#but anyway just from a story perspective

[turtleblogatlast]

We were robbed of a Hueso Jr. episode because good god I need he and Leo to interact.

I can just imagine an episode where a very busy Hueso has no choice but to ask Leo to babysit, and Leo’s like heck yeah I’d rock at that.

And of course Hueso is constantly like oh god what if something goes wrong that’s PEPINO he left with his CHILD.

So continuously throughout the episode he imagines the worst case scenarios for what could possibly be happening.

Every time Hueso imagines another catastrophic scenario the scene cuts back to Leo and Hueso Jr just calmly watching a movie or playing a game or something else equally as innocuous.

Eventually the worry gets to Hueso so much that he cuts his business short and races back home to see -

A peacefully sleeping Hueso Jr smiling as he lays snuggled up next to a shockingly quiet Leonardo.

He’s pleasantly surprised, and agrees to ask for Leo again next time he needs a babysitter.

Or, as it seems he may need to, when Hueso Jr. wants Leo to visit.

[midnightsslut]

no one asked, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the albatross and its placement on the bargaining playlist. I have come to the conclusion that the song serves as a warning to anyone who tries to avoid/‘imprison’ her. this man was told that she would kill his garden, tempt him, and eventually destroy him. she was a wild wind instead of a normal, harmless rose. yet, he could neither avoid her nor lock her away in a tower. he was too drunk to think his decision through (‘cross your thoughtless heart / only liquor anoints you’). he chose her despite all the warnings he received. he shot all the messengers who tried to persuade him. he couldn’t fully commit to being with her, either, so he locked her away in a tower. ultimately, she was the only one who could protect him from the same men who once condemned her. he chose to be subjected to that danger by being with her (‘the rain is always gonna come if you’re standing with me’ —> ‘I’m the life you chose, and all this terrible danger’). the two characters in the song seem to finally be at peace. however, the outro switches to third person and makes it clear that she will, in fact, destroy him. she is the albatross in his life. he will wear her around his neck forever. he could try to bargain with her all he wants, but he was delusional to think this would end any other way. she is both the angel and the devil in his life. she could protect him from the media attention she subjected him to, but she could simultaneously destroy him by feeding into the rain of fire through her songwriting.

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Scooby-Doo but make it a ghost story. 

(Just hear me out, trust me, I swear it’ll make sense-)

3k words

A man shows up with a paper with an empty signature line, asking you to sell whatever you have left and leave the premises. 

He’s not the first to try and tell you to get off your own land, and you doubt he will be the last, but you’ve dealt with his kind before--trim, pristine suits and loud voices speaking big words and legal jargon that still makes your head spin even after the piles of research you’ve done to keep this from happening--so despite his confident posture and degrading sneer, you’re not frightened by him.

You turn him away like the others, and he spits and curses and stomps his feet, giving a tantrum worthy of the most red-cheeked toddlers you’ve seen in your store, piling on threats of how you’ll regret it before storming off. While it is always a bit worrying to have these types pay you a visit, you know the land is yours until you can’t sustain it any longer; and although your business is small, it will take a long while before that will happen.

At least until the word haunted starts spreading through the halls.

You first hear it when you’re re-stocking some shelves near the front. The couple is scurrying out in agitated whispers about ghosts and ghouls and generally unpleasant things accompanied by a stream of vulgar language directed at whoever owned this establishment.

It’s odd, but you don’t think much of it outside of a curious glance at the young cashier who started work here a few weeks ago. He does nothing but shrug to express that his confusion aligns with your own, and you both brush it aside without much thought.

Two days later, he hands in his resignation, pale and a little shaky, nearly running out of the shop the moment he gets the chance.

You find out he was on the closing shift last night, and wouldn’t speak to anyone the next morning until he could get out of there. One of the employees says she heard him feverishly mutter something about ghosts.

It’s worrisome but you get back to work as best you can, trying not to let it bother you.

The next employee who leaves is much louder about it.

You hear it again: GHOSTS. HAUNTED.

Cursed.

You take in a shaky breath, then a couple more to collect yourself before turning to reassure your remaining employees. There’s not many of them. Most of them are kids from homes nearby, just working the hours they could to save for college or to move away. Not all of them are frightened, and they brush aside the others, but even so, you close the shop an hour earlier now so that no one has to stay after dark.

As the winter season comes, that becomes earlier and earlier until everyone is out by four o’clock.

Still, it’s no use. Word spreads like wildfire in small towns, gossiping to tourists too. Some ghost hunters drop by to try their luck but they’re always out by morning or gone completely to goodness knows where. You simply hope they left in a panic and not something else.

You try the police and they find nothing. You hire a detective who runs away yelling about how they don’t deal with ghosts, and all that money is down the drain. You watch as the price of your small business drops and drops until you’re eating strictly canned foods, ramen and the cheapest cereal you can find to try and scavenge for any spare penny you can. Your neighbour tells you again and again that it isn’t worth it and you should just sell. Any employees that remained left quickly, off to find a job that could pay them better than you could until it was just you and your baby cousin left at the till. She’s barely old enough to be working, and there are jobs that pay better out there, but she stubbornly keeps restocking the shelves and ringing up the till whenever stragglers or loud curious teens find their way into the shop. She refuses to leave you.

You try to deal with the problem yourself. You really do. After your cousin goes home for the night you stay, hidden behind boxes with an old bat and wait for whatever it was that was harassing your staff, but when you see it you’re paralyzed. It floats past, eerie, silent, a horrible gaping face, unearthly glow about it, and no sound of footsteps or creaking wires to betray it as a fake. You try to tell yourself it must be fake. It must be. You hide clutching the bat like your life depends on it and shaking like a leaf in the freezing autumn wind gusts. The glow from the thing is greenish as it floats past the boxes you’re hidden behind. Your heart pounds in your ears and goosebumps rise on your arms as it pauses over the boxes. You think for a moment this might be where you die and then it’s floating on before vanishing through a wall.

You run from the shop as fast as you can all the way home and lock every door and window. You stay up all night pressed against the wall, halfway under your covers, sitting up, bat still clenched in your hands. You’re only able to get some sleep when the sun rises a bit.

You follow the path that the ghastly thing took during the opening hours of the shop, finding no trace of it ever existing. Your hands still hurt from how tightly you had clenched the bat all night.

It scared you. Enough to close the doors even earlier.

It was near impossible to keep things running when you could only safely keep the shop open barely half the day. You knew the next time a man with a paper came to the door you wouldn’t be in a position to refuse.

It’s around that time you hear about a group that deals exclusively with your type of problem. Ghosts, goblins, ghouls, witches, warlocks, werewolves, demons; helping people who no one else would help.

You’re desperate. So you grab what remains of your savings and get in your rickety car that you’re honestly surprised still works at this point and go to find them.  

They’ve set up shop in a small building on the corner of a street in a town you’ve never heard of.

Mystery Inc. is painted across an old van parked out front and the sign on the door. It’s colourful, almost silly. It doesn't fill you with much confidence but you’re desperate, and the bright colours do at least make you smile.

A young man shakes your hand when you enter the door, polite, not commenting on your haggard appearance--nonstop driving and energy drinks for an amount of time you didn’t really want to think about probably did a number on the circles under your eyes. You’re pretty sure your hands were shaking from the caffeine. He warmly welcomes you in and introduces himself as Fred.

A young red-headed girl in heels-- fifteen? Sixteen perhaps?-- takes your hand and helps you sit down in a seat near a desk and before you know it there’s a blanket over your shoulders and a warm cup of some non-caffeinated tea in your hands. At this point it tastes like nothing more than hot water but it does wonders to stop your hands from shaking.

The dog startles you; a massive Great Dane, a little dopey looking with a brightly coloured collar. It's sitting at a table in the corner with a very scrawny looking teen, peach fuzz on his chin and a shirt that must be a few sizes too big judging by the way that it hangs off his wiry frame. There’s a large array of foods on the table in front of them, but they’ve paused their snacking to wave at you. Both the teen and the dog. You wave back and that seems to satisfy them enough for them to tuck back into their meal eating more like what you’ve seen black holes in movies consume things like. It’s 3am. You try not to stare.

The sound of a chair sliding draws your attention and a different freckled young lady sits down in front of you and adjusts the thickest glasses you’ve ever seen.

They’re children, you realize after a moment. Teenagers. Hardly older than your cousin. Their clothing seems a little out of style, but pristine considering they looked like something your grandparents would wear. Clothes were nicer back than anyways, and you have your fair share of hand-me-downs so you don’t comment or think about it much.

They ask you what brought you here and you do your best to share. It feels like mad ramblings but under their watchful eyes and attentive ears you find yourself relaxing at least a bit. It’s a strange situation and you apologize numerous times, how odd it is to be going to children half your age for help, but they do little more than brush the apology aside with a wave of their hands and a reassuring pat to your shoulder.

“Well…” says Fred, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “it’s not much to go off of, but we’ll see what we can do.”

They drive you home and you sleep in the back of the van with the massive dog and the scrawny teen. They wake you up only to ask for directions and you give them as best you can in your sleep deprived state.

Somehow they reach the shop by morning, which feels unreal when it took you three days to get to their office, but you count your blessings rather than question them and invite the group inside, figuring you must have just been more lost than you realized on the way there.

The dog and the scrawny teen (Shaggy, you think they call him, and you’re inclined to agree) are always searching for some kind of food. They raid your shop’s back fridge and you don’t bother to stop them since there’s not much in there anyways, and they seem half-starved despite the large meal you saw them consume back at their headquarters. They find more than you thought you had in there and carry it all out in an impressive stack that they consume in mere seconds. You don’t have much to pay them for the job they’re doing, so you don’t bother stopping them from raiding the snack shelves at the front counter either.

You show Fred and the girls the back room where things happen. You introduce them to your cousin who they politely ask some questions too. It’s clear they’ve done this before. Any inquiries are straight to the point, they share with you what they find. You get the strangest feeling they’ve been doing this for decades with how confidently they walk around a supposedly haunted shop.

Velma, the freckled one with glasses, throws around some large words you don’t understand with some pale green dust on the end of her finger. Their first clue, which Fred seems excited about. He suggests they head back to the van to take a drive around town for further investigation while she runs tests on the substance found in the shop.

Shaggy makes a comment about being hungry and Scooby nods his head. The ground is littered with snack wrappers and you make a note to clean those up.

Daphne, the one who patted your hand and gave you tea looks a little lost, simply floating around after the others and nodding along with the clues they find until Fred mentions heading out, then she quickly takes charge directing them out to the van. They bid you a goodnight, telling you to get some more sleep and they’ll handle the rest.

You worry about them but your cousin agrees and shoos you home.

The next morning comes after a restless sleep and they’re still there. You aren’t sure whether you’re relieved or worried over that fact. They stayed in the shop overnight, they report. Shaggy and Scooby are quaking but the others look unphased.

“Terrifying! Big ugly green face, a g-g-g-GHOST!”

Scooby gives a mournful ruff in agreement in something that sounds almost startlingly close to real words.

Velma sighs. “Shaggy, Scooby, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Oh yeah? How’d you explain tall, floaty and creepy, huh?”

“Wires most likely. Glow in the dark paint. A costume.”

Shaggy and Scooby shake their heads in unison.

You’re just glad they’re alright.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tell them. It breaks your heart but the little old shop isn’t worth the lives of four teenages and their large puppy.

“It’s our job,” Fred tells you with a cool, comforting hand on your shoulder. “Trust us. I have a plan. And, after our investigation around town, I get the feeling we might already know who this ghost of yours is.”

It seems impossible but you and your baby cousin do your best to help them set up a rather elaborate trap. It’s confusing to you, but the others seem fairly confident in Fred’s direction.  

They ussher you out for your own safety, ignoring your protests of “what about yours?” and tell you to wait until they call you back.

You do. Nervously pacing your house. Your baby cousin’s asleep at the table. It’s been a long few days so you’re not surprised, even if she made a valiant effort to stay up with you, it was only a matter of time before it caught up to her. You throw a blanket over her but decide against moving her to the bed, she’s a light sleeper and you don’t want to wake her.

You don’t chew your nails often, but they’re bitten down to the skin by the time your phone rings. It makes you jump and you answer it in a mad scramble, nearly dropping your phone in the process.

There’s a lot of white noise and garbled static that makes you wonder if it was a butt dial until you recognize snatches of Fred’s voice speaking out from the mess telling you it was safe to come out now.  

You have just enough thought to shake your cousin awake so she isn’t left behind at your place, and the two of you race over to the shop together. Your heart’s pounding and worry runs rampant. It was impossible to tell Fred’s tone over the garbled static, but you pray that nothing went wrong and that they are alright.

You arrive to the ghost that has been terrorizing your shop, tied up on the ground with the four teens and Scooby standing over it. It’s strange to see something that phased through a wall restrained by ropes and you can’t help but keep your distance, still unsettled, even in the daylight. Its wide gaping jaw and empty eyes still looked too-real.

But the group stood by it like it was nothing and the police arrived a few moments later, having been called by the teens shortly after they’d contacted you.

It was a costume. Fake. As they said. The mask was tugged off and you recognized it as your neighbour, the one who had been so insistent you sell.

The group takes turns explaining how they came to the conclusion, what led to the capture, the motivation behind it. It feels practiced and comfortable for them as they spin the story and explanation. You hardly hear a word, just relieved that it was over.

An officer pulls you aside to get your testimony and you want more than anything for them to be gone. They ask you about your involvement, and you inform them of the bare minimum, directing them to the teens, who seem to know much more than you do at this point, but when you go to point them out you find them missing. Van and all. Somehow having already pulled out of the driveway and driven away without anyone noticing.

You give the name Mystery Inc. and show the traps if only to get them out faster and eventually they leave after relentless grilling. You would have preferred to keep them out of this entirely but it was necessary to get rid of your “ghost”. The one that turned you away when you asked for help doesn’t seem at all remorseful and it rubs you the wrong way so you don’t bother to bid any of them goodbye.

You sleep for a few days before you get back in your car and drive to Mystery Inc.’s office. You never did agree on a price but you have an envelope with some cash inside of it and more than anything you want to thank them for what they did for you. Your cousin is in the passenger's seat next to you. It takes another three days to find the office again, but eventually you do.

You don’t recognize it at first; it was impossible too. The colourful sign declaring it the home of Mystery Inc. hung sideways, barely hanging on to the front of the building; the colours washed out and so weathered you couldn’t make out the text on it anymore.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” your cousin asks. She’s clutching the envelope in her hands.

You step out of the car feeling like you’ve pulled up into another world. The windows are smashed, the front steps are falling apart, the building’s even leaning, the door at an odd angle on its hinges; the kind of wear and tear that could only come from years of erosion.

You shoulder your way in through the front door, kicking up dust when you finally get it to move. It swings open violently, screeching on rusted hinges.

The desk is where you remember it, but it’s coated in dust.

It’s completely abandoned.

No one had set foot inside for years by the looks of it. Except…

You feel a chill run down  your spine as your eyes fall on a single set of footprints that match your own shoes, tracking back to a chair where an old moth-eaten blanket looked like it hadn’t moved in ages and a cracked cup that still has some liquid in it.

Your cousin calls to you and you glance back at her.

She seems unsettled and you can’t imagine the expression on your own face right now.

Ghosts aren’t real, you remember Velma saying, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

You leave the envelope on the desk and drive home in silence. You drop your cousin off at home, bidding her goodnight before heading to your own house.

Neither of you say it.

You dare to look them up and find Mystery Inc. doesn’t exist. At least not anymore.

You don’t sleep much that night, the memory of Fred’s cold reassuring hand on your shoulder replaying over and over in your mind.

Shaggy and Scooby’s candy wrappers are still in the pockets of your jacket, you meant to throw those out. You wonder if they’re still hungry; If they’re ever not hungry.

The shop becomes rather popular after the incident. Prim men and woman at your door with papers aren’t a threat any longer and you turn them away with ease, a flood of customers at your back.

The police don’t contact you about it. How could they? They saw them too. They took testimonies from them themselves. You can imagine what it must have felt like to find the town Coolsville they said they had come from no longer exists and neither do they.

Your cousin moves away to go to college eventually but she still keeps in contact. She says her classmates tell her she has the best ghost stories.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” a friend of yours says.

One of the wrappers is still in your pocket, even years later.

“Sure,” you say. And try not to think about it.

When they need help you give them the name Mystery Inc.

A few days later they’re less keen to tell you ghosts aren’t real.

[sketching-shark]

Starting Journey to the West assuming its the story about a silly goofy monkey going on monster-of-the-week adventures with his friends:

Reading about Sun "was-definitely-a-warlord" Wukong smashing the upteenth person's head into a meat patty but a few chapters in:

[potatoesandsunshine]

listen like... in my opinion the pov character should be wrong or contradictory or unreliable sometimes. this is third person limited they're not supposed to have all the information or always be right. the narrator doesn't stop being a character

[automaticsoulharmony]

TimKon fake dating AU but it’s a little messed up cause I realized five pages in that this is not how fake dating stories are supposed to start

[ebonytails]

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

Heart rate has reached dangerous levels❗️

Initiating culling procedures.👁️‍🗨️

[dribs-and-drabbles]

This is a little something (she says and then writes nearly a thousand words) about Kawi and intimacy and his behaviour towards Pisaeng's affections in Be My Favourite ep 9. I've been thinking about it all week but wasn't sure if I wanted to use my precious free-time to make a post. However, on the cusp of the new ep, I realise I do want to get these thoughts out.

I realised from reading other people's perspectives of the ep that my initial assessment of how Kawi was behaving was perhaps clouded by the 'old lenses' that I was subconsciously watching the show through. For context, I wasn't sure that I liked that Kawi kept pushing Pisaeng away and I even mentioned the dreaded Blushing Maiden trope. After some thought, I realise that my initial judgement was very much influenced by a couple of things carried over from ye olden bl times (which may not have been done away with completely but seem to be on their way out in present times).

First, from having seen so many bl/qls with the blushing maiden trope, subconsciously I guess I still expect to see it because it had been so prevalent. And second, despite the re-wiring my brain has undergone when it comes to Krist, I think I still fell back on the earlier presumptions that Krist was either averse to skinship (particularly with men) and/or wasn't a good enough actor to convey physical intimacy (this, of course, mostly stems from his portrayal of Arthit in SOTUS, which for all we know was how he was specifically directed to act - and which many have interpreted as demi- or asexual, which absolutely has a place at the table).

My conclusions to these realisations is that I need to learn to trust these newer bl/qls that they really aren't going to rehash the old questionable tropes of yesteryear.

I remember some discourse before the last three eps of My School President - when we were worried about the ending - about how Bad Buddy taught us that we can feel safe watching it - "safe in the knowledge that tropes were being subverted, that the usual angsty triggers actually got resolved pretty quickly, that the ep 11 curse wasn't actually a curse at all". And we needed to take that knowledge to help assuage our fears about the ending of MSP. And I think I'm in a similar situation here with Be My Favourite and Kawi in particular.

Staying with Bad Buddy for a bit longer (because, really, when can I ever not talk about it in relation to something else?), I remember feeling a similar disappointment with how Pran was being portrayed in ep 9. I felt he too bordered on the blushing maiden with how he shied away from Pat's advances in his room before Korn came in, before the rugby game, and even when washing up after the hotpot date. I don't see that now because, of course, we know Pran isn't a blushing maiden at all - I mean he's not known as Feral Musky Scented HOE Pran for nothing.

Yes, it took time for Pran to get used to Pat's affections but that was probably because he had pined over this man for so long it was all a bit overwhelming at first. Pran probably needed to ease into letting down his walls, to be vulnerable around Pat, and to believe it was all real. And in the end, when he had gotten used to it all, Pran holds back because he likes to make Pat work for it...because Pat also likes to work for it, because they get off on role-playing - as I've said before, it's like foreplay to them.

I'm not saying this is the same for Kawi but it's a similar situation. I knew this about Pran, and that I was wrong in my interpretation of him, and yet I didn't think to approach Kawi and Pisaeng with the same lens. The lens that so many of you have helpfully pointed out - Kawi is a 30-year-old virgin. This is all so new to him, not only to be intimate with someone but also with a man whom he hadn't even contemplated being with. He's spent 12 years only thinking of Pear (emphasis on 'only thinking' as well as 'only thinking').

@burntsuncomet said it well in their tags: "touch gets very very difficult if you don't interact with people much, so intimacy of normal affectionate touches are tough. Kawi would have to start slow and let Piseang just smack a kiss, maybe hold hands, hug a bit, it's a lot of work before intimacy from touch will be like second nature in Kawi's case." @rocketturtle4 also added that Kawi's "general uncertainty could be very well tied in with his loneliness and, especially, his fear of losing Piseang if he does the wrong thing".

@waitmyturtles offered a slightly different perspective, that almost "everything in this show is totally intentional, and...that [Kawi's] discomfort is totally meant to reflect those accusations from Krist’s past about his clear discomfort in acting out intimacy (especially juxtaposed with how much better he’s done with the intimacy in this show)".

So, all of this is to say that I need to start trusting this new wave of bl/qls - a message I obviously forgot from My School President and which has been proven by several other series this year.

And I need to trust Be My Favourite especially, because, as @williamrikers said, "they've swerved and avoided every other trope so far I believe that they're working towards something here". And I agree. Every episode has been fantastic and I haven't disliked a single thing about the show so far.

On top of that, I need to trust my newfound belief in Krist's acting, because he has pulled out some absolutely brilliant performances in this show so far - so why should I think ep 9 is any different?

[frootbyethefoot]

god not to be sad but i really do enjoy how melancholy veronicas journey is. how doomed she was from the very start when it came to convincing the brotherhood to change. how her past literally follows her when she tries to move forward. how she almost always ends new vegas as a lonely wanderer, terrified to put her talents anywhere lest the brotherhood hurt another friend. how she could not change the brotherhood but it was still important to try, to give them that chance, and have them firmly reject it

[commsroom]

Hi, you’ve probably already addressed this at some point and I’ve simply missed it, but what’s your thoughts on Hera’s ending? (Particularly, how Pryce just removes the ‘I can’t do this, I’m not good enough’ line, and she stops glitching?) Personally it always felt rather… bad, honestly, given the whole “they could’ve made me better, they made me me” thing, if that makes sense?

hi! first: that absolutely makes sense, and i'm also very sensitive to anything that seems to "fix" disability or trauma, so i understand where you're coming from. that was not personally my takeaway about hera in the finale; i'll try to explain why:

pryce didn't remove that loop from hera's head. i don't think she could have - even if it's technically possible for her to do (and she is capable of a lot more than maxwell), she just had her mind wiped and wouldn't have access to that information, and even if she did retain it on an instinctual level, that would require allowing pryce access to the most vulnerable parts of hera's mind. and she would never allow that. there's a reason pryce is still a prisoner.

hera speaks to pryce not for reconciliation, but for reclamation. she's lived her whole life in fear of what pryce (and people like pryce) can do to her, with every aspect of who she is and what she does controlled and dictated by anyone with power over her. the finale opens with pryce telling her life's story from her perspective - at once self-mythologizing and self-victimizing - and, the final time we ever hear from or about pryce, hera is about to tell her own story. we never find out what was actually said, or how pryce reacted, because it doesn't matter. hera gets to take control of her own narrative. hera gets to confront her abuser, and feel in control and safe from harm.

it's worth keeping in mind that hera doesn't glitch consistently. that's one of the things i think also makes it a useful comparison to chronic illness. when, why, and how much hera glitches was an intentionally crafted part of the sound design. it happens more often, and more intensely, when she's stressed out, overwhelmed, or upset.

and, with that in mind... the ending leaves the characters on a generally positive note, because it's the end of the show and that's the feeling it wants to leave you with: that everything will be more or less okay, in the end. but it isn't the end of their lives. once they get back to earth, a lot of things are going to be very difficult for hera. even in the final scene, she says she's not ready to go back, but "when has that ever stopped us before?" when she's able to honestly say she's good, i don't think that means she's good forever. just, in that moment, that's a crucial step in her healing process, and i hope in the future she'll have a lot more moments that feel like that one.

[altair214]

If Dream of the Endless had access to the Am I The Asshole subreddit "Am I the Asshole for condemning my lover to Hell?"

"I was informed quite recently by a friend that this is a good place to receive unbiased judgement on past actions of mine that were not well received by people. As there are few beings I trust to ask for unbiased, well-meaning judgement from, I turn to the internet.

After a recent excursion to Hell, my raven saw fit to inform me that condemning a past lover to Hell might be seen, in my raven's words "as a dick move." My sibling, who has seen fit to give a mortal the tools to imprison me for a century and has made an attempt on my life, has criticized me before for the decision I made to condemn my lover to Hell.

Our story took place 10,000 years ago. She was a mortal queen and very beautiful. She was desired by many, but she refused them. One day she laid eyes on me, not knowing who or what I am, and decided that I would be her lover. She pursued me, and eventually found me in my realm. We began to get to know each other. She truly loved me at first. And I loved her. No one had ever loved me enough to go to the lengths she had to find me. I offered to make her the queen of my realm. But when she truly began to understand what it is that I am, and that I would not abandon my realm to be her lover, she became fearful. I did not want her to leave me, so when she ran, I ran after her. She hurt herself in the hopes that it would make me disgusted with her and leave. When she saw that she did not scare me away, she allowed me to heal her. We made love all through the night.

In the morning, her city was destroyed, for the First Circle had decreed that one of the Endless cannot love a mortal. We had both known that. She had tried to put an end to our relationship before it was too late, but in the end our desire for each other had overcome all else.

In her despair, she killed herself. I was distraught, I would have made her my queen. But she chose death over me. She chose to abandon me, she chose to abandon hope, for death. Still, I would have forgiven her for that transgression. I would still have her as my queen. I would still love her.

But she rejected me. Even though she loved me, she would rather die than be with me. So I told her that I would offer my love a final time, but if she once again would choose death over me, that I would condemn her soul to Hell.

She did not answer at first. She said that we were never meant to be together and that darker things would come to be if we tried to be together. I asked her once again as she was making the journey to the Sunless Lands. She told me to leave her. I asked her for the last time. She refused me and I condemned her to Hell.

She sought me out, only to reject me. To reject dreams by killing herself. She loved me and yet would choose to die rather than be with me. She would choose Hell rather than be with me even though she sought me first. I felt that my actions were justified. She was not moved by the pain that her actions caused me. What could I have done except punish her for her callousness?

I felt I was completely justified in my actions until very recently when I saw her in Hell. I had not thought of her in a long time, though I still loved her. But my recent experience of being imprisoned for a century had changed me in ways that I have only recently admitted to myself. For the first time I wondered if perhaps my original judgement to condemn her to Hell was made in error. So I am turning to here at the recommendation of a friend. Am I the Asshole?"

[megaweapon]

me saying to myself “oh, harlan guthrie uploaded a seven part horror series all at once. I can surely sit back and wait a while, absorb this later” is the most hilarious lie i’ve told myself in a while. “yeah I won’t binge this immediately” i thought to myself. absolute clown behavior.

[wo-der-horizont-beginnt]

There's a point at which disliking Rebecca just falls into vastly tired women-hating tropes lacking any nuanced thought and part of this fandom's definitely made it there

[widowshill]

happy aro week to everyone who celebrates. give your local aro a hundred dollars to compensate for their suffering (me).

[saddest-girl-in-the-whole-world]

was this done before because this is literally their dynamic but instead of milk she sucks out his thanergy

[a-snowpoff]

GOOD GIRL, YOU’RE JUST LOST AREN’T YOU?