#beware tags

[ky-landfill]

“But it makes total sense, right? Sometimes you’re stuck looking for meaning when it’s just staring you in the face the whole time.”

[peophonia]

Who even is this guy

[thereallycoolmonsterithoughtup]

why haven't i posted this yet

[negativespace06]

summer and the beach,,, makes me think of them,,,

[cathartic-crypt]

fallout nv companions (+ extras) and what kinda asmr theyd listen to

[shima-draws]

Just got back from seeing Sonic 3 and HOOOOOOLY SHIT y’all. Oh my fucking god. OH my god. Ohhhh my g o d

[tanasha-not-yet]

[m6rija]

⟡ ⠀teaser⠀⠀⊹⠀⠀ jiaoqiu, hoshinas, jouno, hyoga, pantalone & you

gn reader who finds teasing their partner endearing. minor kn8 spoilers. hyoga is soft, jouno is possesive, might be a tad suggestive for soshiro. written before the snezhnaya release.

jiaoqiu

it was common to see the two of you together in the kitchen, discussing delightful flavors and intricate recipes. your relationship was cemented by the wide culinary world, and you considered your relationship a serendipity brought on by that world— who knew that an acclaimed chef and a healer would end up together?

at least that's how it was for him, as you were keenly aware of those little words and actions you did just to mildly annoy your colleague, who saw these as simple tests put on your part for him to solve. something you ultimately used to your advantage to get jiaoqiu in your hands, who wouldn't complain.

lately, however, this dynamic would have begun to wane, after finding your partner unable to see you.

perhaps you were afraid that your monotone tone would not give away that it was a joke when you said something to him, in the absence of your face grimacing in amusement.

but the one with vulpine features was smart, and was aware of your change in behavior.

“i can feel you, your gaze on me." a soft smile would remain on his face as the man did something in the kitchen.

“you could hurt yourself cooking." you noticed his ears perk up, attentive to what you were saying.

he would tilt his head to the side, as he continued to do his thing in the kitchen. "you didn't used to be like this."

"it's normal for me to worry about you, it would be very cruel for me to switch the spices around or something." you crossed your arms, annoyance and confusion of the hand on your head.

“i wouldn't mind.”

“hah?” you frowned, taking one of the spices containers in your hand to then place it somewhere else— just for him to hear, as you would soon return it to its place silently.

“that's my spouse.” he cooed softly, velvety.

at that, you would form a thin line with your lips, while your hands took another container to this time —for real— change it completely. “i bet you won't be able to find them.”

your cheeks were slowly getting red, a small smile forming in your face.

“are you sure about that?”

“completely.” you laughed.

regardless of what happened, you'd give your partner a hand. after playing with him a little, maybe.

soshiro

separated by divisions, it was not particularly well known that a cadet from the sixth division maintained a relationship with the acclaimed vice captain of the third division. perhaps everyone thought that he would not get along particularly well with the members of the unit led by his older brother.

however, your closeness with soshiro would not go unnoticed by the observant new members of the third division— who watched attentively as, with a smile, you spoke to hoshina while keeping a distinctly short distance.

“it wouldn't be such a big deal if everyone knew” you commented, taking your food between chopsticks, sitting next to him. “i mean, i know you like to be discreet, but come on, it's been a long time.”

"y'know my position on workplace relationships" he sighed, eyes on yours "besides, it's not something that's inherent."

"oh, then you'd be very afraid that at this very moment i might kiss you, aren't you?" you laughed softly, aware of the curious glances the two of you had begun to catch since you sat down together.

the narrow-eyed one remained silent, though that trademark grin of his would not twist at any moment. even, he widened it to such an extent that one of his fangs peeked over his lower lip.

“we both know ya won't, sweetheart.”

you leaned in just barely, noses almost brushing and breaths colliding, intent on intimidating your partner. “are you afraid of cadets watching us kiss? you sound like a child, soshiro.”

though your breath was stolen in the second as the man would sink his fingers through your hair and pull you closer to him, finally bringing your lips together in a soft but steamy kiss, in which he would make sure to bite your bottom lip with his fangs a couple of times; culminating in laughing at your surprised expression.

“don't think i'll go easy on you, you've earned it.”

you were about to complain, but hoshina had left his seat.

“hey!” you called out to him, regardless of the heads you managed to turn at the scene the two of you were starring in— personally you didn't care what they thought, but you feared what soshiro would have in mind for you after this.

“see you in my office this afternoon, cadet.” he smiled at you as he walked away.

soichiro

the most famous, new and intriguing topic of the sixth division would be how a cadet who had just joined the division began to climb the ranks from one day to the next. it was said that they came from the third division, and that this person was the new dispute between the hoshina— they were arguing about “who could handle your military strength better” or something like that the members of both divisions imagined, since it was uncertain why the brothers mentioned you when they were discussing.

but it would be when soichiro would call you to his office that some cadets would approach the said space with the intention of listening to the conversation between you, curious even though they knew very well that what they were doing was an improper act and if they were caught by someone of high rank perhaps their jobs would be at risk.

“did i end up being a toy for you?” you would start, in a calm voice despite what you implied with your words. “it's not nice to wake up every day to messages from your brother, you know?”

“my brother talks to you more than he talks to me…?” a soft, comical tear would slide down one of the cheeks of the white-stranded one, who would cover his face as if his heart had broken.

“i've treated him better than you, it's only natural.” that was like a shot to the captain's chest, and his head was now buried in the surface of the table.

you would bring your hand to the man's hair and walk it over it with a certain delicacy, as if you were caressing a swallow. “but i have already made up my mind, and for that i would like to remain in the sixth division.”

soichiro would lift his head expectantly, your fingers now entwining through the loose hair on his forehead.

“i would like to be your spouse.” you stated confidently, looking attentively at the person in front of you.

it was a long few months of bickering. you had been arranged to marry the eldest hoshina— you were no more than a colleague the brothers knew and yet the youngest was completely opposed to the idea that one of his most valued cadets would be his older brother's spouse. in the end the brothers would end up fighting over your hand and it would be you who would decide who to marry, at their request.

“but it will be you who will inform soshiro of this.”

you watched as another faint tear slid down his face, and you were amused at the effect his poor relationship with his younger brother had on him.

jouno

a relationship as thorny as the people in it, members of the hunting dogs and with fangs as sharp as cobra— jouno and you shared similar tastes, habits and behaviors that isolated you from the rest of the group. sadistic, the criminals you caught would hang on to the thread of their lives while begging not to be disposed of.

it was easy to speculate that this facade was nothing more than something constructed for the job you had. but that couldn't be further from the truth, for your colleagues knew perfectly well that this behavior was your crude personalities.

as well as when his hand would sink to your hip as you whispered dirty lies in his ear in a low tone, bitter comments just to play with your boyfriend's jealous nature. his muscles would tense and his smile would become forced as he felt your body press against his, your hands placing themselves with tenuous delicacy on one of his shoulders to direct your lips to his ear— you were aware of how much he hated to hear another man's name slipping out of your mouth.

you were playing with fire, you knew it perfectly.

oh, but how you loved to do it.

you were returning from a mission you had been assigned with tecchou: your planning and implacable intelligence were the key to victory, while your colleague's strength and agility were indispensable when it came to fighting those against you.

you praised the brown-stranded man's assistance like a sugar-coated mantra— your ears were used to being drowned out by nasty opinions about him, so it was a pleasant surprise to find that he was just a simple man who exasperated your boyfriend.

however, that you sat at the meeting table next to him, shared smiles together with him and looked at him with such affection would cause jouno to give you a certainly bitter expression. and not only to you, but to tecchou as well.

“someone's in a bad mood” you whispered to the one who had taken a seat next to you, covering a soft chuckle that escaped your lips with one of your hands.

you were doing it on purpose, and jouno should be used to your antics by now— but it seemed he still wasn't, not at all. “it's only natural. i thought i told you i didn't like you doing that.”

“what thing?” you played innocent, noticing how jouno felt you lean into the man next to you. “see? he does this kind of thing often.”

“you should stop treating your partner like this.” commented tecchou, face showing almost complete disinterest in the conversation. to him, as well as the rest of your coworkers, it was obvious that you were simply toying with jouno, and it was best not to pry too much.

“i won't take the word of someone like you. stay out of other people's relationships.” growled back jouno, almost immediately.

“don't treat tecchou like that, sai.” you shook your hand, then placing it on one of the opaque-haired one's shoulders. you had drawn a pout, looking at your partner almost as if you were begging him. “he's just being a good friend, he's not as bad as you think.”

with his brow furrowed, he would let his head rest on his arm propped on the wooden table. “your next missions will be only with me. i don't want to see you alongside people like him.”

no matter how much you complained, certainly, you would only get a chance to be with tecchou in group activities. jouno was serious about taking care of what belonged to him.

hyoga

your hand was sinking into the pale hair of the man sitting next to you— quietly enjoying his meal, you watched him with a playful smile on your face. you didn't expect the most reserved man of all the people on board to confess anything about his relationship with you.

he had mentioned something to you about it being inherent if he wanted to depetrify you: probably someone would ask something about how you knew each other, since no one had ever seen you together— you had joined the kingdom of science as a double-faced agent but no one was aware of it, not even gen himself, who usually meddles in other people's business.

you didn't quite know why they hadn't brought you back to life before, but they probably would eventually regardless of whether hyoga said anything or not.

“were you so eager to see me that you couldn't wait a little longer?” you laughed, watching as his brow furrowed slightly. “surely they were waiting for a more suitable time to wake me up. i'm a warrior too, you realize?”

you would lean back against one of his shoulders, his plush garment kissing the exposed skin of your neck and face ever so gently— without expecting for him to comment any further.

“you are precious to me.” you heard, soft enough to be almost lost amidst the sound of waves crashing against wood.

you'd lift your head to look at him, completely surprised. it was rare that he would allow himself to say such gentle things, and it seemed that tonight he was in a particularly good mood.

“i can't believe i'm that important to hyoga.” you commented loudly, audible enough for people nearby to hear, and your partner's ears colored a soft red as he sank his face into his food to ignore what you were doing.

“ah, if only he would say it more often so i wouldn't doubt so much…”

“i love you.”

it was fleeting, but your heart stopped in that split second. you'd let out a smile followed by a laugh, watching as he buried his face under his mask after finishing his meal.

“make a wish, hyoga is being romantic!”

“he looked like a serious guy when we fought. i see he's someone weak in front of the people he loves.” moz commented with a chuckle, receiving a threatening look from the taller one.

the truth is, he was thinking about the uncertainty that followed his trip to america, and how deeply afraid he was of losing you.

so he decided it would be best to make it clear how he felt about you rather than regret not having done so.

pantalone

who would have thought that a simple designer would be deeply involved with the fatui. your workspace was nothing more than a small location on the cold snezhnaya, a cozy place that greeted with countless outfits and garments meticulously constructed with each of your clients' preferences in mind.

sunk among fabrics, intricate stitching and refined patterns, it had become complex for you to notice that a hand had taken place on one of your shoulders— the pressure it applied being so gentle and delicate. it was the scent of a cologne that would cause your concentration to waver and consequently you would notice the weight at your side.

upon verifying who it was after turning your head, you would turn off your sewing machine and leave your seat behind to properly greet the person now in front of you. “good evening, sir.”

his laugh, low but melodious, was the prelude to a warm-looking smile. “good evening, sweetheart.” he would then express his curiosity at how formally you were addressing him, despite being in a private space.

you would comment that the walls were thin— perhaps one of your staff could hear more than they should.

with your short steps accompanying your calm tone, you lifted with your hands the piece that the regrator must have come for. it was a suit of dark shades adorned with silver details, of a clean finish and stunning appearance.

“it's a shame not to be able to participate in such luxurious events” you remarked, the man in front of you paying attention to the attire that now rested in his hands.

your greatest pleasure has always been to see your clients wearing the pieces you worked for so long— you have never had the opportunity to see pantalone wearing any of them despite being his designer of choice, partially because he only commissioned things for specific events you could not attend.

“i've offered you several invitations and your response has been the same.” his smile never wavered, his eyes now fixed on you attentively.

you sighed, softly. “events organized for prestigious individuals are not my place.” you recited as usual the same words you used to decline his invitations.

you rested one of your hands on the edge of a desk made up of dark wood, fabric scraps hugging your fingers.

“it would be improper to question the guests of a harbinger.” the dark-haired one would mention that as he approached you.

“the regrator is bringing a mere designer as a guest? it wouldn't look appropriate.”

“it's you we're talking about” his distance was short enough that you felt trapped between his figure and the desk bathed in fabrics. “promoted by the fatui— the most renowned designer in snezhnaya. even remarkable people from other nations come to you, don't they?”

“you flatter me” you lowered your head, feeling small in front of him. “but i would still feel out of place.”

“then i will organize a gala you can call your place.” he cupped your chin with his hand clad in a black leather glove. “the guests would wear your works, everyone would have eyes for you.”

“i'm afraid if i take a large number of jobs, my time would be scarce to attend the event.” his hand would go up to one of your cheeks, his thumb dancing over your warm skin.

“then it will be as soon as you are finished.” his smile was serene, but you well knew he felt victorious holding you in the palm of his hand.

“i can't refuse, can i?” you laughed softly.

[eternal-reverie]

have a cheerfully shrugging lauriam

[pandafrits]

[ky-landfill]

[accessibility-babey]

people. PLEASE stop adding onto described and accessible posts with UNDESCRIBED, INACCESSIBLE reblogs. i am going to start biting

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.

and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.

✦ info: he didn't know he'd lose you so soon. (come back, please. even if it is just for five more minutes.)

✦ featuring: alhaitham.

✦ warnings: angst, character death (reader), heartache, 1.2k words, somewhat proof-read.

✦ notes: i cried so goddamn hard writing this. why is my first work after hiatus pain. why did i pick up the angst wip. but!! i'm writing again, so that's good. (more notes at the end.)

he didn’t know that it was your last day together. 

he didn’t know that the smile you gave him that afternoon, your eyes sparkling like sunlight upon the serene waves of the ocean, would be the last he’d ever see. that the playful light in your gaze would fade so very soon, slipping through his fingers like sand.

he didn’t know that last night would be the last time he held you close while you drifted off to sleep. he didn’t know that today would be the last time he’d wake up with you.

he didn’t think he’d lose you like this. 

he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to save you from that blow. 

“please, please,”  he begs, both to you and to whatever force that is just barely holding you together. “just stay with me for five more minutes, please. until i can get you somewhere.” 

the rain soaks him to the bone, clothes and hair sticking to his skin. your lips stay motionless, eyes shut.

“wake up, please,”  he bargains. “you can have all the five minutes of extra sleep you want later, i promise. just—”  his vision blurs, and something shines on the ground before it is gone, swallowed by damp earth, lost amidst drops of falling rain. 

desperately, he tears off parts of his traveling cloak to staunch the bleeding. deep inside, he knows it is futile. he knows your wound is too great. he knows what lies ahead. but he cannot help but press the cloths to your wound and pray. 

please, please tell me it’ll be okay. 

please stay with me, beloved. i’ll read you all the books in the world. i’ll sleep in with you everyday, even if we end up whiling away our time. 

please. stay. stay with me. i can’t lose you yet.  

“— just wake up, beloved.” 

by some miracle, your eye flutters. just a bit. just enough to set hope ablaze, just enough for the grip on his heart to loosen a tiny bit. he buries his face in your shoulder, resting his head against your neck, uncaring of the blood that stains his clothes. your blood. on his clothes. his hands. everywhere. 

no. no. this can’t be happening.

he feels you strain beneath him, your unwounded arm gently, weakly brushing his back. he jolts upright, eyes trained on your face. you send a frail smile his way. he clasps your face softly as you nuzzle into his palm.

“alhaitham—” 

his full name. archons, how long has it been since you called him that?  

“— take good care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, chest heaving, your fingertips touching a tear on his cheeks. “i love you. so much.” 

those are the last words he hears fall from your lips. he presses a kiss to your forehead, to your eyelids, and to your cheeks and to your lips, over and over and over until he feels your breath slow, hoping they’ll say what he knows he cannot manage to choke out.

i love you. 

he stays there next to you for who knows how long, holding you until the rain slows and a faint rainbow smiles in the sky.

until he can’t smell camphor anymore.

—

every person has their curiosities. 

they’re just the little traits that set them apart from others, the things that make them tick just a little bit differently, the things that make them, them.

for instance, someone may be obsessed with collecting tiny furniture, while another eats the crusts off their sandwich before actually consuming it. someone may have an affinity for the most niche aspects of linguistics, while another can accurately predict the next raindrop that slides down a window pane.

after all, no two people are exactly alike, are they?

alhaitham knows he’s got his fair share of these curiosities himself. his aversion to soup and all things that resemble it, to name one. and with you, he’d noticed two things. 

number one: the scent of camphor that seems to linger on every inch of your person. 

he’d caught whiff of it almost immediately the first time you met. you were but one of his juniors in the akademiya, filled with bright-eyed curiosity and anxiety to match. you had tripped over a stair and bumped into his table in the library, bringing the mountain of books in your arms crashing down.

and with subsequent coincidental meetings, he learnt that the subtle scent of camphor dancing in the air meant you weren’t far away. 

you were, unfortunately, one of the poor souls who seemed to be cursed with constantly recurring minor illnesses, and almost always walked about with a stuffy nose. and so, you always carried a small disc of camphor in a handkerchief, as well as in your pocket.

you swore up and down, left, right and center that sniffing the vapors helped make breathing easier.

‘it’s my grandmother’s remedy, alhaitham! camphor always works wonders. well, that and eucalyptus oil.”

alhaitham may not know the validity of your claim or the legitimacy of the cure, but he knew to never, ever question a grandmother’s remedy. that, and he’d much rather refrain from starting a back-and-forth about something so small.

and number two: your neverending pleas of different variations of ‘just five more minutes!’ 

“five more minutes, ‘haitham. please.” you’d whine grumpily when he woke you up to start your day. “let me sleep in for five more minutes.” 

“five more minutes, habibi,” you’d ask when he put down the story you’d requested he read out to you before bedtime. “read me the part where she finds the music box?”

“five more minutes, baby,” is what you’d tell him when he asks how much longer you’d take getting ready. “you can’t rush perfection!”

those five more minutes were never five minutes long. 

but he’d always, always indulged you and those pleading eyes of yours. as stoic as he appeared to be, you lived in his heart. of course he could never deny you anything under the sun.

—

alhaitham remembers that silly little song you sang over and over, the one you’d learnt from a kid in the bazaar. he’d taken you to see one of nilou’s performances, and, friendly soul that you were, you’d struck up a conversation with some of the eager audience members before the play. 

“oh, how i wish i was a bird flying free,

i’d see the world, every mountain and every sea!

oh, how i wish i was a cloud in the sky,

wouldn’t you like to wave to me as i pass by?”

you’d hum that rhyme on every idle afternoon.

loss is inevitable. he knows that, with how logical and rational and straightforward he is. he’d lost his parents, but he was far too young to remember. he’d lost his grandmother, but she passed in her sleep of old age, serene and wise.

but you? he didn’t think you’d leave him this soon. a singular wish sits in his soul, making its home in his bones. 

a wish that you’d come back, somehow. 

he wishes you gave him five more minutes, just as he always did.  but he knows that you could’ve given him five more hours, five more days, five more years and five more decades and it would still not be enough time spent with you. 

a blue feathered bird comes to perch on his shoulder, interrupting his musings just as he raises his face to the sky. he sees the heart shaped cloud that floats idly above sumeru city.

 he thinks of the rhyme again, and something in him tells him to wave. and so he does. a scent so familiar lingers, faintly brushing his nose in the wind that picks up.

“alhaitham, it's time to go.”  kaveh calls his name softly.

 alhaitham doesn't move. “five more minutes,”  he says, echoing your favorite phrase. “i smell camphor in the breeze.” 

✦ extra notes: my alhaitham characterization for this fic stems from how i believe that when alhaitham is attached, he's attached. so i focused more on that, and less of all that rationality and whatnot. this one loves deeply, yk?

that camphor thing is a real grandma remedy in our household (my mom would tie some in a hanky and put some under my pillow and still to this day reminds me to do it when i'm sick) which is what originally sparked the idea for this

when i'd initially started this wip, i didn't expect it go this way. usually i write with my brain, but i think i wrote this one with my fingers working faster than i can think hsjhsj so sorry if it's kinda out of place lmao but yk what? i'm happy with it still even though i feel like it doesn't have my usual quality.

thanks for reading.

[kayenimate]

Common side effects include referencing a b99 joke

[intothehandsoffate]

I would have voted for mcgucket 2016….

Ford would insist on Fiddleford taking breaks all the time(they go on walks because they are old men. Also because the secret service literally had to beg them to not make another robot and take it for a joyride)

(Reference to this tweet)

[kk-iki]

it's been a long time coming, but. . .

enough is enough. i think i've moved in relative silence when it comes to some of the more odd things that occur in this fandom, but one instance in particular is giving me pause. this honestly feels like something better suited for a substack essay, but i'll hold off on that since i think everyone in this specific sub - tumblr ( ? ) should hear this first.

i feel like so much of the call of duty fandom is trapped in a constant woman - hating epidemic.

and i don't just mean 'oh, there's barely any female character x reader content, there's nothing for the girls who like girls'. that's an entirely different issue i may or may not bring up later.

i'm talking about how a good majority of the writing i read in this fandom is so geared towards men. and i don't mean that there's a surplus of male reader content, because there really isn't. i mean that there's so many fics i read that are drenched in the light of 'doe - eyed, pouty, submissive woman who is always eager to please her man, and the idea that the man may be eager to please her in return is such an incredibly radical concept'.

i click on any 'x reader' tag in this fandom, and i'm met with a tidal wave of two specific archetypes;

the doe - eyed, pouty, submissive fem reader who is always eager to please her man and gets off on him essentially treating her like property, or. . .

a reader who has no character. no structure. no personality. a reader who is meant to be vague enough to where the actual reader can neatly insert themselves into their shoes, but at the cost of any innate substance or realness. a reader who is essentially just a placeholder in words.

somehow, inexplicably, it's more often than not the first.

write and read for this fandom long enough, and you'll see what i see in droves. the attention that is lavished on writing within this fandom is relegated to the specific archetype of the tradwife who knows nothing but to cook for her husband and be a willing conduit for his post - deployment stress relief.

and what truly infuriates me the most is that it will be these kinds of writers who are so adamantly against the idea of tradwives. yes, you say you're against it, but can your words hold up when your writing is essentially tradwife propaganda in disguise?

and it just irks me so badly when these mentalities infiltrate the characters themselves. today's specific instance of this was when i was scrolling through the könig x reader tag and i came across this one headcanon list that advertised itself as "loser!könig". nothing innately malicious, of course, but then i saw the tags.

'but also, he's a sucker for the wife, which makes him a loser. say it with me now.'

i want to make it known that i mean no ill intent towards the original author of this specific headcanon list. i don't want any vitriol to be directed at them because i'm speaking my mind about this fandom as a whole. it most likely was meant to be an affectionate, "haha, he's such a malewife loser"-esque endearment. but this set of tags just. . .baffled me.

. . .because when did it become loser - like or a loser - adjacent trait to be a sucker for your wife?

this isn't even the first instance of this. i've seen it before, the way this fandom—sometimes subtly, sometimes unintentionally—pushes this narrative that has been setting us back decades. the idea that there is not only a beauty standard that women must live up to in order to be considered desirable by men, but there is also a mentality that a woman must have in addition.

there's another fic that i read, a 141 x reader one if memory serves me correctly. it featured a reader who was insecure about her appearance, which is absolutely nothing to frown upon. what startled me, though, was the fact that the author themselves referred to the reader as 'ugly'.

the reader is a single mother. she is stated in the fic to have love handles, breakouts, and a thick waist. she has messy hair and wears baggy clothes and has dark undereye circles. she required the love and special attention of four conventionally attractive men who moved in next door in order to feel beautiful.

she is said, by the author in the precluding note, to be meant as a way to 'show some love to readers who feel ugly, instead of petite girly readers'.

as if people with these traits should feel ugly. as if people with these traits cannot be girly.

i understand i may be reading too much into this. i may be making a mountain out of a molehill. but i'm angry about this and this is my blog and you've read this far, so clearly you want to see where this goes.

and this is where it's going.

i spoke about this briefly in a server i'm in and am extremely fond of—shoutout to the shitheads.

i said, quote: "are you nothing but a slave to the whims of a patriarchal society’s dictation on how someone must present in order to be considered desirable? or are you willingly feeding into this at the risk of the self image of so many beautiful people who cannot recognize their own enchanting presences because of people like you howling at them in your sweetest voice that they are anything but?"

i also said: "have you considered the reason for that might be because she’s a recluse and doesn’t go outside apart from making sure her child is getting sufficient vitamin d and is thus making assumptions about what people will think of her on the basis of one bad man’s words to her?"

maybe she doesn't feel ugly because you think the traits she has are ugly. maybe she feels ugly because she doesn't socialize. maybe, instead of just leaving that in the subtext, you should have started with that.

the writer, if i recall correctly, was a woman. by the way. which makes this worse.

it is so difficult for me to understand how the women in this fandom can be so cruel to each other, even implicitly. from the way we're written in reader - insert fics to how we react to each others' ocs and creations. . .it's just so disheartening.

more than anything, it makes me wonder how someone like me—a lesbian who exclusively writes women for women and tries to veer away from the reader and the character falling into any one archetype—is going to find any sort of platform in this fandom.

the bottom line is that there is so much casual misogyny in this fandom. frankly, i'm a little sick of it.

one might think i'm making a big deal out of this. i know. i'm being a killjoy, i'm being a hater, i won't let anyone have any fun. but we need to remember a couple of key points here:

art is always political because there is no way to create something without a modicum of bias.

the politics promoted by the art in this fandom—specifically, the writing—are pushing an agenda that has been consistently used to strip women of their rights and needs for decades.

most of these writers are women themselves.

obviously, there's nothing wrong with a submissive woman. obviously, the characters in call of duty that are most featured in reader - insert content are canonically framed in a lens that makes it seem like they would be the kind of men to only enjoy this kind of woman. obviously, not everyone in this fandom indulges this.

but it occurs enough. and it sets us back.

and i'm sick of it.

thank you for reading this far, and for hearing out what i have to say. i promise i don't do this often—but i also promise that i absolutely should. i love you.

kiki x