#but i hung too much of my value as a person and in fandom on my fiction writing skill in high school

[difeisheng]

trying to beat back the part of my brain currently insisting that my place in fandom is earned through creating things, and if i'm not doing that then i'm ""falling behind"" or some bullshit. objectively yes i KNOW it's not true and that's not how this space works. yes i know that fandom isn't a job. and YET here i am anyway stuck with some kind of internal voice that's a cross between imposter syndrome and a shift manager grumbling at me and i'm begging for it to shut up

[bookofmirth]

I was thinking about when Lucien tells Feyre that she was a better friend to him than she was to her, and how we as readers have reacted to that line over the years, and had a few thoughts.

The main thing is that characters can and will do/say things that they believe to be true, that we know are not actually true. The characters may also know that they are untrue, but don't want to admit. We lie to ourselves all the time, and characters do too. It may not even be the case that sjm wants *us* to believe that Lucien is speaking the truth. The important thing is that, in that moment, Lucien believes that he is speaking the truth.

We should not confuse what the characters are saying with what the author is saying. An author is NOT their characters. A character can and will say/do things that an author does not agree with, and may not even like. A character saying/doing something is NOT an endorsement of saying/doing that thing by the author. (This can be easier to understand when you read poetry - though there has been an increase in confessional poetry in the past few decades which is largely autobiographical, the narrator of a poem is NOT necessarily the same as the author of a poem.)

This isn't to say that Feyre is being an unreliable narrator; we have Lucien's literal words that he spoke to her, there was no reflection on those words by Feyre that tells us what she thinks of them, and she would have no reason to lie. As a fandom, I wish we could stop getting so hung up on the idea of unreliable narrators and differing character perspectives as a means to argue that one character is "more right" than another, or that we get "the truth" when we view from a specific character's eyes. That's... not how it works. There is no such thing as an objective way of viewing pretty much anything. Everything relies on perspective. We all hear/read things and those things get filtered through the giant pasta strainer of our upbringing, our beliefs, our values, our professions, our hobbies, etc. SJM has never been an author to use unreliable narration, but she does use differing perspectives. If she didn't, then every single character would seem like the same person. It's 10000% normal for us to understand characters and events differently when we hear about them from another character.

So back to my main point, I think that we can read this as Lucien genuinely believing this statement to be true - that he truly thinks that Feyre was a better friend to him if we consider his context.

Lucien has no real home with stability. He was banished from Autumn, he is estranged from his brothers, he cannot be there to protect his mother, his role in Spring has some importance but is reliant on the goodwill of someone who is, frankly, increasingly unstable. Lucien likely feels very indebted to Tamlin, and now that Feyre is Tamlin's bride/ex-fiancée, to her. There is also the role that she played UtM in trying to help Lucien. In other words, thanks to Beron being an asshole, Lucien relies on other people's goodwill for his basic survival. (This is why, later on, he would rather stay with the BoE. He isn't beholden to them in the same way that he would be to Rhys, yet another person taking pity on Lucien's dépaysement.)

In retrospect, Lucien feels guilt for not having done more when Feyre was suffering in acomaf. It's easier for him to see how she was suffering because he was suffering in an adjacent manner. In the beginning of acomaf, Feyre was making excuses for Tamlin, trying to be patient, to wait out his anger and grief at what happened UtM. Lucien was doing the exact same thing, but it took him longer to recognize how toxic it was because Lucien, unlike Feyre, didn't have the advantage of someone literally swooping in to take him away and give him perspective. He got there, though, when Tamlin starts working with Hybern and especially after he sees Feyre back in Spring, which leads me to my next point.

Lucien is clearly wary of Feyre's lies while she is in the Night Court. He suspects that she is pretending to be in love with Tamlin, pretending to be loyal to the Spring Court. This reinforces his understanding of just how toxic Spring has become, the fact that Feyre saw it, understood, and acted before he did. So tying these issues together - Lucien's exile, his reliance on other people for stability, his dawning understanding that Feyre recognized the situation for what it was before he did, that he has ended up in this situation where his mate is now at risk - and Lucien feels a whole lot of "if only I had..." And he now sees Feyre as someone who saw the situation for what it was before he did, and acted accordingly. But we as the reader know why that was harder for Lucien.

So going back to my point about Lucien believing this is all true, we know that it's not, and that's a normal part of being a reader. Lucien makes that statement after telling Feyre about Ianthe and Calanmai; we know that not long after, right after she tells Lucien that she wishes she could have stopped his assault, she nearly - knowingly - allows it to happen again. Lucien's words and Feyre's actions don't align, and there is nothing in the narrative that tells us that her actions are okay.

(A related rant, but characters don't need to be punished for us to understand if their actions are morally okay or not. We are smart people, we can tell that for ourselves. It may be annoying to us if they aren't punished, but that's another idea that has pervaded book spaces - that if problematic action isn't punished or portrayed negatively, then the author must think it's okay. No, maybe the author trusts us to know what's right and what's not, and doesn't feel the need to beat us over the head with it because books do not have to be moral, didactic tools.)

SJM could have written it so that Feyre didn't hesitate to help Lucien. She could have written it so that Feyre didn't intentionally try to put Lucien in the path of Tamlin's anger. She could have written Feyre to be a saint, but she didn't, and just because another character views Feyre's actions favorably doesn't mean that we have to, because we have the benefit of knowing that sometimes, people lie to themselves and/or say things they don't truly mean or believe. And furthermore, just because one character views Feyre's actions favorably, doesn't mean that SJM does. Remember - the characters =/= the author. SJM doesn't actually believe or agree with everything the characters say and do. She doesn't have to agree with anything they say or do.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

[thricedead]

This is going to sound like CRAZY armchair psyhchology crap but without exaggeration I think that Jojos Bizarre Adventure part 7: Steel Ball Run can be used to agitate and observe latent homosexual (and Id even go as ar as to say submissive) desires in cisgender heterosexual identifying men. I have attentively studied this in real life and here are the results of my research.

In a real bad phase of my life, I hung around about 4 or 5 men (all but one identified as cishet, one identified as bisexual) who liked Jojos Bizarre Adventure. Weirdly, ALL 5 of these men named Steel Ball Run as either their parsonally favorite part, or the part they perceived to be objectively highest quality. This baffled me a lot, because while me and my female and transmasc friends enjoyed Steel Ball Run to varying degrees, and it does differ from the previous parts by making a jump from shounen to seinen which affected the story dynamics and maturity, its not really too perfect. However, none of the cis men I interviewed brought this up directly in their reasoning of why they value SBR so much. They each listed a different reason, and those were:

Heterosexual men: Villain has a more interesting and realistic ideology (nationalism) than the previous villains whise goals were cliched (a greed for power, stability, revenge). The story is about a journey, they enjoy this because it makes the pacing dynamic and builds up expectations for the goal (however this was also a case in part 3, and the man who said this does not particularly enjoy part 3). The stakes feel high and you can really sympathize with Johnny because he is trying to improve his own life, he enjoys how selfish Johnny is (but this is also the case in part 5 protagonist Giorno, who is very self centered and goal oriented in the same vein)

Bisexual man: he listed some of the reasons above, but also noted that he enjoys how the relationship between the male protags easily reads as romantic even though he didnt put too great a focus on this

When the bisexual man brought this up, it prompted me to compare the relationship between Gyro and Johnny to the other popular ships in the Jojo fandom (most of them enjoying a LOT more popularity and fan content than Gyro/Johnny) and I feel like the difference is in hmm lets say. Gyro being the first "Jobro" in the saga to play a central, extremely tangible and also multiple role in Johnnys life/arc. This isnt of much consequence to a person whos in Jojo for shipping, bc since they are approaching with predetermination to find ship content, that content is more easily squeezed out of a pair who has some fun and memorable scenes like Avpol n Bruabba, than Gyjo who do not really share much in the way of memorable oneliners and comedic gay framing, but instead sort of more subtly complete each others arcs. I feel like this sort of a dynamic appeals to cishet men because it is one of DEEP malemale affection (it really is just fondness and affection that is hard to misread as just admiration at the others strength/character. Johnny having the discomforting emotional realization that he is prepared to sacrifice his goal of curing his disability and proving himself to his father in order to stay with Gyro is a prominent topic n conflict in SBR. Gyros death is the SOLE death of a companion in JJBA [and there are many] to which the protagonist responds not with vengeful rage but by breaking down into pathetic, emasculating tears, and making a naive blunder that causes the antagonist to overpower him. Even once Johnny does turn the tables, its notable that he is underwhelmed and unsatisfied once he fulfills his goals of walking and making his father clap for him, with sorrow at the loss of Gyro taking precedence. The last scene in the entire story is Johnny setting sail to return Gyros corpse to his homeland, assuming a much more pacified and mature disposition than before and telling Gyro "Let's go home" as he leaves his own homeland. Also, the series of chapters where Gyro dies is called "break my heart, break your heart" with covers featuring a sobbing Johnny with the ghost of Gyro lol). This is the most heavily established and emotionally weighty Jojo/Jobro relationships, and unlike some others, it is never put on a shameful pedestal of being a "gay gag" like many other moments of perceived homosexuality in Jojo that are heavily framed as jokes or oddities. Because of this, I feel that the cishet men reading SBR are able to get "into" this relationship between men because it isnt ever acknowledged as a relationship that crosses the boundaries of "appropriate" malemale friendship, even though it does so for the established world of Jojo.

Because they can indulge in and identify within the duo of Gyro and Johnny without feeling like thats "gay", the men I observed and interviewed allowed themselves to get emotionally invested in the concept of cohabitation and affection with a man eithout even realizing theyre doing so. Most of these men vehemently denied that Johnny and Gyro are gay, but even so, they admitted (whether explicitly or implicitly) to being drawn to it as a dynamic they havent been invested into previously (bc they dont want either anything explicitly gay nor something that caters primarily to women bc they are misogynists). Two men were even able to jokingly agree that Gyro plays something akin to a "manic pixie dream girl" role to Johnny, being a deus ex machina attractive companion who turns Johnnys world upside down, gives him a goal, helps to affirm him, makes him laugh and encourages him etc. And ultimately sacrifices himself for Johnnys sake, and becomes his motivation beyond death to defeat the villain, Johnnys "man pain". Despite playing this role traditionally reserved for disposable female characters, Gyro is not really distinctly effeminate in the world of Jojo, and also plays the much more "appropriate" roles of being Johnny's mentor in mastering the power of Spin, a powerful fighter in his own right, and a male travel companion who tells tales of his trysts with women and dirty jokes and so on. Because Gyro embodies many roles, both that of a yet nonexistant woman in Johnnys life (Johnny goes on to have a heterosexual marriage, yes, but only once he's avenged and likely set Gyro to rest) AND of a man, he is safe and appropriate for these cishet men to be drawn to. When asked why they like Gyro, they can always say something like "he's funny, he's powerful, he's resourceful" etc. A MAJOR dimension of his character which is being Johnny's "heroine" is noticed and internalized, but it doesn't have to be acknowledged, and thus exists without threatening the cisheterosexuality of the male reader.

Here comes the "reach" part, but despite embodying the "heroine" role, Gyro is the older, physically and emotionally "larger" and more assertive of the two men. He habitually passes "lessons" onto Johnny and is shown to be pretty "macho" (implicitly dominant) in his pursuit of women. He is also Italian <- kind of relevant in my head because at least here Italian men are stereotyped as pushy and demanding lovers LOL. So like. I feel that there's something really really telling in these specific (and maybe other but who knows) men who all pursue very traditionally cisheteropatriarchal relationships IRL in which they expect to financially and emotionally (to a degree where this is expected of a man) provide for their female partners to feel drawn to the character of Gyro (in the way of admiration rather than projection). Because I don't really think any of them envisions themselves uprooting the dynamic Johnny has with Gyro (in the hypothetical case of meeting Gyro lmao), I think they'd all want to be his little male friend mentee and learn Spin from him and well what happens in the tent stays in the tent but I don't think they're calling the shots if you get me. (Gestures vaguely) If the men I spoke to, being attached to Jojo to the degree they were, didn't have a single weird dream about being manhandled by Gyro call me Mucius Scaevola and I'll put my right hand into an open flame.

TLDR we all know men are emotionally stunted AF and crave malemale closeness but won't reach out for it bc they don't want to be gay and I don't really pity them or care about them but it's kind of reallyreallyreally funny seeing a cishet guy literally running a fever from his hardon for a jacked Italian superman to take him on a journey of self-discovery, fuck him in the ass and die for him without even realizing what he is going through and why he likes the comic so much lol. Let them simmer, don't tell them what they're experiencing and why it's their fault, it's really funny. Unless you're a girl who wants to top her bf reaaally badly then make him read SBR and buy a hat.

If you read this far and still don't trust me on the framing of Gyro and think it's just typical shounen stuff, look carefully at the framing of these chapter/volume covers. My special note is that this is not supposed to pander to women, because Araki has given a whole interview to a really pushy fujoshi fan during SBR's run and was kind of extremely surprised and unsettled (sometimes rightfully bc the woman was an incest pedo shipper um) at the idea that women read malemale Jojo relationships as homosexual and enjoy this. It's just that Araki also really wants to get fucked by a jacked Italian man and is drawing this shit for himself and other men which is kind of really really funny to witness from the outside omfg.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm getting really sick of the increasing cultural attitude I've noticed cropping up in recent years that seeks to denigrate fandom as a concept, as if it's indicative of inherent immaturity or some form of corporate brainwashing and represents some kind of delusional crutch that is inherently harmful to a person's "real life". These views seem to transcend the political compass and just today someone I'm fairly good friends posted a really smug meme about "How to Piss off Your Nerdy Friends" and it shows a Harry Potter fan looking pissed at someone who is pedantically telling them: "Your inability to form any sense of identity outside of the media you consume so much so that you have created the word 'fandom' to define it is nothing more than glorified commodity fetishism exploited by media that makes money off selling the 'nerd' identity." And like...the number of embedded assumptions in there is truly staggering. Some of the most intelligent, creative, analytical, and engaging people I've ever met are friends I've made through fandom activities, and that stereotype describes none of them.

It's really a shame to me that now the words "nerd" and "fandom" have become conflated in so many people's minds with being a substitute for the lack of traditional values/religion/myths/survival activities and that being passionate about fiction must mean you don't care about real life and aren't trying hard enough, or are selfish/conformist/stupid/etc. Yes, there exist true normies who literally don't/can't think critically about any media they consume, but it's just bizarre to me that fandom which is literally just definable as people chilling and vibing and sharing insights and art over shared interest in particular media is being equated to a lack of personality or capacity for independent thought when fan communities entertain such a large amount of discourse that is informed by and has implications for subjects that apply to the real world. Yet those contributions and discussions are perceived to have no value because they pertain to fiction, and any artworks made in that context are considered doubly worthless because that fiction was originally produced by others. But even aside from that, there's the quite toxic idea I still see cropping up over and over again that there must be no intrinsic value in people having fun and relaxing and investing their time in things they enjoy. It often goes even further into the specter of "cringe culture" wherein these activities will get mocked *more* viciously at times even if they're helping someone cope with with chronic issues like trauma or stress or neurodivergence and are helping that person connect with others when it's harming literally no one and is obviously a net positive for that person's overall standard of living. It really goes to show that so many people are way too hung up on fetishizing adulthood to the point of lambasting innocuous things. It's all wrapped up in some idea that we have to give up our childlike wonder and happiness because it's assumed to be an a priori good to be in the "real world" at all the times doing more "worthy" activities (having kids/making more money/studying academic subjects/political agitation/etc) even if those activities aren't making us happy or satisfied, because the assertion is that life isn't *supposed* to be about finding happiness but rather about how well you can rationalize being ground down and wear it as a badge of honor and superiority over others who are trying to enjoy their lives. That's the real dystopian view, in my eyes. More than that, it implies that even *making* art is a waste of time, or even that if we ran ourselves into the ground and made the world sufficiently 'better', people somehow wouldn't still thirst to consume and create art/entertainment within that context. So I say that people who claim to care about the life success of the fans they're criticizing are effectively huge concern trolls. They don't actually care about those people and their wellbeing so much as they do about how well those people's personal habits validate the criticizer's personal ideology and life choices which may be totally inappropriate or inapplicable to others and may often in fact have led to greater unhappiness in the life of the person making such recommendations that other people cease having fun.

--

I find it hilarious that you think this is new.

[nicole-gasbarro]

Eminem's "Stan" and Its Impact on Fan Culture

Eminem, since the start of his music career, has been a transgressive figure in the hip hop scene and the music industry. Critics were shocked and appalled by his lyrics while others praised him for his skill in writing and delivering rap verses. Overall, though, he has become increasingly successful and an undeniably important moment in American culture. His contributions to hip hop have been impressive and he has accrued multiple MTV and Grammy awards for singles, "Lose Yourself", "Without Me", and "My Name Is". He rose to fame in the late 90s to early 2000s and his 2000 hit "Stan" explores his experience in the limelight. Though "Stan" is not based on a true story, it is based on Eminem aka Marshall Mathers disturbing fan mail that he received during the peak of his career. He released "Stan" as a message to fans to not take his lyrics to heart, or act out anything he has said in his lyrics. The word "stan" has since been added to the Oxford dictionary and is defined as an overly obsessive or stalker-like fan. It has also been said to be a portmanteau of the words "fan" and "stalker".

Eminem was sent the beat for this song by producer the 45 King which features Dido's 1998 song "Thank You" and the rest was history. He heard lyrics "put your picture on my wall" and instantly thought of a crazed fan. This was the first song, according to Eminem, that he did not create lyrics for on the spot. He mapped out the story for the song before recording it and he had intended for the song to prove wrong any critics for felt as though his music was made solely for shock value. "Stan" is one of Eminem's most critically acclaimed songs and tells an important message to fans about being sure to not confused reality with fantasy. In this song, Eminem's obsessed fan is named Stanley. He bleaches his hair to look more like Eminem, has Slim Shady posters hung up on his wall, and dresses similarly to the rap icon. He writes letters to Slim Shady, referring to him casually as "Slim", in hopes that he will write back.

However, as time passes and Eminem does not respond to Stan, he becomes increasingly more angry. Stan states "I think it's pretty f**cked up that you don't answer fans" and "I ain't that mad though, I just don't like bein' lied to". His messages become increasingly worrisome as he starts to reveal his compromised mental state, discussing his troubled familial past, self harm, and depression. Amid all of this personal confession, Stan expresses his admiration for Slim, and ending his letter with, ".P.S. We should be together too." This reveals the obsessive, almost romantic nature of his fandom of Eminem. He has now also replaced the priority of girlfriend with a priority towards his fanaticism towards Eminem, symbolized through his covering of her photo with his.

As the song progresses, Stan drinks too much and acts upon his reckless impulses and anger, ending his life along with his girlfriend's and their unborn child. Stan is now recording his voice on a cassette tape with for obvious reasons, Eminem will never be able to hear. He stars the tape with anger towards Slim, starting "Dear-Mr.-I'm-Too-Good-to-Call-or-Write-My-Fans" and continues on with the letter calling out Eminem for not answering in 6 months, not realizing the mass amount of fan mail he receives. He references "My Name Is" and asks Slim if he dares him to drive after drinking a fifth of vodka, except the lyrics have now become reality rather than fiction. He tries to guilt trip Em, saying "I loved you Slim, we coulda been together" and "You ruined it now, I hope you can't sleep and you dream about it". This line of the sonf reveals Stan's drunken state as well as his intense love for Eminem, so much so that he would even marry him. He is speeding on the freeway, with his girlfriend tied up in the trunk, again referencing another Eminem song "97 Bonnie and Clyde". He then drives into the side of the bridge and the car falls into the river and we can hear muffled screams from his girlfriend.

“Stan” is meant to be a cautionary tale to fans to not take their admiration for celebrities too far and not to put too much stake into them for their own well-being. For inevitably they will be let down by the celebrities who have no real association with them. "Stan" gave a name to fandoms everywhere and coined a term that is used to this day to describe fans who idolize and are ultimately dedicated to a specific artist or celebrity. The song exemplified how fandom can get out of hand and be expressed in ugly, immoral ways. Judging from today's fandoms, obsessive tendencies have not wained but I am yet to hear a fan story from recent news come close to the intensity and drama of "Stan" which is good news for the world at large. Ultimately, the most harm done to celebrities seems to be through social media feuding or overly defensive behaviors from fans of their favorite celebrity. However, we have increasing numbers of celebrities being doxxed and harassed due to the ease social media creates for people to mess with the lives of celebrities. I can't say that the song has necessarily helped to better conditions for celebrity's safety or mental stability, but it has certainly brought awareness to an important issue concerning treatment of celebrities and reminds us that they are human as well, not just an image or brand.

[spaceman-spaetzle]

sorry 4 this but now you got me interested: how did u develop ur style? :D its distinct n vibrant n i love it

there's absolutely no need to apologize! this will probably become an incoherent ramble so i'll see what i can do! thanks again for letting me learn about your style too :) <3

i've drawn since i was a tot tbh. i've been told that i was always a bit self critical (do not recommend 0/10), and 3 year old me once complained about how what i drew looked like a potato. but with that came determination and a genuine free feeling that came with drawing.

i think i started actually keeping sketchbooks since i was maybe 9-10? mentioning this because keeping sketchbooks is intrinsic to my work. and like a lot of artists this generation, i was very inspired by anime. i definitely drew anime girls awkwardly standing stiffly with hands behind their backs, LOL. i couldn't decide on a distinct style for a long time though, but throughout my childhood i grew inspired by pop artists like roy lichtenstein.

i hung out with a lot of animators during my uni days, and i found myself studying a lot of artists and animators who had these crazy, dynamic poses and vivid characters. i was in the fandom for a long time, but in the middle of college, i took a break and really began to experiment! my love for inks, which was introduced to me when i was about 14, stuck with me and from there i was able to develop my style.

like you, i've taken all sorts of art styles ive appreciated and sort of made it into my own thing, but from what i learned from my animator friends' art and my brief time taking animation classes, i really wanted to make my art feel bold and full of movement. i still struggle to capture movement the first time when i draw things, so i still have a long way to go! but i guess what really helped me develop my style was establishing my values in my art practice. what do i want to see? how do i wish to draw for myself? those kinds of questions! and that meant crossing out things such as same face syndrome. i also find it really important that character designs say something about the character's personality. so for roderich, i like drawing him in a mix of sharp and soft angles. his pointy nose, chin, and sharp shoulders to me resemble a judgmental aristocrat and the softness resembles the contrast between people's assumptions of him and aspects of him you would have to get to know him in order to learn. i also just generally think he's a bit on the thicc side and a bit soft to touch, haha. i also like trying to vary the body types i draw.

sorry that this was so long! as for artists i like, i tend to follow a lot of twitter artists that have very fleshed out, distinct voices in their styles and i like to learn from them. one of my fave artists is victoria vincent/vewn! and growing up, artists i enjoy include erte, alphonse mucha, and Plenty more. and lately i've been feeling inspired by egon schiele. he makes me want to play with exaggeration and proportions a lot more!

thanks for asking and please know your art just feels very vivid and tangible, if that makes sense? like they're clearly stylized but it feels like there's so much thought put behind the characters! they almost feel real in a sense.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 318: On Your Left

Previously on BnHA: The Hawksquad+Lurkers were all “well this sucks” and sat around a bit talking about how maybe they should actually come up with a new plan that is actually good, but then in the end they were like “nah.” Deku was all, “THERE’S SOMETHING INSIDE ME THAT PULLS BENEATH THE SURFACE!! CONSUMING, CONFUSING!! THIS LACK OF SELF CONTROL I FEAR IS NEVERENDING. IT’S HAUNTING HOW I CANT SEEM TO FIND MYSELF AGAIN. MY WALLS ARE CLOSING IN.” Just, literally that whole entire song. All Might was all “Deku you should take care of yourself, try eating a thing,” and Deku was all “BYE, ALL MIGHT,” and just LEFT. He left!!! What the fuck!!!

Today on BnHA: Endeavor is all, “maybe if Deku didn’t listen to All Might he’ll listen to me instead.” Deku is all, “[doesn’t listen to Endeavor]” because, well, yeah. The Vestiges are all, “surprisingly, even we are a little concerned -- maybe you should get some rest, kid.” Deku is all, “((Ò ‸ Ó)).” The Vestiges are all, “holy shit.” Deku is all, “[wanders the ruined city streets terrifying the populace on account of him looking like Shelob had a baby with one of the Nazgul].” Some shriveled-up puppeteer villain asshole is all, “HORIKOSHI SAID IT’S MY TURN TO ATTACK DEKU TODAY SO I AM GOING TO SUMMON MY FRIGHTENED HELPLESS ATTACK MOB!!” Kacchan is all “WHADDYA MEAN THEY FOUND THE NERD!!! -- oh wait, that’s me, I found him. I found the nerd, you guys.” And just in time, too. I was about to owe a whole lot of people a whole lot of dollars.

so I have been super good about spoilers this week as always, but let me tell you guys, for the past 36 hours my dash filters have basically been nonstop “manga spoilers” this and “bnha 318” that, and so I’m coming in with a fair amount of hype here. your move, Horikoshi

oh, good! they got Endeavor to call Deku to try to talk him out of it. what a great and wonderful plan

“listen up kid, you haven’t slept since March and you are basically a walking biohazard right now, I’m just telling it like it is. didn’t you get shot like three times?? and there was a whole thing about how you urgently needed medical attention?? and supposedly we gave it to you, but I mean you haven’t even changed your clothes and don’t seem to have any fresh bandages or anything, so did we?? did we, really?? and also we all got blown up yesterday, so yeah.” hmm he’s making some reasonable points here you guys, but you sure do go on and on, Endeavor

oh he says foreign aid is finally on its way! I’m sure they’ll be very helpful. I mean in fairness they can hardly be worse than the home-grown heroes at this point

hey Enji, could you maybe try appealing to Deku the sixteen-year-old human boy, as opposed to Deku The World’s Last Hope? he does have value beyond his quirk. I know that’s always been an incredibly difficult concept for you to grasp, but could you maybe TRY, jesus

and also we’re worried about you as a person?? you’re just a kid and you’re pushing yourself way too hard?? you were going to say that part next, right. why the hell didn’t Hawks make this call instead

“don’t worry about me... I’m completely fine” Deku you do understand that saying it over and over again doesn’t actually make it true

and again with the rush!! all the rush rush rush!! we’re running out of time, we can’t let AFO and Tomura keep getting stronger, I have to end this now, there’s no time to rest, etc. etc. etc. just the constant pressure of this whole big countdown on top of everything else

holy shit, you KNOW it’s bad when even the Vestiges are telling him to chill

these guys are basically the walking talking embodiments of self-sacrifice; if even they’re telling him he needs to take five, then he must seriously be like half a step away from death’s door

OH SHIT LMAO

DIDN’T EVEN LET HIM FINISH HIS SENTENCE BEFORE HE SENT HIM INTO THE FUCKING SHADOW REALM WITH THAT FUCKING LOOK. HOLY FUCK. DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE TO DIE TWICE. SHIT

(ETA: so I’m pretty sure this was just Danger Sense activating and so he cut them off to go do more hero stuff, but I’m gonna go ahead and stick to my original interpretation anyway lol.)

anyway so how’s everybody doing. we all good? En, you good? Banjou? Shino? I’m imagining you guys all curled up in a little ball on the floor right now lol. can’t say I blame you though, no shame

lmaoooooooooooo

“SHEESH.” sheesh indeed, lmao. “what in the FUCK was that”

see, this is why y’all need Kacchan. you need someone who’s not going to back down from him no matter what. if it’s a matter of out-stubborning Midoriya fucking Izuku, then there’s only one other person on the planet capable of that, and we all know it. don’t pretend like you don’t. I am not going to shut up about this! we’ve had our hurt so now what about SOME COMFORT, DAMMIT

“I’m afraid that he’s becoming influenced by my conscience” nah are you kidding Nana this is all 100% made-in-Japan pure original Deku right here

see, Banjou gets it. “that kid, he’s totally going on his own.” exactly. this was so inevitable it was basically scientific law

“well I for one don’t see the problem with Deku being so obsessed with saving everyone else that he pushes himself until his body and soul literally fall apart” okay, whose speech bubbles are these?? we’re about to have words

lol of course

well you always did prefer the direct route didn’t you. but even you can’t possibly think this is okay lol

dark AU!Kacchan please tell us more about your badass doomed timeline in which everything went to shit and you apparently had the same character arc that Deku is having right now except it somehow made you sexier instead of turning you into a rabid t-rex. I have so many questions

oh so now you want to help??? well -- good, actually. sorry if that sounded offended just now lol

(ETA: so at first when I got to the end of this chapter I was wondering if Katsuki B. had somehow summoned his alternate-universe counterpart through trippy OFA space telepathy lol. but in the original Japanese there’s no reference to “we”, so this appears to be a mistranslation. this line should probably read more like “if there’s something/someone out there that would be able to complement/complete the current Midoriya Izuku [it would be]…” which, oh hello, is that Horikoshi once again reaffirming that Deku and Bakugou complete each other lol. “guess what guys, the Vestiges ship it too" heck yeah. they know what’s up!)

look how admiring his boyfriends are. HORIKOSHI GIVE US THE REST OF THIS BACKSTORY ALREADY GODDAMMIT

“meanwhile somewhere in the depths of the ruined city, Deku was having a dance-off with the villains”

I like how the villains all have this “AHH WHAT THE FUCK” kind of body language to them lol. I mean if it were me, and an eldritch horror suddenly clawed its way from the shadows with its writhing glowy tentacles and pants-shitting nuclear death stare, I would probably just die on the spot. no need to stick around. only pain awaits

lol for a minute I thought this was Can’t Ya See-kun and I was like “WHAT A FASCINATING CROSSING OF PATHS” but it’s just some random girl

he seems genuinely confused lol

Deku it’s because you look like something that crawled out of a sewer drain, sweetheart

lol they just took his word for it?

so trusting. even though they’re immediately hauling ass anyway just to be safe lmao

“my appearance is frightening to others” no shit Deku it’s because you look like a fucking alien exorcism. you look like a Lich that got caught up in an oil spill my dude

NO NOT THE CHOSEN ONE ANGST AGAIN

I RAN OUT OF ESSAY JUICE FOR THIS ALREADY HORIKOSHI!! I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT IT FOR MONTHS NOW WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG!! BUT ANYWAYS, GOOD!! I MEAN, BAD, THOUGH, OBVIOUSLY. BUT YES

“ENJOY THIS MONTAGE OF DEKU BATTLING A RANDOM KAIJU AND WANDERING THE WOODS LIKE A DERANGED GREEN BABA YAGA” okay yes but sir, exactly how much longer is this going to go on. if it’s a matter of you wanting to make sure we get it, let me assure you that aside from a few stray chuunis who think that Deku embracing the Darkness is the coolest thing he’s ever done, all of us here in fandom fully comprehend that this is Not Good

-- OH SO IT’S LIKE THAT

really. with the flashbacks to his loved ones’ smiling faces and everything. not even gonna try to aim above the belt, huh

AND NO KACCHAN??! NO CLASSMATES?!?! IS HE PURPOSELY NOT THINKING OF THEM??? OR ARE THEY BEING SAVED FOR THE NEXT PAGE??? SO HELP ME, IF THE NEXT PART OF THIS SENTENCE IS “CAN PROTECT THEM”, OR EVEN WORSE, “CAN SEE THEIR SMILING FACES AGAIN”, I...

WHAT DID I JUST SAY

(ETA: my man did Sero and Kaminari fucking dirty lmao. I miss their smiling faces too omg.)

the sheer, unparalleled irony of him saying this while he stands there looking like the gargoyle demon from Fantasia got crossed with an umbrella that got struck by lightning. Deku :(

oi who the fuck is this clown

is he controlling this mob with his evil hair. “what if I made an exhausted, running-on-fumes Deku battle a brainwashed mob at Ground Zero.” Horikoshi do you just have like a checklist of horrible things you want to do to your protagonist

easy there Sasori

well joke’s on you buddy because he’s apparently “completely fine”, so

“here’s to hoping that you know more about AFO’s location than the others” jesus christ Deku you really have hung your mercy out to dry huh

now he’s forcing his mob of terrified prisoners to attack Deku ahhhh. sucks to be them. at least they’re not being controlled by bees

so Deku is saying that Sasori’s control can be broken with “physical trauma.” similar to Shinsou’s quirk I guess. but so does that mean he’s gonna have to hurt them? ( •﹏•)

NO NOT MORE SAD EYES

“DEATH BY EMPATHY!!!” HORIKOSHI NO

fuck. he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out

this is what happens when you nerf a character’s self-preservation stats in favor of spamming their bone-breaking stats instead. NOW ACCEPTING BRAIN CELL DONATIONS FOR A BOY IN NEED!! with your loving generosity we can hopefully help him live to the ripe old age of seventeen

OMGFGGG

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[grabs your hands] ლ(*꒪ヮ꒪*)ლ [swings you in a circle] へ(ﾟ◇ﾟへ)

THASSSSSSSS WHATSSSSSSS UPPPPPPPPPP

HORIKOSHI REALLY SAID FUCK THAT MASK (ノ°ο°)ノ YOU FINALLY LEARNED!! IT’S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!!

JUST FOR YOU KACCHAN, HORIKOSHI LEFT THIS ONE BAD GUY WHO’S STILL WEAK TO FIRE. GOD BLESS

IT’S YOUR COUNTERPART, KATSUKI B!!!! HOW WE DOIN OVER THERE IN THE TRIPPY COSMIC OFA SPACE REALM LOL. DO WE BELIEVE YET, FANDOM???

LIGHTS!!!!

INSTANT RESULTS!!! IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE!!!

(ETA: imagine what this must look like to Deku though. he’s been caught up in this dark cloud of despair and exhaustion that’s been building up over... I’m gonna go ahead and say “weeks”, because yeah. and now he finds himself here, in the place where All Might’s legacy ended and the torch was passed to him. and the world is in ruins, and he’s surrounded by frightened people who are all trying to hurt him -- because who isn’t trying to hurt him, these days -- and he’s scrambling to figure this all out, but meanwhile the weariness is finally starting to catch up to him, and so he’s basically just standing there in a fog of complete and utter misery.

and then all of a sudden through that haze, he hears the one voice that’s more familiar than any other that he knows. like, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was just imagining it at first. Kacchan showing up to save him right when he’s at his most desperate and feeling the most alone. Kacchan, showing up to save him.

this is the person he always looked up to as a child (to be fair he was quite a strange child lmao). the person who was even closer to him than All Might. the person he always thought was amazing. and bam, here he is now. appearing in the sky out of nowhere to one-shot the bad guy with a single blast (which, btw, that was his armor-piercing attack too lmao dslkjlk take it easy there kiddo). like, that must have felt absolutely surreal to him, especially coming at a time when he’s already half-delirious and barely hanging on to reality. he must have really thought that he was losing it there for a second.

but he’s really there. it really is him. and for this brief moment -- before the rest of the situation catches up to him, and he remembers about all of the fucked-up AFO stuff, and remembers why he was so afraid and why he was pushing everyone away -- for just this one brief moment, he’s too exhausted and stunned to do anything except to just react. just stands there, looking up at him in awe.

and you know, it almost reminds me of...

just. you guys. the character development. the freaking character development. someone who brings reassurance. someone who shows up and makes you think, “oh, it’s all going to be okay now, because [person] is here.” the role reversals. the growth. the payoff!! because who is the one person who always had faith that Kacchan would one day grow up to become an amazing hero like that. WHO IS IT. YOU ALREADY KNOW.

omg. anyways, bless you Horikoshi, my feels which have been on backorder since fucking September have finally arrived lmao. yes, good, thank you. worth the wait. it is always, always worth the wait. fuck yeah.)

“LOWFRIES” SO YOU’RE TELLING ME THE WHOLE GANG IS HERE, AHHHHHHHH (º̩̩́⌣º̩̩̀ )

BEAUTIFUL. WONDERFUL. SENSATIONAL. I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT JUMP IS ON BREAK NEXT WEEK. THIS RIGHT HERE WILL SUSTAIN ME

[tahanann]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

❝ To whoever finds these letters, I hope they reach you well ❞ ✎▫✧⭒....

Fandom: Hetalia Relationship: F/M Pairing: Alfred F. Jones (America) / (Female) Reader Chapter list: 00, 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14 Also posted on: AO3, Wattpad, Quotev

Chapter 01: " Hi Babe! " ✎▫✧⭒…

It was (Y/n)'s third day in her new home, and thankfully it was a bright Sunday morning. The woman has work tomorrow, and she couldn't help but feel horrible at the thought of it. She only had two days to rest? Ugh. She learned this back in college, but honestly, it felt so much worse when people are out of college and are immediately hit with adult responsibilities. 

(Y/n) was just scrolling through her phone, sipping a warm beverage, with the tv talking in the background. Everything was peaceful until she was interrupted by a telephone ring. It was her realtor. He probably has some information about the Jones person she had called him about. 

"Hello?" (Y/n) spoke.

"Hey, so, in my records, there has been one family with the last name of Jones during the early twentieth century. The property was under a family name actually, but no one was actually using the home until the family had sold it off. After that, it's kind of hard to look for the Jones family, since they're probably living in another home. They're not really under my business line so I can't just go into the records for them," the realtor spoke.

"So there's no way to contact the family?" (Y/n) asked. The realtor gave her a simple no. The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated that there was no way to give the family their letters back. She sighed quietly to herself, mumbling a soft thank you to the man over the phone. She hung up after that. 

The young woman walked to her bedroom where the box of letters was. She supposed that there's no harm in opening the letters then. They were no names on them, other than scribbles, so she guessed that she could open them. 

(Y/n) gently pulled the lid off from the seal, damaging it just a bit. There was no other choice...the seal was in the way. The envelopes probably have no use anyway. It's the letter that has value. She picked out the letter and placed its torn casing on the bed. The letter was written in cursive, but it's nothing that (Y/n) couldn't decipher. 

Hi babe!  This is one of the first letters I'm writing back home! Yeah yeah, I actually wrote some back to Mom and Dad, but hey! Aren't you glad that you're getting one too? Anyway, how have you been? How are your hobbies going? I heard from my folks that you've picked up sewing. It's a neat skill to learn. I'm proud of you! I hope you're doing well over there. I hope you're thinking about how I'm doing. Honestly, ever since I've been deployed here, it's kind of boring. Well, Aside from me bonding with my friends and writing a ton of letters, there's nothing else we could do unless we're put into battle and things like that. There's the radio, sure, but all it's been playing are the same tunes. Always Bob Crosby and The Bob Cats. I wonder if we can actually get some variety here. Well, I guess if you start thinking about the generals' yells as a form of song, then that's some variety. I suppose I did pick up a new hobby, which is writing. I haven't written this much since college, actually. I hope in the future, I'll start writing poems to you. I'll probably learn them from Charles or something. You know how he is. He's super romantic and all. I'm a bit jealous that he could write good love letters to his beloved.  Maybe I'll start doing that too! Just stay tuned for the next one okay? My battalion hasn't been given a task yet, so, Charles, Alex, James, and I are waiting to be given something. I guess while we wait, all I can do is think about you and the songs that play on the radio. I'll even think about my ma and pa too! Don't think I don't do that already! You're just in my mind all the time, that's all.  I will write as much as I can to you. I hope you're actually getting these letters.   From your super awesome and super handsome future husband, A. F. J

(Y/n) stared at the letter in her hand. Goodness...this sounded personal. The letters she had in the box were...filled letters sent to someone special. If that was the first letter, it's got to be like that for the rest right? The woman reread the words again. Yeah...this was for Jones' girlfriend. He never wrote a name in there though and there was no name in the envelope. Just who was this guy's girl?

The woman sat there on her bed, a frown appearing on her lips. She folded the paper to its original shape and placed it back in its envelope. She reached for another letter in the box but hesitated to open it up. What if there were more personal things in these letters? Oh goodness. She was prying into someone's personal life.

Well, she already knew that she was doing that, but, honestly, it felt worse knowing that the letters are laid out like this. They were for this person's girlfriend at the time. She wasn't that...she wasn't his girlfriend at all. The desire to open them all was strong though, but (Y/n) had to do this once at a time. She had already opened a letter today, she'll just have to continue it tomorrow and read it then.

(Y/n) placed the opened letter in a drawer next to her bed. Her eyes looked back at the box again. Perhaps she should see how long it would take to read all of the letters. Gently, one by one, she counted all the letters she had at her disposal. She had excluded the letter she had read today. 

"Three-hundred-and-sixty-five," the woman told herself. That was enough to read one letter a day for a year. 

"Huh," (Y/n) sighed. Looks like she would be reading these for an entire year. She wondered how things would go. She placed the unopened letters back in their container and stashed the box under her bed. She had to be patient, or there would be no reward to this. She could last a year of just reading those letters. If she didn't know who this Private Jones was, and there was no means to contact his known living family, she might as well get to know him. 

These letters seem to be dated for World War Two. The man might just be dead now, really. 

The woman pitied the dead who had no one to remember them. Maybe Jones had someone who remembers him, but she would never know. For now, she should assume that there wasn't anyone who had him in their thoughts. (Y/n) figured that maybe, just maybe, she could be the one that remembers this poor soldier.

(Y/n) sighed as she walked away from her bedroom. Perhaps she should roam around today, maybe get to know the town a little more. Does the library have something that has this man's name on it? Perhaps she could find some sort of yearbook from the old times if they ever had those back then. Maybe even college photos that had him in there.

She wasn't desperate to find anyone who might know this man yet. There was actually a small part of her, that selfish part of her, that asked her to keep this man a secret. To keep him all to herself. That wasn't right, though, was it? It's always a question of morality with (Y/n). 

Her lips twitched to a smile as she dismissed her thoughts. She needed to stop thinking about the man right now. If she did, she might get pressured to actually do work, when she was supposed to rest today. A sigh leaves her mouth as she walks to her living room. She pressed the power button on her tv remote and watched whatever she found interesting in her favorite streaming service. 

The day would go on like this, with the woman lazying around in her own home. The house was silent for the most part, with no creeks or noises within the walls. The house wasn't haunted, as far as she knew. She knew that opening that box of letters wouldn't really bring ghosts to her home. 

They didn't exist, of course, they would never appear. 

The woman cooked dinner for herself that night. With nothing distracting her, the letters occupied her mind. 

"Jones...Jones," (Y/n) mumbled to herself, "Just...who the hell are you? Can I even find you anywhere?" The woman was hoping that she wasn't dealing with a John Doe. It would be hard to find someone like that, especially during the war. There are a lot of John Does in the war, especially those who have already lost their dog tags and have no means to identify them. 

She wishes that this man at least has a gravestone somewhere in this place. 

(Y/n) walked to her bedroom once more, her body immediately going to her bed. She peeked underneath, her eyes staring at the box. She wants to pry another one open, but ultimately decided against it. She fell on her mattress, her gaze now at the ceiling. There was nothing she could do right now. Tomorrow was her workday...maybe she should just sleep.

Her consciousness would stay with her for a few more moments until darkness surrounded her. The moon would stay active for a while until it eventually fell into its own slumber. The day brought light into the world, indicating a new day.

That new day would be (Y/n)'s workday. The woman edged out of her bed, wandering to the bathroom to get herself ready. Once changed into proper working attire, she went back to her room to get shoes. She had hidden her shoes under the bed, right beside the box of letters. As she looked for a pair to wear today, her eyes went to the box. 

Maybe she could read a letter today and see what Jones had to say. 

She put on her shoes before picking a letter from the box. The envelope was the same color as before. It either must have been made either the same week or the same month as the first letter she read. Gently she ripped the seal and pulled out the letter. 

Hi Babe, I hope you're doing well over there, wherever you may be right now. You might be at home, actually, since you're reading this letter. Anyway! I just wanted to say that finally, after a week of sitting around in a base, we're told to do something. Honestly, I hope this war isn't going to be that bad. I mean, since you know, America is here and all, I hope things are going to go well for us. I don't want to suddenly die on you, you know? We have so much planned! Did you know that earlier this morning, Charles caught me writing a letter to you today? Well, he caught me writing this letter to you, actually. I know he's a nosy bastard, but I didn't think he would actually read some of the words here. He asked me earlier if I actually had a sweetheart, since, you know, the last time he talked to me, he didn't see me with you. I guess I kept our relationship a secret huh? I must be that good!  How is your sewing going by the way? I hope it's going well. You must be very busy over there. Once I get back there in the States, we can start a family. You can maybe sew things together for the kids and I can probably provide enough to feed us all three meals! Of course, if you wanted to help too, you could! I know you're a strong woman and I don't want to limit what you can do. I think helping out in the war would give us some funds you know? Besides! I can put my college degree to good use! Once this all blows over, I can probably help you.  For now, since I'm away, I'll just be sending you letters, as much as I can! There's not enough paper to go around for everyone, so I can't really write to you all the time. Hopefully, I'll send enough letters to give you news. From your heroic future husband, A.F.J

(Y/n) couldn't help but laugh at his mannerism in the letter. He seems young, honestly, and had the innocence too, somewhere in there. He doesn't know the hardships of war just yet. There are a few things she knows about him. He spilled more info in this second letter than the first one she said. He's a young man who had a college degree somewhere. He talked about plans with his babe, and he appears to be a family man. Jones was a hopeful man, eager to meet his sweetheart again.

She smiled to herself as she placed the letter back in its home, tucking the opened envelope on top of the one she read last night. (Y/n) placed the box under her bed and went on with her day. After breakfast, the woman heads for work. Throughout the day, she thought about Jones and how she would have loved to befriend him if he were ever alive in her era. 

She can't wait to read more letters from him.

[krreader]

the same pain.

pairing: jung hoseok x foreign!reader fandom: bts warnings: mentions of miscarriage genre: angst ; fluff word count: 750+

summary: interviewers often went too far to see how much they could push the person sitting across from them. but hoseok wasn’t having it this time..

a/n: I didn’t mean for this to become this sad?? it just... happened? sorry?

The perk about releasing a solo album were the solo interviews. At least that's what many idols in groups felt like who were often overlooked due to other members being more popular.

This had never been much of an issue for Hoseok, because Namjoon always made sure that nobody ever felt excluded in BTS.

Yet, when he released his first solo album, he couldn't help but be excited for all the attention that was on him and his achievements.. the ones that he only was responsible for. It was like all the hard work really paid off.

But this time, it was different.

Because within the first five minutes of the interview, Hoseok realized what the interviewer truly wanted to know and talk about.

“One thing I have to ask... it probably came to a surprise to all of us Korean fans of yours when your company announced that you were dating (Y/N). Despite her foreign success, she isn't really one of us,” he started laughing. Like that was funny.

Hoseok was professional enough to let out a snort that could be interpreted as a small laugh, but his answer was still salty: “She's a human being. I'd say she's just like us.”

“Well, what I mean is that the values that you hold are probably different right? A lot of cultural differences that the two of you have to overcome. If I'm not mistaken,” he looked down to his notes, “You actually spent a holiday that they're celebrating in their country with her, correct?”

They. Like you and your family were outcasts.

And that's just it, isn't it? The issue that Korea still had nowadays. Narrow-minded people who couldn't understand that just because two people didn't share the same cultural background, didn’t mean that they also couldn’t fall in love with each other.

“I did,” was all that Hoseok said to that question.

“Fans reactions were mixed to all of this, weren't they? Thinking that you spend too much time with her, not focusing enough on your career?”

“Well, I think that if that were the case, I wouldn't be sitting here today, trying to talk about my new album,” Hoseok folded his hands over his lap and cocked his head to the side, “Idols manage to separate their personal lives from their professional ones rather well. One of the first things we learn.”

Hoseok's manager was watching him like a hawk, ready to intervene when it got too personal or when he thought that Hoseok couldn't handle the question. But for now, he was doing a rather good job and the questions all backfired, turning the interviewer into the bad guy.

But then he dropped the one question that made Hoseok gulp down hard.

“What about that rumor that she's pregnant?”

If it had truly been a rumor, he would have laughed it off and shook his head, he would have said that it's ridiculous. If it had been the truth, Hoseok would have lied to keep this secret a little while longer.

But the truth was a little more difficult... and a lot sadder.

His manager walked up to the interviewer the moment that he saw Hoseok get up.

“Wait..- you didn't answer my question!” the interviewer tried to go around the manager, but then another security guard came into view and put his hand on his chest, shaking his head.

The interview was over.

He had taken it a step too far with that question.

Why, though, only you, him and the people that you trusted enough to know, knew.

You sighed heavily when your boyfriend walked into the apartment later that night with slumped shoulders and a head hung low.

It wasn't hard to tell that they had asked him about it, just like every single person that had interviewed you these last four months had asked you. You knew they had asked him, because your reaction was always the same that he had now.

So you instantly got up and just wrapped your arms around him, gently brushing over the back of his head and kissing his cheek.

“It's okay.. we'll have another chance one day.”

Hoseok didn't reply, didn't cry, just wrapped his arms tightly around your middle and pulled you as close to him as he could.

You two had lost so much in the last couple of months.. but never each other. That would never happen, no matter who tried to tear you apart.

[tenaflyviper]

I might as well tell the whole story, for those who care, and just to get it off my chest. I'll tag it with "long post" so people can avoid it.

So...I unfollowed and quietly drifted from these guys around 5-6 years ago (by "these guys", I mean the ones that later started acting toxic. There are good folks mixed in with them, and yes--within them. I sometimes wonder if maybe covid hadn't happened, perhaps things would have been different. It fucked with all of our lives--made many folks anxious, pent up, frustrated, and depressed. Social media is also the worst place for anything political, especially when there's an unfair imbalance/bias that shouldn't be ignored. Morty got flagged on Facebook for a covid meme). I did the mass unfollowing because I didn't want to see discourse on my dash for my own well-being. At the time, I had nothing against them. Others had left before me (I won't name names, but there was one guy that got pretty popular and pulled away from the pack). I watched how they were treated, never thinking it would happen to me. "He must have done or said something wrong", I thought.

Before that, I spent years getting threats and insults for sticking up for these guys--and constantly being asked to look at posts and get involved in their arguments--all while they otherwise rarely acknowledged my existence. Still, I truly believed we were in the right. I even got caught up in what was basically bullying the hell out of a teenage girl for not wanting to see creepy shit in the fandom of a show made with little girls in mind (yes, many of them are bronies, and the exact kind that made people hate bronies. There are nice people that just enjoy the show and reblog wholesome art).

Before I left KF for good (having originally been invited by someone from the TF2 community that I'd known from before I'd ever heard of tumblr--she has since left KF behind as well), I looked at the thread about Takashi and those closest to him, and saw that things had gotten worse. They had even become the subject of memes (Kung Pow Penis anyone?). Without thinking, I expressed that I was glad I moved away from them. Obviously, they were still watching the thread. I can't blame them, but they seem too preoccupied with their image online, despite that it means jack in real life. When the thread first began, I went in with the sole purpose of defending Takashi, which I did for many pages (without success). I tried countless times thereafter to urge him and others to move away from discourse: It's a waste of time, especially when people are so divided.

At some point during lockdown, I agreed with some things I saw on Twitter (Twitter can be even worse than tumblr. I try to avoid looking at what's "trending", but 99% of HorrorFam, and every horror actor, director, and musician I follow--Jeffrey Combs, Dee Snider, etc.--are very left, so it's hard to never see anything political, and these were my childhood heroes who helped shape my values growing up. I was raised listening to skinhead-hating punks and anti-censorship metalheads, and hating conservatives that kept trying to ban and censor my favorite horror movies and games). It didn't take long for others to start throwing around terms like "sjw", and saying things like "how the mighty have fallen". It was all too familiar--the exact same things they used to say about/to the guy that left before I did.

I never wanted to be "mighty" to anyone. I'm being very honest when I say I'm naïve, and I'm not proud of it. I don't know much about how politics even work--I just want to be a decent person. I'm someone who'll bend over backwards for others at my own expense, and is always eager to make friends--a combination that's made me susceptible to being used ever since I was a kid. I had some "friends" in grade school that hung around me because I'd share things like candy. They later tried stealing my bike out from under me (guess they really dug my cheap, turquoise baby bike with a cartoon puppy on it).

I just want to move on, and try to be a better person. I say "try" because I still fumble at it. I overreact to things. I keep slipping into an "all or nothing" mentality, which I've since found is part of having ADHD. I'm crap at wording things, and have trouble being concise. I'm not perfect, and shouldn't have been expected to be. I just like making movie lists for people (I'm starting to use my Letterboxd account), talking about horror, sharing weird things I've learned, and posting dumb fat unicorns. It doesn't matter to me if they don't get a lot of notes--the fun is sharing them with others. Making even just one person smile is a worthwhile achievement.

I could have stayed in that crowd, and kept going along with everything they said and did. I'd have an entire group willing to reblog my long, rambling text posts. But, it just didn't feel right. I didn't want that, especially when it was hurting others for no good reason. I felt bad for everything I said and did, and I still do.

Sorry again for the TL:DR, but I can't use cuts on mobile. I am speaking from the heart, no matter what anyone tries to accuse me of. Like Morty told me, I know myself better, as do those around me that love and care about me. I'm blessed to have a job that I love that also benefits my community, with people that are more like family than coworkers.

I deeply appreciate every person that's stuck with me through even my worst, and who actually talk to me about either of our interests. I'm also thankful for those who patiently explain their criticism for my dumb monkey brain, even when I don't always listen. I have a tendency to be stubborn, but I would not have changed at all if I never took anyone's words to heart. I guess that's all I have to say.

[immortalcoelacanth]

Between the Walls, Chapter 1: Roommates (Dream SMP fic)

I've noticed there's an unfortunate lack in Borrower AU content, and as that shit is my jam I'm putting forth the content I wish to see into the fandom XD

To quote my friend, "I do not control the hyperfixation"

Word count: 4497

Summary: At first retirement had sounded like an excellent idea. Make a house far away from everyone else, get some peace and quiet, no longer concern himself with the total garbage that was the local government. Nice things, relaxing things.… 

But then the scratching in the walls started happening.

Techno groaned as he flopped backwards into his chair, tired eyes staring into the glowing fireplace as he relaxed after his busy day. A day full of building, repairing the damage dealt by the creeper population, and…

A day spent trying to find any signs of his thief.

You see, Techno had assumed that retirement would be an excellent way to unwind from the massive amount of blood that had been shed after L’Manberg went up in smoke, as well as the aggravation he felt towards his sweet, innocent cows being slaughtered and his bunker being raided.

Raided and dismantled thanks to Phil stealing his bookshelves and in turn chunks of the wall.

It was scuffed, horribly scuffed, and left him with one option.

Relocation.

That, combined with the wanted posters Quackity had hung up demanding his capture and subsequent execution after what he had done. Honestly, talk about the biggest character arc for Quackity, going from fearing him to taking an active role in trying to end his life.

Too bad for him that Technoblade never dies.

But still, having to constantly deal with being attacked while no longer having a truly safe and secure base was troublesome, so he had sought out to make a new home far from L’Manberg and all other communities.

The isolation did not scare him, on the contrary he liked having a space all to his own with no worries about socialization or someone bothering him. Besides, Phil could always visit him if he wanted some company.

Fortunately, constructing his new home had taken relatively little time once he had found the best spot for it, and with some help from Phil, moving all the important resources and equally important fixtures of his home had taken even less time.

All in all, Techno had managed to acquire a new sanctuary away from all the plotting and scheming, although he had a feeling someone would try to mess with him at some point, and he had plenty of space to make a brand new vault. He had achieved peace and quiet, and was even in the process of planning on making a turtle farm. Surely all these positive developments would mean he was happy, right?

Well, he would be if it weren’t for the fact that there was a thief rummaging through his home.

It started with small things, like his chests becoming less and less organized over time. Yes, there were moments where he simply chucked whatever useless items were in his inventory into the nearest empty chest, but he would never clutter up chests containing important items, like potions and enchanted books.

So, finding several misplaced items as well as random blocks of dirt and stone, practically pebbles given their size, while also finding certain resources such as wood and leather missing was the first sign of something strange going on.

The next was the odd noises that seemed to come from the walls of his home. Faint scratches that would be inaudible to anyone but himself due to his heightened hearing. It reminded of a rat infestation, and he unconsciously shuddered.

Not due to fear or discomfort, but the sheer amount of work it would take to get rid of a pest infestation. At that point he might as well take his house apart and build elsewhere.

However, despite his suspicions and hypothesis, there was practically no evidence to support. There were, thankfully, no signs of rat activity, or activity from any other pests. No scratches, bite marks, signs of wood decaying, or anything like that. Other than the noise and the strangely messy organization of his chests, there was no sign of the thief.

And he had looked.

Intensely, as best he could. Logic and inductive reasoning had led him to this conclusion. There was a thief, so there had to be signs of this thief somewhere. A lack of footprints meant they must use pearls to get around. The fact that his rarer resources had not been stolen, his potions of strength and enchanted books, meant that his thief was either unconcerned with stealing things of value from him and just wanted to mess with him, or they were a cocky idiot.

… So it was either Ranboo or-

His ears perked up, cutting off his train of thought as he glanced over at the nearby wall. His eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up and out of his chair before striding over to the wall, cape swishing about behind him.

He pressed the side of his head against the wall, eyes closing as he tried to focus on where the sound was coming from. It was here! It had to be! There was something hidden in this very wall. The source of his annoyance, his thief.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Techno readied his axe, and swung it down-

                                                   xxxxxxxxxx

There are times where Tommy can’t stop himself from looking in the nearest reflective surface and asking how he managed to fuck things up this bad. It was painful to recall the steps that had led him to this outcome, the signs obvious but he had been too stupid and ignorant to pay them any mind.

Causing trouble was in his blood, something the local borrower community had reluctantly accepted over the years, helped by how eager he was to throw himself into dangerous situations. Something that should have been concerning to the adults who watched them, taught them how to borrow, how to gather items and even hunt in order to survive, but he had learned that lesson at a very, very young age.

The lesson that no one would step in to help him if he was in danger. That he was on his own and had to prove his worth in order to stay, constantly putting his life on the line for the slightest crumb of respect.

To hear someone say that he had done a good job, to be thanked for his hard work instead of always being brushed off and ignored.

Of course, his friendship with Tubbo helped to soothe that constant within him, dulling the sting of rejection while reminding him that there was one person who truly cared about him. One person who would always be there for him, would lift him up when he was down, and jump into any situation to protect him.

Orphans had to stick together, after all.

And it was a good thing they did end up working together as the duo balanced each other out perfectly. Tommy was far more outgoing and blunt, hotheaded being the best word to describe him. He was willing to do whatever he needed, always ready to speak up when he thought there was bullshit going on, and spoke his mind freely.

It was an ironic honesty, a trait that one assumed would help to attract friends but only aided in driving them away.

Meanwhile, Tubbo was much softer in some ways. Much more reserved than Tommy, he was more of a thinker and planner. Nowhere near as comfortable with spontaneous action as his friend, but he had the knowledge and skills to reign in those impulsive actions before things got dangerous.

They were the best of friends, pals to the very end.

Even though they would never see each other again.

And it was all his fault.

Tommy had ruined everything.

The plan had been simple, easy. All he wanted to do was mess up Mrs. Brigsburry’s house. Just a tiny touch of crime and freaking the old bat out.

She deserved so much worse because of that day. The pot that had been thrown at Tubbo and how much blood Tommy had seen running down the side of his face. The bitch’s shrieks and curses as she insulted them over and over again.

Swearing they both should have died with their parents-

How was he supposed to know he accidentally left one of her rags near the lit stove, the fire within causing the piece of fabric to ignite and in turn allowing the flames to spread to the rest of the house.

It was a good thing she lived on the edge of Borrowton, the fires thankfully only burning her home to the ground.

No one wanted to live near an asshole like her.

Tommy, who had been feeling proud of himself, quickly experienced true regret and fear once the meeting started. Shouts, demands, and insults had flown through the air, many of the people he had grown up with insisting that he be tossed out for what he had done, exiled from the only home he had ever known.

It had been terrifying to see how quickly everyone had turned against him, how they refused to give him the chance to defend himself or even explain why he had done what he did. Not even Tubbo had been able to protect him from the crowd’s wrath, his attempts at standing in front of Tommy and blocking him from sight thwarted when one of the adults grabbed his arm and dragged him elsewhere.

He would never be able to forget the haunting sight of Tubbo reaching for him, tears pouring from his eyes as he screamed his name over and over. It was the last time he had seen his friend, too.

And yet, this was not the worst part of his punishment.

He had been given an hour, one measly hour, to pack up everything he had ever owned before being forcefully exiled from Borrowton. The realization of what was happening had slammed into him all at once, leaving Tommy trembling and unable to move.

He was going to lose everything he had ever known, everything he had worked so hard to build, Tubbo-

He was going to lose his Tubbo.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

No amount of begging or pleading had stopped the adults who dragged him to his shoddy, shared home. He had groveled on his hands and knees, promising to change, to do better, to do whatever they wanted if they just let him stay.

Don’t take my Tubbo away. Don’t take him away. I need him, I need him-

Smack!

The harsh sting of his cheek and the painful sensation of his neck snapping back from the force of the slap was enough to snap Tommy out of his trance. He blinked and looked around, feeling all the more disconnected from reality as he noticed the two bags that had been placed beside him.

One for food, and one for clothes and tools.

… He was really getting exiled, wasn’t he?

“You have no one to blame but yourself for this.” The adult beside him grumbled, dragging the stunned teen up to his feet and shoving him towards the door.

“Front gate. Now. And if I find you causing more trouble, you’ll be leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back.” The man sneered.

For a moment that spark of anger rose up in him, rage flowing through his veins and making his fists clench while he ground his teeth together. The urge to lash out, both physically and verbally, was strong, and yet…

As quickly as those feelings emerged, they faded, and Tommy was left feeling hollow and drained. What was the point in fighting back if all he did was get himself into more trouble. It was obvious they weren’t going to change their minds, he would be exiled no matter what, and if he did lash out-

Tubbo screaming his name as he was dragged away, snot and tears flowing down his face. Thrashing and struggling in a futile attempt to reach him.

… The risk, the damage he could do to his friend, was far greater than the satisfaction of breaking the man’s knobby nose. So, with extreme reluctance, Tommy left the house and made his way towards the front gate. The streets were surprisingly empty, he had expected to see a mob of people cheering while watching him leave, maybe even get the occasional bit of dirt thrown his way.

Treated like the trash they thought he was.

His send off lacked all formality. Only the usual guards of the gate were present, and even then they paid him no mind. He was simply shoved towards another borrower, a lady this time who, based on the immense amount of foliage covering her clothes, spent most of her life out in the wild.

God, how would he ever survive out there. Between the wild animals, the shitty weather, and the mobs that would wander the lands when darkness fell, he was doomed.

He had only ever known how to survive in his community, where you could barter for goods and depend on someone to help you. Now he wouldn’t have any of that. There would be no shelter, no safety in numbers-

No Tubbo.

Numb, Tommy was shoved towards the woman and quietly took note of the presence of the animal he could not see before. It was a fox, quite large compared to him and the other borrowers, and domesticated since it wasn’t ripping anyone apart.

… Or maybe it was just waiting until he got outside, then it would rip him to shreds. Wouldn’t want any blood splatters staining the inside of the gate.

He was so absolutely, royally fucked.

“C’mon, we gotta get moving.” The woman barked, grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the fox with little care for his comfort and the fact that she was adding more bruises to his arm. Tommy hissed in pain and rubbed the aching spot while glaring at her.

Everyone in this place was a fucking asshole.

“Alright, alright, chill the fuck out. I’m moving.” Tommy grumbled as, after a moment of hesitance, buried his hands in the animal’s warm fur and climbed up its side. A moment later, the woman jumped up to join him, taking a seat near the fox’s shoulders while Tommy struggled to pull his bags up as well.

Finally, once his meager supplies had joined him, it was time for them to set off. He had nearly been thrown off as the fox stood up, and when the animal sprinted out of the hidden tunnel and into the fading sunlight-

Well, it was a good thing he managed to grab hold of his bags before they were knocked off. He shuddered in the sudden, stinging breeze, and did his best to hunker down into the warm fur below him. He had no idea where they were going, no clue what far away biome he would be abandoned in, and quietly decided to not think about it further. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying.

… Even if he had been ever since they first left the front gate.

He quickly rubbed at his face, trying to dry the lingering tears so there were less signs as to his degenerating mental state, and instead decided that it would be best to strike up a conversation, something that would help to distract him from what was going on.

Tubbo, Tubbo. He missed Tubbo. He wanted to see Tubbo again-

“Name’s Tommy!” He called out. “What’s yours?”

Silence was his answer.

“... Well fuck you too then.”

Much like the start of their journey, the rest of the trip was silent as the fox ran through various biomes, fields, and forests. On multiple occasions they stopped, the woman gathering some sort of herb every single time.

… Perhaps she was making drugs.

Tommy snorted to himself at the joke, mood lifting just the slightest bit before plummeting back to bedrock. God, he was tired. His body ached from sitting still for so long, as well as the general discomfort from the fox nimbly jumping from cliff to cliff, ducking around trees, and just being an agile shitbag. It was annoying and he hated it.

… Hated the fact that he was getting further and further away from his friend. Hated the fact that the fox could cover far more distance than he could ever hope of traversing on his own, and that the odds of him managing to reunite with Tubbo at some point were growing slimmer with every block they crossed.

Eventually they reached the coldest biome Tommy had experienced yet, ponds covered by ice and snow layering the ground. The snow seemed to muffle their surroundings, the only sounds coming from the snow crunching under the fox’s paws and the animal’s panting as it started to feel the strain of their journey.

And yet, for as desolate as this tundra seemed to be, Tommy spotted something in the distance. A structure that was definitely man made and appeared to be well taken care of, which meant there was someone living there.

Someone he could mooch off of and boost his chance at surviving his exile.

It had been a stroke of pure luck that he had managed to convince the borrower escorting him to change their route, practically begging her to take him to the lit house that was just barely visible through the snow.

The sounds of Tommy sniffling and sobbing since the start of their journey had probably helped to wear down her resolve to take him to wherever he was originally supposed to go.

In the end, she had agreed and directed the fox towards the house. It was interesting to see her previous confidence of navigating the cold tundra diminish the closer they got to their destination, as though she was unsettled by the house.

Strange, but then again she probably thought the same of him and how much of an idiot he was for getting kicked out of somewhere perfectly safe.

Safe aside from the prying eyes, the cruel words and harsh hands. His salvation was Tubbo and their whispered promises. They would leave one day, set out into the world and make their own home.

The moment they arrived at their destination, the woman wasted no time in metaphorically, and literally, kicking him off the fox. He dropped into the freezing snow, landing face first, and pushing himself up seconds later to cough out the chilly substance that had invaded his mouth.

The memory of Tubbo laughing as his snowball hit Tommy in the face, the other teen turning to the side and yelling about how “cold as shit” it was.

“Maybe you should try keeping your mouth shut for once.” Tubbo teased as Tommy, snow still stuck to parts of his face, flipped him off.

“Fuck you.”

Tubbo’s laughter rang out around them, and the teen kept laughing until his face was red and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

… Damn, it was cold.

Trembling, he stood up just in time to dodge the bags that had been carelessly thrown his way, getting a concussion from one of his tools would definitely be a death sentence in this situation, and he promptly flipped the woman off.

“Oi! Watch where you’re throwing that shit!” He shouted before crouching down to inspect his supplies, quietly relieved that nothing seemed to have been damaged. “Fucking bitch...”

She just rolled her eyes in response to his insults and looked unimpressed as he grumbled, huffed, and got himself organized. No words were exchanged between the duo, no goodbyes or wishes for good luck, just the howling of the winds while the borrower made his way to his new home.

As Tommy had trudged through the too tall snow, he had been oblivious to the way the woman stared at the house, eyes wide with some sort of emotion. Was it fear? Not quite, it was more a combination of dread mixed with reverence, emotions fueled by her knowledge of the being who resided in this place. A whispered phrase floated through the air, much too quiet for him to have heard. It was a simple sentence that made her stance and understanding of the situation clear.

“Blood for the Blood God.”

Then she fled, leaving Tommy alone to deal with whatever fate he had stumbled into by breaking into the house.

And what a house it was.

All pretty and neatly designed, complete with various floors and tons of storage, and even some decorative flowers outside the windows, which meant Tommy had many things to rummage through. The roaring fireplace was an added bonus since the cold was one of the things he had been the most worried about.

Knowing those assholes, they had probably planned to abandon him somewhere in the tundra, leaving him alone and freezing in the cold…

Honestly, all things considered, this was a good place to settle down in. He had basically everything he needed, as well as access to some rarer resources too. It was ideal, practically perfect given how easy it would be to create small, unnoticeable entrances into each chest for him to use to snag items, but there was one downside to his new home.

His roommate.

He was tall, far taller than anyone Tommy had ever seen before, and he looked… weird. Like one of those pig monsters he had heard stories about back in Borrowton. Monsters from hell that craved gold and bloodshed. With his pig-like features, including a set of tusks that poked up from his lower jaw, he was a perfect match for those nightmarish beasts.

… But, they weren’t in hell, and this man seemed to be far less gold and bloodshed obsessed than the stories had said, even with the various scars the borrower had seen littering his body.

It was weird, he was weird, and the weirdness had only increased the more time Tommy spent in the house. Despite his regal attire, consisting of a flowing cape and golden crown, it was obvious that the pig-man was no prince or nobility. Plus there were those shitty reading glasses Tommy had seen him wearing once, stuck together with taping and looking like they were on the verge of breaking again. He was the strangest combination of loud-yet-awkward behaviour, something that the borrower actually related to quite a bit. His roommate was not “normal” and acted how he wanted, whenever he wanted, with little regard to how “improper”, “violent”, or “rude” he was.

Like Tommy…

He found it comforting to know that there was someone else more like him out there, someone else who was unlike everyone in Borrowton, someone else who would know what it felt like to be treated as an outcast, like he did not belong there or anywhere. Stuck in this new place, he did not feel as alone as he originally expected.  

He did not consider the possible problems this could cause in the future, of course. Tommy had never the best at planning ahead since that had been Tubbo’s specialty-  

But, the positives ended there as he realized that trying to survive in this relatively small, isolated house was going to be far more of a challenge then he had originally anticipated, with his roommate presenting the greatest obstacle to his success. Breaking in had been easy, actually situating himself and building a decent base within the walls of the house was downright impossible in these circumstances. At most he had managed to dig out a shitty hole close to the fireplace where he stashed all his stolen goods.

And even if he wanted to leave, it was impossible thanks to all the snow and how bloody cold this damn biome was!

So, here Tommy was, having essentially trapped himself with some creepy pig guy who owned too many weapons for comfort and was decked out like he was about to fight the whole damn world. Sure, his house was pretty nice, there was tons of food for him to steal and snack on, and the resources were plenty, but he would have rather had anyone else as a roommate in this situation.  

At least this guy was in retirement, or whatever that meant.

He let out an annoyed sigh, arms dropping as he allowed his axe to rest against the wooden floor of the passage he had been carving out. While most of the house was made out of concrete, Tommy had focused on carving passages through the wooden supports in order to have a network of tunnels he could easily move around in without being spotted. All in all, it was a good plan, even if it was a massive pain in the ass to make.

It was like every time he started making a tunnel, no matter what time of the day it was, that piggy dipshit would show up and start stalking the walls, looking for him!

… Granted, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make boar-face all suspicious by messing with his chests, but Tommy needed the resources! And it was pretty funny hearing the surprised sounds the man would make echo through the house.

His trouble making nature might have been the cause for his exile, along with some other bullshit, but that did not mean he would try to suppress it, even if it would be better for him in the long run. That was like asking to stop breathing. It was just a part of him that could only be controlled and never truly stopped.

… He missed Tubbo. He missed him so much and the ache in his chest still had not faded, and he felt all hollow and empty, without purpose-

Unfortunately for the borrower, the world refused to give him a break as he spiraled, his negative emotions distracting him and preventing him from paying attention to his surroundings.

Like the footsteps that were slowly getting closer to his location.

Without warning, the wall beside him cracked and split open, and Tommy let out a terrified shriek. He jumped backwards, dropping his axe in the process as light spilled into the carved out passage.

The now exposed passage.

A passage that had been cracked open by a certain pig man who had clearly been awake instead of asleep like he had assumed. Brilliant red eyes met terrified blue, and Tommy swallowed nervously.

Of course, of fucking course! As if the world didn’t hate him enough as is! Now he had to deal with that pig shithead who’d been tormenting him for days with his stupidly good hearing, preventing him from making any progress in creating his new home.

And of course the second he tried to make a tunnel this bastard just had to appear and ruin everything!

On the plus side, he had not actually done anything yet, although Tommy was certain things would turn south soon based on the axe the man was holding. So, he would live for now, and his shocked state allowed the borrower to make the first move.

“How do,” Tommy greeted, tilting his head to the side and smirking. “You ugly motherfucker.”

If he was going down, he would go down swinging.

                                      xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Technoblade, holding up a cup containing Tommy: So I found this, anyone wanna trade a book of mending for him- Tommy: *feral screaming intensifies*

[cower-before-power]

Penny For Your Thoughts: Part 1

Summary: You’ve been harbouring feelings for your mighty squad captain for months. When you’re forced to share a bed during a mission, will you finally get the courage to tell him how you really feel?

Pairing: William Vangeance x GN Reader

TW: forced bed sharing (if that isn’t your thing)

PART TWO UP NOW HERE

A/N: I originally was writing this for a different fandom but abandoned it, when i found it again I thought why not use it for Black Clover? “There was only one bed” is one of my favourite tropes SO I WROTE IT. There will be part two when I get around to finishing it. Enjoy, sweet potatoes!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sleep is dancing far out of your grip tonight. 

It’s not surprising, considering the less than fortuitous circumstances you find yourself in. It’s cold, almost absurdly so, and the curtains are far too thin to obscure the waxy shine of the full moon. Your body is stiff, unable to relax, lest you accidentally touch the softly snoring man beside you. 

He just had to accompany you on this mission. It had to be a double bed. It had to be the only room left. It had to be just your luck. 

Of course, you couldn’t predict the only inn for miles being so crowded.  The staff couldn’t predict your bottled up feelings. He couldn’t possibly predict how tortuous it would be for you when he said sharing the room would be fine.  He was smart, perceptive- but you’d shrouded yourself painstakingly, and he’d never seen past the protective haze. 

You were always good at hiding. 

You roll slowly onto your side, eyes falling on his relaxed form as he slumbers peacefully beside you. The moonlight throws every feature of his face into sharp relief, and the beauty of him hits you like a punch to the gut. 

Did angels ever find their way down to earth? Because you were pretty sure you were laying beside one. Even with the scar covering half his face, he was pure art come to life.  Something so breathtaking it just couldn’t be of this world. 

And it wasn’t just his looks. His insides-heart, soul, mind- were just as dazzling. He wasn’t perfect of course (you still sometimes found it hard to believe he a actually a certified criminal), but he was atoning for his sins and he never stopped trying to be more, be better. He was kind, supportive, gentle, humble. 

He was everything you wanted.

You hadn’t had much of a relationship with him when you first joined his squad, but then again, he was mostly someone else back then. In the months since the elves left, he had opened himself up to his Knights a great deal more. He stopped wearing his mask around the base, started up random conversations with those below him, attempted to get to know you and your squadmates more personally. And to your surprise, the two of you got along very well.

Before you knew it, the two of you had struck up what could be called a friendship. You often would walk in the garden, talking about everything and nothing all at once.  He was more human when he was just William, not Patri in disguise or the stoic Captain Vangeance. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, something about his calm aura that allowed you to be more candid with him then you were with anyone else. He listened to your worries, your fears, you problems. He laughed with delight at your stories of childhood antics. He offered advice when you asked. He even shared bits of himself, little by little peeling back the layers until you could see the wonderful soul shining underneath. 

He had captured your heart without even knowing it. It was pain to stand beside him and not spill the truth, but some piece of him was better than nothing at all. If you weren’t so scared of losing him, of having him go back to just being your aloof Captain, you’d tell him how you felt. 

But fear was an iron cage, and you couldn’t escape it. 

“You should be sleeping.”

You gasp, nearly jumping out of your skin. He cracks one eye open, his lips tugging softly up into a sleepy smile. 

“I thought you were asleep!” You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. 

“I was,” he rolls on his side to face you. “But then the incredibly loud sound of you thinking woke me up.”

You blush furiously. If only he knew what you had been thinking of. “I’m sorry. I....just can’t sleep. It’s too bright and cold in here.” And I’m in love with you and sharing a bed is proving too much, your brain adds. 

He hums, squinting his eyes at the offending lunar orb outside the window. “Well, I can’t do anything about the moon. But...I can help with the cold? If that’s okay.”

There’s a faint blush on his cheeks, and you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. What he’s suggesting is wildly inappropriate. He is your captain, your superior. Surely warming up another is a duty saved for a life or death situation. And a  prolonged time so close to him might prove too painful once it was time to pull away. 

But you’re a glutton for punishment, and so you find yourself nodding at his offer. 

He pulls you to him gently, arms wrapping around you as you come to rest against him. Your legs automatically slot with his, his chin settling comfortably on the top of your head. His skin is warm, so impossibly warm, and you can’t help but burrow closer, eyes closed and heart pounding. 

It’s heaven and hell all at once. 

“Better?” He asks softly, and you simply nod, not trusting your voice to work. You lay in silence for a while, nothing but the sound of quiet breathing between you. His heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear. It’s a lovely sound, so full of vitality and a glorious reminder that he is alive. He’s alive and he’s here with you, and in the end, no matter how much it stings, that is really what matters. 

“You’re still thinking very loudly,” he breaks the silence, and you feel the words reverberate through his chest. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing. Not worth even a penny.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, and you can practically hear him frowning. “I value every single thought that comes out of your head. If something is bothering you, I’m here.”

How can you tell him? Tell him he’s the one making your thoughts so noisy, that he’s the reason you can’t sleep? It’s been eating at you so long, dying to break free, but you just....

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “You might not like what’s in my head.”

“Hey, look at me,” his voice is gentle but firm, and you pull away from his chest to meet his eyes. “You know you can always come to me with any problem, any thoughts, any thing that’s eating at you. I’ll always be here with an ear to listen and a shoulder to rest against, no matter what it is. You’re important to me.”

The sentiment sets butterflies fluttering in your chest, but you know he doesn’t mean it the way you want him to.  

“I know,” you drop your gaze away from his, unable to look any longer into the kind depths that are resting upon you. “I know. I mean, we are friends right? That’s what friends do.” The words choke you, constrict your throat and burn like yesterday’s stale cigarette smoke 

“Yes, we are friends,” he echoes, and a thick silence comes to rest over the room. It feels heavy, dense; an enormous pressure bearing down upon you. You suddenly feel like the room is closing in around you, everything feels hot and prickly and uncomfortable. There’s a volcano in your chest and it’s never been so near eruption. Everything you’ve ever wanted to say, every word you’ve ever wanted his ears to hear, is threatening burst from your mouth like a river finally free of the dam. 

Maybe it’s his closeness. Maybe it’s the way he looks in the wane moonlight. Maybe it’s the barely perceptible tremor in his voice as he spoke the word “friends”. But you’ve never been so close to bursting.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” it slips out before you can stop it, and you bite your tongue so hard it bleeds. 

“What?” He stiffens against you.

Your tongue tears itself away from your teeth. Everything is bubbling up so fast, your will to keep your heart in darkness is fracturing and you scramble to patch up the leaks. 

“I don’t-I mean- I,” you babble, pushing yourself away from him. It’s the wrong move- the look of confused hurt painted across his face crushes everything to dust and the spring finally bursts forth.

“I don’t want to be your friend, I want to be more!” you cry out, the weight of what you are doing hitting you square in the chest. “I want more and I can’t have it and it hurts, it hurts so bad but it would hurt worse to give you up. That’s what I was thinking earlier, thoughts not worth even a penny because they are stupid, useless, hopeless. Tonight has been one of the worst nights of my life, being so close to you but feeling like you are a million miles away.”

You’re sitting up beside him now, the space between you feeling like a vast ocean. His mouth hangs open slightly, violet eyes wide with shock as you continue your rant. 

“I know these feelings are inappropriate. I shouldn’t be thinking of my Captain this way. But I can’t help it. I wasn’t even thinking about love and then you-the real you, this you-stepped in front of me and just...just....just reached out and took it. You took my heart for your own and you didn’t even know it. I....I’m in love with you and it’s tearing me apart that you don’t feel the same!”

You finish, chest heaving, breath puffing like you have just run a race. You can’t even bear to look at him. Those soft violet eyes, the idea that they may be filled with pity and reproach at your words makes you sick to your stomach. You sit with your head hung, waiting for him to break your heart even further.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stay tuned for Part 2!

[cheryblossomdreams]

A Discussion About Dramione

This is a very difficult ship in the HP fandom, alongside others like Drarry etc.

However, I think there is something to be said for it regardless, since I’ve seen a lot of anti-Dramione content with some valid points and a lot of non valid ones too, so I suppose I’d like a try my hand at rebuking some of them.

1. Dramione shippers romanticize abuse and bullying.

At first glance, it certainly looks that way. Draco Malfoy was a racist, petty, spoiled bully that jumped on every opportunity to bully Hermione Granger and her friends. He is not a good character. In the Dramione fandom, no one claims he is a good character either. Instead, the Dramione fandom recognized the canon potential for change in Draco and uses that to shape their fanfics. The largest majority of the fandom (There do exist those really young fans that don’t quite yet understand everything that will blindly defend him or create extremely problematic fanart, but they are truly a minority) acknowledges entirely all the wrongs Draco has committed, and they are many. Actually, in most Dramione fics, the writers go to great lengths to process the part of DHr’s past that was filled with hatred and insults. You can find examples of this in the fic Measure of a Man by @inadaze22​. Also to the point, most of Dramione fanfiction is written and set in a time many years after the War, after their school years, where they’ve both grown, matured and become adults, changed by time and what they went through, so it is a null point to say Dramione shippers romanticize bullying when their content is almost always set in a time where Draco is no longer a bully and Hermione is no longer a victim.

What the Dramione shippers like to emphasize is the fact that even though Draco used to be a horrible person, he had changed and grown past that, owned up to his mistakes and is now a different man. That’s what the stories they write are about. He had the potential to change already established in canon that he used later through his life to become someone better Hermione could eventually forgive and love.

You’ll be hard pressed to find a Dramione shipper that would say that while they were still in school they should’ve gotten together. Absolutely not. The content most of the Dramione fandom creates is always set post-canon, at a time where Draco’s changed and grown up from who he used to be, and Hermione recognizes his change and forgives him.

She certainly doesn’t have to forgive him, she doesn’t owe him anything, but part of Hermione’s bravery and overall character is that she would have been able to forgive him when she realized he’d changed. Plus, he saved her best friend’s life at a critical point in the war and, even though he did nothing to help her because he literally couldn’t have, which is something I’m pretty sure Hermione would have been grateful for, even a little bit. 

The Malfoy family saved Harry’s life TWICE in HP, in both extremely critical moments in the war (Draco lying at the manor, Narcissa lying to Voldemort), which is something Hermione wouldn’t have been able to just ignore and pretend like it never happened, because that’s not who she is. 

There probably is a very small percent of the Dramione fandom who create problematic content, but every fandom and every ship has toxic shippers, besides they are simply not the majority.

2. Dramione shippers use Hermione to redeem Draco.

The redemption arc Draco got in HP is extremely flimsy at best, especially considering the amount of damage he’d done prior. He saved Harry’s life, yes, but he did nothing to protect either Ron or Hermione, so personally I wouldn’t harp on about that being much of a redemption arc at all. However, I don’t think any Dramione shippers use Hermione to redeem him. In the Dramione content the things he did wrong and the hurt he inflicted is something Hermione recognizes and then, through the story, eventually chooses to leave behind. Besides, she doesn’t have to redeem him, since we know from canon he’d grown out of his beliefs eventually, privately at least if not publicly (more on this later).

3. Draco had a choice in how to act, if he really didn’t believe in blood supremacy.

No, he didn’t. Let me break it down why.

When he was 11 years old and first coming to Hogwarts, he was too young to understand the beliefs his parents ingrained into him were wrong and harmful, he simply didn’t have the mental capacity to comprehend that. He was a child that hung to every word their mom and dad said and he acted accordingly.

As he grew up though, started going through puberty and maturing, he would’ve realized that blood supremacy is wrong. Let’s say this realization came when he was 14. Lucius and Narcissa weren’t with him at Hogwarts, so if he changed his behavior to reflect his new realizations, they wouldn’t have known, right?

WRONG.

Do you really mean to tell me that if Draco Malfoy, only son and sole heir to the Malfoy family, an extremely wealthy, influential family in the Wizarding World and its politics, part of the sacred 28, well respected and with a high status in society, suddenly started being kinder and friendlier to Muggleborns and Halfbloods, people wouldn’t talk? People wouldn’t wonder, get suspicious? That such news wouldn’t reach his father, who’s got eyes and ears everywhere (evident by the fact he was able to bribe someone in Hogwarts to buy his son a position on the Quidditch team). And how do you think Lucius Malfoy, a devout Death Eater, would have reacted to receiving such news? What do you think would have happened to Draco when he came home that summer?

Draco was never abused and I doubt Lucius would start then, but I am positive he would’ve been disowned, for betraying the values his family had upheld for centuries. Lucius is a staunch blood purist and he absolutely would cut all contact with his son (disown him) when news reached him Draco was making nice with Muggleborns and Halfbloods.

And Draco knew this, he knew how strict his father was, he knew how deeply he believed in blood supremacy and he knew the consequences for stepping out of line and being anything less than the perfect son.

What would a 14-year old kid do being disowned? Homeless essentially?

So, even if he had realized the wrongs of his beliefs and renounced them, he couldn’t have done that publicly, and certainly not with Hermione Granger or Harry Potter much less, seeing as Harry Potter is the nemesis of the man his father believes in.

By the time he reaches 15 and 16, Voldemort is already at full power again and living in Draco’s house. Now things get even worse. After Lucius fails to get the Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort decides he has to punish him for his failure by having Draco take the Dark Mark. By this point, Draco had abandoned ideas of blood supremacy, but at this point, what the fuck is he going to do? Refuse The Dark Lord? The Darkest Wizard in all of Wizarding History? The guy who is living in his house AND holds the lives of him AND his entire family hostage? Who could and would murder Draco’s mother and father and Draco himself if Draco disobeyed? The man who murdered a person right on Draco’s kitchen table and had Nagini swallow them whole?

Even if all of that wasn’t true, and it is, how’s a 16 year old kid going to fight off a house full of seasoned Death Eaters, proficient at the Dark Arts who will use Unforgivables on him, plus Voldemort himself, plus a giant terrifying snake?

At that point, Draco is left with literally zero choice but to take the Mark and obey his mission to murder Dumbledore.

He hatches several plots to kill Dumbledore, all of which fail. When they stand at the Astronomy tower, even Dumbledore himself calls all of his plots halfhearted and weak. Dumbledore offers him help, but Draco is very clear in his regret of the things he’d done and the fact there’s no going back now.

‘I have to do this, I have to kill you, or he’s gonna kill me.’

AND

‘What do you know about me? I’ve done things that would shock you.’

(I’m paraphrasing here, these aren’t the exact quotes).

At which point Snape shows up and kills Dumbledore in Draco’s place because of the Vow he made to Narcissa.

Any way you look at it, he really didn’t have any choice, even if he did at some point during school renounce his beliefs and grow past them.

4. He tried to kill Ron.

I’ve seen antis blame Draco for this one, which is a bit ridiculous. He did not. He had madam Rosmerta poison a bottle of wine, which he sent to Horace Slughorn, hoping Slughorn would pass it onto Dumbledore. Filch hadn’t noticed any traces of poison in it, because he is a Squib, he also didn’t doubt a shipment from Rosmerta, and so he just gave it to Slughorn. Slughorn kept it around and then later he was the one to offer Ron a glass of that wine. In Draco’s plan, Ron wasn’t ever even mentioned nor included in any way. It had been an unlucky coincidence for Ron, and Draco couldn’t have possibly known that Slughorn would hold onto the wine, that Ron would ever be around Slughorn OR that Slughorn would offer Ron that same wine. Sufficed to say, Draco never attempted to murder Ronald Weasley.

5. He did nothing while Bellatrix tortured Hermione.

We’ve been over this, what could he have done? He had saved Harry’s life earlier, but that one lie couldn’t of spared Ron or Hermione, their faces were too recognizable, even if Harry’s wasn’t.

A room full of Death Eaters, some of the cruelest, most dangerous ones mind you (Bellatrix Lestrange) and he’d be 17, if I remember correctly, still not even an adult, plus at this point in the war even more powerless (considering the fact the Malfoys had fallen out of favor with Voldemort, evident by the fact Lucius tells Draco that if they deliver Harry Potter to Voldemort, all would be forgiven).

What did you expect him to do? Leap into battle and try to fend off dozens of Death Eaters, effectively betraying the Dark Lord in the process and single-handedly getting his entire family killed, if not even himself?

Would you have done that? No, of course not.

6. Draco Malfoy is not redeemable.

Now Draco’s “redemption arc”, if it can be called that, is a powerful moment but it’s flimsy. JK didn’t really ever intend for him to be redeemed or liked either, but let’s take a look at it anyways.

It is canon that Draco stopped believing in blood supremacy at some point during their school years, though we can’t know exactly when.

How can I say this, when his behavior never indicated that?

Well, I’ve already been over why he couldn’t have suddenly changed his behavior, now let’s go through how I can claim it is canon.

The scene where Draco lies to everyone about Harry’s identity.

That moment could only exist IF Draco didn’t believe in blood supremacy anymore.

Think about it, if Draco was devout to Voldemort and his beliefs like his father, he would have had no problem or conscience to tell everyone ‘Yes, this is Harry Potter, hand him over.’ It would have been favorable to him if Harry died.

And let’s be clear, if Draco had said the truth in that moment, Harry would have died. He was captured, wandless (his is broken, when they escape the Manor he steals Draco’s), Ron and Hermione captured as well, he was entirely helpless and surrounded by powerful Dark Arts wizards and witches who would lead him directly to Voldemort the moment they got confirmation it was indeed him and that would have been it. Voldemort would have killed him. Voldemort would have won.

But that isn’t what happened.

Draco looked at Harry, recognized it was him (evident by a later scene where Harry straight up says that. “Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix? You knew it was me, you didn’t say anything.”) and at first, still unsure what to do, asked why Harry’s face was like that, and he’s told Harry just came in like that.

Draco says “I’m not sure.”

At that point Lucius grips him and tells him that if they gave up Harry Potter to Voldemort all would be forgiven, Bellatrix brings him closer to get a second look.

Draco knows all the consequences of what he’s doing at this point, he knows what he’s risking, the literal lives of everyone he loves, and what does he do?

He still lies.

‘I can’t be sure.’

It’s a powerful moment for his character, BUT it’s not enough for redemption. The amount of pain and hatred he’d spewed for 6 years (I say 6 years because The Golden Trio wasn’t attending Hogwarts for year 7) is not redeemed by this one instance. His actions, letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, likely torturing people on command of the Carrows in 7th year, are not redeemed by this moment, even if he did save Harry’s life.

However, though this instance doesn’t constitute redemption, it is telling of the fact Draco has changed, and changed significantly from the hateful, angry, spoiled, racist brat he used to be, which gives him potential to grow up into a different, better man.

Whether JK intended it or not, the way that was written makes Draco Malfoy more than redeemable, if not for the duration of the books, then later through his life.

Being a horrible person at one point in your life does not make you forever evil, does not mean you can not ever change. To prove this, I’d like to humbly request you to watch this video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSH5EY-W5oM

Voldemort’s regime is very similar to Hitler’s Nazi movement, so this video is very fitting to my point and HP in general.

Here’s another three:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORp3q1Oaezw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fw0vS0qvYo0&list=TLPQMTcxMjIwMjBZfqJdkbbQJw&index=2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4gly9n9RBo&list=TLPQMTcxMjIwMjBZfqJdkbbQJw&index=3

If you don’t have time to watch, let me sum it up for you.

The first video chronicles the story of a man who’d been part of the Neo-Nazi movement, managed to leave it behind and become an activist and overall an amazing guy now.

The other three links chronicle the story of Daryl Davis, a black man who’d attended KKK rallies and even met with the Imperial Wizard of the KKK Roger Kelly, somehow despite all odds became friends with him and eventually managed to get through to Roger Kelly to the point where this man (The leader of the KKK on a national scale) stepped down from his position and left the Ku Klux Klan.

That’s real life, something like that happened, truly happened, but Draco Malfoy is irredeemable?

PLUS, Draco is hardly the first case like this.

Take James Potter as an example. James was also a rich, racist, privileged white boy, and a bully. He’d bullied Snape severely, even set up a “prank” with his friends that would lead to Snape getting attacked by a WEREWOLF, putting him in mortal peril, with great potential of killing him, that required then a rescue operation.

James attempted murder, or if you don’t want to go that far, he set up a situation that quite possibly could have gotten someone killed, and he got to mature and grow past his behaviors and redeem himself, fall in love with Lily and have a wonderful son.

Why couldn’t Draco change when James had?

~

In conclusion, I think there’s a big diifference between what the Dramione fandom actually is and what antis think it is. 

The heart of the Dramione fandom is about growing and changing and maturing and forgiving and falling in love despite the differences of the past.

It’s not about romanticizing bullying or toxic relationships, life is not black and white people, people can change and grow from their past actions and people can also forgive and move on. 

There’s plenty of examples in the books of Harry and Ron mistreating Hermione and they all move past those instances (obviously that can’t be compared to what Draco did, I’m just making a point here).

I do acknowledge that the Dramione shippers have some bad apples among them, some problematic people that take it all too far, but honestly, every fandom and every ship has bad, toxic people so you can’t really use that against them.

All in all, things aren’t the way antis always present them, there’s a lot more gray there, and I hope this entirely too long post helped some of y’all see that.

[voltagesmutter]

Leonardo x MC - Role-play.

Pairing: Leonardo x MC (F).

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Prompt:  Deep-throating || Role-play || Object Insertion

Warning: Roleplay, Outdoor sex, stranger’s scenario, dirty talk.

One of my finals for @alloveroliver​​ beautifully, wonderful, kinky, kinktober.

Thank you to @ikevamp-shrine​​ and @theinariakuma​​​ for beta-ing and all your help! 💛

The low, dim light of the candles reflected off the freshly polished bar. The scent of alcohol and the warming buzz of friendly chatter filled the spacious area. A young woman perched on the stool, day-dreaming as she nursed the glass of wine slowly letting the harsh bitter of cherry run down her throat. And whilst she sat alone, she knew company would be arriving soon. 

“Monsieur,” she beckoned forth the young man behind the bar, gesturing to the highly-priced bottle of scotch, one that had almost doubled in value due to the rarity of it. She made a two-finger signal towards him as he placed a glass in front of her. “Oh no, not for me,” she smiled softly towards him, “for him”. The tip of her index finger pointed towards a stranger who had entered the bar not long after herself; his dark grey hair shifting around his face as the ending strands, like kissed tips of wispy silver, shimmered under the golden light.

A playful smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she turned her head slightly to see the shocked expression on the man’s face, beating him to his game.  The gold of his eyes glinted as he raised his head to meet her face, lowering his head in a nod as he picked up the glass with his fingerless-gloved hand. Matching his gesture, she brought her glass to her lips before sipping it, her eyes sensually fluttering shut knowing he was still watching her. Just like he had been since the minute he arrived. 

“Ciao Bello,” a light-hearted voice that made her heart race and her pussy throb at the same time spoke beside her. The man she’d brought the drink for now taking the empty seat to her right. 

“Bonjour Monsieur,” she smirked leaning back in her chair, finishing the last of her glass and holding out her hand to signal for another. 

“Scusa but let me- as means as a thank you.” Gracefully pulling out a few coins in exchange for a new glass he watched the barman turn away, leaving the pair alone. 

“It is such a rare sight to see such beauty sat alone,” he paused, taking a swig from his glass before putting it down, “little lambs shouldn’t be out alone. A big bad wolf might just come and… eat them.” His eyes danced as the words came out of his mouth. 

She threw him a light laugh in amusement, “maybe this lamb just wanted to be caught by a big, bad wolf,” she leaned in to close the distance between them, her whispers brushing past his ear, “maybe this little lamb isn’t as innocent as you think.”

He let out a hum of satisfaction at her words, admiring her form as she sat back once again this time crossing her left leg over her right; his eyes falling to the way her skirt rose from her knee a few inches, giving him a teasing peek of her thighs beneath. 

She had dressed more provocative than usual in attempts to catch his eye- and it had worked perfectly: a white long-sleeved blouse tucked in the suede beige skirt, a matching coloured corset laced on top of her shirt. The choice of clothing had deliciously accentuated her figure in a fashionable manner for the time. A delicate balance of elegance and fashion whilst not drawing too much attention to herself, after all she was only here for one person.

The bar she was currently residing in was new, opening only a few days ago in the next town over. Her lover and her decided to set a challenge in their relationship, to see if they could go a night without being noticed as lovers. Role-playing and enticing as strangers for the evening. So far it was going well. 

“An innocent lamb? Maybe not.” 

His lips curved into his trademark smirk, eyes darting up and down across her body before focusing back on her face, “a fox maybe? Cunning and deceptive… so soft and playful, yet so…,” he lifted a hand to slowly place it on her knee, leaning into her, “dangerous.”

“Or maybe something more vicious. A vixen perhaps?” Letting out a low click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth he continued, “no you are far more enticing, a temptress.” 

“Hmm a temptress I may be but,” she pressed the toes of her left heeled shoe against his lower calf, slowly dragging it up the side of his leg before stopping and sliding it back down, “it depends purely on who captures my eye.”

“And I pray-tell that someone has caught your eye tonight?” He murmured, unable to stop his eyebrows from rising as he brought his glass to his mouth.

“Mmhm maybe, there is definitely someone mysterious, tall, and handsome who’s in my sights,” her voice held steady as his palm on her leg slowly pushed further until it hovered just beneath where the material of her skirt lay.

“I can only hope that my compagna is prepared. You seem like a wild one,” he grins. She laughs with a breathless chuckle, sharing a drink at the build up of pure sexual tension. He watched the dip of her throat as she swallowed the moorish red liquid, the pink of her tongue darting out to wipe away any remnants of it upon her lips before popping the pads together with a wet noise.

Slender fingers peered inside the burnt-brown of his coat to pull out a cartoon, pulling out a long cigarillo. The familiar scent of orange mixed in their scenes. Placing the narrow smoke between the white of his teeth revealing a glimpse of the hidden fangs that rarely came out, he lowered his face to the candle nearby for the warmth of the flame, inhaling to pull the smoke through before exhaling. A thin cloud wavered between the two of him releasing a familiar scent. What he never anticipated was for her to wrap her fingers around the tobacco clad smoke and pull it to her lips, dragging deeply before exhaling out. 

 She had tried one of the cigarillos before, but it only led to her choking and coughing on the spot as the smoke burned her lungs. This time she was smooth, one fluid movement that could fool anyone she smoked them daily- a process of learning with Arthur after she came to him on tips of seduction.

“I like the taste,” she hummed softly, taking another draw and holding it between her middle and forefinger on her right hand. In a smooth movement she pinched it with her thumb, knocking the growing ash off into a small ashtray on the bar with the tip of her forefinger. Exhaling as she returned it to its rightful owner, a look of awe upon his face. Leaning in as she placed the item between his teeth, like it originally had been, she whispered lowly so only he would hear, “but I like the feel of it in my mouth even better.”  He groaned raspily, following the unintentional sound of approval with her phrasing and actions with a deep chuckle.  Her persona tonight was beyond different to her normal one. It was  mature, more seductive. He could see the evidently clear want in her eyes, as she could with his. 

This game they were playing proved to be exciting and arousing on both of their parts. Her taking more charge; acting as he had called her earlier, ‘a vixen’- a side to her that she very rarely let out. The mixture of their plan and the warming buzz of the alcohol being the confidence booster she needed to push herself.

“You know, just because you buy me a drink doesn’t mean you’ll get me into bed,” she teased with a wink, enjoying seeing a tint of pink grace his cheeks. To think, the jack of all trades’ almost flustered by her sudden boldness of words… how invigorating.

“Oh I have no intention of taking you to bed.” The hand on her leg pushed just beneath the material of her skirt to give her thigh a squeeze; the other brushing a strand piece of hair behind her ear as he leaned into the shell of it, “no I don’t think I could make it that far. I have every desire and intention to take you against the wall outside.” 

 -

“Mmm!” 

Her moans were captured by the leather of his left palm while his right hand trailed up the back of her thigh; his fingers pressing over the damp cloth of underwear with a low groan humming against her neck. 

“You're already so wet,” his grumbles tickled against her neck, his lips latching onto the sensitive skin. Wet kisses sucked over and over until her breathing turned into rapid, short breaths against his hand. Her teeth playfully nipped at the skin of his fingers, shaking her mouth to free it from his gentle hold.

“Of course I am, didn’t you notice the rain when you arrived?” Wishing she was facing him to see the way he responded to her brattiness- a first for her, but the feeling of his smile against her neck was enough of a reaction. 

“Cheeky girl,” he chuckled, making her gasp as he nipped at her neck, a blossoming mark forming just above the collar of her shirt. Her hands fell to rest flat on the brick wall in front of her, his body pressing tightly up against hers as his coat hung off his broad shoulders enough to protect their bodies from view. Being hidden from sight in the faint glow of the street light behind the bar and protected by a cloak of night around them, his free hand hastily undoing the corset on top of her shirt.  Pulling the thin cotton from her skirt allowing him access to her torso, cladded-leather tugged at the sheer material of her bra until her breasts spilled free, resting heavily in his palm as he cupped one of them, letting her nipple roll and be pinched by his forefinger and thumb.

Her moans filled the night air as he pushed her underwear to the side letting his long digits glide up the wet of her slit as she parted her legs wider- a silent invitation for him to delve in further. His lips once more found her neck, this time leaving a trail of heated kisses along the base and working up to reach her jaw as two fingers coaxed her arousal, pushing into her. 

“Oh god.” Her head fell back onto his shoulder, her fingers twitching against the brick wall in search of something to grasp onto as he thrusted his digits in and out of her tight folds. 

“I’ve never felt you so wet,” he mumbled into the shell of her ear before sucking on her lower lobe with a dirty grin, “don’t pray to your fantasy figures, there is only me.” 

Her breast bounced softly in his hand with each thrust of his fingers inside her. Her hips pushed down to grind against his movements in a desperate seek for more as she mewled in his hold. The sound of her arousal was clear in the air even beneath the layer of her skirt as he added a third finger, curling them in a manner that left her jaw dropping and knees almost buckling.

“I want you to come on my fingers,” his voice growled riddled with lust, a more baritone octave to it than his normal Italian twist. 

 “I-I want, oh fuck, to come on your cock.” 

The pit of her stomach dropped, a white heat beginning to rise in its place as his fingers curled against the rough patch inside her, making stars dance across her vision.

“Scusa!” He groaned against her as her walls clenched down, “who taught you to speak like this?” 

“You,” she moaned, earning herself a smirk to know how much her words and actions were affecting him as his fingers pulled from out of her to circle her clit. Pushing her hips back to feel the strong strain of his erection still hidden beneath the layer of his leather trousers, her breath hitched as his hand pulled from her chest to bunch up her skirt, exposing her wet folds as he tugged her underwear to the floor.

“Cheeky little thing you are.” Giving her ass a little tap and watching it ripple, he hastily unbuckled his trousers, freeing his red, pulsing cock leaking with need against the plump of her behind. 

“Please, I-,” she whispered, pushing herself out in offering, gasping to feel the wet of his head already pushing against her. 

Curses both left their lips as he pushed himself into her, holding the curve of her waist as he thrusted shallowly until her cunt swallowed him whole, pulling him into the depth of her tight folds. 

“Oh fuck, yes!” She moaned, her eyes tightly shutting as he took no hesitation to begin thrusting into her. 

Bending her slightly so his chest was fully pressed against her back, his tongue lapped circles over the pulse of her neck. The need to bite was heavy, but he was always able to withstand. He pulled her back with every thrust, burying himself to the hilt each time in rapid movements until the lewd noise of slapping skin took over the silence.

Her back arched off of him, one hand reaching behind her to seek purchase in his hair, tilting her head to finally meet his eyes. Both of them saw nothing but lust, panting against each other's lips as they finally kissed for the first time that evening.

“Yes! Yes, yes… there, oh, yes!” Moaned between her parted lips and into his mouth. The hold on her waist shifted her forward slightly and onto her toes as he continued to pound into her, the change of angle hitting perfectly inside her; her walls already clenching down each time he pulled back in an attempt to keep him buried inside her, she continued, “I-I’m close!”

“Say my name… ngh, when you come,” groaned through harsh breaths as his fang glided against the weak spot just beneath her ear causing a shiver of electricity to crackle down her spine. The hand bunching her skirt dropped as he held it up with the hand on her waist, bringing his free hand under the waistline of her skirt to rub tight circles over her swollen clit. 

“Monsieur!” Unable to hold back the high pitched whimper in her voice, she tried her best to keep up the play at hand. 

A growl came from behind her, “Properly, my naughty cara mia.” 

The minute he called her ‘cara mia’ they both knew their little game was over.

Giving a particular rough thrust- one that paired with the movement over her clit and the sucking nips to her neck was enough to push her over the edge.  

 Walls clamped down as tiny pockets of white burst repeatedly over her vision, ‘Leonardo’ falling over and over in voice-raising cries of pleasure until her jaw slacked open into an  ‘o’. Heat surged  from her head, spreading through her chest and pulsing from her core as she came, body curling as her fingers scratched at the wall.

“Good girl, cara mia,” he praised removing his hand from her clit once he was sure he’d prolonged her release enough, soon gripping her waist with both hands as he sought his own release. A new form of heat flooding into her as he groaned against her shoulder, her name on his lips as his hips stuttered against her, emptying himself into his lover. 

 -

“You look cold dolcezza mia,” Leo said, taking off his coat and pulling the young woman into his lap, wrapping his coat around her. Her damp underwear still in his pocket- a safekeeping of their passionate night.  He held her close as she rested her head upon his shoulder, the carriage ride home allowing them both a good rest before setting foot in the mansion. 

“But won’t you be cold?” She questioned nuzzling against him.

“I can’t be cold when I have you to keep me warm” pressing a kiss to her crown, he stroked her face as her eyes slowly shut, “ah- as much I would love to let you sleep, the carriage is not far from home.”

“Tired,” she protested as he poked her nose- a motion she did to wake him up whenever she found him asleep. 

“Besides my little cara mia needs to tell me when she learned to speak such tongue,” he chuckled, his laugh infectious as ever, making  her smile against him.

“I already told you,” her eyes opened as she peered up, pressing a kiss to his lips, “from you.”

“Hmm, I doubt that very much,” he teased, letting her head bury itself in the crook of his neck, enloping her in warmth with the scent of orange and sex. “You did so well this evening, my little vixen.”

“Thank you for indulging with me. I had fun.” Her eyes sparkled at the admiration he poured down on her with his smile.

“Anytime my love. It was rather adventurous to see you so bold, especially when you pulled me out of the bar and begged me to take you-,“ his sentence cut off by her hand playfully slapping his chest.

“You don’t need to repeat that!” Her face stained red; the persona of the bold stranger dropping as she melted back into her more bashful, teasing manner-the side Leonardo loved more than anything. He loved her utterly; entirely. His little human, his cara mia.

“Ti amo tanto,” she whispered with a yawn, moaning softly as he stroked her hair in a soothing manner. Both embellishing in their time they had together, two lovers purely infatuated with each other as their love reached out to touch the stars and back.

“Ti amo cara mia.”

Kinktober masterlist here.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Today in Tolkien - February 16th

This is the day when the Fellowship leave Lothlórien and begins their journey down the River Anduin. Quite a lot fits into the day, so I’m going to track it chronologically.

First, in the morning as the Fellowship is packing up, elves of Lothlórien come and bring them lembas and elven-cloaks. Both are an example of the value and dignity of practical crafts within elven society; Galadriel personally works on making the cloaks of Lothlórien (“she and her maidens wove this stuff”), and of the nature of “elf-magic” being tied to their close relationship with the natural world (“leaf and branch, water and stone: they have the hue and beauty of all these things under the twilight of Lórien that we love”; and “grey with the hue of twilight under the trees they seemed to be; and yet if they were moved, or set in another light, they were green as shadowed leaves, or brown as fallow fields by night, dusk-silver as water under the stars”). It’s quite possible that this is the first time non-elves have been given lembas since the time of Túrin Turambar, and the second time in all Elven history.

After having breakfast, the Fellowship are preparing to leave the site where they have camped for the last month. Haldir comes to meet them as their guide (he’s come a lomg way from the borders, so it’s likely that the “guide” thing is an excuse and he’s come to say good-bye). He tells them that “The Dimrill Dale is full of vapour and clouds of smoke, and the mountains are troubled; there are noises in the deeps of the earth” - likely consequences of the battle between Gandalf and the balrog.

As they walked through Caras Galadhon the green ways were empty; but in the trees above them many voices were murmuring and singing. They temselves went silently. At last Haldir led them down the southward slopes of the hill, and they came again to the great gate hung with lamps, and to the white bridge; and so they passed out and left the city of the Elves. Then they turned away from the paved road and took a path that went off into a deep thicket of mallorn-trees, and passed on, winding through rolling woodlands of silver shadow, leading them ever down, southwards and eastwards, towards the shores of the River.

They had gone some ten miles and noon was at hand when they came on a high green wall. Passing through an opening they came suddenly out of the trees. Before them lay a long lawn of shining grass, studded with golden elanor that glinted in the sun. The lawn ran out into a narrow tongue between bright margins: on the right and west the Silverlode flowed glittering; on the left and east the Great River rolled its broad waters, deep and dark...One the bank of the Silverlode, at some distance up from the meeting of the streams, there was a hythe of white stones and white wood. By it were moored many boats and barges. Some were brightly painted, and shone wuth silver and gold and green, but most were either white or grey.

New word for me: hythe. Even my 1950s OED doesn’t know it! Fortunately, Google knows everything, and tells me it is an “archaic” word meaning “a small harbour or landing-place,” which is what I expected from the context.

There are thee boats for the Fellowship, and elves provide them with rope, to Sam’s satisfaction. The Fellowship practice with the boats by rowing a ways up the Silverlode. They meet Galadriel and Celeborn in a great swan-ship:

The water rippled on either side of the white breast beneath its curving neck. Its beak shone like burnished gold, and its eyes glinted like jet set in yellow stones; its huge white wings were half-lifted.

This matches the description of the swan-ships of the Teleri that Fëanor stole and destroyed, described in the Silmarillion: “Their ships...were made in the likeness of swans, with beaks of gold and eyes of gold and jet.” Galadriel’s mother is Telerin, and so the ship, as much as her song of lament (“What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?”), is a sign of her homesickness.

The Fwllowship, Celeborn, and Galadriel return to the green lawn at the angle of the two rivers for their parting meal. It is a fitting place: still within Lothlórien, but looking across the rivers to the mallorn-less shores beyond its southern and eastern borders. Galadriel seems changed to Frodo, and it may be not only his perception, but the result of her choice, refusing the Ring, to “diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel”:

She seemed no longer perilous or terrible, nor filled with hidden power. Already she seemed to him, as by men of later days Elves still at times are seen: present and yet remote, a living vision of that which has already been left far behind by the flowing streams of Time.

Celeborn gives the Fellowship advice on their onward journey, speaking of the Brown Lands and the Emyn Muil, of the rapids of Sarn Gebir and the falls of Rauros, of the Dead Marshes and the plains of Gorgoroth, of Rohan and the Forest of Fangorn. Since all this territory is likely familiar to Aragorn, this is likely as much for the reader’s benefit as the Fellowship’s. He warns them not to become entangled in Fangorn, “a strange land, and now little known”; with the spread of Men across the plains of Rohan, it is likely now many years since the Elves and the Ents have spoken.

Boromir, showing more warning signs, though subtler than the previous night, dismisses the stories of Fangorn as “old wives’ tales, such as we tell to our children”, and then digresses to brag/complain about his difficulties in reaching Rivendell: “A long and wearisome journey...and it took me many months, for I lost my horse at Tharbad, at the fording of the Greyflood. After that journey, and the road I have trodden with this Company, I do not much doubt that I shall find a way through Rohan, and Fongorn too, if need be.” He is clearly feeling both proud and aggrieved. Notably, Aragorn, with far broader experience and travel of Middle-earth that Boromir, says no such things.

Galadriel then gives gifts to the Fellowship. To Aragorn, a scabbard overlaid with tracery of leaves and flowers of silver and gold, with words in gemstones spelling out that it in Andúril, reforged from Narsíl, the blade of Elendil. And along with this, the Elessar, the elfstone, which Arwen gave her to give to him: “a great stone of a clear green, set in a silver brooch that was wrought in the likeness of an eagle with outspread wings.” The Elessar is, from some versions of Unfinished Tales, an enhancement to healing abilities; the fact that Galadriel gave it to Celebrian and Celebrian to Arwen suggests that Celebrian and Arwen may both have used healing abilities as well. (Arwen, as Elrond’s daughter, would be particularly likely to be trained in it. Wouldn’t it be neat if the gemstone she gives to Frodo at the end, to help him in times of sickness and ill memory, was one she made herself, a combination of jewel-craft and healing?)

And, for all the fandom focus on how many people Elrond has lost, it’s worth remembering here that Galadriel is parted from her father and mother, her brothers are long dead, and her daughter departed for Valinor terribly ill and broken-spirited after having been captured by orcs; and unlike Elrond, at this moment she does not know if she will ever be able to see them again. Elrond at least knows he will see his parents and his wife again, in time. Galadriel also knows she is going to lose her granddaughter; indeed, she had a hand it it, practically matchmaking Aragorn and Arwen on the occasion when they became engaged.

Galadriel’s gift to Sam, of the earth and the mallorn-nut, is particularly touching: she knows from his vision in the mirror that the Shire will likely not be untouched by the war, and that the loss of the trees in particular distresses Sam; and she gives him a gift that can amend it.

And Gimli, of course, asks for a strand of Galadriel’s hair, and recieves three. I could say more on the interactions between these two, but I’ll try to keep it to this: in all the language concerning Gimli and Galadriel, Galadriel’s beauty is not used simply or even mainly to mean physical appearance, but to stand in for goodness, kindness and understanding. Gimli’s answer for what he would do with the hair is “treasure it...in memory of your words to me at our first meeting,” when she understood and defended the dwarves’ love of their home and spoke their place-names in the dwarf-tongue. Similarly, when he demands Eómer “acknowledge Galadriel as the fairest of ladies” if ever he sees her, he is responding to Eómer insulting Galadriel’s character, not her looks. Beauty here means something more than beauty.

And to Frodo she gives the Phial of Galadriel, holding the light of Eärendil’s star that is the Silmaril; a parallel and inverse of the Silmaril, a gift to be given rather than a possession to be clung to; and fitting for the end of the Noldor’s presence in Middle-earth, as the Silmarils drove their arrival there.

The Fellowship at last departs from Lothlórien, and Galadriel’s song in Quenya flows down to them on the wind.

So the Company went on their long way, down the wide hurrying waters, borne ever southwards. Bare woods stalked along either bank, and they could not see any glimpse of the lands behind. The breeze died away as the River flowed without a sound. No voice of bird broke the silence. The sun grew misty as the day grew old, until it gleamed in a pale sky like a high white pearl. Then it faded into the West, and dusk came early, followed by a grey and starless night.

[woeismyhoe]

Rachel Amber, The Broken Angel Who Demonized Herself

Fair warning, please bear with this probably incredibly **longass** (I’m not kidding it’s rlly long) analysis of one of the fandom’s most controversial disliked characters, Rachel Amber. This is just my attempt to analyze her character based on observation from BtS to LiS so by no means do you have to accept them. Productive discussions are obviously very welcomed :D

In LiS, when we asked about Rachel around campus, most of them had nothing but compliments and praises for the missing girl. She was essentially an honorary Vortex Club member who socialised with the snobs, yet she also hung out with the skater stoners and was friendly with those at the bottom of the social hierarchy. Then we see those graffiti around where it hints at Rachel’s promiscuity, debts and conflicts with other people. That’s the first sign we see that Rachel Amber isn’t as perfect as everyone was making her out to be. Afterwards we discover that Rachel was a stoner herself and into whatever drugs there were, partied harder than anyone else, promiscuous, entered a relationship with local drug dealer Frank Bowers while having a secret relationship with Psycho teacher Mark Jefferson— all while maintaining a 4.0 GPA in her studies and being considered perfect and adored by practically everyone in her school. The girl’s incredible, obviously, or maybe scary for someone to be so spread out in everything.

Rachel was a straight A student with a 4.0 GPA, an administrative assistant to the Principal, beloved by students and faculty alike, literal goddess beauty, had ambitions to be a model and study international law, daughter of the DA and was the closest to perfection anyone would ever be— so what went wrong? What made her romanticise the idea of running away from a town where everyone loves and adores her?

Because of the above.

Yes, it may sound whiny and dramatic to feel tired of being loved and being the center of attention all the time, but there’s no point to it if it’s not you who they adore, but the person you’re pretending to be— (“I was feeling angsty and reckless. Tired of living up to the perfect image everybody expects out of me.”) —especially when you have to do so much just to maintain the lie.

Throughout LiS and BtS, Rachel’s ability to get along with everyone was always mentioned. At face value she was akin to a social butterfly. She hung out with stoners regardless of their social status (skaters or the vortex club), was friendly with anyone regardless of their place in the social hierarchy (eg; Daniel/Evan/Steph/Drew/Nathan) or even to strangers others usually ignored (Samuel/Homeless lady). Like Evan said, Her friends were her friends. She wasn’t one to let peer pressure affect her relationships so she wasn’t afraid to make all those acquaintances.

However, for those who knew her closely (Chloe and Jefferson), she was referred to as a chameleon, someone who blended in with everyone and everywhere seamlessly. This was an important detail regarding who Rachel was and her intimacy with others. To be able to make that comparison, they would’ve needed to know who the person Rachel actually was underneath the masks she’d created over the years. Chloe was the first to truly see and accept her for who she was. Jefferson was the one who exploited her for it.

For most, being a social chameleon would count as a beneficial social skill if they’re subtle. So long as the person doesn’t lose themselves in the process and is able to separate their personas from their true self, it remains a skill and will be used as such.

The problem with Rachel was that it transcended beyond a skill. A social chameleon was *what* she became, and that led to losing her own sense of identity, to becoming a stranger in her own body.

We see her confiding to Chloe about this feeling in Brave New World: (“Do you think there’s a point when you’ve been acting so much that you don’t even have your own personality anymore? You’re just whatever you think other people want you to be?”) —to which Chloe tells her she does have a personality because she assumed Rachel was talking about herself. But Rachel apparently wasn’t and clarifies she was talking about her father. She then elaborates on how her father doesn’t really exist, that how he was in the principal’s office was a mere performance and then the actual truth— that she’s afraid she’ll end up like him.

No matter how you interpret that scene, the conclusion is that one of Rachel’s fears was becoming like James— someone who’s been so wrapped up in all the lies and manipulation that he no longer seemed recognisable to even his own daughter.

At that point her defence mechanism of deflection and avoidance came into play after Chloe got a little too close to home. We first see this on the train scene when they play Two Truths and a Lie. Rachel gave factual statements as opposed to Chloe who gave facts that elaborated into her personal life. At one point Chloe can ask how Rachel knew about having a distal radius fracture and It’s a very minor detail, but when she explains that it’s because she broke her wrist when she was 10, she says it extremely fast. When Chloe is about to press for more info about something personal no matter what option you choose, Rachel dismissively turns around the conversation from herself back to Chloe again.

The next time we see her deflecting is right after witnessing her father cheating. When Chloe asks about her, Rachel deflects and guilt trips her into somehow thinking she’s at fault for failing to get them wasted and then proceeds to drown her sorrows into alcohol instead of opening up. Afterwards when they find the junkyard, Rachel chooses to isolate herself from Chloe and withdraws to the corner, getting irritated if Chloe chooses to invade her space. When Chloe confronts her about her sudden moodiness, Rachel yet again deflects and shifts the attention to Chloe by essentially telling her she’s self-centred. This scene was classic Deflection 101 brought by Rachel’s defence mechanism to cope with her father’s betrayal.

Rachel uses deflection and avoidance as a defence mechanism, a habit which stems from the dynamics of the Amber family. When you have a Politician as a father whose life work is to manipulate and lie, and a Stepford Wife as a mother who wilfully acts like a servant to her husband out of sacrifice and duty— an environment of deceit and suppression of one’s feelings will be fostered. This is what shapes Rachel to be distrusting and unhealthily altruistic as we see in BtS.

And so Rachel’s deflection is driven by 2 things: mistrust (James) and her unhealthy altruism (Rose).

As a district attorney, James unfortunately carried his work persona into his personal life and can be presumed to lie to even his own family on a daily basis to the point that Rachel can tell when he’s lying: (“When your Dad is the District Attorney, I guess lying is...something you're used to.”) (Why can't you just tell me the fucking truth?! Stop lying! Stop being a politician for one fucking minute! Can’t you just be my Dad?”) What that tells us is that Rachel’s actually used to being lied at and treated with cynicism, so naturally that would make her guarded around others. Not to mention since James often exercised his professional prerogative (just recall how he spoke to Chloe and her comment about his micro-aggressions towards his own family), it’s most likely that he was also cynical towards people in general and carried that mindset forward at Rachel as well.

As for Rose, you have to really observe how she carried herself and her choice of words. A lot of people pointed out how robotic she sounded and blamed it on bad voice acting, but I think that was actually intentional. She was too mannered, too submissive and too robotic as a person. It’s not exactly a bad thing, but a lot of her personality seemed to be too... *political* for the sake of her husband’s political career. It was altruistic in the way that she sacrificed her own needs for her husband’s and was unfailingly supportive (eg; preparing dinner all by herself, *respectfully* asking James for his drink, even going so far as to excuse James for kissing Sera like wtf). Point is, Rose was the stereotypical political wife whose job was to shut up, look good and smile for her husband while he does the talking. At one point in the dinner scene when they start fighting, James even dared to say ‘Rose, let me handle this’ as if Rose’s voice was irrelevant and unimportant to the table (when he literally just got exposed for cheating lmao).

So what happens when your family environment consists of a father who actively lies and uses manipulation to twist facts, expects you to be compliant in exchange for rewards (birthday money), has the ability to read people, and a mother who does too much for someone who does the barest minimum for the family and represses herself for the sake of others? An environment of deceit and suppression will be fostered, and you develop all of their qualities, for better or worse. That’s difficult to change when your own family dynamics molded you to be that way and then reward you for it. If you recall, Rachel’s mannerisms changed completely when in front of her family and if Chloe complained about having to play the goody two shoes formal well-behaved humorless girl, Rachel would say: ‘try doing it your whole life’. So not only was she playing different roles in school but evidently at home as well.

But It’s not as if the Amber family was aware of the toxic environment they’d created. That’s just what their normal was: to be well-mannered, formal, professional, mature and well-articulated.

This is where Rachel’s social chameleon tendencies develops. Social chameleons usually have reasons for blending in when it comes to personal relationships:

1. Being liked is important for them (they value what people think of them).

2. They want to blend in so as to not stand out (they don’t like attention).

3. They’re doing it to make the other person comfortable (the needs of others come first before theirs).

Considering how Rachel was extremely popular, active in all sorts of school activities and enjoyed the attention of being the star, no. 2 is out. She confessed to wanting to stop being a social chameleon and didn’t seem to care much about Victoria’s dislike of her + she also did it to her family so no. 1 is out as well, which leaves us to no. 3— doing it for the comfort of others. In other words, because she *gave too much shit about other people all the time*.

What further supports the point of Rachel’s unhealthy altruism is what she says to Chloe at the junkyard— (“Maybe you should try giving a shit about other people for once.”) —which essentially tells us that she’s been doing exactly that to be able to lecture Chloe into following her own perspective. Another example would be what she tells Chloe during their therapy session: “—Because she was tired of having to give so many fucks all the time.”

One thing however that all *extreme* social chameleons share is the fact that they **loathe** themselves, or at the very least— dislike who they are. Why else would they go all the trouble of creating different personas for everyone to the point of forgetting their own, if they actually liked themselves?

One of the many things that Chloe and Rachel shared in common was their self-awareness in how undeniably shitty they can be, and that they hated who they were. Whereas Chloe embraced that whole part of her down her self destructive road, Rachel tried to cover hers up by playing other roles for people. Both girls played their sides to the ends of the spectrum; Chloe being selfish (causing problems for everyone in general unnecessarily) and Rachel being selfless (posing no problem for anyone in general even if there was a problem). They had no healthy balance and their unhealthy mindset ultimately drove them down a self destructive path.

Rachel knew she was selfish by nature, and that she’d take it out on Chloe in Ep 1. That’s why instead of talking about what was wrong, she chose to drown herself to alcohol and distance herself from Chloe. When Chloe confronts her about it, she either tells her that not everything revolves around her or that she should try giving a shit about people for once. In other words, ‘Other people have bigger problems than you so shut up and don’t make it worse for them.’ That was Rachel’s mentality and in that moment of poor lapse in judgment, she applied that logic to Chloe expecting her to think the way she does— to put others before yourself.

With Rachel, she always had her walls up and couldn’t help it even if she wanted to because it's practically second nature to have her guard up (“I never said how dearly I hold thee; my habit's been to keep my soul well-draped.“). It’s only in her lowest vulnerable moments is when she finally let her walls down because that’s when she’s too tired to keep them up.

Luckily (or unluckily) for Rachel, she recognized her problem. The only thing is that she didn’t know how to solve them. She confided to Chloe about feeling like she doesn’t exist, but then backtracked and clarified she was talking about her dad instead when Chloe got too close to home. Even IF she was genuinely talking about her father, it doesn’t erase the fact that she believed there was a possibility she was going to become like him— because she already saw the signs and made the comparison between them.

Remember her infamous outbursts in Awake? Unlike Chloe, she’s the type who keeps everything bottled in until it’s too much. Seeing her father kissing another woman was the breaking point and that’s why she reacted badly. And then when she kicked that bin, that was equivalent to Chloe smashing up the junkyard. And then that scream. That scream was the result of years bottling her pent up frustration, stress, anger at everyone including herself. Because she did everything to make her family proud, to please everyone to the point that she felt so empty and hollow, only to realize that it was all for nothing because her father was destroying her family. It wasn’t just a betrayal from her father but a betrayal to herself.

And then there’s Chloe Price. The girl who is the total opposite of her, yet who she can somehow still connect with at the same time. While she cared too much about what others thought, Chloe gave absolutely no fucks. That was her most attractive and admirable quality for Rachel. So what does she do? She latches onto Chloe to do exactly what she knows best. Become the ideal version of whoever wants her to be. In other words, the Rachel Amber who would finally give no fucks.

Rachel was the closest to her truest self when she was around Chloe. Just as she brought life and hope back into the girl’s life, so did Chloe for her. Chloe broke the walls she put up, and she’d seen her vulnerable enough times to let her mask slip. Chloe saw her at her lowest, ugliest self even when she wasn’t doing her usual thing of keeping everyone around her happy, yet she didn’t mock or leave her for it. For the first time, she was selfish, and *still* Chloe came back. That was a BIG reason to trust each other for the both of them. And that’s ultimately what bonded them for so long— the fact that they could be the shittiest people on earth, yet still see the best in each other even if they only see the worst in themselves.

Chloe was the first one to see through her social chameleon act because she slipped, and she continued to let her unmask who she was because that night Rachel just didn’t care enough to hold up the act any longer. This detail of Rachel’s chameleon act slipping *only* when something was wrong is a vital part in understanding the context around her. The first time was when she witnessed her whole world crash, the second was when she realized she was becoming like James, and the third was when she discovered what a monster James was. The fourth— when she asked that trucker for a drive out and didn’t bother to be her usual social chameleon self. We may never know what happened, but something wrong was going on in Rachel’s life that she didn’t want Chloe to be a part of— because why would she put the girl who stuck by her during her darkest hours through her bullshit again?

But at the end of the day, that wasn’t enough. Chloe wasn’t enough. And that’s understandable because a teenager truly can’t and shouldn’t have to be responsible for someone else’s happiness. No matter what choice Chloe makes at the end of BtS, the truth inevitably gets out and leads to Rachel having a fall out with her parents. When that happened, she lost a big pillar of her support system which only leaves her with Chloe who’s another emotionally damaged teen that’s on the road to self-destruction. Chloe can’t help others without helping herself first. But still, who else is there to make them feel a little less shitty except each other?

After her fall out with her parents and her father in particular, she seemed to have developed a taste for men twice her age: Frank Bowers (32) and Mark Jefferson (38). Whatever the reason her relationship with Frank was, she still wrote him those letters and seemed to have cared for him to some extent. Not only was he the source for drugs for her very much needed escape, but he was also the man who helped save her life in one of her most vulnerable moments, and a possible lead to find Sera. It’s not that surprising she’d seek comfort and safety in his arms when he already proved himself once. But clearly it wasn’t serious because she was fooling around with Jefferson at the same time (and Frank knew they wouldn’t have lasted anyway).

Now, Jefferson. The devs confirmed that Rachel was in love with Jefferson and honestly, that’s the least surprising thing ever considering how he basically had the female population of Blackwell head over heels for him. Even Rachel wasn’t immune to that psychopath’s charm. He was a well reputable photographer, had the connections to propel her modeling career, was attractive and mysterious and apparently a damaged soul. He was the perfect one way ticket out of Arcadia Bay. He was her photographer and she was his muse. He was basically the perfect solution to her problems.

The girl clearly had deep rooted daddy issues and was ashamed of it herself since she couldn’t even share her secret relationship to the one person she trusted the most despite sharing her other relationships with her (except Frank).

This is where the drugs and partying come in. They’re a way for her to escape the bullshit in her life for a few hours. Chloe was what made her feel real, but the drugs and partying was what made her forget— forget that her biological mother chose drugs and money over her (twice), forget that her own father was so despicable that he was planning to overdose Sera (this is what Chloe said in the silent dialogue), forget that her biological mother may just be dead somewhere because of James, forget that her own family was a lie, forget all the expectations placed upon her, forget that she herself was a lie, forget that she was so insecure that she had to seek warmth and safety in the arms of men twice her age, forget the guilt of knowing the girl who would die for her was still not enough, forget that at the end of the day all her problems is caused by her own mind and that her own fears had come to reality. And she hated herself for that.

But still, Rachel wasn’t a total junkie or outwardly self destructive to the point that she abandoned her studies like Chloe did. She didn’t let the drugs and partying dictate her life, hence the 4.0 GPA. After all, she still had a reputation to maintain. She was still the DA’s daughter, and getting into college was still a way to get out of Arcadia Bay.

BUT SEE, that was exactly Rachel’s problem. She could never choose which to be; The Problematic Junkie of a Disappointment (Sera), or the Golden Child (James & Rose) everyone expected her to be. She wanted to be as free as Chloe, but she also didn’t want to be a disappointment. She was tired of everything but couldn’t allow herself to fall because it was her nature to demand the best of herself for others as long as she could do it. But what happens when it’s your very own nature you’re going against? It gets really complicated. So instead of choosing, she doesn’t and becomes both. That was ultimately the worst decision she ever made.

Make no mistake, Rachel was an absolute idiot for being so indecisive. She could have easily solved her problems if she just finally gave no shit and did whatever she wanted to. But that’s the problem with people who’re labeled as perfect growing up. They eventually believe it and demand perfection of themselves. They care too much about everything because if they have the ability to be perfect, then why would you choose not to be? When someone is seen to be perfect, disappointment is 10x worse. Even Chloe was guilty of idealizing Rachel to be this perfect girl and was disappointed when she realized Rachel was just like everyone else who puts in hard work—(“Rachel's always made being an A student seem so easy. Almost sad to see all this... effort."), but it’s Chloe accepting Rachel for who she was despite no longer being the perfect girl she believed her to be that mattered.

With being seen as perfect usually comes with the assumption that your whole life is. Just as everyone invalidated her problems because she’s Little Miss Perfect with the perfect grades and the seemingly perfect family, so did she.

‘Cause hey, what does she have to be mad about when she’s a rich white girl who’s been given everything she’s ever wanted, right? (James basically said that). At that point the only problem Rachel had was that she was acting as the perfect daughter and perfect friend and perfect student at the expense of her own happiness, and then throw in the sudden slap in the face that it was all for nothing because her father was destroying the family she’d tried so hard to do proud.

But then again even if that wasn’t enough reason to spiral, it really would mess you up if your own father told you that your biological mother chose money and drugs over you, that everything you’ve done so far was all for a lie and worst of all, that your own father was going to kill your biological mother and there’s nothing you can do to change that. I mean really, I’m not a therapist or anything but I wouldn’t be surprised if Rachel’s mental health was suffering by that point.

I mean get this: she abused drugs and partied harder than anyone else and got wasted even though she knew they were wrong (Sera would’ve been a painful reminder), slept around with older men who undoubtedly took advantage and controlled her, continued to act like the perfect student and pretended to be someone she’s not just to keep everyone happy even though it was causing her to question her own existence— it’s almost as if she was punishing herself for continuing down that path.

Ultimately what Rachel was running away from was who she had become in Arcadia Bay. Once she’d be out, she wouldn’t be Little Miss Perfect anymore. She wouldn’t be the DA’s daughter. She wouldn’t have to keep lying. She would be able to start over. She would just be Rachel Amber, the nobody.

She cared too much in contrast to Chloe’s ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude, and that’s why she still managed to maintain her perfect image even when she was already so broken. Whereas Chloe’s first instinct was to blame others, Rachel’s was to blame herself. Both never had a healthy balance when it came to accepting responsibility and that’s what connected them so well together.

Call it selflessness or selfishness or stupidity or melodrama, but at the end of the day Rachel tried to keep everyone around her happy, just like Max tried to do with her powers except Rachel used lies to do it. She was greedy and selfish, no disagreement to that, but she also tried to be selfless for most of her life. She was her own enemy and she demonized herself for it. And that got her murdered, thrown and buried away like the used rag doll she treated herself to be.

She was Chloe’s angel and Chloe was hers, but she was also her own demon. And there’s only so much two broken angels can do against a demon.

**TL;DR:** Idealizing her to be the Perfect Girl was what made her want to run away. Her family was what broke her. Desperation for escape was what killed her. Her family just *really* suck.

Now, I’m not trying to justify Rachel’s actions but merely rationalizing her character. I acknowledge that she was capable of being a shitty person at times, but just as Chloe had her issues, so did she, and so I choose to see them both for what they tried to be. Good hearted people just trying to make their shitty life a little easier. At the end of the day, Rachel Amber was a deeply flawed, insecure and emotionally damaged girl that pretended like nothing was wrong to forget about her troubles for a little, and was just dealt a bad hand in life. Literally.

After writing all of this, I realize that holy shit this girl was fucking complicated and a single post doesn’t do her justice nor explains her character properly enough. I thought it’d be simple enough to word it out, but then again, someone who was basically a junkie yet still managed to maintain her perfect reputation amongst her peers and the faculty is bound to be this complexed. Also as you can see I got very lazy at the middle of the elaborations and repetition has probably made this unnecessarily long but thank you for reading and finishing this overall confusing and messy essay.