#but the horror of watching someone you love do this

[luvvsoft]

can u make fanfic based off of mats curl up & die🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

notes: omg yes! i know you love this song and matt, so here you go my love, hope i did him justice !!

ᰔᩚ kamisato ayato x reader, angst, reminiscing, past relationships, forbidden love, cheating but you were never exclusive, arranged marriage, ooc ayato & lowkey not canon timeline!!

word count: 1.8k

obv inspired by curl up & die by matt maltese!! such a good song, def recommend !

Haven’t written for Genshin in what feels like ages, but I finally finished this fic requested by my lovely friend <3 dropping all my other requests soon !!

There was a time you'd worship the ground Ayato walked on. Times that were simpler than now: times where you and Ayato were in love. That was long gone now, leaving only an empty space in your soul that wished for the love of your life back.

You met Ayato as a kid. Your parents were simple retainers of the Kamisato family. They were always working, yet they made time for you — their only child. They took you to work, hoping you would follow in their footsteps as it seemed as the best option for you. There you saw a young Ayato.

“Don’t stray too far from me lest you make a mess!” Your mother shouted after you.

You heard her, but your mind didn’t register what she said, instead focused on playing. That seemed to be the greatest mistake you’d ever make. Though, at the moment, it felt like the best.

“Look at how high my kite can go, mom!” You said while running and feeling the wind.

“It’s so fun, thank— ugh” You stopped abruptly, feeling another body collide with your own, and there after falling to the ground.

Your mom caught up with you, taking a moment to sigh at your antics, “I told you not to be careless, now you’ve gone and bumped into another. Apologize.”

Your mother heard no more from you— only silence. Looking below you, she saw Ayato.

You watched as her expression morphed into horror and she began spewing apologies while helping you up, “Lord Kamisato, please forgive us. We meant no harm.”

She forced you to bow and set your eyes on the ground, but you peeked— watching as Ayato stood and whispered out a soft “it’s alright” before leaving.

It’s safe to say you got scolded that night, but it was a core memory for you. You experienced the childhood a child should, not weighed down by the expectations of others or clan obligations, something you couldn’t say for Ayato. You thought of him regularly, wishing to get closer to someone your age in a world where all you had were grownups. You wish you could go back in time to change that.

You wish you never gathered the courage to go up to Ayato that fateful day. You wish you stayed where you were, 14 and weighed down by the exceeding expectations of your parents.

Yet another party, you dreaded these. They were only a waste of food and space, a place for rich people to do rich people things as your mom caught you saying multiple times and proceeded to scold you.

You had nothing to do during these times, but stand around and help anyone who asked, but you made sure your face guaranteed no one would. Even if you weren’t doing anything, you got hungry— your stomach begging you for some food you turned down earlier that day, too busy cleaning.

“Hm, I don’t think anyone will notice if a fruit or two go missing,” you whispered under your breath while heading towards the kitchen, determined to stuff your face with more than a fruit or two.

The kitchen wasn’t too far from where you were standing like a statue. You entered it and immediately, your nose was in scent heaven. Everything smelled and looked so good; your mouth could just water at the sight.

You wasted no time and grabbed a plate, grabbing anything you saw and digging in. As you were stuffing your face like a starved pig, someone walked in. That someone being Ayato, catching you eating when you should be working.

Yeah, you were getting fired.

“Who are you?” Ayato said calmly, watching as you quickly swallowed your food and tried to speak.

You were done for, scrambling to come up with an answer while trying to not get your parents in trouble, “Uh a guest?”That totally didn’t work, you were getting kicked out.

Ayato eyed you, trying to assert if you were lying, “Guests aren’t allowed back here, come.”

You followed him, albeit ready to say goodbye to this world. You were sure he knew you were lying, and if he told your parents, you would never see daylight till you were 75.

“Where are we going?” you managed to ask while walking behind him.

“As the son of the Kamisato clan, I feel it is my responsibility to show you around since you’re a guest.”

You couldn’t believe he believed your split second lie, “Huh? Really?” You came to a closed off part of the estate, only knowing it because it was the most tedious when it came to cleaning.

“No,” Ayato said while taking out his sword, “Start talking.”

“Well, that took a turn,” was all you managed to get out before being pinned to the wall and getting his sword pointed at your neck.

Ayato gave you a look, and you took that as your cue to start talking, “Okay okay, I’m just a maid, nothing more, nothing less.”

He seemed to lower his guard for a split second, but then pressed you for more, “Go on.”

“Uh? I just work here I guess?”

You could tell he grew annoyed of you, putting his sword away and getting ready to walk away.

“Hey, wait!” You shouted at him before he left.

He turned around, cocking his eyebrow at you.

“Walk around with me.”

“Why?” he asked, once again turning around.

“Take it as an apology for bumping into you when you were younger, plus there’s no one here that’s my age.”

He did end up walking with you, even if it wasn’t for long, you still enjoyed it. It felt nice to have someone to talk to that could understand you.

You kept talking after that, meeting in the gardens while butterflies fluttered in your stomach. As you grew older, your friendship evolved. Small chats grew into late night talks, walks together turned into you holding his hand, light, fleeting touches turned into you running into his arms.

That all changed when he turned 17. His 17th birthday came around, and your world came crashing down that same day.

You were walking with him in the gardens before he had to go perform his duties. “Hey, don’t work too late today. I still want to spend time with you, after all, it’s not everyday you turn 17.”

“I won’t, I promise. I’m all yours after the evening. I only have a meeting with my father.”

“Hmph, I hope so! Your father likes to hoard you all day sometimes,” You said while pouting at him.

Ayato chuckled, taking your hand and turning you towards him, “You’re so cute you know, so charming too even with your tantrums.”

You gazed into his eyes, falling deeper into the blue abyss the longer you looked. Instead of dignifying him with an answer, you hugged him, burying your face in his chest while he pet your hair.

As you were about to finally respond, you heard your mother’s voice, “Lord Kamisato, your father calls for you.”

You separated, then hugged him again, wishing him a good day after you knew you wouldn’t see him till later tonight.

Ayato left soon after. You turned towards your mother, only to get a disapproving look and a few words.

“Prepare for tonight, dear.”

Meanwhile, Ayato finally reached his father’s study, composing himself before stepping in. He wasn’t surprised to see another person in there besides his father, but what did surprise him was that it was someone unfamiliar.

“Ayato, I want you to meet someone.”

Meet someone he did. He met his future spouse, someone of the Yashiro Commission. Of course, this came with being one of the big three names of Inazuma.

You were inconsolable after he broke the news to you, choosing to stay in your room and ignoring him. It wasn’t his fault, you knew, but what could you do? What could he do?

You were content with being Ayato’s, even if hidden from his family. Ayato was planning to tell them; he said he would, but of course, that was no match when it came to his father’s words.

You should have never been greedy. Now, he was the only one who made you want to go home and cry. He made you feel alive, now even that was ripped from you.

There was a time it was only you and him, but the morning after his birthday, he could be seen with his soon to be spouse. To be wed after his 18th birthday.

Ayato knocked on your door a few days later, hoping this would be the day you answered. Of course, he was wrong once again, you never did open. The only person you let in was your father, not even your mother.

He wished you opened, maybe he could have told you how much he still loved you and how hard he was fighting his father to be with you. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like he was losing the love of his life.

Maybe if he knew you saw them kissing, he would know why you never opened.

Soon enough though, trying to talk to you would become the least of his worries, as his parents had died. He was forced to mature and look after the devastated clan, even as his heart called out to you, pleading you to hold him in your comforting embrace while whispering consolations in his ear.

You blended into the background after or maybe you left. But by the time Ayato got to you, he had lost you.

He couldn’t find you anymore, and asking your parents drove him nowhere. Your mother never approved from the start, so she saw it as a good thing that you two had broken up, but your father, he knew where you were. He just refused to tell Ayato.

He had lost you, and now by his father’s dying wishes, he had to marry another that he didn’t love.

The wedding between them was extravagant, nothing falling short of the Kamisato title. Many gathered, watching as the clan leader too got married.

You, on the other hand, got notice of the wedding through your father’s letters. Even if it was a week late, it still managed to break your heart — tearing at the pieces that were holding on by a threat.

He had sent photos by your request, and you could tell they were in love, deeply. Maybe deeper than the love you shared. You were happy for him; he deserved better than a simple maid from a simple family.

You had officially lost Ayato. He was never yours to begin with, never yours to keep, only yours to love.

There was a time you’d kill for Ayato. Now, recouting those painful memories made you want to curl up and die.

[mabelstone]

Why would you be loved?

hozier x f!reader

part two of lullabies <3 | part one | masterlist

cw: teeeeeny bit of violence at very beginning ... also 18+ ok if u are unfamiliar with me... this is my thing. this character is FICTIONAL before u attack me for sexualising THE hozier

word count: 3.2k

*i've decided i'd like this to be a slow burn... but don't worry! i will add things to keep u interested (or attempt to)

The sticky slap of their skin echoed through the room, my heart thudding loud enough in my ears to deafen the noise.

I lurched forward, grabbing the leggy blonde from the bar by her hair, yanking her off of Joe and slamming her naked body into the wall. She gasped loudly, falling onto the ground where she watched on in horror. I grabbed the nearest object I could reach - his bedside lamp - smashing the ceramic over his head, screaming in his face about how he's fucked this up for good.

Except that's not what happened.

I opened the door to the same scenario, except I didn't lose my temper and tear the two of them to shreds. My heart still pounded harder than ever, but I simply backed out into the hall without a sound. My eyes must've been something of a Tim Burton character as I walked back outside, leaving the front door wide open. I didn't even grab anything as my handbag was still over my shoulder. I dug around for my phone, finding nothing but an old gum packet, some lipgloss, and some loose change.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, running my hands through my hair. I had my phone in the bar. Did I leave it in Andrew's car? Fuck, did I leave it at the bar? I began to panic, frantically walking down the street. As if I could walk all the way back! It was at least 15 kilometres from my place. I didn't care though, continuing to pace in the cold in clothing more suited to warmer weather. I kept replaying what I saw over and over in my head. I'd usually call my mum, but...

The way his hands were digging into her skin, the way she kept repeating how good he was making her feel. I felt sick to my stomach, and the alcohol wasn't helping. I'm not sure they even saw me, but once he finished (judging by the sounds he was making, wouldn't be too long) he'd see the doors open and connect the dots.

I turned my head as I heard someone whistle from across the street, inexplicably grateful to see Andy's car. "What're you doin'?"

"Do you have my phone?" My voice sounded foreign to me, robotic and desperate at the same time. I crossed the street, heading straight for the passenger side.

"Your lifeline is right here, hence why I am," he laughed, holding my phone out to me. I just stood at the door expressionless, and he probably thought my drinks had been spiked or I'd gone mad. "You... alright?"

"Joe is cheating on me," robotically sounding again. Though saying the words out loud made it suddenly real. Joe is cheating on me.

"What?" His eyebrows shot up, dipping his head to see my face better. "What? When?"

"Like, literally right now," I laughed. I began to laugh hysterically, having to rest my hands on the top of his car to steady myself. I laughed so hard, tears began to stream down my face and my stomach hurt.

The next thing I knew, that familiar warm hand was on my back, followed by a soft, "c'mere". I turned to face Andrew, immediately bursting into tears. Real tears this time. He pulled me in close to his chest, one arm easily wrapped around my shoulders, the other cradling the back of my head. I sobbed into his shirt, likely accidentally digging my nails into his back as I clung to him. If I did, he didn't comment on it. He held me tight, rubbing soft circles into my spine with his palm. I don't know how long we stood there for, but when I pulled away, his shirt was soaked and covered in mascara.

"I'm so sorry," I gave a half hearted laugh, gesturing to the stained cotton. "I will wash it for you, I'm good at getting stains out."

"Don't be ridiculous," he smiled that poor you smile he always did, but this time it felt like a comfort as he shook his head. "You can come back to mine and shower. Then we can figure this out."

"No, no, I don't want to put you out." I protested, wiping under my eyes, undoubtedly smudging the black into my hairline. I sniffled, wiping my snotty nose onto the sleeve of my cardigan. If Joe was right about Andy being infatuated with me, I definitely just destroyed that in one simple, snotty gesture.

"I insist," he smiled, leaning against the side of the car. I was exhausted, and a nice shower in a house that didn't reek of infidelity sounded too good to reject. I nodded and climbed into the passenger seat for the second time tonight, switching on my phone to see no new messages. Maybe he didn't see me after all.

I slipped into an oversized hoodie of Andrew’s after my shower, steam on the mirror and condensation on every surface from the amount of time I was in there. I felt guilty using his water, but time slipped away from me by the time I realised. He had real shampoo and conditioner, not that pathetic 3 in 1 bullshit Joe used. I stole a hair tie and hid my messy curls in a bun. I honestly looked like a mess, but it was definitely an improvement from before. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Most of the alcohol had fleeted my system, so now I was just exhausted and forced to bask in the reality of the situation.

I walked into his living room where he was sat, one arm slung over the back of the couch while the other flicked through Netflix. It was strange to see him in his space, so comfortable and… domestic. No, we’re not doing this. Yet.

I looked down and saw a black border collie mix strewn across his lap. “Oh my goodness!” I swooned as I headed straight for the dog. Andy mustn’t have heard me, jumping slightly and cursing under his breath. “How rude of me. Who’s this little angel?”

“The breaking of my heart,” he began, hand over his chest as he stared lovingly down at his dog. “Elwood.”

“Elwood? Really?” I quirked an eyebrow, looking up to Elwood’s owner.

“It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful boy, I don’t understand the issue?”

I rolled my eyes, going back to snuggling the dog, kissing his face all over. “He is beautiful. Yes you are!” Elwood wagged his tail excitedly, slobbering happily all over my hands.

Andrew chuckled down at us, averting his eyes back to the TV, a soft smile lingering on his lips.

“Thanks for letting me use your shower, Andy,” I smiled, sitting beside him on the lounge, feeling like the human embodiment of the calm after a storm.

“Oh, that’s no problem at all," he grinned earnestly, playing the pilot of Breaking Bad softly in the background. He lulled his head to the side, eyes glistening in the soft golden lighting of the lamp in the corner of the room. "Want a tea?"

"Please," I nodded, Elwood now snuggled into my lap. The moment he left the room, I was left with the crushing reality of what'd just happened. The horrible sound that plagued my phonic memory, as if it were played through headphones at a deafening volume. I tried to focus on the TV, Breaking Bad had always been my favourite. It was no use, the gut wrenching ache within me only multiplied by the minute, tears welling in my eyes, daring to fall.

"I wasn't sure how you take it so I bought everything with me," he placed two tea cups onto his coffee table, along with a carton of milk and a canister of sugar.

"So adorable, you remind me of my gran," I teased, desperately trying to blink away any trace of sadness before he had a chance to see. I didn't need to burden him with any more tears.

"You know, I've been called far worse," he shrugged, taking his tea black, sitting beside me on the couch. "So I'll take it."

I hummed in response, mixing in my milk and sugar.

"So... maybe a redundant question, but, how're you feeling?"

"Well," I chuckled bitterly, sipping from my tea. "Probably feeling as you'd expect. Actually, that's a lie. I don't know how I feel honestly."

His eyes studied my features, and I deliberately avoided his gaze. His dog snored away in my lap, the TV just loud enough that any amount of silence couldn't be awkward.

"Has... anything like this happened to you?" I asked, despite the voice in my head telling me not to.

"Ehm, yeah. Not too long ago, actually," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, his chocolate curls flicking up at the ends, framing his face beautifully in the light. "We were together for three years. She was sleeping around with a friend of mine. She broke it off with me when she decided she'd rather be with him."

"Her loss," I mirrored that same pitiful look he always gave me, the slight drop in his expression making me feel guilty for even asking. "You make a mean cup of tea."

"If only she could appreciate the art of English Breakfast," he sighed, a sad smile lingering on his lips despite the sarcasm in his tone.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Andy," I sighed, tempted to reach out for him but deciding against it in fear of breaching some unspoken boundary. "I'll get out of your hair soon."

"You can stay- only if you'd like," he offered awkwardly, eyes flickering to mine as he fiddled with the handle of his cup. "There's a spare bedroom."

"No, no. You've been so kind tonight, I don't want to push it," I shook my head, misjudging the height of the coffee table, my cup hitting it with a sharp clank. Elwood startled, throwing his head back to look at me. "Sorry, buddy."

"You're not pushing anything," he laughed, shaking his head now. "It's late. The decision's all yours. But I must say, that bed might be nicer than my own."

"Quite persuasive, aren't you?" I grinned, throwing my head back against the couch, weighing up my options. Well, I can't go home. "Okay. I'll stay... if you're sure that's okay?"

"Well, because you're twisting my arm..." He joked, that bright, happy smile making its glorious return. "I'll get you a spare toothbrush and a bottle of water. You've had a big night."

"Yeah," I breathed, rubbing at my burning, no doubt bloodshot, eyes. "I am exhausted."

"Come, I'll show you to your room," he got up from the couch, extending his hand to me. I took it in mine, warm and calloused; so large, his fingers reached my wrist as he helped me from the couch. I followed behind him, the soft padding of our feet up the stairs slowly becoming the only sound audible. Elwood trailing close behind, of course.

He showed me to the guest room, nothing special, but somehow a massive comfort. A navy blue, fluffy duvet with a bedside table, a simple lamp and a copy of Inferno by Dante Alighieri atop it.

"Oh, I'll grab that toothbrush," he waved his hand as if he were finally able to dismiss the thought. I chuckled at the way he hurried out of the room, the exhaustion rippling through my body as I sat on the edge of the bed. He was right. This might be the comfiest bed I've ever had the pleasure of sitting on. I zoned out, staring at the carpet as I finally sobered up. These past few weeks had been fucked, and I knew they'd only get worse. My phone started buzzing rapidly as Andy came back into the room, a bottle of water, a toothbrush still in the packaging, and a sheet of panadol in his hands. He silently placed them onto the bedside table, both of us just watching my phone ring. It was Joe.

Against my better judgement, I picked up on the last ring, raising the phone to my ear.

"Where are you?" His voice was hoarse, unsuspecting. Idiot.

"Doesn't matter," I sighed, nauseated at the sound of his voice.

"Well, it does. I've been worried sick about you, you're meant to be home now. How would I know you hadn't been kidnapped or gone home with some creep?"

"That is ironic," I laughed, though there was no humour in my tone.

"The fuck are you on about? Get home right now." He was getting angrier by the second. Andrew could hear every word, his brows knitted together in disgust as he listened on.

"I did come home. You were a bit busy," I swallowed harshly, my voice failing me, beginning to shake.

There was silence on his end for a good thirty seconds, all air in Andrew's small guest bedroom thinning at once. "...Babe. We will get through this."

"I don't think so."

"Don't say shit like that. I love you, Y/N. We'll get through this stronger than ever. Just come home, baby. I'll make it up to you," he was speaking fast, panicked almost.

"I need some space," I replied weakly, eyes filling with tears again.

"No. I love you. Come home. Please, babe, pl-"

I hung up on him before he got the chance to manipulate me straight back into his arms, Andy watching me with a frown. Suddenly, it was all too real, and I was breaking down in front of him for the second time tonight.

He didn't say anything. I felt the bed dip beside me, his warm arm wrapping around my shoulder, pulling me in close. We stayed like that for a while - my head leaned against his shoulder as I cried, his head atop mine - until I felt like there was no water left in my body. I heaved a massive sigh, sitting up straight again.

"Oh, Andy, I'm so s-"

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he hushed me, sincerity written all over his face, kind emerald eyes revealing that he wasn't doing anything for secondary gain; he was just a beautiful soul. "Get some rest."

"Okay," I agreed, pulling back the covers with his help. I wanted him to stay, I didn't want to be alone. I wished he could've just laid with me, no meaning attached, but just to have the warmth of another to occupy the cold, empty bed. Instead I thanked him again, pulling the covers up to my chin.

"You know where my room is. I'll be there if you need anything," he smiled earnestly, flicking off the light before walking out.

Goodnight, Andy, I almost said, but sleep washed over me quicker than I could form the words.

I woke early, bathed in velvety caramel coloured sunlight, slowly beginning to register where I was. I made my way down to corridor to Andy's room, his bedroom door barely ajar. I put my ear to the door, not wanting to wake him if he were still sleeping. I heard soft pants escaping his lips, letting my curiosity get the best of me.

I gently pushed the door open, revealing the glow of his milky skin in the same light. His beautiful halo of curls sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead, his face contorted in pleasure and concentration as he worked himself beneath the covers. I couldn't suppress the noise of surprise that escaped my lips as he whimpered my name.

"Fuck-" He gasped, pulling his hand from under the cover. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Keep going," I encouraged, slowly making my way to him. Confusion plastered all over his face, he obliged, slipping his hand back under the cover. I sat before him, our eyes locked on one another as he picked up the pace. "Gooood, that's it."

His brows furrowed as he continued to worked himself, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with each swallow. I slipped into bed beside him, my hand replacing his. His breathing pattern grew irregular, every vowel of my name dripping off his tongue, igniting a fire deep in my core. I began placing wet kisses along jawline, making my way down to his neck, then his chest, then-

And then I actually woke up, heart beating at a million miles an hour. What. The. Fuck. Shame immediately coursed through my veins, burying my face into my pillow as I replayed the dream over and over until it was committed to memory. Am I an awful person?

I could vaguely hear Andrew singing along to Let's Fall In Love by Ella Fitzgerald in the kitchen, cautiously making my way down the stairs. I was disgusted in myself for even thinking of him in that way, let alone loving every shame filled second of it.

"Mornin'," I made myself known, sliding onto one of the stools at his breakfast bar.

"Good morning," he chirped, sliding a cup of coffee toward me. He had his glasses on this morning, his hair pulled back into a bun. "How're you feelin'?"

"Good," I lied through my teeth, concealing it with an enthusiastic nod. "Better, yeah." I just gave you a handjob in my dream and now I want you to pin me to the couch and make love to me all day. Oh, and I'm supposed to be grieving a near 6 year relationship, but now I'm just really fucking confused. "How are you?"

"Hungry. And I hope you are too," he grinned, revealing a big stack of pancakes he'd just cooked for us, as well as a bowl of chopped strawberries.

"I am, that looks lovely," another lie. I had no appetite. But I also couldn't say no to a man so sickly sweet. He sat beside me, soft jazz serenading us from his record player.

"What've you got on today?" He queried, plopping a pancake onto each of our plates.

"Might visit my ma, update her on... everything, I guess. Then I've gotta get my car. Maybe some clothes. Fuck, I don't even know what to do," I laughed awkwardly, taking a sip of my coffee. "You performing tonight?"

"Hoping to," he nodded, taking a bite of a strawberry. "You know you're more than welcome to spend the night here again."

"I couldn't possibly burden you for another night," I deflected, mirroring his actions and popping a strawberry into my mouth.

"You actually don't have to fight me each time, you cay just say no," he chuckled, shaking his head at me.

"I love spending time with you," I confessed, resting my hand on his arm, then retracting it just as fast. "I just don't want you to think I'm using you."

"Nonsense," he waved me off, scoffing. "It's nice to have some company. Plus, Elwood has taken a strong liking to you."

"The feeling is mutual," I laughed, breaking off a piece of my pancake for the dog happily wagging his tail by my feet. "I'm sure you have lady friends come and visit."

"Only ones who ruin their tea with milk and barely touch their pancakes," he remarked with a wide grin. I felt my cheeks turn hot at his stupid comment, finally digging in to my breakfast.

Maybe things weren't going to be so bad after all.

i don't love this... but this desperately needed an update. feel free to send requests of some stuff you'd like in the next chapter xx

[chutkiandchotte]

On gold-diggers

So if you watch any amount of Indian tv at all, then you are familiar with a common belief in the world of rich people of ITV (and IRL as well of course, this is how audiences think too), that poor women are always on the make, looking to trap rich husbands for a better life, the double edged sword of the term "gold-digger". I uhhhh rambled a bit on this topic.

The idea of the "gold-digger" is so ingrained that we all instantly understand the negative power of it. We may object with horror and anger when the asshole hero, or his backwards family levy this charge against our beloved female lead; but we, the very same audience won't hesitate to turn around and levy the very same charge against the "vamp" character; the girl in tight clothes who drinks alcohol and *gasp* has no sanskaars - like clearly, SHE is in it for the money, otherwise why would she put up with such a toxic boyfriend?

(like of course it cannot be that the vampy girl is sticking around for the same reason that WE the audience are falling for this toxic male lead despite knowing how much he sucks - it cannot be that she finds him hot & values his good qualities & as for the bad qualities, he's just a traumatized lil baby, i can fix him! - no, that can't be it, because then it feels uncomfortably close to relating to the vamp, and that cannot happen, of course!)

no, she, the vamp, only loves his good looks and his money and his hotness, she doesn't love his "true" self at all, she's a GOLD DIGGER!!! we revel in the power of the gold-digger charge, and how it humiliates her.

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what inspired this rant? i had an intense argument with someone on another platform, about Lavanya's character (from IPKKND). this person insisted that Lavanya was a gold-digger who never loved Arnav. But La is rich, I argued. So what, she said. Even if she is rich, she isn't as rich as Arnav. Arnav is 10000 crore guy, Lavanya is just 1000 crore girl. A gold-digger. She just wanted him because he was a "catch" while Khushi wants him for his true inner self. But La put up with his family for his sake, I argued. She did so much to please him. Well, this person said. That's the proof. Lavanya tolerated all of Arnav's and his family's BS without objection, hence, she MUST be a gold-digger. didn't I know? rich men are always targets of "girls like Lavanya". of gold-diggers. she kept using that word over and over again for Lavanya, probably because by then she had realized how much it was pissing me off. (what can I say? i can definitely be an easy target for trolling at times).

internalized misogyny often goes like - most women are sluts/stupid/useless/greedy schemers/<insert other sexist tropes>, but I - I will prove myself worthy of men's affections by being not <sexist trope>, then maybe I won't suffer the negative consequences those other women do!

and yes, I speak from personal experience. what woman HASN'T harboured deeply toxic thoughts borne out of internalized misogyny at least once in her life? we live in society, how do we escape it's influences?

and caught in these confusions, when we read stories, we project.

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there are, of course, real life cases where there are women who (to quote Amy March) look upon marriage as an economic proposition and make matches based on financial gains. the horror!

of course, that its both men and women, who make decisions about marriage/love based on money, doesn't cross often our minds when we think about gold-diggers. that in desi society at least, majority of marriages ARE economic propositions involving heavy financial transactions, is not at all the same topic. because those transactions are done by the elders; by the men in power, and their enablers. those are transactions that keep society running in its status quo. the horror! the gold-digging horror of it comes in, when its a woman by her own volition seeking to better her financial status as easily as she possibly can, without making any sacrifice or compromise! how dare she? how dare! doesn't she know the tax of living for a woman is sacrifice. you can't pass go without it.

and the OTHER much much larger parts of reality definitely don't exist while people are busy labelling women as gold-diggers. the parts where the leading cause of sudden death for women is murder at the hands of an intimate partner, where 3 out of 10 women have been abused by a partner (and this is just reported stats - who knows what the real figure is). And what about the reality where one of the key aspects of an abusive relationship is financial abuse & power imbalance due to the victim having no resources.

in India, especially, the sad, sorry, disturbing TRUTH is, justice is a monetary transaction. the richer you are, the more you can get away, especially in the matter of women, since as a society we are ever-ready to disbelieve women.

this is also why in this reality we live in, many girls families themselves INSIST on paying dowry - on sending more and more gifts even after marriage - because you know what they're buying? no, not merely a "respectable" husband for their daughter. what they are paying for is the safety, respect, and dignity of their daughter in her married family and their own "standing" in society. its a grand and most successful blackmail scheme; because everybody knows, the girl who brings nothing to her husband's house, is fair game for every other type of exploitation. she's got to pay her dues somehow.

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so. when a poor girl marries a rich guy, it might seem like a fairytale on the outside. it might seem like, its every poor girl's dream. but in REALITY, what it is, is the girl signing up for a statistically much higher risk of being abused, raped, and murdered. not a dream so much as a nightmare.

yet, its always the woman's character that is on trial - SHE has to prove that she isn't a greedy schemer out for his money but a pure hearted girl genuinely in love - while all HE has to do, is stand there and be hot and rich; he never has to prove that he won't abuse her. heck, he will provide categorical proof of being a future abuser, and its absolutely no stumble in a romance path. the power of the word gold-digger is always hanging on her head; the hero as well as the audience, her lover and society, ever eagerly searching to judge her for the same; a little slip, and she could be in vamp territory!

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I tend to be...passionate...about my fictional people opinions. I have definitely heard "its just a story" many times in my life. But I disagree.

These conversations we have about fictional characters are reflections of our realities. And these are Indian daily soaps, not grimdark crazy premise sci-fic/fantasy HBO shows. The same court in which we judge fictional characters, also becomes a court in which we judge real people around us. This is the power of stories, the danger of them - they can reiterate the worst that is in us, reinforce our worst selves; or they can open us up to new perspectives and expand our empathy.

i mean we have seen SO MANY iterations of the angry anti-hero young man, embodying every trope of toxic masculinity, and then turning out to be a perfect husband at the end. character development and taming the beast. alls well that ends well. men can be fixed. sometimes love looks like hate. etc.

i long for a story where we see a heroine who IS a "gold digger"; who is practical, realistic, and smart, who has a career and ambitions but maybe has tasted too much of poverty to ever choose it for herself if given an option. who chooses and chases a guy because the thing that matters to her is financial security and an easy life. why does this girl always have to be the villain? if abusers can reform, why not gold-diggers? why can't SHE be hit with a character development stick, in the same general standard of dignity as a corresponding male lead, and learn some lessons and fall in love and become the best version of herself? and if she does get to do all that, why does she HAVE to be humiliated in some evil way, and/or die at the end, why can't she live, learn and have a happily ever after?

why, in fact, do we reserve so much passionate vitriol for the fictional female offenders - the vamps and the career girls and the ex girlfriends - the ones driven by jealousies and insecurities - while keeping infinite reserves of forgiveness for their male equivalents?

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No - Lavanya has to be a gold-digger, a hopeless harlot, for Khushi to be a perfect wife, for Arnav to be absolved of his sins against Lavanya as well as Khushi, for the audience to be in no danger of relating to a woman as evil and out of bounds as Lavanya, for us all to maintain our collective delusions that rich men are victims of those women, as opposed to being their predators.

EVEN in a show like IPKKND which went out of the way to have a different, ground-breaking narrative...there's this reading of the text. There's the cognitive dissonance to judge/hate Lavanya for certain traits while finding Arnav sexy for those same ones.

I don't think it is at all surprising that Indian tv can never seem to get over its madonna/whore complex - because honestly, we the audience, seem to enjoy it too much!

[justalittlebluetiefling]

The real tragedy here is that not only is the world ending for these people, but they’re watching their friendships with each other fall apart as well.

[babygirlgiles]

Why does no one else see my vision for post-war Effie Trinket. Like that woman does NOT become a civil servant, she does not join the ranks of government service. She is 100% New Panem’s first influencer. She was already having her It Girl moment as the escort of District Twelve’s victors beforehand and now there’s public perception that she was this Hunger Games insider playing the long con to dismantle the system from within and paid this great sacrifice for it by being tortured by Snow’s cadre for her efforts. Which is not true at all because she had No Clue what was going on but Plutarch needs new programming to fill all the hours that used to be taken up by Hunger Games related media so he decides to capitalize on Effie having Her Moment. And with people being allowed to travel between districts for the first time in over a generation and newfound freedom of information, there would a nationwide fascination how other people live. Effie ends up with her own lifestyle/travel series where she visits different regions of Panem and even exotic far away places such as “England”. She’s posting beach selfies on Panemstigram to promote her upcoming episode on lobster fishing off District Thirteen’s revitalized coastline.

She even gets her own daytime talk show at one point. She tries (and fails) for years to get Peeta on the show as a guest. Katniss has never watched a single episode.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

obligatory rock murder mention

[oatbugs]

procrastination is starting to have its consequences finally

[dittydipity]

looking at the lyrics of color your night and seeing the ryomina of it all..............

it's about someone experiencing the things you already know for the first time. it's about having your perspective of the things in your life become dulled and indifferent through familiarity but get brightened by seeing someone else's eyes sparkling at the sight of the same things. it's about seeing the joys of the small things again through the eyes of another.

it's about having your life colored in by learning to live!!!!!

[kurokrisps]

Wait people actually think Jack's a good person I thought that was just a joke?

[bylertruther]

the usage of tentacles in stranger things is so graphic lol like 🤨 i know what u are, bro(s)......

[drinkyourfuckingmilk]

fave horror movies of this decade?

I think that movies like You're Next, The Black Phone, A Quiet Place, The Lighthouse, and Get Out were the most fun horror movies (with genuinely disturbing moments) but the horror movies that scared the shit out of me the most were definitely Hereditary and The Witch. And special mention to Nope for making me deeply uncomfortable and panic-sweating over that close-quarters shot of people being eaten and digested by the creature.

[burinazar]

wondering how many more people in my circles i've accumulated enough Recommending-Things-To Credit to throw the hole show at them because i am dying for more sickos to show my things to

that 'write for an audience of thirty sickos' tweet is like aspirational to me because if i had that many (especially if a couple were like, Concrit-giving Sickos) i'd be really happy and not even slightly wish for a bigger audience. but it seems i can at most pull three-to-four sickos at a time and the prior sickos orbit away before new sickos come. Where Are My Thirty Sickos

[maddy-ferguson]

some of the posts about the duffers being bad writers are starting to sound like people just...not vibing with the plot and not about criticizing the writing😭 like just because something fucked up is happening doesn't mean it's fucked up that they wrote it

[watchmakermori]

I think his dark materials season 3 has been generally underwhelming so far but fuck me the scene where lyra leaves pan on the shore absolutely wrecked me

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

love corrupted children's characters <3

[ciaoteamo]

Milk and Water (Pt. I)

pairings: doppelgänger!Milkman x fem!Reader

summary: One of the newest residents’ very first doppelgänger comes in, trying to sway you into to letting them in. Will you..?

pt.II

art credit (twt: loafuu_chii)

warning: 18+ content

“…what’s the story behind your um… ears(?)” You ask the doppelgänger before you. It was a clone of one of your favorite neighbors actually, her name was Maria.

A woman around your age that you became really close friends with over the few months of you working here.

“@&! !$?&” The doppelgänger let out a series of sounds.

“right, so give me one second” You press the bright red button next to the window and the steel blinds shut with a blaring alarm sound.

You call D.D.D. and they clean up their mess per usual. You once again, you were just thankful you didn’t have to work on that side of the glass.

You check your wrist watch, and happily sigh at the fact that you only had one more hour left to work.

“ mmm, someone’s eager to go home i see” A familiar voice speaks up.

“oh, Mr. Francis” You give the man a polite grin. He gave you a sly one in return. You knew it wasn’t him off the bat. Francis was usually shy towards you, making you want to tease him into blushing whenever you saw him.

Well, you suppose you could kill two birds with one stone. Flirt with the doppelgänger of your crush, and have some entertainment.

“how are you pretty girl” He asks, sliding an I.D. and sheet through the slot.

You examine the documents and identification and beam a smile up at him.

“the date on the I.D. is a little expired hun” You declare. He lets out a small chuckle and leans a little toward the glass.

“mmm, been busy with the milk business, love. must’ve slipped my mind to renew it” He replied. His eyes were low but he still held his sly grin. You leaned back in your chair, with a bored look on your face.

“you’re not like my Francis” You huff and tilt your head with a disappointed look.

His grin faltered and he stepped closer. His breathing had quickened a bit and he took off his hat. “who knows, i could be better” He suggests.

Now that his confidence had depleted a little, you were growing bored of him. You checked the time again and you had 45 minutes left.

“well i’ve gotta get you moving now. it was nice to see such a handsome face though, so thank you” You beam and reach for the button

“you don’t want to do this, trust me” He states with a warning tone. This wasn’t unusual, getting threats after realizing they’re doppelgängers, but being that this one was this aware… they must be evolving.

“and why would i trust you?” You ask out of curiosity.

“i mean look at me” He smirks, one arm leaned against the top of the window. His irises turned from their chocolate brown and into an empty pure white.

“hm” You nod and press the button.

“(Y/N)!” He roared with what you assume was his fist banging the glass.

You call D.D.D. and wait for them to clean their mess, again.

The steel blind begins to lift and you sit back in your seat, checking your watch again but noticed the new pink lighting that shone in.

You furrow your eyebrows and look up in horror as you see blood streaks on the window in thick, and dripping amounts. You jump out of your chair and put your back against the wall.

About 5 D.D.D. workers were piled up, bloody and battered in the corner of the room, and there the doppelgänger was.

Staring at you.

His eyes were low, his shirt was torn, revealing his pecs and the start of his abdomen. He was panting with his (surprisingly still) neat hair and an almost psychotic expression.

“oh no…” He starts with a laugh, still breathing heavily.

“what did you do..?” You cover your mouth with your hand.

“it’s what you did. you got me all riled up.”

He looks down for a brief moment and you swear you hear a zip. He holds his tie and the end of his tattered shirt in his mouth and looks up at you with knitted eyebrows.

His breath fogging up the window as he asks you. Looking like a poor starving puppy. “will you let me in now…? I need your help…” He slightly groaned.

“…what. the. fuck.”