccupied with the tedium of figuring out how to run a halfway-functioning society in the midst of the apocalypse, which is genuinely fascinating stuff. and it's also a book about the fear and desperation and sheer levels of exhaustion that might drive someone to decide that, fuck it, maybe the world should end and we should be done with all of this, actually. it's also a book about devotion and dependence and destruction and devouring people you love in a VERY literal way, which it must be said is pretty sexy. the stuff that pops off between Essun and Hoa in this book makes me think of Octavia Butler in the best way; I think she would have adored them. I'm so excited to get to the final book and see how this all pays off, because the first time I read it I barely understood a single goddamn thing that was happening.

I Hate This Place Vol. 1-2 (Kyle Starks, Artyom Toplin, Lee Loughridge, 2022-2023) - a short and spooky comic series that wraps up in two tight little volumes. I have some gripes with the pacing, but it makes for a fun afternoon read. a mid-tier streaming service is going to adapt this into a live action series within a couple of years, mark my worms. personally I'm fancasting Mackenzie Davis as Gabby and Samira Wiley as Trudy.

[graysparrowao3]

I'm definitely excited for more Cal and Lia content! The way you write their dynamic is always a joy to read!

I was curious: Relating to the Cal and Lia WIP, did Rolan barely figure out what they were doing or did he know the entire time and was just playing dumb? Is there a little snippet you can share from that WIP?

A follow up question that doesn't exactly relate to the WIPS: How did you figure out writing for their dynamic?

No worries about answering those if you want to keep the fic a surprise! Love your writing!

Forest! Hello, this is so lovely! I'm so touched, and so glad you enjoy to read how I write them. I also love your writings on the siblings, it feeds my soul and my heart! I will do very best to answer your questions and hope it is what you would like from them! <3

(I wanted to do my best to answer and this unintentionally got very long and took a while, I do apologize!)

Relating to the Cal and Lia WIP, did Rolan barely figure out what they were doing or did he know the entire time and was just playing dumb?

Based on the idea provided by @faerunsbest I'm going to go with that he figures it out not immediately but very early on. I'm approaching it that he is playing dumb because he decides that's the best way to keep track of them without having to face the awkwardness of confronting them, and he does get a sense of satisfaction for getting one over on them. But he'll be doing things like staying awake until he knows they're back, doing research on their partners, etc., to make sure they're safe.

Is there a little snippet you can share from that WIP?

It's in the notes/planning stage and I don't have enough content yet to share a narrative snippet, but I'm not against sharing it at all! I shall try to remember to do so soon and tag you both! <3

How did you figure out writing for their dynamic?

For writing their dynamic, the first thing I did was listen to/watch their lines and scenes a lot. There's a collection of Rolan's lines here and also in this Youtube video, and there's a Youtube video of Cal and Lia's lines here. I watched all the scenes on Youtube/Twitter I could find of scenes I never got in my playthrough (i.e. the 'bad' ones).

Then, based on what we see in the game, and I try to explore the underlying psychology and extrapolate to new situations. (I think some of this probably veers into 'head canon' territory, so I hope this is okay to share here.)

An example that stands out in my mind is that if Lia dies and Rolan yells at Cal, Cal runs upstairs at Last Light and has ambient lines about how devastated he is, but if the player speaks to him he immediately hides his pain and says he's fine, it's Rolan he's worried about. So, Cal is able to mediate between them and take care of them emotionally at the cost of hiding his own pain, and also note that Rolan and Lia have more difficulty with emotional intelligence & expression and don't provide that same support for him. (This is why in the longest fic I've written so far (not this Cal and Lia fic, but just to make my point), I had Cal sort of crush on and try to spend time with Dammon and then Wyll, not because I wanted to particularly explore a relationship for him in that fic, but because it shows that Cal is looking for the gentleness and ability to be heard (that I thought those two characters in particular would provide) that he doesn't get with Rolan and Lia - noting here not just how they do interact, but how they do not interact, and what impact that would have on them as people.)

Another example is Lia in Act 1 states that she keeps dreaming of waking with her throat slit - so I wrote her as having this as part of a trauma response, and as being terrified, reasonably so, for her safety, even long after the threat has gone. As much as Lia 'wants to do the right thing', she's idealistic about what that is (note her wanting to join a Mercenary Group), and is also battling her own demons. I think I'm getting off topic, sorry!

These are things I keep in mind - what do they want (in general)? What are they missing? How are they coping with the traumas of their lives? And importantly, how does this impact their interactions?

So, what I usually keep in mind in terms of their dynamics when I'm writing them (note this is only my in-game or post-game thoughts and is not exhaustive character analyses, just main points that I think of to try and keep them "in character" as I see them and avoid falling into 'flanderization'):

Cal:

Is trusting, open-minded in his tone and approach (note how he's always had Rolan and Lia to trust in and take the lead so he doesn't have to).

I might use questions more in his dialogue with them.

It's not about him emotionally - it never is, and he never complains about that in the way Lia does - is carrying the emotional weight for the three of them. (If Cal dies, Lia says angrily about Rolan "it's always about him, his pain" - which in some ways was true, but it may be more accurate to say 'it was never about Cal, his pain'.)

He is light-hearted sometimes and does like to joke around, but he's not infantile - this is still a young man who has been through some serious trauma and conflict.

Admires Rolan more than anyone (says so if Rolan dies).

Wants to be heard but won't ask for it, wants to not have to worry about fighting in every sense of the word.

Lia:

Wants to do 'the right thing' but may be idealistic about what that is, wants to be safe (as mentioned before, is traumatized by it all in her own way).

I might drop words from the start of her speech, especially definite articles/indefinite articles/pronouns (i.e. the, a, I). A lot of the characters in BG3 do this because the dialogue writing is tight, but I associate it more with Lia (rightly or wrongly lol) and it emphasizes directness in her speech.

More direct and bold in approach, not always in the most thoughtful way (as she says, she loves them but isn't good at expressing it), but similar to Cal not being infantile, though she's direct it's not pure aggression - it's protection and fear.

I imagine that deep down she knows Cal admires Rolan more - so where does that leave her? But she's not selfish enough to say it.

Rolan:

(I'm sure folks have already talked about him extensively, so I'll try to focus only on my approach to their interactions!)

If in doubt, I try starting his speech with "I". Even I revise it, it's always a good jumping off point for centering himself in the interaction.

Oblivious to or purposely avoids emotional cues or anything that would cause vulnerability, in part for self-protection.

If he goes too far, as long as he's on good terms with the speaker (and he is with them) he does apologize and revise. He's focused on himself but not a complete asshole, when prompted he doesn't want to hurt them and won't take that risk.

People have different head canon for Rolan (and Cal and Lia) childhood, the theme is often belonging and the doubt / insecurity of belonging that always underpins his thinking. Any assholery towards them is self-protective, lack of emotional expression skills, or the only way he knows to achieve his/their goals.

Wants to succeed, to prove himself, to provide.

All three of them:

Limited emotional expression, just in different ways. Not going to say outright how they really feel unless it's an emotional or climactic moment that will absolutely force it.

Want to protect each other, just in different ways. (Broadly, Cal - emotionally, Lia - physically, Rolan - materially).

Love each other deeply - would all do anything, up to and including sacrifice themselves for each other.

Are determined and have their own agency, and doing the best they can.

Are exhausted and coping with trauma differently.

So essentially it's like a constant push and pull between the three of them, with all of them wanting to express love in the ways they know whilst trying to get their own needs met too, and at the same time none of them able to outright talk to each other in a vulnerable way or express their pain, dancing around what they can't say and falling back on what they're good at/their coping skills.

(Oh God, I hope this is what you were hoping for, I'm sorry it's so long I sort of just kept going 😅)

[thetragicallynerdy]

Okay so, I made a thread about this over on twitter, and thought I'd drop it here too. OFMD Season 2 spoilers ahead. An idea that I've seen a few times and felt I needed to yell about is the idea that OFMD is now ableist, and that it is wrong to like and enjoy it as a show. As a queer disabled person, it's something that pisses me off so, so much. I'm not going to defend everything that happens in OFMD. But I am going to say that it is one of the best shows I know for showing both a broad range of disabilities, and presenting those disabilities in a largely neutral light. We have multiple amputees, multiple people with chronic pain , multiple characters with mental health issues, and more. We have Pete's speech impediment, Wee John's back, Lucius' finger, Jackie's hand, Ed's mental health, Stede's mental health - and yeah, Izzy's leg. The way that these disabilites are presented is important to me - because they're just another part of the person, not good or bad. There are obviously impacts and things to work through - Ed's mental health being one, Izzy's leg being another - but they ARE worked through. Ed's suicidality - which spans over two entire seasons - is addressed. So is the moments of Izzy's. Izzy gets support and a prosthetic, Lucius gets support and a prosthetic, we see Wee John sitting down in most scenes which would support his back. Disability isn't just ignored, or played off for laughs, but neither is it made the entire plot point. Izzy is just as much of a badass as before. Lucius' finger doesn't stop his work. Jackie's hand doesn't make her less fearsome. Ed's mental health (and Izzy's, and Stede's) don't make them less deserving of love. None of the character's disabilities do. In fact, we see two disabled characters - Lucius and Pete - getting married at the end of the season. And that's important. It's so important!!

If you're sad and upset that Izzy died, that's incredibly valid. But to say that it "shows that disabled characters have nothing to live for" - when his death wasn't related to his disability at all - is so incredibly offensive. I am permanently disabled, to the point that I cannot work full time. I have seen posts about my disability saying that it would be better to die than to have it. But nothing - NOTHING - in OFMD suggests that it would've been better for Izzy to die than to have an amputation. Instead he is supported, encouraged, and loved. He is given a carefully crafted prosthetic, and given space to learn how to use it. He gets support, and his mental health improves. He is given a beautiful life. And then he dies. But his death is not about his disability. I'm going to repeat that - his death is NOT about his disability. Nor is it about being queer. It's shitty, random luck. I'm sure there are people who are going to say that the writers, simply by having a disabled queer character die, are ableist and queerphobic. But nothing we see in the show supports that. They show queer joy and delight and love and happy endings over and over again. They show care and support of disabilities, over and over again. And they specifically show queer disabled people living beautiful lives, over and over again. One character's death doesn't undo that. I'm sorry that your favourite character died. I really, truly am. It's a devastating feeling. I'm sorry that it hurts. But if you're taking it as a sign that the show is saying queer disabled people have no right to live? Then you're ignoring the rest of the show.

You're ignoring all the beautiful queer disabled characters we see, and the messages that the show tells us about them. You're ignoring the beautiful life and redemption that Izzy got. And yeah, you're being offensive as hell to queer disabled people. Sorry, you are.

And if you're queer and disabled and can't see a queer disabled character die - that's incredibly valid. I understand. However, that doesn't mean the show or writers hate you, or hates us, or wants you to die. They've shown us over and over again that actually, they love us.

Also - would you be this pissed if it was any other disabled character who died? Probably not.

I think it's also really important to have stories where disabled people are treated like people. And yeah, that means that sometimes we die. Because that happens in life, too. Same with queer people.

I don't really have a satisfying conclusion to this. I'm just queer and disabled, and really tired of seeing it said that it's now morally wrong to like this show. It's not. I'm queer, disabled, and I see more disability pride and support in this show than most others.

So yeah, thank you to OFMD for beautiful representations of disability, and queerness. It's a show that makes me feel seen - and that's really important.

[lacedupforyou]

"𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞" Yandere Izana Headcannons

~ See End For Notes ~

You were one of the first friends Izana had, Next to Kakucho of course but you were different. You treated him human and made a point to want to get to know him and help him. In his eyes once he built his kingdom you were going to be the one ruling by his side.

But soon, He had went to Juvi. You made sure to vist him and bring him a gift everytime! But as time went by, You got new friends and stopped visiting.

This pissed Izana off, they were trying to steal you from him, Steal his queen. The second he got out he knew what he was going to do.

Once he was released he had gotten word you had found some boyfriend. Izana was well, Furious to say the least. He flew into a rage wanting to kill the guy himself. But he sent his lackies to do it first. And make sure it hurts.

When you had heard the news you were devastated. You stayed in bed for days feeling so awful, Then he made his appearance, At your front door.

To open and see him you felt a feeling of guilt and joy, For not seeing him or visting in awhile but you had a few pretty good excuses. But Izana didn't care right now he needed you in his arms now.

He threw his arms around you lifting you off the ground in his embrace. Your smell he inhaled was intoxicating, But he knew you'd find out he did something. You were smart enough to figure it out but he didn't care much, He was free now and he could finally feel your touch again, The touch he's craved for a long, long, long time.

You felt pressured when he asked you out, It was infront of a few of Tenjiku's executives. You didn't want to get your ass beat for saying no so you said yes. He's your friend it couldn't be horrible! He's still a good guy, To you at least.

He would take you on tons of dates, the movies, cafe's, And drives on his bike. He would drive rough on purpose to feel you holding on to him tight. God if he was going to die this would be how, Your arms around him.

His gang members treated you with the utmost respect when you were in the back round of most meetings just sitting and trying to not bother anyone. People bowed their heads at you in the gang and you got walks home from some of their high ranks.

If you didn't like something Izana did and said it to his face he'd be bawling crocodile tears, The truth is if he wanted to go crazy in front of you he could have but hat was more of a last result. He would mostly just guilt you into letting him do stuff like carry you, touch you, and be smothering.

Eventually all of his gang behavior freaked you out as you were harassed by Tenjiku's enemies a few times No one has seen those men since you told Izana about the incidents . You told him how you felt but he was pretty dismissive of it and you had enough of it. You told him you were worried and he just looked you.You gave him one final look before walking out of the door to his home.

When you slammed the door that was when Izana snapped. He was lightning quick to pin you down on the ground and drag you back into his abode. Pinning you like an animal had caught his prey

"Where do you think you were going..?" He asked scarily. "I-Izana!! You're hurting me!! Hey!!" You shouted loudly.. "Shhh..Shh.. Hold still I need this love."

He held you there for a long long time.

"Seems I can't trust you to go outside..I guess I'll have to have to keep you here..Heh..~"

| This felt pretty short lol. Feel free to send me some requests! I'm dying for some lol. Thank you for all the recent attention to my other posts, Truly been the motivation behind everything. |

[denaliwrites]

Love's Perfect Ache

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader

Summary: You have news for Alec and he doesn't take it the way you'd hoped.

Soundtrack: Arsonist’s Lullaby by Hozier

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Pregnancy, Mention of Abortion. No pronouns but Reader has a functional uterus.

You hold one end of a pregnancy test in one hand and tap the other end against the palm of the opposite hand while your legs aimlessly take you in circles around the kitchen. It's an anxious tick, something you've been doing for the last two hours. Since you took the test and saw the result.

Positive.

You can't help it -- it's not even good or bad news yet (that'll be figured out once you tell Alec). But learning you're carrying a baby is rarely something that people feel neutral about. And now, all you can focus your energy on is pacing and tap tap tapping the test against your palm while you wait for Alec to come home.

Of course, you want it to be good news. You've seen Alec with kids -- he's great with them when he actually cares enough to put in the effort to be. You've met Daisy a few times, and every time you see the two together you see that he's putting in the work to be a good dad, that he cares and does his best for her.

You'd be lying if you said seeing him with Daisy, or any of the neighborhood kids, didn't make you want kids of your own with him. Or even just a kid. One would be enough, really. You're not sure his heart could take more than one, anyway.

Your pacing came to a halt when you heard the door open and shut, panic suddenly filling you. As he rounds the corner and his eyes land on you and he starts to smile, you anxiously blurt out, "I'm pregnant."

You wait with bated breath, hyperaware of his expression, the way it changes from joy at seeing you to confusion to realization to panic and finally settles on...

"Fuck!" he growls in anger, and you shrink back, clutching the test tightly. "I thought we were being careful."

"I... I don't understand," you whimper. "Why are you angry?"

"Because I can't have another kid!" he turns his ire on you, but stops when he sees your devastated expression. "Darlin', I don't have it in me to raise another kid. I'm not as young as I used to be."

You nod, trying to hold back the tears. "I understand."

"And -- and think of Daisy," he went on, seemingly on a roll. "She's sixteen now, think how weird it'd be for her to be sixteen, seventeen years older than her little sibling."

"Y-you're right," you said, trying to placate him, trying to stop him. "Honestly, I should've expected you to react this way..."

He goes on, rambling about his heart and his career and at one point he circles back to his age, before moving on to the trauma of the Sandbrook case. He's completely missed that you're in tears.

That is, until you finally have enough. "Fine," you sob, and that stops him, that finally gets him to shut up. "Fine. You clearly... you don't want it. I'll make an appointment at the clinic tomorrow for termination."

He pauses, caught between having gotten, presumably, exactly what he wanted and a need to comfort you. Eventually, though you're not sure how, his need to comfort you wins out, and he pulls you into a tight and loving embrace. "Not... not yet," he says with a sigh.

"Why?" you ask meanly, squirming in his embrace to try to break free. He doesn't let you.

"We're both emotional," he says softly, hold loosening once he's sure you won't run away. "Let's... let's take some time, y'ken? Maybe we'll... maybe I'll come 'round. Who knows?"

"Why on Earth would you do that?"

"'Cause I love ye," he says simply, like there could not possibly be any other answer, like you should know that there is no other answer. "And your happiness means the world to me... and if that means ye get a kid, then..." He trails off, but you feel him shrug.

"I'm not gonna force you to have a baby with me, Alec," you whimper, eyes fixed on the wall ahead of you.

He slips a hand under your chin, tilting your head up so that you'll look at him. "You're not forcin' me to do anythin', darlin'," he assured you, planting a loving kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I want what'll make your heart sing."