#and even then the conversion of this alone is nuanced and complicated

[uncanny-tranny]

This is purely speculation on my end, but I've noticed that it seems like people (specifically younger queer people, partially under forty) are so used to queerphobes indignantly saying, "you have the right to marry, what more can you want?! Why do you shove it down our throats?!" that they internalize the idea that gay marriage and other rights were only fought for for queer assimilation.

The push for things like gay marriage wasn't just "to assimilate," and especially after the AIDs crisis, you very well could watch your lover or friend or mentor die in front of you and have no recourse. No protections. No guarantee that you could even say goodbye. Learning that - as a young queer myself - hammered home how important these things can be. To get where we are now didn't happen because of the magical benevolence of the cishets. We fought for that shit. We died for that shit.

Again, this is speculation, but I don't think young queers (even me) will truly understand the scope of queer history. It takes effort to learn about this, but it is an effort worth pursuing every single time. At the least, we owe it to honour the people who came before us who have sacrificed so much. We owe our communities that much, at least.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

edit : i'm sorry but this post is messy i don't like how this is the ramble that got the most attention shhffs please check out the addendum in the reblogs if you want a more clearer analysis

-

FIRST OF ALL the thing about the paint huffing - Other than that it's funny - is that we were getting ragatha at her most honest . she's more reflective and reveals her mind more which is a Lot considering that she has shown herself to be a people pleaser trying to avoid conflict . this is Literally The Last thing she wants

and honestly it would be fun to see the fallout of this in episode 5 when she would inevitably sober up and be Mortified about that fact considering she said This to gangle here

like . interesting ragatha . is that why you Do Not Stop Jax when he goes to bully gangle . other than not wanting him to hate you you also prefer it if gangle is in her tragedy state . is that it . Is That It -

also you guys don't know how much i fucking screamed at these scenes okay . there's nothing i love more than nice characters that show their less than desirable traits . my favorite thing about ragatha is not that she's a sweetheart but that she's Dishonest . even to the point that gangle mentions it in her talk with pomni

like my ongoing theory right now for the ' evil ragatha ' comment gooseworx made for episode 5 is that ragatha's going to say or do the Most Morally Ambiguous thing possible that will send the entire fandom on fire . like we're talking Arguments on whether she's in the right or wrong Even though this is a show that invites nuance instead of black and white views , and it'll be so fucking marvelous to witness

NOW . i really don't think she's faking being nice ! i believe with all my heart that ragatha's inherently Good and i will throw hands at anyone who thinks otherwise . it's just that she's just Repressing What She Thinks About The Others because , again , Avoiding Conflict ! which is shown by how annoyed she got with pomni talking to gummigoo ( gayass ) , what she said to gangle , and what she said to zooble

yes i screamed about the toybox interaction i knew that ragatha was going to not like zooble's grouchiness But I Digress .

all of this is interesting because . again , ragatha's a people pleaser trying to avoid conflict . i think her reasons for being nice and helpful are both selfless and selfish . selfless - she doesn't want anyone to go through the stress and pain of feeling alone , and selfish - she doesn't want anyone to hate her . they're like a smoothie , she's not one or the other . it's just that the latter reason ... has a lot more influences on her thought processes than she'd like to admit .

and that's showcased if you look at episode 2 with her conversation with kinger . she was worried about pomni going through something traumatizing , yes , but she added that she thinks pomni doesn't like her that much . which . it's a small piece of dialogue but it really shows how much ragatha's Gripping That Fucking Fawn Response . yes , her concern is everyone's wellbeing , but she also Would Not Like It If Anyone Hates Her , to the point that it'll stick to her . and she'll try So Hard to compensate for it .

like . she is really a nice person but she's dishonest because she doesn't want to be hated which is very much a selfish reason . she's falling into that pitfall of ' a friend to all is a friend to none ' . argh . why is she so complicated god i'm going to put her in that deepfryer again

[bwat5-blog]

"Clearly, Caitlyn Kiramman Should’ve Known Better at 23: A Masterclass in Ignoring Trauma and Believing War Criminals"

**Spoilers for all of Arcane**

Recently I made the mistake of delving into the comments of an otherwise excellent post regarding Caitlyn Kiramman and the aftermath of her time as "dictator", specifically in terms of were there enough consequences? did she do enough to make it right? should more have been done to her? that sort of thing. In the festering cesspool of those comments, I saw a variation of the following statement:

"if we were doing things based on what was fair and just, Caitlyn should have been executed on behalf of the two cities for peace"

It was more crude but you get the point. This person alleged that Caitlyn deserved death for what happened during those few months. Before we move forward lets review what we know about all of this. I have quite recently covered a lot of Caitlyn's arc so I'm not doing a deep dive here. Just enough to address this particular bit of idiocy.

How It Starts:

Like I said we aren't doing a deep dive here, so just for a quick reminder as to where twenty-three year old Caitlyn is mentally at this point(regardless of fault or nuance, just the facts):

Has been almost killed by Jinx three times

Almost killed by Sheriff of Piltover

Abducted naked from her childhood home, forced to dress in Enforcer uniform, bound, gagged, and forced to attend Jinx's tea party where Jinx tries to get Vi to murder Caitlyn

Violently knocked out

Shows Jinx mercy at Vi's request

Jinx kills her mother

Trying to become head of house Kiramman

Undercity attacks the memorial

Survives strike team operations

Brutal fight with Sevika

Vi stops her from shooting again

Very emotional split from Vi after hitting her and leaving her alone

So, with all of that under consideration, a Noxian warlord in her fifties who has commanded troops on various continents across Runeterra, calls her up and says trust me, i have your back, we will get justice for your mother. And Caitlyn folds... Le Gasp?!

Guys I know this is a little more snarky than my usual approach, but this really is just not that complicated. This is not even subtle. We literally see the flash back of Ambessa orchestrating the memorial attack to get us to this point. Caitlyn is an open wound mentally and emotionally, she never stood a chance. Lets take a moment to review some important points here by the way:

Ambessa came to Piltover for Hex-Tech. She doesn't hide this from Mel and is quite clear in her goals.

"If there is a chance hextech can be weaponized, we must have it". Mel responds "Piltover isn't your testing ground... I can't believe you'd start a war just to cover your ass" And Ambessa responds "i would set the world ablaze to protect our family". And the conversation ends with Ambessa ordering her daughter to "let the war unfold".

2. She executes her plan to make Caitlyn her scape-goat in front of:

Councilor Salo

Councilor Shoola

Large group of enforcers

Group of twenty plus people who make up as Ambessa states "every house and family with a modicum of influence"

Not a single, solitary person says a word when Ambessa brings a twenty-three year old grieving young woman with, if we're being generous two months of combat experience though probably less, and says She is in charge now! They let Caitlyn be walked right into the jaws of the wolf herself.

The Great And Terrible Rule Of Caitlyn The Creepy! WHAHAHAHA!:

What she gives her okay on:

Occupation of Zaun

Lawful (under martial law not normal law) arrests of those who cause problems

Yep... there it is folks. There is the great list of terrible crimes against humanity committed by the she-devil of Piltover herself. Checkpoints and arrests. Which by the way I am not justifying. People being arrested subjects them to Ambessa's brutality once they are inside. And as we clearly see Rictus uses the right to arrest to brutalize a Jinxer, and to break up the rally. And Caitlyn absolutely shares some portion of the blame for that. But um.. the way people reacted I was really expecting more public hangings and and labor camps.

**Not really a good place to put this but just fyi, despotic mad-women don't usually have to get up early to please a craftsman guild over supply complaints... just saying..."

"But OP! Sexy Zangief was beating people up and breaking up peaceful rallies!"

Well fortunately we talk about that!

"Was it for my encouragement that your man Rictus was instigating violence?"

How does Ambessa respond? Not with anger, or rage. First with guilt "You don't trust me", then with approval when Caitlyn responds the blade cuts both ways "fearless child, you never shy",

Ambessa is a master manipulator. Caitlyn is and was grieving her mother, and her whirlwind extremely intense romantic relationship with Vi. She had a gargantuan hole in her heart and a woman with decades leading and commanding soldiers and learning strategy slid right in. Recall that in bed with Maddie Caitlyn almost is defending Ambessa, talking about learning so much from her and the lives Ambessa saved with her assistance getting control of Zaun, so they could hunt for Jinx. Caitlyn has legitimately come to care for Ambessa at least on some level. I even believe that on some level Ambessa has come to care for Caitlyn.

2. "Arrests require cause"

When Ambessa is suggesting someone in Zaun knows where Jinx is, this is how Caitlyn responds. Not with orders to start dragging people out into the street. Not executing children in the street or burning down buildings. And when Ambessa tries to justify it "What greater cause is there than returning peace to the city?" Caitlyn responds:

3. "Why is peace always the justification for violence".. (Note Ambessa laying comforting hand on Caitlyn's shoulder during conversation)

Ambessa gives her this speech: "we've lost so many.. the anger, the sorrow.. it's tiring. Gods, I know it's tiring.. But you will never rest knowing that she's out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength I do not.. to forgive.. and trust in tomorrow.. the decision is yours commander.."

"I know you are so tired, I know you are exhausted. I know you want this to be over. But you can't feel safe with her out there. I know you can't. Unless of course you can do what even I can't. Forgive your mothers FUCKING MURDERER. But ya know, up to you"-

If you truly cannot see the insidiousness of how Caitlyn is being twisted and manipulated, I envy you the charmed life you have lead. But be weary my friend, "you're off the edge of the map, here there be monsters." (POC 1)

"But OP! Ambessa was experimenting with Hex-Tech and committing brutal interrogations!"

I will admit the show does not explicitly state that Caitlyn did not know about this. Explicitly. However, given our context clues I feel quite confidant suggesting she did not:

See literally everything she said above

Every time we see them doing this she is not present

It seems like they are in some deep and away part of the prison when they are doing this

In private after the failed hex-tech experiment, Ambessa laments that they didn't secure the scientists before seizing control of Piltover. She is openly discussing that they are the actual ruling power. I seriously doubt she would be doing that anywhere Caitlyn may come knocking.

She Could Have Stopped At Any Time! Maddie Even Say So:

You mean that Maddie? The Noxian spy who keeps an eye on Caitlyn from her fucking bed, taking advantage of Caitlyn's grief and guilt over how things ended with Vi? Caitlyn is reminded she has a choice twice. The first time by the spy in her bed, and the second time by Ambessa herself. Her loyalty is being tested. Not her conscious. Ambessa literally put eyes and ears in her bed, and some of yall wanna argue Caitlyn wasn't being controlled. Ambessa assumed the role of Caitlyn's mother, and had her spy take on the role of Vi. And I will say this. Sure. Caitlyn could have gone to Ambessa and called it all off. No more war, no more martial law, the council is in charge again so no more imprisonment and hex-tech experiments. And maybe.. just maybe Ambessa would have row-row-row your boated her homicidal ass home. I rather doubt it. I suspect that conversation would have ended with Caitlyn getting this treatment:

We have been over this already but for a reminder:

Ambessa came here for hex-tech to fight the blackrose. She instigated the memorial attack for her cause.

"I would set the world ablaze to protect our family"

As we will come to see later, her last living child begs her to stop the bloodshed, even offering to go back with her, and all Ambessa can see is weakness.

Other indicators of how she is doing with everything:

"I never expected this to go on so long.. I thought.. I don't know what I thought.."

"Up again?" Maddie tells us Caitlyn hasn't been sleeping

Forbids the use of the cells Vi was kept in

REWIND BACK TO HELLFIRE:

I recently just did an in-depth doc on the strike team, the use of the grey, and what all of this means in story. So I will keep this brief here. but I do want to discuss it as "SHE WAS GASSING KIDS!" is still being vomited up by every double-digit iq booger eater with a keyboard.

Ambessa orchestrated the memorial attack to force Piltover retaliation

The strike team is an alternative to a full-scale invasion by Piltover.

They are hunting dangerous drug lords, destroying shimmer, and hunting Jinx. All three seem fairly reasonable. The issue is not if they are doing something wrong, it's the reason Caitlyn has them doing it. All you have to do is refer to the handy dandy song lyrics they use as Arcane always does to understand this:

"Can I do the right thing for the wrong reason? Is it bad that I'm making friends with my demons, and Living by a couple deadly sins Just to make sure I finish what you began And I ain't afraid to lose a life or ten If it means that I get to win in the end (woo) So I'ma do this on my own, step into the danger zone Pull the pin and watch it blow" (Hellfire Fever 333)

4. Using a crowd dispersal agent that incapacitates bad guys with no documented fatal effects (see multiple characters exposed who are all alive and seemingly well, those images of the people with health issues were from the unfiltered, unaltered smog the Undercity used to live with)to hunt a target who likes to blow shit up seems fair. Also the fact that it knocks people out means they don't have to kill them.

Caitlyn's Remorse And Attempts To Make Things Right:

Literally starts a war with Ambessa to save Vander

Saves a hurt Vi with Jinx's back exposed to her when she is armed

Takes care of injured Vi in her own bed and postpones any judgement of Jinx until Vi wakes

"I Know!"

"We can't erase our mistakes.. none of us"- Equates herself with Jinx

"No amount of good deed can undo our crimes"- Equates herself with Jinx

"Hating you.. I've hated myself.. I just don't have the energy for it any longer.."

Tender moment showing IMMENSE regret during she and Vi's big scene.

The Cost:

One statement I saw opined that there is a difference between remorse and punishment, and that Caitlyn should have been punished. That giving up her seat and losing an eye hardly qualified. Well! Boy oh boy do I have good news for you. Let's take a gander at the physical "not punishment" she acquires willingly leading from the front lines against Ambessa:

Cracked in the head with rifle stock, twice: Skull fractures anyone? how about a lovely concussion?

Stabbed in the stomach: Internal bleeding, bile leaks, intestinal obstruction due to scar tissue adhesions, bowel perforation, the list goes on.

Kicked in the midsection while still stabbed: potential to drive knife deeper lacerating organs and such, just massive pain, potential catastrophic bleeding if a blood vessel was hit, potential rupturing of stomach, kidneys or liver releasing harmful fluids into abdominal cavity, potential for long term chronic pain or permanent organ damage

Leg sweep by Ambessa driving Caitlyn's head into the ground: potential tbi, brain hemorrhage, or further skull fracture, potential vertebral fractures, potential long term cognitive impairment or loss of motor control if spine is damaged

Kicked again: We covered this. Knife is still there.

Ankle pinned/Leg kick/backhand: All sorts of fun things happening to ligaments and tendons. Potential permanent disability. Potential concussion and bruising as well as a whole host of lacerations.

Headbutt with War mask on: Concussion, skull fracture, brain bleed

KICKED OFF OF HER FEET

Pulls knife out of her own body: Potential fatal bleeding, massive pain, possible peritonitis and respiratory distress depending on what all was damaged during the fight with the knife still in her body.

Sacrifices her own eye

Now lets take a quick look at some reasonable assertions for the mental "not punishment" she will likely suffer from after all of this:

Massive potential for PTSD just from the wounds alone

Losing an eye impacts her shooting which is a huge part of who she is and a link to her mother

A woman she shared a bed with levelled a rifle at her neck and pulled the trigger. Caitlyn thought she was going to die.. that doesn't just go away..

look at her face...

She is twenty four people....

4. Guilt over death toll of war

5. Guilt over Vi's possible death from downward spiral

6. Guilt over Vi's possible death from explosion in commune all born from Noxian;s arriving there

7. Guilt over everything done to the Undercity

8. Guilt over perversion of her families ventilation system

9. The fact that from season 1 Act 2 til now, she only ages a year and probably not even a whole one. Refer to my list in the beginning. She has not a single fucking second to breathe or heal from any of that shit

RESTITUTION:

So aside from willingly leading the battle that most of the undercity walked away from until Jinx shows up and almost dying for it, how does Caitlyn start to make things right you may ask? (because it is a start, for those who don't get that. This is the beginning of a story not an end). For the first time in what we understand to be the history of the twin cities, Zaun has a seat at the table. People are REALLLLYYYYY underselling this. I guess because they wanted a whole political treaty signed and to watch Caitlyn get shame-nunned through the street or something. IDK. But what I do know, is that Caitlyn gave away the ancestral seat of house Kiramman, and all the power and authority that came with it, and it now belongs to someone from the undercity. An equal voice. And it's just the beginning. It's not perfect. It's not all wrapped up in a big shiny bow, it feels real. Change isn't instant. It never has been and it never will be, and if you need that to feel fulfilled I understand, but this show was never going to be that for you.

Caitlyn Should Be Executed?:

So back to the original statement. Caitlyn should be executed in the name of peace between the cities. Well, I'll say this. if you see a 24 year old woman who inside of a year had her entire reality imploded, fell prey to the manipulations of a violent war monger close to 30 years her senior if not more, yet found her way back to herself and shed her own blood as a war hero TO SAVE HUMANITY, and your answer is she should be executed. Sure! So long as you admit you have the humanity of a toaster oven you fucking idiot.

To those of you who have continued to read, and share your thoughts, and been open to kind debate and discourse in good faith. You all mean the world to me. As I have said many times, opening myself up to this community has really happed my "real" life in a lot of ways and I love getting on here to appreciate and celebrate this story with all of you. That being said, this particular issue is so god damn irritating to me I am done being nice about it. Have a wonderful day!

[crimson-kisses]

Duetsche Zunge

Characters/Fandoms/Pairings: Yandere! Gilbert Beilschmeidt || Prussia [Hetalia] x Fem!reader Warning: This story will contain xplicit yandere themes, proceed with caution [includes non consensual acts, toxic relationship, physical violence & the like] Author's notes: I honestly took some inspiration from @shini--chan 's works. Her every piece is marvellous, especially Gilbert's character. She has made me mad and intrigued over that man, I say. Also, remember that lot has been going around the world lately, and try to educate yourself and contribute as much as you can.

Gilbert would be absolutely thrilled and intrigued if his darling already knew German—it would spare him the frustration of teaching her everything from scratch. He would be amused and think the way she spoke. Her pronunciation or tone was absolutely adorable.

But of course, being who he is, that wouldn’t necessarily stop him from challenging her, testing the level of her knowledge and fluency. He’d be curious to know what her taste would be in German literature, music, or cinema. Would she favour Goethe’s romanticism, or perhaps the darker allure of Kafka’s surrealism? Would she hum along to Beethoven or lose herself in the melancholic strains of Schubert?

He would likely discover these preferences by observing (read: stalking) her, a brow arched up elegantly as he leaned back on the walls of the library. There, he would watch her conversing with others academically, seeming more like a statue of a scholar or a professor with his disguise of black-rimmed glasses and dark eyes, watching the way her lips curved around sweetly spoken words.

However, being a perfectionist, he could quickly identify any gaps in her knowledge—a slip of grammar, a wrong word here and there, or even a misstep in interpretation. Perhaps she’d confuse a complex construction for a simpler one or misuse an idiomatic expression.

Noting down the mistakes with a stern frown and a disappointed click of his tongue, Gilbert would sigh, unable to tolerate even the smallest errors. He’d push her relentlessly, unwilling to accept anything less than perfection. Papers, after papers, books after books, would pile up around her as he corrected her trembling attempts, his calligraphic writing starkly perfect beside her shaky efforts.

For someone who appeared so rugged, he was surprisingly methodical, almost reverent, when it came to written words, as evidenced by the piles of his ancient diaries filled with neat, precise entries.

It was definitely a cruel mixture of his ego and intense love toward her that drove him to hone her fluency to a level of perfection he alone could crave. Writing, reading, speaking, and even singing—he demanded mastery in every form of expression, shaping her abilities into something he could both admire and control.

But he wouldn’t stop at just German. This rigorous approach extended to other languages in which he excelled, such as French, Italian, and even Russian (though his dislike for a certain Russian man might make things a bit more complicated).

Each session would become a gruelling trial that demanded discipline, focus, and sheer willpower. He’d test her French with its elegant nuances, pushing her to appreciate the subtleties of verb conjugations and melodic flow. Italian, with its passionate rhythm, would become another challenge, the sharp sounds of “c” and “g” perfectly flowing from her lips, just as he demanded. And then, of course, there was Russian—harsh, guttural, and complex—he would revel in hearing her stumble over its sharp consonants, unable to help himself as he smirked with a mix of ego and possessiveness.

Whether it was the elegance of French, the flow of Italian, or the intensity of Russian, Gilbert would make sure she mastered every word, every subtle difference in accent, every cultural nuance, until she spoke each language with an expertise that reflected his possessive influence.

Gilbert would also push her to master ancient languages like Latin and Greek. His admiration for the roots of Western civilization would bleed into his obsessive teaching, as he demanded perfect fluency in these classical tongues.

He’d make her translate passages from Cicero or Horace, test her knowledge of Homer’s epics, and measure her understanding of Plato’s philosophy. Every misstep in conjugation or syntax would be met with sharp reprimands. Yet, at the same time, he would find immense satisfaction in hearing her articulate the beauty of ancient prose, especially when she finally grasped the elegance of Latin’s rhythm or the precision of Greek’s structure.

It would be a sight to watch the man who seemed so restless—always planning, calculating, and never stopping—suddenly appear like a scholar carved from marble. His focus was unwavering, his attention to detail sharp as a blade, whether it was through his quiet admiration or relentless demands, Gilbert made it clear that he wouldn’t stop until she was flawless—not just in language but as a reflection of his obsession with her.

The words on the paper danced as your eyes blurred, hesitant gasps escaping your quivering lips. Each tap of the thick ruler against the desk matched the frantic rhythm of your racing heartbeat. A deep sigh reached your ears, making you tense as a tear dropped, blotting the writing beneath it.

“Wrong. Do it again,” he said, his voice steady but firm, just above a whisper. You could feel the heat of his breath against your ear as he leaned in closer, his words curling into your senses like a soft yet dangerous caress. His forearms, toned and defined, flexed with each controlled motion as he tapped the ruler once more against the wood.

The veins on his arms stood out, a clear testament to the power that lay beneath his skin. His shirt, rolled up to his elbows, emphasized the muscular tone of his arms, the fabric taut as he moved with practiced precision.

“Your knuckles must be throbbing, don’t you think so?” His voice was low, almost velvety, though the slight edge in it made your skin prickle with a sense of haunting despair.

Of course, German would always be Gilbert's top priority. Whether it was the ancient words from his old Teutonic Knight days, the forgotten Prussian of his youth, or the more modern German that had evolved, he would be relentless in teaching you.

He would smirk, watching your hesitant expression, those furrowed brows and strands of hair sticking to your flushed face as you tried to keep up with his rapid-fire lessons. Every time you stumbled, he’d feel a rush of satisfaction, knowing he was pushing you—testing your limits.

And just as you began to feel like you might grasp it, he would pull you further, introducing an even more archaic form of the language. You'd be faced with Prussian words, forgotten phrases from the past, or the formal German of his time as a powerful state, and he'd watch as you struggled to keep up.

But Gilbert never took pity. To him, this wasn’t just about learning words—it was about learning what they meant, what they represented, about becoming part of a deeper history that only he understood intimately.

Naturally, he expected you to speak German at all times when addressing him. After all, he was Prussia—the proud embodiment of his nation's strength and culture, and to him, the language was not merely a means of communication, but a symbol of power, authority, and legacy. He found the way you spoke it utterly captivating—the way your lips shaped the words, how your expression would soften or harden depending on the tone.

Every mistake, every mispronunciation, only seemed to drive him further. He would often reply to you in German despite your slipping into another language— he would become cold, refusing to acknowledge you fully. His childish spite would rise, and he'd deliberately turn his back, offering you nothing but a sharp glance.

"Are you even listening to me?" you snapped, frustration mounting as you tugged at your hair, your words coming out in a burst. The tension in your chest was unbearable, and yet, Gilbert didn’t even flinch. He leaned back in his plush leather chair, the soft creak of the leather under his weight barely audible. The corners of his lips twitched upwards, curling into a satisfied smirk. His eyes, gleaming with amusement, never left you as he observed your growing frustration, watching you unravel with quiet delight. He loved seeing you like this—on the edge, teetering between control and chaos, and utterly at his mercy.

He didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between you. It was as if your words were meaningless to him. He had no intention of addressing your frustration, no intention of actually listening to what you were saying. He was too busy savoring the sight of you. The sharp tone in his voice, when he finally spoke, was smooth, effortless—teasing, almost mocking, a rhythm he knew all too well. Of an ancient German dialect that almost made his words hard to understand.

"Careful with the bread," he murmured, his voice low and cutting through the silence like a blade. "Don’t make it too tough."

You froze for a moment, the absurdity of his words washing over you. He wasn’t listening. Not to you. Not to the frustration in your voice, not to the growing anger burning in your chest. His gaze never wavered, still fixed on you with that predatory calm, like a cat watching its prey squirm. And all the while, you could feel the weight of his attention, suffocating and demanding, making your blood boil even hotter.

Your hands, already trembling from the intensity of the situation, clenched into fists. You turned away quickly, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it was too late. Your mind raced, and you felt the overwhelming need to take out your frustration on something—anything. The dough in front of you.

You slammed your hands into it, pressing harder than necessary, your fingers digging into the soft dough with surprising force. It was as though you could feel his presence behind you, even though he said nothing more, watching you knead the dough with a strange, mocking stillness in the air. You wished it was his neck beneath your hands instead, the pressure of your palms imagining the crushing sensation of him being the one to break under the weight. The thought alone made you grit your teeth.

Gilbert’s smirk never faltered, his eyes still on you, studying every move you made. He had already won, and you both knew it. You were powerless against his presence, against his control. His lessons weren’t games. They were training. And you were exactly where he wanted you.

Though he often found amusement in the banter between you, even encouraging it at times, Gilbert wouldn’t take kindly to any attempts to push things beyond their limits. Swear words or throwing personalized insults his way would undoubtedly irritate him. He thrived on the playful back-and-forth, enjoying the challenge of testing boundaries, seeing just how far he could push you before you snapped.

But as much as he revelled in this dynamic, there were unspoken rules that, if broken, would have severe consequences. Gilbert was not one to tolerate disrespect, not even in jest. His pride, especially when it came to how others viewed his authority, was something you learned to tread lightly around.

He had a way of making you feel small when you crossed that invisible line. It wasn’t outright aggression, no—it was more subtle, calculated. His silence, his smirk, the way he’d cock his head and stare at you with those piercing eyes—each glance felt like a silent reprimand. His lessons weren’t games. This was training. And training wasn’t just about learning skills or techniques—it was about understanding power dynamics, submission, and control. For Gilbert, discipline was an art. You had to earn his approval, prove you were worthy of the lessons he would give. Disrupting that delicate balance, however, meant harsh consequences.

The playful back-and-forth, while it could go on for hours, was never just for fun. He was sharpening you, moulding you into something he could admire, something that would never question his authority again. When you got too comfortable, too confident, Gilbert would make sure to remind you that this was his world and you were merely a participant in it. A slip of the tongue, a crass word, a sharp insult—that was all it took for him to remind you who was truly in charge.

And when you crossed that line? He’d make sure you knew it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Gilbert would drop his usual teasing tone and replace it with something colder, something darker. He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need to raise his voice. The shift in his demeanor alone was enough to make the air feel thick with tension. You’d find yourself walking the thin line between fear and desire, unsure of where one ended and the other began, but knowing that if you made the wrong move, there would be consequences.

The toothbrush and the mouthful of toothpaste threatened to choke you, your mouth wide open as a strong grip held your head in place by the hair. Gilbert probed the depths of your mouth with firm, deliberate strokes, bringing you to the brink of nausea. Foamy spit dripped from your lips, guttural moans of pain echoing through the washroom as tears framed your face. Your attempts to reason with Gilbert fell on deaf ears. All it took was one bad day for him (you couldn’t really tell with the man), and your profanity-laced outburst had earned you this punishment. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slightly relaxed his grip on your hair, allowing you to violently spit out the bitter toothpaste that had been building up in your mouth. You instinctively reached for the tap, desperate to rinse the foul taste away, but were met with a firm hand that stopped you short. “No water for that filthy mouth of yours,” Gilbert sneered, his eyes glinting with malice. “Next time, I won’t hesitate to feed you a bar of soap and using the toilet brush.” You almost threw up.

While he didn’t outright disdain other languages, Gilbert was quick to show his disapproval if you focused on them too much. A subtle sneer or dismissive remark would betray his jealousy. In his eyes, your enthusiasm or preference for another tongue was a challenge to his authority, a dilution of the bond he sought to forge.

He wanted German to be your priority because it was his, and he needed to hear it from your lips as proof of your connection. It wasn’t just about teaching—it was about domination, ensuring that his influence extended into every word you spoke and every thought you had. And, of course, his pride demanded it. After all, why would you need anything else when you had him?

Nonetheless, he adored your voice, no matter what language you spoke. Whether stumbling over unfamiliar words or weaving through proses, there was a softness in the way you sounded that captivated him. It wasn’t something he’d admit easily, but your voice was his favourite melody, one he could listen to for hours without growing tired.

Of course, German is sacred to him—a reflection of his very being. It wasn’t just a language; it was his legacy, his culture, and the soul of the people he had once represented. The language of warriors and poets, of triumph and despair, it was a thread connecting him to his past. He expected you to embrace it—not out of mere interest, but as a testament to your devotion to him. And he always cherished it hearing from you.

You sat beside Gilbert, stiff and uneasy, as he delved into a thick book titled 'Geodesics in Curved Spacetime'. The topic was so far beyond your comprehension that you couldn’t help but think, What the fuck even is this?

It was one of those days when he insisted you sit close, your hands folded on his thigh, while one of his palms gripped it firmly, the other flipping through the velvet pages of the Russian text. His hold on you was both grounding and possessive, the weight of it reminding you that there was no escape from his whims.

The subject seemed to irritate him more than intrigue him; his brows furrowed, and the occasional sharp exhale signaled his growing frustration. He’d call you over at times like this, either to steady his nerves or to force you into reading it aloud, despite your stumbling attempts.

Sometimes, he would pause to explain a concept in German, his voice steady and commanding, expecting you to follow his train of thought no matter how lost you felt. On other occasions, his enthusiasm would bubble over, and he would yip and yap, his words spilling in rapid, fervent analysis that left your head spinning. You could only nod along, hoping he didn’t notice your bewilderment.

Most often, though, his focus shifted to something more intimate. He would pass you a well-loved novel—its pages slightly worn, its binding soft to the touch—and order you to read aloud. His fingers would trail lazily along your arm as he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, the tension leaving his features with every word that left your lips. In those moments, you felt like an extension of him, your voice the tool that brought his favorite stories to life. His grip on you would loosen, his breaths growing deeper and steadier.

Those were his calmest days, and your beautiful voice, the rhythm to his immortal heartbeat, seemed to be the only thing capable of soothing his restless spirit.

Refusal—or any form of misbehavior—when he asks you to speak his language would never be tolerated. Utter refusal would be met with the coldest of glares, a silent warning that would send a shiver down your spine. Testing him with silent treatment or petty acts of defiance would only irritate him more.

His expectations are simple but non-negotiable: learn the proper German etiquette. Speak clearly, directly, and without hesitation. Your words must be precise—no unnecessary embellishments or mindless chatter. He values sincerity, respect, and most of all, discipline.

When spoken to, you are expected to answer promptly, politely, and with the right tone. You must use Bitte (please) and Danke (thank you) when appropriate— if you don’t, he’ll remind you, and the lesson will be harder than you anticipate. There is no room for laziness in his world, especially when it comes to how you communicate.

Gilbert tapped his fingers on his forearms as he stared at you from across the table, his piercing gaze unwavering. You sat with an unsightly scowl, arms crossed tightly, eyes fixed on the food in front of you. The tension in the air was thick—your earlier attempt to escape had been swiftly thwarted by his firm grip on your arm.

"And what do we say?" he asked, his voice smooth but laced with impatience.

You shot him a defiant glare, the sting of your pride burning brighter than your hunger. Your teeth gound together as you glared at the plate of Sauerbraten, the tender beef marinated in rich spices paired with the tang of red cabbage and potato dumplings. The smell alone made your stomach growl, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

"D..." You grit your teeth, barely able to utter the word. His unblinking stare burned into you as if daring you to try him. "Danke."

"Ah ah," Gilbert bent forward, the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "Full sentence."

You clenched your fists, the taste of defeat sour in your mouth. There was no escaping him now. "Danke... für das Essen."

"Good girl." Gilbert’s voice was soft, but the approval in it was unmistakable. He straightened in his chair, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Jetzt können wir essen!"

Of course, being the rather egoistical individual he is, Gilbert would revel in hearing you address him with titles in German. Whether it was Herr or Mein König, the words rolled off your tongue like honey, fueling his insatiable desire for your complete submission. He would demand such titles not merely out of tradition but as a way to solidify his dominance over you-reminding you that he was the one in control, always.

And if you hesitated or refused, you'd soon find yourself either kneeling at his feet or bent over his knees, forced to beg in the very language he adored.

The sight of you, voice trembling and face flushed, was intoxicating to him. He couldn't help but feel a massive thrill corroding his bones as your tone wavered with such an adorable desperation, the words escaping your pretty lips like a melody crafted just for him. Gilbert always loved the way you sounded, gasps, grunts or so, your voice like a finely tuned instrument only he could master.

You were his little songbird, and sometimes he liked to take that metaphor literally. He wouldn't mind having you sing as he played his flute, guiding you with gentle nods or sharp corrections if you didn't get it quite right. On calmer evenings, he'd rest his head on your lap, your soft hands threading through his silver hair as you hummed or sang him a lullaby. Those moments of quiet surrender were his personal heaven.

Every word you spoke in German was a delicacy he devoured straight from your lips. He also expected your words to reflect affection and politeness. Loving phrases, respectful tones, and perhaps even a few nicknames of your own design.

Nothing overly cheesy, of course, but Gilbert wouldn't hide his cheeky grin if you hyly called him something intimate. A soft Liebling (darling) murmured in the warmth of your shared bed would earn you a teasing remark right before he captured your lips in a sealing kiss.

In the bedroom, his expectations only deepened. He wanted to hear you whisper his name like a promise, gasping out mein Schatz as he thoroughly claimed you. Every word, every sound you made was proof of his hold over you, a mark of the loyalty he craved so desperately.

And in those moments, he'd remind you just how much he loved your voice - the voices that only he could truly bring out of you, the ones he wants to hear from you, the one thing that could ever bring peace to the storm within him.

Your dress spread around you like the petals of a flower, delicate yet trapping, as gilbert’s hands—rough and unyielding—skimmed over the bare skin of your legs. you shivered beneath his touch, every nerve on fire as you tried to suppress the sob rising in your throat.

“Was ist los, Maus?” (what's the matter, mouse?), his voice coiled around you like smoke, soft yet suffocating. his body leaned in, the weight of his presence making it impossible to move, let alone think. “Hast du etwa vergessen, wie man schön bittet?” (have you perhaps forgotten to ask nicely?).

your mind swirled, thoughts slipping through your fingers like sand. had he done something? the strange heaviness in your limbs, the faint haze clouding your senses—was this another one of his games?

“B-bitte,” you rasped, voice trembling as you fought to form the word, “bitte, G-Gilbert, ich—”

his grip on your hips tightened abruptly, the sharp press of his fingers stealing the rest of your sentence. his crimson eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a twisted mix of hunger and amusement.

“Das ist besser,” (That is better) he murmured, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “Nicht perfekt, aber es wird reichen.” (Not perfect, but it will do)

tears pricked at your eyes, your chest heaving as you forced out another plea, desperate to appease him. “gilbert… bitte… verzeih mir,” you choked out, your voice breaking as his thumb brushed against the curve of your waist, deceptively gentle.

“ah, Liebling,” he said, his tone laced with dark satisfaction. “Das ist mein gutes Mädchen.”

he pulled you closer then, his control as unrelenting as the heat radiating from him, leaving no room for escape. you were his—mind, body, and voice—and he made sure you understood it.

With every searing touch and word.

[watermelonlicker]

Sab, what’s your opinion on all of these larry deep dive videos on yt? I’ve seen maybe 4 or 5 from the biggest creators and it seems puzzling to me that these deep dives aren’t even that deep. They all picked up the tabloid material from a scandalous pov of an average viewer, throwing in the absurdity factor and whatnot. Larries have always been saying: there’s as vast of the lgbtqia+ history to it as the entertainment industry itself that predates larry. They all seem to conveniently throw it away, TOO conveniently. You can’t understand larry fully without it as an outsider, they’re inseparable. And it pisses me off because just so happens that Larry is too big and too famous, too hot topic of a day of a story compared to any other story in our lifetime, “HA look at these little girls thinking these two straight men not only are gay but are secretly in a relationship, just how more ridiculous can it get? Point and laugh guys point and laugh” (D@n W00ton, I’m under your bed). It had everyone stalking them for more than a decade, voyeuristic p0rnogr@phy of 15 years, helping the closet run smoothly and get deeper and more complicated. I really think if they weren’t so famous, they’d have it easier.

Throwing these in for some good measure

It’s not a copy of a copy of a copy for a random whimsical reason and fucking no it’s not about freddie being Louis’ mini me, god this is so offensive, fuck everyone who insinuated this

https://twitter.com/crynightsky/status/1926315605272993833?s=46&t=rdzf0_QuAZNhhVm9qCSzSA

https://twitter.com/roguerry/status/1397088855312850948?s=46&t=rdzf0_QuAZNhhVm9qCSzSA

And the most appalling thing is there’re people in the comments still disagreeing and complaining. You just can’t reason with people who decided theres no nuance and multidimensionality in life, i just wish these people would leave larry alone at last and stopped acting like all knowing moralists and especially exposing babygate to the broader audiences of 500k viewers just for fun clicks and entertainment.

i don’t have an opinion on larry deep dive videos bcos i’ve never watched them and i think the best course of action as a larrie is to not give these people views/clicks bcos that’s all they’re doing it for. larry is something that has generated conversation for 15 years and influencers look for popular topics to boost their viewership. they don’t care to find the exact details and nuances cos their audiences are built in and will eat up anything they say. that’s why group think/cults are so dangerous and the media propaganda has been to gaslight people into thinking we are a cult when all we have ever done is try to WAKE PEOPLE UP about the industry and the actual cult mentality it generates in the form of antis who stalk and bully us like they were created to do by said propaganda. we were not the first fandom to speak up nor will we be the last. larries were the biggest (and still kind of are even with all the blogs who’ve left you have people who are still larries and stay quiet), but during 2012-2015 we were the biggest, loudest, and most organized fandom fighting for queer freedom which is why we’ve been a target for so long.

[sukunasun]

Do you ever plan to write a fic with a grumpy reader? Maybe with Getou or any chara of your choice?

screaming from the top of a building: grumpy readers are so relatable and deserve more nuance than being labelled as ice queens and stone-cold bitches! there is much more to unfold beyond the harsh exterior. how cantankerous and irritable you are but nonetheless meant to be understood and loved.

quietly, you lay there stowing away as a recluse. you love your books and your crochet hooks. working away and making the most of me-time. people don't draw near. instead, they try prodding with sticks and hurtling stones for a reaction hoping it's a smile or a nice conversation between two, but there is no gambling and taking chances. no risking it 'depending on your mood' because the weather report calls for sunny skies and yet, the storming grey cloud above your head stays looming. permanently brewing.

you claim it's just your face, your attitude, and overall unapproachable aura that inhibits you from making contacts and connections. an RBF that can't be cracked. "she's so intimidating," is a grating sound. you have long since given up on explaining yourself or waiting for the chance to when the backstory and lore is too revealing. not exactly dinner party talk. you wish it could be as easy as saying "im hurt and heartbroken beyond repair. mothering fear and angst without needing comfort." it feels nice, well-deserved even to wallow in dread.

there's bound to be disappointment from unmet expectations thus, you've stopped having them altogether. it feels better than accepting affection with open arms. so wrong, so weird to be wanted, to be chosen. where's the catch? when will the other shoe drop? the cycle of starting over becomes tiring, tedious—a mechanical performance. a complex creature who requires better coping mechanisms and a man who won't stab you in the back. friends who'd stop poking holes in the reasons when you say no, yet again, to meeting someone new in this state: when bricks are laid and piled high up in uniformed rows surrounding, it warrants avoiding all forms of showing and receiving love after the years spent shaping the architecture of your defences.

then there's geto. with his charm and wit and the way he pries the person from underneath facades and fabricated masks. your fragile, rocking foundations built on sand he topples down with a mere smile, hardened fortitudes he crushes to dust, weaving within hairline cracks and exploring the caverns of your heart like no one has before. all without much effort, or rather, he doesn't need to exert himself when you fall so willingly.

"why don't we do something else tonight, dinner and a movie?" he questions when you call again. right after work when the stress is at an all-time high and he's...well, you don't know what he does, but he makes himself available for you. he'll admit it's made him feel special being the only person let in, when everyone else has to scavenge for scraps, he's a privileged selected one. seen the glimpses of the warmth you possess when laid bare and sated.

such a skill he has to wring out the truth. still, you go on with the "i like being alone," answer. a mantra, a repetitive hymn to soothe the sting and sharp clawing against the chest til it no longer feels so. numb and sore aches it leaves behind. 'you'll regret it when you realize i'm too much for you,' stays clogged in your throat. he'd only admonish you for such thoughts. 'that's not true' he'd say, but you know better than to believe that.

"i get it," geto replies, feigning casualness when he's not a stranger to isolation and avoidant habits. sometimes he wished he wasn't exposed to a mirror of his own makeup. a paragon of performative indifference and detachment. "i'll leave when you want me to," he reassures you, but was that a wavering you hear in his voice? you don't dare assume because he makes things easy. not the kind to complicate, nor commit. say the word and he'd give you all the solitude you need. dodging the serious questions and serious labels. friend, boyfriend, guy-im-sleeping-with. he doesn't care for them because you don't.

maybe he's just referring to the task at hand, used to forgoing aftercare and post-orgasm cuddles for a late-night drive home. excluding that one time you allowed him a night on your couch. he won't stay if your hand comes up to his sweaty chest, pushing him away before he's had the chance to pull out and slide the worn condom off. it keeps him at a distance and he takes it as a sign that this is as far as intimacy goes—no kissing on the lips, no secrets and sweet nothings, your moans don't escape and neither do his plethora of dirty speeches, stifled and gritting in a tight-lipped prison—there is no room for it at all.

the last thing you need is to dispose whatever is left of an already flimsy resolve. becoming vulnerable and exposed to his rejection or the knee-jerk reaction when he touches you—when the strap of your dress falls at an angle, he instinctively chases after the smooth slope of shoulder with his lips, pressing soft kisses there and everywhere else simmering with anxiety, humming pleased and contented to taste the nerves slipping away, sinking his teeth in and feeling the flesh give to his possession—a longing that courses through and wrenches around your heart tight. you're so selfish to follow after his hands, to feel them feel you. they should be upon another but he grabs and gropes greedily like he can't wait any longer.

"or you could let me stay," he offers.

"the couch makes your back hurt," you reply.

"your bed is big enough for two," he counterclaims. doing what he does best. it's not the first time he's tried to hint at more, waiting for the opportune moment when you're putty in his hands, relenting to him.

"we can't," you gasp when he slips two fingers past your dripping folds. the smirk he wears hidden in the crook of your neck. "why–" you claw at his forearm tucked between your thighs, clenching around his limb for leverage while he makes you squirm and jolt with every nudge against your gspot. "–why me?" why an unpleasant, unfriendly, unwanted woman like you, haven't you suffered enough? why does he choose to torment you with his favour while seeking for yours. you remind yourself there's no place, no space for him here. you like the way things are no matter how painfully lonely it gets, you like the cool touch of your sheets and the emptiness your fingers trail over in the mornings. it's what you know, what you settled for. since when do two people meet and see each other for themselves, choosing to stay for long after the thinly veiled ugliness is stripped away. how do you tell him you're starting to grow accustomed. almost adoring. you've flown too close to the sun before, how do you deal with the fallout when you're inevitably lurched into the suffocating and slow descent towards earth?

in the last few seconds cresting upon your climax, suguru feels it building around the edges of your jittering limbs. head lolling back as you choke, fighting back your moans. your hips thrust in time, chasing after his fingers. he settles them as deep as he can, pumping fast and pressing down against your clit til it hurts, til the hard pressure causes your juices to drip down his fingers, squelching and making a mess.

fuck it, he knows it's the only time you'll have him this close so his arms brace you, supported by his strong chest, crushed by his biceps, suguru coaxes you, "i don't care how far you push me, or how much you pretend, i want you and i know you want me too—"

you shake your head, resisting, stop it, stop uncovering me. he talks of your lust as if some incontrovertible proof, you won't give in. with indefatigable, unwavering effort you set the record straight. "i don't like you like that," lying right as you're about to explode from pleasure, not the kind that feels like a firework, shooting silent and bursting forth, but you seize every muscle in his hold. choking on your breaths and feeling it tighten and coil in your stomach, in your toes, compact and revving, it releases like an engine. rolling and roiling so unyieldingly it makes your ears ring, suffocating you til your vision goes black, and a scream forces it way past your lips.

neither high-pitched nor guttural, it reverberates so soothingly, "im sorry!" you cry. for being this way, for using and tossing him aside, for wanting more. you sob with your head thrown back while suguru hums right against your ear. sounding pleased and pleasured with your admission.

slowing his fingers in time with your panting breaths, he questions "do you really think i wouldn't like you?" it's not the right time to do this but he can hardly bear it, he longs for truth, "do you not believe me?"

looking upon his face through half-lidded eyes, you see that interrogative spark in his expression, his arms never letting go. a tense anticipation takes shape. the air is thick with the scent of damp skin and something else—his shampoo, his cologne, you chase after it for more, pressed into his chest, it only takes one whiff to get a fill, the same way you cling to the corners of pillowcases and duvet covers for that little bit.

what has changed? he makes you act a fool, forlorn and fumbling around in the most fatuous ways. i want you he said so clearly. and it warms your being like never before. there is an urge to make excuses, accuse him for being in lust, he only said it in the heat of the moment, ensnared by a need for possession.

but there is no point in looking back.

"i believe you," you say, noses bumping and slotting close when your lips betray your better judgement, or rather, your unfavourable one. "i'll try." is the best you can offer.

[extremely-judgemental]

I was having a conversation with @flawlessrosee-blog and they had great questions. I’m so excited that they made me think (the pleasures of being a simpleton!!) and so here are some snippets.

Do you truly believe Rhysand and Mor care for humans as they “claim”?

Rhysand and Morrigan don’t care as in “humans are equals we share our world with”, but more as a principle. If they cared, it wouldn’t even be a question whether they respect them, this kind of conversation wouldn’t even take place in the narrative, instead their actions alone would suffice.

It also would’ve shown in Clare’s fate and Feyre’s torture UtM. Rhysand wasn’t ashamed of his deeds because he cared for them but he believes himself to be above the high fae who discriminate. He thinks of himself as someone who works on creating a better world, he sees himself as progressive. What happened UtM conflicts with this belief and that feeds his guilt. It’s for the same reason he fights for the humans. Not out of concern for them, but to keep true to the idea he has of himself in his mind.

The same can be said for every member in the IC, really. Azriel and Cassian see themselves as better men compared to the Illyrian brutes. That’s why they are blind to Nesta’s abuse. They aren’t “hurting” her. They aren’t forcing her to do chores or physically mutilating her or raping her. This is often repeated in every character who is canonically “good”. They care because of that perceived image, not because their morality dictates it.

Mor is more complicated. She is a bitch and not. A girls girl at all, unless it is Feyre or someone like Clotho who she actually helped and healed. But even then, if you care for people you don’t pick and choose who you want to help and not want to help like Emerie and her people.

Morrigan is in the same boat too. She sees herself as a woman wronged turned into a saviour. But there’s lot more nuance to it that will never be addressed. Morrigan is supportive of anyone who validates her and her story, whether it’s a man or a woman.

We haven’t seen her truly open up and bond with someone about her past. Feyre learns of it from Rhysand, and Nesta from Feyre, and everyone else from rumours. Morrigan comes with a set of friends scattered all over the place who conveniently affirm her bubbly persona. And the only woman she mistreats is Nesta. So, she isn’t a girl’s girl, sure, but she isn’t also a complete bitch.

I wouldn’t say she doesn’t care about anyone, only that she is very entitled and racist which allows her to be blind to the issues that don’t directly affect her or she doesn’t want to associate with. She hates Illyrians and she steers clear of anything related to them. It’s just their way of life and they are a species that’s beneath her. It also needs to be noted that the priestesses are all passing as high fae. Gwyneth is a half-nymph but she looks high fae and everyone else described in the library are very much high fae. Emerie looks different which reinforces Morrigan’s “not my problem” attitude.

Morrigan also doesn’t relate to the plight of Illyrian women. With the priestesses, I believe, she projects her own trauma, these women were hunted and hurt. Which is how she possibly sees her own past. The nail to the womb is a form of sexual abuse which aligns with what the priestesses suffered. Though Emerie experienced genital mutilation which is also sexual abuse, it’s not something Morrigan understands it as such because of the anatomical differences. The same way she doesn’t find Nesta being groomed as abuse since that's mental and emotional. Because she can’t relate. She’s as closed off as the other characters who see sexual abuse as the only worst possible fate.

I bet if Emerie was a high fae or was abused the same way Morrigan was, it would’ve been addressed differently.

[atopvisenyashill]

What do you think about the relationship between Ygritte and Jon?

So I've said before that basically in order for me to have buy in for a cnc romance or a dark romance i need there to be some sort of exploration of the darker aspects of that romance. i whack khal drogo and rhaegar all the time for this, and daemon with frequency as well. i don't whack ygritte because i think she is such a good depiction of a nuanced and moving dark romance (i think both shae & tysha also fit this with tyrion, my op on the dark sansa ships is completely predicated on how her story ends with them and we don't know how it ends so). Which is to say I think their relationship is very complex and interesting and says a lot about gender, sexuality, both their cultures, forced celibacy, and the politics of war.

Where I think Ygritte is superior to the other characters who are in these dark romances is that she herself is very complex and the reasons she basically walks all over Jon's feelings are...much more complicated than Drogo (who is just a very typical misogynistic man), Rhaegar (not to sound annoying but "cool motive still statuatary rape" bro), and often Daemon (who IS a good example of this btw I just hate the discourse around him. sorry but i DO think him getting physically violent & sexually inappropriate with Rhaenyra and Laena is in character! Man spends his entire life grooming teenage girls idk what to tell u). Ygritte is a woman, like Osha, who has lived in a culture that has some weird ideas of consent and marriage, and is part of an "out group" where it is basically illegal to exist everywhere in the world except the frozen tundra they've been trapped inside. Jon is lying to her, and she knows it, and she ignores it, and lies to herself about how he feels. Her life is tied to his because she speaks for him. She is brutal and cruel because she has lived a life that is brutal and cruel but there is a softness in her that yearns for a life that is more stable, more loving, more rewarding.

I think conversations on her tend to be at the extremes (i am a broken clock about the madonna-whore issues in this fandom but i am also right) of either ignoring the ways she tramples all over Jon's feelings or ignoring the fact that she is right to be as angry as she is. which is why even though her romantic relationship is very much in conversation with stuff like jaimecersei, drogodany, daemyra, etc i think she herself as a character is more similar to ones like theon, jaime, sandor, in that i think she is trying to be better than the circumstances in which she is born. she dies before she succeeds but that doesn't mean she doesn't try. and that is, imo, why jon is so haunted by her. it's not just his guilt over having a hand in her death, it's that he understands her anger and even relates to it, he is sympathetic to the plight of the wildlings even if he disagrees with their tactics, and like ygritte, he yearns for a softer life but has no idea how to get it. interestingly, i think though they are known as more of an Action Couple, the reasons they fall in love are in their softer moments - telling each other stories, learning about each other's people, small intimacies when they are alone that they share with each other and no one else.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I love the romances in datv (Neve my Beloved) but I can't get over all the talk about how it'd have the most romantic romances in the series. They aren't bad but most romantic? I wish I didnt go into it with that expectation lol

Oof. Yeah.

My opinion on Veilguard is complicated, but when it comes to the romances...? I feel that, anon. I feel that so damn hard.

The romances are one of my favorite things about a Dragon Age game because it's a choice that can, when done well, completely change your experience playthrough to playthrough, y'know?

And for me there are a handful of romances where if I don't choose them, if I do an alternate playthrough...? I miss them so goddamn much. I miss them enough that I actively struggle to even finish alternate playthroughs. That's how much they've impacted me.

I'll always hold Alistair up as like.... the romance for me. Honestly, I think DAO set the S-tier of romances with him, Leliana, Morrigan, and Zevran as far as writing goes and how interwoven their romances are with the HoF's arc and the plot... they're not just fluff that's tacked on, it's not just, "oh, if you romance them, you get one unique scene toward the end of the game, and some different dialogue!"

I could go on, and on, and on about Alistair and his romance with my Tabris. Hell, even outside of the romance, just their dynamic in the game. Their friendship! I could write essays about the little nuances and how beautiful and tragic his romance can be, and the branching paths, hhhhnnngggggg you can have so many different endings with him!

In DAO, you have many opportunities to flirt. You can give them gifts, and special gifts give you cutscenes where you actually talk about the gift you're giving them. You can set the pace of the relationship. You have different paths you can take and you can discover cute things, like okay.... for Alistair, there's the conversation where he gives you the rose. If you go out with only him in your party, and trigger that, you can get special extra dialogue because you two are alone.

Like... they thought about that. They thought about the player taking just Alistair around somewhere. Why would they? Why would you?

Unless you're roleplaying walking around Redcliffe together to gather supplies to bring back to camp and accidentally talk to him, triggering the scene on the docks.

It's little things like that, special things, that make every playthrough with a different romance feel unique. It feels like the writers put so much thought and care into every situation you'd be in, they thought about how the romance would not only affect your playthrough, but how it'd affect the character you're romancing beyond just... ending the game with a partner.

Hell, it makes you want to replay the game because if this romance was this good, what are the others like? Y'know?

Which is WHY when I heard them make the very bold claim that Veilguard would be the most romantic, I had doubts... because they're competing with Alistair. They're competing with Morrigan, Leliana, and Zevran. Not to mention literally everyone else in DA2 and DAI...... except maybe Sebastian.

If there's one thing I can say about Veilguard's romances, it's that at least they're better than Sebastian's... which is not a high bar because Sebastian's DLC, can only be romanced by a lady Hawke, and from what I've heard/seen of the romance, they don't even get a kiss...

Look, if Veilguard wasn't a Dragon Age game, I'd say the romances are fine, good even... for what they are. Because they do have good moments! They're just lacking, and in some cases, feel unfinished... like there are scenes missing.

I romanced Davrin on my first playthrough, Lucanis on my second. My third playthrough with Carver as Rook is undecided, though I'm thinking either Neve or Bellara.

With Davrin I played an elven Grey Warden, and that really enhanced his romance with me because 1. surprise, surprise, CJ really likes the Grey Wardens and when the opportunity for another Grey Wardens in love story to happen, she picked it, and 2. It felt like Nesryn and him had actual chemistry when talking about warden things, which led into feeling they had chemistry outside of that.

With Lucanis, I played a Lord of Fortune because I thought it'd be kind of funny for this himbo of a man, the literal embodiment of sunshine, to be a pirate who then falls in love with an Antivan Crow. And I have..... feelings. About Lucanis' romance. Especially as someone who also is an Andersmancer. It's good, but also not. It healed parts of me, only to then do more damage when I realized that Lucanis feels like the AO3 version of Anders who is chill and controlled and Justice is also in love with you, actually........ and that brings up conflicted feelings within me.

Looking back at these two now, I prefer Davrin's romance. But the problem with Veilguard's approach to romance, in my opinion, is not just the lack of content. It's not just the feeling that some of the companions have better chemistry with each other than they do with Rook. It's not just the weird pacing of it all.

God, how do I word this.... when I play Tabris, Alistair is crucial to her arc. Absolutely crucial. Remove the slow burn of their romance, or remove their friendship, and she's a completely different person.

When I play Ed Hawke, romancing Anders is interwoven into his arc. The playthrough wouldn't be the same if they remained friends. The impact of the ending would hit entirely different. Then, when I play Aris Hawke, romancing Isabela adds such a different flavor to the story. It's like night and day. And they're both great, that's the thing!

I think Cullen and Josephine are my favorite romances in DAI because they're not traveling companions, they're your advisors. It's different, and it adds layers to their romances. I'm in war table meetings with them. We're leading this operation together, and I find those dynamics so interesting.

In my opinion, the romances do not add anything crucial to Rook's story. At the end of my second playthrough, I wondered if I should bother trying the others out... which is not great!

Though, honestly, a criticism I have of Rook is in both playthroughs I did, they felt like the same character with different skins despite me picking different choices. Different faction, different dialogue.

Carver's run is going a little different but I think that's just my brain filling in those blanks, which.... yeah. I feel like any depth Rook and the romances had was concocted in my mind because the game didn't give me much to chew on.

So even though I did two romances that feel different, Rook remains the same in the end, and like.... that's not something I can say about HoF, Hawke, or the Inquisitor.

There's always going to be headcanon and personal writing when it comes to DA, that's how fandom works, y'know? But unlike the previous games, this actively feels unfinished, and like it expects me to finish it for them.

Yes, you get cute, flirty banter with them, and you get the scene where they go to your room... and from what I've heard Emmrich actually gets a bonus scene so like good for him.

I mean that genuinely, too. Seriously, good for him to be the standout of having an extra, romance specific scene. I haven't seen anyone mention any of the other companions getting one.

But do I feel like the romances impacted Rook to the same level of depth? No, unfortunately. And it sucks! Because I do enjoy the companions! And the bits we do get of the romances, I like!

But do not try to tell me they're the most romantic in the series because they're not, I'm so sorry. I want them to be! I want them to feel fleshed out and interwoven with Rook's arc within the actual game, and not through headcanon! I see the potential, I see the intrigue of certain Rooks with certain companions!

I could go on and on about this, and I will if anyone else asks, but yeah, anon.... I feel you.

Also, I'd like to hear other opinions on this since I've only done two of the romances, so maybe there is more depth to be found that I just don't know about. Maybe I haven't found my golden combo yet.

Plus, I just like reading about other people's experiences with DA romances, I find it super interesting.

[xianhuashi-second-blog]

Big Hero 6 was 9 years ago, going on 10. Next year is when it takes place. So, this is an appreciation post for the movie, and what it’s done for me.

Trigger Warning ahead, the post mentions de@th and $u1c1d3, (spelled wrong so I don’t get flagged/shadow banned by the Tumblr gods.) complex grief and mentions of mental health.

BH6 came out when I was 4-5 (what a long time ago omfg-) so its importance to me was non existent. Me and my (much) Older brother watched it together a few years later in 2016. Young me didn’t know the nuance and severity of Hiro Hamada as a character. All I saw was “Two Asian siblings” that had a relationship like me and my brother. I tuned out the rest of the movie that night because I had *and still have* the attention span of a goldfish with dementia. Years later, very recently, (near the end of 2023, but school still in session ) he jumped. He passed away that day. I think I cried an ocean when I got the news from my father.

I cried, not only because I love and miss him with all I am, I sobbed because he was my other half, essentially another father. I cried because I felt, I knew I could have done something differently, so then maybe he’d be alive a bit longer. And, I cry because of all he put himself through for me. It’s hard to imagine the suffering and agony he put himself through to be there for me.

I have diagnosed High functioning Autism. My brother had a feeling, but he helped me understand how neurotypicals interact, how to fake making eye contact, how to hold up a conversation, learn body language, you name it. He even bought me noise canceling headphones because I’m sensitive to loud sounds, and fidget toys that I could use during school. My parents, on the other hand, thought I was just a spoilt brat who needs to pay attention to people, and stop being so picky with foods and their textures, a brat that has to be more social, stop shying away from kids my age. My brother was the one to convince them to get me tested for Autism, to prove I wasn’t just a bratty kid.

He sat through my ramblings about Steven Universe and The Stanley Parable. He helped me work through my meltdowns, and told me it wasn’t my fault that certain things make me upset.

I crumbled to the ground. My world was shattered. After I was “back into reality,” I realized my father was holding me in his arms. I hugged him tightly. My face was smushed against his chest so hardly that it felt like my cheek was about to break. It felt like him. It felt like how he’d wrap me in bear hugs. Weeks went by. We had his Funeral. I looked at the picture of him near his casket. It felt surreal knowing that the same man was inside of the wooden box, awaiting his burial. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream and shout and cause myself to have a breakdown, but I physically couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to be angry at him either. So I just stood there, fingers slightly touching his coffin, where I knew his face would be.

Later on, being forced to go back to school the following week because the American school system sucks 🖕 🇺🇸

I got back home. I went on disney plus to elevate myself of my grief. I scrolled through the home screen, when Big Hero 6 showed up. I remembered watching it with him, so I convinced myself- despite not wanting reminders- to watch it. “Welcome to Nerd-school. Nerd.” I watched the fire alarms blair. The infamous “someone has to help” scene before he ran into the fire. Then, the scene where Hiro was sitting alone on the staircase in his memorial outfit. That frame alone was truly a perfect representation of sudden loss and grief. I felt seen, and acknowledged. I felt understood. I kept watching. Near the end, Hiro was trying to “fix Baymax” with the violence chip thing. “Is this what Tadashi would have wanted?” “It doesn’t matter!” And then finally, “Tadashi’s GONE! Tadashi’s… gone….” The feeling that scene gave me was complicated. But, it left me with the knowledge that he was with me in memory. That, of course, didn’t take away everything that was happening to me.

That movie helped me through complicated emotions, and I cannot thank the BH6 team enough for what they’ve done for me, and how that movie helped me. I still blame myself for what happened. I’m still grieving, and it’s still hard to live without him. And the idea that Tadashi doesn’t get to see his baby brother’s super hero team, yet said team wouldn’t exist without his death, helps me realize that without my brother’s death, I wouldn’t have such a kind community of fellow fans of the movie, who enjoy my art and my storytelling.

Thank you for all you’ve done. Thank you for everything. It was an honor to have you as my brother, and I miss you so much. I know not many people have good relationships with their older siblings right off the bat, so I am so grateful you could give me that friendship. I promise i’m gonna make you proud.

[ophiedokes]

OPHIE DOKIE, THE FEMINIST AND LESBIAN WHO MAKES CONVERSATIONAL COMMENTARY VIDEOS ABOUT BOTH OF THOSE THINGS?? i have binged almost all of your videos the last couple of weeks, thank you for making them and being nuanced and kind while also not taking any bullshit. i’m currently Going Through It — nothing too specific im just 20 and i hate it lmao — and you are the biggest reason why i am a) regularly forcing myself to use my critical thinking skills and b) letting myself have complicated feelings on people. i am often too trusting and very easily influenced and also prone to black and white thinking and i would not think to challenge any of that if i hadn’t seen your videos so you are truly Saving My Ass here thank you 💛💛

also your glasses are wonderful and your cat is adorable please pet them (jojo?) for me!! also also, i’m sorry this message is just rambling, it’s 2am for me lmao

omg thank you so much this is so kind!!!!! It might sound kind of silly but making the videos actually has helped me a lot too with my critical thinking and my Being Less Black And White, and it's really special to me that that can be the case for other people!!!

Also im sorry i know this doesnt help but my god i am so sorry you have to be 20 right now lmao early twenties are so hard i think bc youre so relieved youre not a kid anymore but it also still sucks nearly as bad as being a teenager did on a lot of levels for much of it (at least IME lol). Somewhere around 23 i started to be like "hang on its getting easier to stop myself from being completely overwhelmed by This Thing Im Reacting To" and now im 26 and i feel like even though i have an increasing level of fondness for my 20 year old self i hadn't ever met me yet. I had no idea i could end up being Like This. I used to be so sure i was, like, fully unlovable? But i just had no idea who i was talking about, i think its impossible to even know who you're talking about accurately enough for the shit you say about yourself in your early twenties to actually match who you end up being maybe? And ik at 20 i could have heard any number of people a little older than me say similar and it wouldnt help but like. In case it does. You're so not alone in being 20 being hard i fucking hated being 20. I really like being 26 though so im glad i stuck through it

[blackjackkent]

Accidentally clicked on Minsc while heading over to talk to Helsik and discovered that he has followup dialogue after the confrontation with Nine-Fingers! Man, I missed a bunch of these conversations last time around. XD

And of course, because it is Minsc, the conversation is delightful.

"My friend. Now we have settled the matter of the Guild, I fear there is something I must tell you - you and Boo both. It may shock you to know, but Minsc and this Stone Lord - they are one man. The *same* one man. And that same one man... is Minsc."

Poor guy. :( This is funny, obviously, because we 100% already know that Minsc was the Stone Lord, but he's clearly still super agitated about the whole thing and the things he was made to do, and troubled about "revealing" this dark truth to Rakha.

Rakha, I think, is somewhat sympathetic. She likes Minsc and has followed him as something of a guidepost for some of her actions and opinions, and she has more than a little experience with revealing dark truths about herself.

"You can't blame yourself. The cult was manipulating you."

"Minsc does not blame Minsc," Minsc says earnestly. "Minsc blames the Stone Lord." A pause. "But if the Stone Lord *is* Minsc, then, well... Minsc grows dizzy." He frowns with a deeply troubled expression. "I wished to believe the Stone Lord's evil was the worm alone, a-tainting my thoughts with foul dung. But I see now - the dung was within Minsc all along."

His forehead creases with intense thought. "So I wonder... if Minsc can be a villain, and Nine-Fingers a hero, must it be so with all creatures? Is there good and evil within us all?"

Another pause, and a loud squeak from somewhere in Minsc's pocket. "Heh. Boo calls this nonsense," he mumbles. "Less thinking of bad thoughts, says he, and more breaking of bad bones." He squints at Rakha plaintively. "But still... I would hear what *you* have to say on the matter, my friend."

It's interesting, because Rakha's view of Minsc has always been a lot more nuanced. She has seen his mad, violent tendencies as a reflection of her own madness and violence, and has seen that he considers himself (and is) a Good Man in spite of them. He has darkness in him that he turns toward good causes. But this conversation shows that he views himself in a much more absolute (no pun intended) light.

So she has to take a moment to figure out how to answer this in a way that is honest without disillusioning him. "You thought you were following Jaheira," she points out. "That's not evil."

Minsc squints. "Even though it led to evil ends?" he asks uncertainly. A pause, and then he adds, "And even the *true* Jaheira is not always right."

"She sometimes pets Boo a little too roughly. Or denies him the breakfast broth, so that I must dip him in the pot when she looks the other way."

"I do not pet him too-- wait. You do what?"

(A/N: LOLOLOLOL)

"I begin to wonder if good and evil is not a thing of *knowing*," Minsc goes on thoughtfully, utterly oblivious. "If it is sometimes a thing that Minsc must decide for himself alone." A pause, and then he adds brightly, "Which is why I am asking you!"

Rakha thinks again for a long moment in silence. It is still strange enough to be asked her advice on anything, particularly by one of those people she has started to model herself after, and the question is a complicated one.

But really, she could only ever really have one answer. She is a child of the god of murder - but even she has crawled her way towards moments of good. "Everyone has the potential for good," she says quietly. "It's just buried deeper in some. Or lost along the way."

"I see," Minsc says, considering this. "In the case of Nine-Fingers, perhaps it was all bunched up in that finger she lost. It shall be for Minsc and Boo to be her virtuous pinky."

Rakha is, thankfully, saved from having to figure out a way to respond to this, as he goes on, "It is strange. A worm sits within my skull, twisting my thoughts, but it is *you* that have made Minsc see the world anew. You, my friend, are the true parasite!"

"..."

"There is good and evil in all! Let us go crack villainous skulls, so that the virtue might leak free!"

*SQUEAK*

"Yes, Boo - I *am* becoming something of a philosophizer."

[aeternallis]

I was reading this vent post on Reddit about an Asian OP's frustrations when it comes to seeing cultural context and nuance be misinterpreted by white/western fans and how it often clearly shows in fanfiction, yknow? The topic they were specifically talking about was corporal punishment, and how its prevalence in Asian households are often easily dismissed by western fans as a collective moral failing as a whole.

And surprising no one (and maybe cuz it’s Reddit) the comment section—while starting out polite and decently enough—gradually descended into accusations of "abuse apologist" and "just because it's culture doesn't mean it's right" and "gee, thanks for justifying my abuser" etc etc. There was some bad-faith takes on OP's post, and it turned into a petty group convo that had no semblance of depth in the end.

Maybe it's just me, but imo, there is often this contradicting mindset I see in (English-speaking) Asian media fandoms where people on one hand are encouraged to do their research in regards to the cultural context of the media they’re consuming, since by not understanding it, there is some level of cultural erasure going on.

But that on the other hand, hoping for people to have some understanding of said cultural context of the media they're consuming is in and of itself a form of fandom policing to a certain degree, when the purpose of fandom (and fanfiction) is escapism and doing whatever the hell you want.

Faced with this contradiction, imo it shouldn’t be any surprise that POC find it hard to speak up in a fandom, let alone find some semblance of unity when it comes to talking about context and nuance.

Corporal punishment in and of itself is a very touchy subject for a lot of people; the topic can be very triggering, and conversation around it can hit personal sore spots, especially when people have strong opinions in regards to the matter. In that sense, the conversation’s descent into chaos on that Reddit post was outright inevitable.

On the other hand, I can also understand OP’s frustrations wholeheartedly. It already sucks when you see a character from your cultural background be warped by western fans (and in some cases, villainized) and on a wider scale, the nuance of the story is either disregarded or turned on its head completely.

Like, I don't deny that corporal punishment—having gone through it myself whilst growing up (my Filipina mother's favorite weapons of choice were the broom, the hanger, and the belt)—did some damage to my psyche as a child. I don't deny that it's a form of domestic abuse and under any circumstances, should not be tolerated.

Due to my own experiences in life, I'd like to think I'd healed from all that (and even tease my parents occasionally about it). So for me personally, it was never something I questioned within my own family household or within my own environment, because of the fact that in a typical Asian household, corporal punishment was generally seen as something necessary for the betterment of the child.

In fact, there were moments in my childhood were my parents had been horrified by the thought of some of my friends boldly talking back to their parents, since they couldn't comprehend how a child can disregard that boundary between parent and child, the respect that parents take for granted from their children.

It was definitely a clash of cultures when we moved here in the US.

Specifically in regards to corporal punishment, its historic role as being a form of traditional discipline, its roots in Confucian philosophy, and how it’s seen/viewed in Asia within the context of its ever-changing cultural landscape—is in and of itself a behemoth subject that’s way too complicated to go over in one vent post and more often than not, overlaps with one's own traumas and personal issues.

And yes, it is ever-changing. Culture is never static, and evolves like everything else that is subject to time.

It’s harder to speak up within a fandom space in these instances, especially when such misunderstandings may have already become widely accepted fanon, yknow? (And as we in fandom know, talking shit about the fanon is as close as one will come to getting crucified). More than that, it's harder to speak up when one is talking about it through the vehicle of fanfiction, as fanfiction is a medium in which fans can and should be allowed to experiment.

It's even harder to speak up when these legitimate concerns are brushed off as petty and ridiculous arguments to bring up in the first place.

It's a luxury, I think, to be able to think this way.

And Idk, from my own personal experience being in fandom for 20+ years and as a POC, there’s always been this sort of delicate balancing act and subsequent reality check in that for the most part, white/western fandom is welcoming of learning cultural context and nuance only in so far and as long as it doesn't contradict their own biases. A lot of it comes off as performative sentiment, hence the reason why a lot of -isms are rampant in fandom the way they are.

Now, this isn’t to say it’s entirely the whole of western fans and the English-speaking side of fandom. Many are genuinely open to learning about new cultures and ways of thinking, and are humble enough to admit their internal biases. Yet still, there are those who aren’t or only ever pretend to be interested, so long as they can keep their safe space and their feelings, not to mention whatever sort of influence they think they may or may not have in fandom, insulated and protected.

Inevitably, when a POC speaks about their culture in said fandom and how it connects to the culture of said piece of media the fandom is built around (and especially when said POC comes from the very same culture in question), it can also at the same time act as a deconstruction of biases that a fandom has built up through certain headcanons and ideas that the community at large have subconsciously put on a pedestal.

I think this is a large part of the reason why particular fandoms can become overprotective and even downright hostile when POC choose to speak up, because their bubble of fandom escapism is perceived to be in danger.

This isn't meant to inflame anyone's defenses; after all, it's totally understandable that no one likes it when their biases are indirectly called out, and no one likes to be made to feel ignorant.

No one likes it when someone rattles the cage of a seemingly thriving fandom.

I guess at the end of it all, I think there's definitely some lack of humility and a level of self-entitlement at times from the western fandom at large, when it comes to consuming media content not from their own cultural setting.

And it’s this sort of fandom landscape that POC must navigate carefully, lest the culture and its integrity of said piece of media is almost entirely warped, all the while POC try to have a voice within a community in which its very nature is determined to keep those who can speak about nuance and context quiet and subdued.

[tolerateit]

Is it just me who is weirded out by the posts of “I gave Taylor grace last year in May because yeah she dated a racist but she was ill so it’s okay and I forgive her”. I believe she still thinks she did nothing wrong in that sense which is showing how much she truly hasn’t healed from

there's a lot of nuance to this conversation, and I hold all of these points true rn:

It isn't uncommon for people to get out of a serious relationship and indulge in some kind of impulsive/self destructive behavior and understanding where they come from makes it difficult to cancel said person (fwiw the canceling us a whole different conversation we can have when I'm a little less sleepy)

Taylor wouldn't be granted the same grace your average person would in this turn of events due to her celebrity status

Taylor has repeatedly been associated with problematic people and there's only so many instances you can write off as a mistake/her being unaware

Although it shouldn't be her responsibility to personify the most upright morals all the time, the whole world is watching her and she does have a massive fan base who is highly influenced by her actions

There's literally no excuse for associating with a racist person, let alone doubling down and defending that decision (either bc she misunderstood the criticism as fans trying to control who she dated or if she genuinely just doesn't care about the shit he's says publicly)

The choice to support her as a fan is complicated because the whole situation is a mess, but defending her actions against fans who are upset about valid reasons (mattys comments, That one article, etc.) is a. Questionable choice.

This isn't the first time she has associated with a problematic person. It does say something about her. This also doesn't automatically make her a racist.

She needs to understand that the fans she's responding to in songs like daddy aren't the ones who stalk her outside studios or crash her friends weddings. They were simply upset because of a very public relationship (which, even though she went through it under these circumstances, was still bad as it spoke volumes about who she might be as a person)

We don't know her personally. We never fully will. Still doesn't make it wrong to be upset that someone you care about made such choices. Also doesn't mean you automatically hate them, and wanting someone you've supported all your life to do better and be better shouldn't be such a hot take in the fandom as it is made out to be

[fagsystem]

*About your hygiene/body odour specifically

I didn't realise others had experienced this too. Maybe someone reading this post will understand this. And if you do I'd love it if you could tick yes on the poll, so I know it's really not just me.

Several times in my life I've been pulled aside by a superior (teacher, trainer, team leader) and had the, 'Now this is going to be a bit embarrassing...' hygiene talk. The you smell like shit and it bothers people talk.

I first had it at 10. I had it again in high school. I have had it three times since starting this job earlier this year and every single time I have done more and more to improve my hygiene. It's mortifying to know that these past few weeks, while I have felt like I was doing good hygiene and smell wise, I smelt like shit. I don't even want to think about how bad it must have been before if it's actually noticeable right now.

And for me it's a mix of being disabled and having been neglected. Honestly more the latter. No one has ever taught me how to do things, I have had to learn all of it on my own. I never built good hygiene habits it's not natural to me. I don't know what I'm doing.

And I've never really spoken to anyone about this. How could I? It's so so so embarrassing. I appreciate the tact that the past few conversations have been approached with, and am so grateful for my TL giving me some genuine, unjudgemental advise and offering just so much kindness.

But the biggest thing this time is he said he is having to speak to multiple people in the team about it. It's not just me.

It's not just me.

It makes sense that this isn't a unique experience. It does, truly. But I always felt so alone in it.

So I ask this both for myself and others feeling alone in this experience