#what surprised me was they had the gall to reblog my post

[cheese-water]

My favorite thing about a post of mine vaguely mcyt related getting popular is when a certain group of fans, who have absolutely no shame in showing who they choose to support, likes and reblogs, and I have absolutely no shame in blocking them on sight 👍

It’s like a game of among us but instead of imposters being good at the game, they support groomers.

[a-rose-for-gold]

“The Crocodile”

Okay. I was typing a reblog and it somehow became a rant/spiel, so I’m making a whole post about it.

“The Crocodile” Episode? I know a this isn’t exactly an unpopular opinion, but I’mma say it anyway.

Hook and Milah. Had. It. COMING.

Granted - Hook became cool eventually. But I hated him for a LOT of the series on the grounds of his first impression alone.

Like it’s one thing to run off with a man’s wife. Rumple and Milah weren’t in love and the marriage wasn’t a good one. She put zero effort into their family and taking her off their hands may arguably have been better for everyone.

Seriously. Fuck Milah.

Spinner Rumple tried so hard to be a good husband and father, or at least to make their family work in a loveless marriage, and he deserved better.

But in spite of that, what Hook did to him on the ship crossed so many lines and he totally deserved to get owned for it.

Let’s review:

Concerned husband boards a pirate ship to beg for his wife back, thinking she’s been abducted. Right off the bat: That right there took courage. It always pisses me off when OUAT characters call Spinner Rumple a coward, because he really wasn’t. The world put him through it and he was doing his damn best. Just showing up to the ship of bloodthirsty pirates, knowing that literally all he could do was beg and hope for the best, took guts.

Back to Hook. So this poor guy shows up to ask for his wife back unharmed. And shy of actually hurting Rumple, Hook decides to do quite possibly the cruelest thing he could have done:

Keep letting the spinner think that his wife had been taken against her will and that she was being raped by the whole crew.

If Milah was in on the lie, then in my opinion SHE was the cowardly one here. Not Rumple. You want to abandon your disabled husband and son to run off and live the high life with a pirate? Own your shit.

But no. Instead they pushed the blame onto Rumple and gaslit this poor man into thinking it was somehow his fault.

Yeah - Rumple didn’t pick up the sword when Hook challenged him to a duel over Milah. But let’s think about that for a sec shall we?

We have Rumplestiltskin: An older wool spinner with a disability. Who can’t walk all that well WITH his walking stick - much less without it, on a boat, and during a fight with a sword. Which he’s barely held in his life unless you count the crash-course he got as fodder- I mean a new recruit, when he was drafted into the Ogres War.

Versus Captain Jones: A younger, taller, stronger pirate. An experienced swordsman, comfortable on a ship, and with two good legs. AND with a loyal crew of OTHER strapping pirates who would probably kill Rumple even if by some miracle he DID take Hook by surprise or something.

So really, Rumple had two options here.

Option A: Refuse to fight the bloodthirsty pirate, leave with your life but without your wife, and return home to your now motherless son.

Option B: Fight the bloodthirsty pirate, probably die or at least get badly injured (which could be death within a few days-weeks anyway given his financial situation and living conditions), the pirate takes your wife anyway, and your son is left an orphan who may or may not ever know what happened to you.

So there was no realistic scenario here where he fights off the pirates like a dashing hero and carries his wife home.

What else was he supposed to do?!

Rumplestiltskin is extremely smart. He always was. He knows when to pick his battles and he would have known all of that at a glance.

Refusing to fight wasn’t cowardice. It was common sense.

And yet Hook, this mothafucka, who must have realized all of this too and put Rumple in this situation in the first place, had the gall to act disgusted about it when Rumple refused to “fight like a man.” And then gaslit him into thinking that he was a coward and a fool for making what was obviously the more rational decision.

Now Hook is a pirate. I never would have expected much from him. But that’s no excuse. What he did was fucked. And karma is a bitch.

Stupid Game = Stupid Prize

And yes I know this is a pretty commonly held opinion so it shouldn’t be new to anyone but I rewatched that episode recently and needed to get this off my chest. 😤

[arcadialedger]

Please note that I am most likely leaving this platform. I am done being abused. But first? We need to have a discussion. A discussion about hate and bullying in fandom.

All online-- I encourage you to read my story below. Reblog and spread awareness. The Dragon Prince fandom especially -- I implore you read my words, every single one of them. The short of it is that I am done. 

This all began with losing and being blocked by a friend because I shared something they disagreed with. I don’t care what you feel about my initial reaction to this (which I’ll explain below) -- I’ve apologized for not handling the situation correctly. But I will not be shamed for speaking my mind and standing up for myself.

Because no human being deserves to go through what I have endured since last summer.

Following the “callout” post made about me by one of, if not the largest blogs in this fandom, I received hundreds of threats, harassment messages, and death threats. Messages and posts telling me to kill myself were also prominent, on a multiple times a week basis for awhile.

Messages from people who were well aware I have struggled with being suicidal. Due to one of their favorite Dragon Prince blogs speaking out against me, they thought it was okay to suicide bait me.

And it worked. I already struggle with hating myself, am already insecure, and being flooded with these comments which, while I made mistakes, did nothing to deserve, drove me to try and take my own life after years of progress in my mental health.  

Mind you, this is like a 200 follower to 4k follower power dynamic. Which yes, plays a role-- because when you have a large following and influence, you have power. Yet the person behind this had the gall to claim Tumblr clout isn’t real.

People blocking and condemning others instantly at your word? Is power. If people read your words and are influenced, or have their minds changed, or buy or don’t buy something, etc.-- you are an influencer. You have power. And when you’re one of the largest blogs in a fandom, you have a LOT of power.

So take responsibility. 

I was hurt because I lost a friend who I had chatted with for months, did a podcast with, and was generally not only one of my favorite blogs but the center of my experience in the Dragon Prince. I may not have been perfect in my words, but when I was asked why I was quiet/ inactive, I explained how I was hurting, anonymously. I was understandably in pain and upset. I had been cut off for just having a different opinion on a matter, for thinking differently. Even though it was within their rights to block and do so, it felt wrong and it weighed on me.

Is that such a crime?

The callout post and previously described abuse followed, lasting for months until later in the year (this began in June, or around then). It also included screenshots of tweets, when this user does not have Tumblr, and they have stated to have screenshots stored up on their computer of my various posts and interactions. This is creepy behavior, and freaked me out. I felt like I was being stalked, “evidence” being filed away for the very purpose of being used against me. 

I eventually talked things out with the blog per recommendation of my therapist, and thought all would be fine. For a little while, it was. I largely stayed off of Tumblr to heal. Once in awhile I would have a rough, tearful night because something reminded me of what I lost, but I would make it through. Overall, I was making progress.

Then? My Twitter got hacked by one of the people sending me hate. For what had turned out to be much. And after they tweeted some purposefully incriminating and bigoted things to make me look bad, I came home from a weekend in the mountains to a shitstorm.

Twitter has a love hate relationship for me and I barely opened the app unless actively chatting with a friend. So when I saw 700+ notifications, I was surprised. It had never happened before.

I began to scroll through, and when I saw what had happened, I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

I had lost over half of my followers and a solid 60% of previous Twitter mutuals had blocked me. But worst of all, I had hundreds of hate tweets directed at me replying to the hackers tweets. Messages had been sent in DMs and accounts blocked, followed, and unfollowed as well.

If you have never felt that loss of agency-- that sickening feeling of words you never said next to your profile-- be glad. Because it is traumatic. I value my words. I value what I have to say. And having that taken from me was worse than anything I had been through here on Tumblr, outside of the suicide baiting (the most direct attack to me and my emotions/ insecurities throughout this entire ordeal). Further, this hacker had clearly stalked my tweets based on some of their comments. 

Hundreds of tweets bashing me, calling me aphobic slurs (knowing I am asexual mind you, as it was in my bio), making fun of my appearance and targeting all of the insecurities which lead to my first suicide attempt in high school, and taking/ editing images of my face and mocking them. This all culminated in a doxing threat-- a doxing threat which made me feel unsafe on a campus I had already been sexually assaulted on. I was once again, after starting the healing process, thrusted back into the darkest time of my life and spiraled into anxiety and depression. I cried a lot overwhelmed by it all, had difficulty sleeping, and felt sick. I started fall semester and couldn’t concentrate on school. I was a mess.

I had once again been condemned, this time for something I had no part in. I tried to example what happened but nobody listened. I had been hung without trial. People were understandably confused, and my entire reputation on the platform, and my page, became a mess of lies, misunderstandings, and more.

If you don’t know the feeling of already hating yourself and being insecure, and having these beliefs reinforced and spread by hundreds publicly across the internet? Of already feeling lonely and unwanted and having the one space you thought you had taken from you? Consider yourself lucky. 

I had a lot of voice actors and creators following me-- accounts I interacted and greatly cherished my mutual with. A handful of them unfollowed, understandably. This online hate mob was sending messages to people demanding they unfollow me, including some of these creators. They had no idea what to make of this mess or what was real and true and just didn’t want to deal with it. Most of the others just stopped interacting with me. @aaronwaltke (tagging so those who don’t follow already click and do so, because he is absolutely fantastic-- he’s a writer for ToA)  who had followed me on the platform, graciously wished me peace with the entire situation after I checked to make sure he had not been subjected to messages or hate, either from my hacker or other accounts. His was the greatest compassion I got on Twitter, before I ultimately ended up just having to delete.

I lost podcast deals because of this with Adrian Petriw, Aaron Ehasz, and Justin Richmond. I do not blame them one bit and would have done the same in the confusion not wanting to get dragged into anything. 

Only to have one of the friends I lost who helped start this interview these very people on their own podcasts. A slap in the face. A zine I had bought to support them came to my door, with the front page proclaiming to “spread a narrative of love.”

I was never granted that chance. That compassion. I had the vultures sent after me with no mercy. And anyone who has been through online abuse and systemic harassment knows just how much it feels like they’re slowly but surely picking at your flesh ( a metaphor I used in one of my old, since deleted posts discussing the situation, and still find accurate), wearing you down until you have no strength left.

Make no mistake, my story is not a one off situation. Many share the same tale of abuse and being driven off of platforms that once gave them great joy. These attacks are coordinated, systemic, and common hobby for these people-- who largely claim to be loving and accepting of all. They are a cyberbullying phenomenon which has risen with the presence of fandom on the internet. And I want to make clear, with current discussions of “cancel culture”, I mean nothing political in that statement. Some might call my experience cancel culture, but I don’t.

It’s just bullying. It’s just hate. These people get off on ruining people’s lives.

And my life was greatly set back and ruined. I had a stain on my past in fandom I could never be rid of. I had to shut down my podcast, took time off of all social media, and most of what I had built, most of my growth, was taken from me while those who incited and/ or spread hate thrived and continued to grow and find success. That was the greatest sting of all. 

I asked the one previous friend who hadn’t blocked me, but had just stopped interacting with me (which I understood and respected, and also greatly respected her perspective, help, and support though this situation in which she largely unfortunately ended up in the middle) for help after explaining everything, and got nothing. They didn’t seem to care, and just blocked me on all platforms. Once in awhile, I would find I was cut off from yet another old friend, or a blog that I had never interacted with before but clicked into, interested. It hurt being cut off, unable to fully interact with the fandom, but I could move on.

That pain would never go away, but I made clear I did not blame them for the actions of those who abused, harassed, and threatened me. I also made it clear they did not owe me anything, including unblocking. 

I just wanted to move on peacefully, but those with the power to enable that did not wish to help. I slowly, when I felt ready, began to be more active on Tumblr again, and once again the hate started up. 

Sometimes when I was hurting, I expressed my pain and loss to my followers just to reach out, because I was sad. I had no idea how to rebuild from all that had happened. This got me more hate an accusations of emotional manipulation and gaslighting. I had no idea what to do, and got trapped in a cycle of needing to talk about it, and getting hate and backlash, but not knowing where else I could turn. 

My doxer came back into my asks, ultimately making me switch schools, and refueled the drama. Speaking up about this got me more backlash-- mostly accounts reblogging (one with tags saying “fuck you”, despite not knowing the full story, and commenting and then blocking me so I could do nothing to respond or get it off of my page. I deleted all posts of the matter, as requested by these people (who validly pointed out they were in the main fandom tags, which I hadn’t thought of and understood), and hoped to move on.

But it hasn’t stopped. I have been beaten down and emotionally bruised for months. I have had my life and safety threatened, my education and by extension life path altered, and lost work (podcast) opportunities due to this-- alongside the irreversible emotional damage from trauma and abuse. My mental health issues and insecurities-- which I have been very open about to destigmatize the subjects and encourage conversation-- were actively targeted to inflict the most pain possible. 

And I can’t even talk about it, without enduring more hate and accusations of “playing the victim”.

Death threats, suicide baiting, doxing, months of bullying and harassment to the most vile degree, which a lot of these people don’t know about because they don’t even bother to read my words. Yet I’m playing the victim. 

And the accusations of bigotry and being hateful hurt, because it couldn’t be further from what is in my heart. I believing in love and acceptance of all. I don’t know how many are religious here, but I found God after my first suicide attempt and that is what his word has taught me. 

I’ve been through too much in life to tolerate this, for lack of a more eloquent term, bullshit. I know what abuse and victim blaming looks like when I see it. And in my 20 years of life, I have gone through too much: constant ridicule and bullying, suicide attempts, sexual assault, major spinal surgery, to just be stomped over and not stand up for my right to basis human decency. 

I refuse to put up with this, so unless I get an apology and some semblance of justice for everything I have been through, I am leaving. I will not participate in a space run by hate and toxicity. I will never claim to be perfect, and I have apologized for my mistakes and wrongdoings. Now, hold those who did this accountable. If you’re reading this you know very well who it was, and I am not naming them for those who don’t. Because at the end of the day I still send nothing but love and wish no ill will towards them.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t expect accountability of one of the greatest influencers in the fandom for their complacency in abuse, threats, suicide baiting, and and absolute ruining of my life and online experience. They enabled this and were well aware they had the power to stop it-- to ask their followers to stop-- and did nothing. They didn’t care-- about a human’s life and well being. 

@dragonprinceofficial, are you aware that this is what many of the fans of your show, which preaches love and an end to the cycle of vengeance, do to others? That this is happening in your space? If you stand at all by the values you preach, condemn it. @staffTumblr/ @supportTumblr-- shame on you for allowing this abuse to happen and ignoring my reports. Shame on you for permitting these people to operate in your platform and for being okay with hosting hate. People have been driven to suicide on your website-- I am one of the lucky ones. 

If you care at all about humanity and stand against this behavior, reblog and spread awareness. Share my story so I may not happen to anyone else. Tag @dragonprinceofficial until they notice and speak out. 

This is my story, and so many others. Make sure it doesn’t happen ever again. No human being deserves to be treated how I was. Everyone deserves compassion, decency, and respect. And everyone deserves a place in fandom. Do better. If you want to reach out to me DMs are open, as well as my email, which is attached to my account. Until this change happens and I am given the support/ help needed to safely function on this platform, this blog will not be active outside of that. 

Thank you all of the many accounts who have supported me, and I am working on getting back to all who have reached out! Your love means the world. You know who you are, and I don’t want to tag in case people come after you for showing me kindness. I am sorry if this is goodbye, to all that have enjoyed my blog. I enjoyed it for a long time  too. I loved sharing my passion for stories, culture, having a space where I could analyze and discuss my favorite things.  I loved getting to share what I had to offer with the world, having fun and posting jokes with my unique sense of humor. I loved interacting with intelligent people/ fellow fans and discussing my favorite stories, offering each other new insights and growing together. I loved the many, many kind and wonderful people who reached out to me in a variety of ways and provided support and friendship.

In the end, it just isn’t worth all of this pain and trauma, and I know when to put my foot down. I don’t want pity, I don’t want apologizes, and I’m not a martyr. I just want my story to make a difference-- to spur positive change in fandom culture/ spaces.  I will be tagging all fandoms in which I have seen this kind of abuse present as well, to reach as many as possible. 

Be safe, and be kind.

- The Arcadia Ledger/ Ryn/ Katie, signing off.

[herorps]

[ cw. racism, murder, shooting ] 

i cannot stress enough how much i need you all to give a shit about my community. if you didn’t know, yesterday (3/17/21) eight people were killed across three different salons/spas in the atlanta, georgia area, six of them asian women. 

while the perp’s motivations weren’t officially stated ( except for that bullshit testimony of the guy “eliminating his temptations” that came out this morning ) it’s not difficult to see that these attacks were racially charged. the man deliberately targeted three asian-run/asian-patroned businesses and people have the gall to say that’s not a hate crime. 

this is just the latest of the many incidents that have happened 2021 alone and the number of incidents will only continue to grow. and let’s be honest, this isn’t just because of c*vid or tr*mps racist rhetoric. while the p*ndemic has certainly amplified the number of hate crimes, targeted attacks against the aapi have been happening for years. (heavily influenced in history by the chinese exclusion act, japanese internment camps, the targeting of south asians and wana/mena people post-9/11, etc.). we’re often seen as the easiest target, a lot of it has to do with the model minority myth and the way our people are seen as meek and non-confrontational. 

our women especially are 2x more likely to experience racial attacks of not only physical but also verbal abuse and a lot of that has to do with the oversexualization of asian women. going back to the shooter’s testimony, he claimed that he had a “sex add*ction” and had carried out the shootings at the massage parlors to eliminate his “temptation”. of course, while that is disgusting in itself it’s not surprising to me considering the track record of the sexualization--including the fetishisation, infantilisation and exoticisation--of our women, not only in media but also in our history. and this isn’t even mentioning the on going sex trafficking and sex tourism in southeast asia which is also brought on by and perpetrated by the media and western history. 

it’s troubling to know that i now have to worry about my parents being the victims of hate crimes in asian-led spaces when those pockets have always been the place where they felt safest. not only do i have to worry about my dad being called slurs when he goes on a walk by himself at a local park, i now have to worry about him possibly being shot up when he goes to the asian grocery store or when he goes to pick up takeout from a chinese restaurant. 

what you can do now is continue to spread the word (reblog this post because i still dont know if this will show up in tags), keep up to date with what’s been happening, follow advocacy groups, donate to the aapi community fund and include us in your anti-racism rhetoric. 

it’s not enough to just patron aapi-run businesses or to check up on your aapi friend or to say that you love anime and kpop. i need you to care. i need you to look at your own biases and change them. i need you to give us a seat at the table. there’s only so much that community leaders and asian-run activists groups can do if no one will listen to us, if no one will stand up for us, if no one will advocate with us. 

[lovelivingmydreams]

Paper Flowers: By any other name

Happy New year! I’m back with the fifth chapter. Other chapters are listed in the master post under Paper Flowers.

Thomas gets tmakes a fun youtube Video. Patton thinks there might be a breakthrough with Virgil. And Roman gets a surprise.

Thomas and Joan are sitting down at Joan’s kitchen table for a youtube video.

Earlier that week Thomas had sent out a tweet to ask the Fanders to send in questions and links for them to react to.

The video was a lot of fun so far. They saw cute dog video’s, inspiring coming out video’s, and then there was the artwork inspired by his vine stuff. Some fanders made misleading complement themed cards, and there were cute drawings of his teacher and dad character. And of course there was that stainglass/yingyang drawing of the Prince and his nemesis.

“This is just amazing, you guys are all so talented.” He gushes, not for the first time as he studies the gorgeous detailing on the latter. This must’ve taken hours and he can’t get over the fact that something he did inspired that.

The questions were fun to answer too. What subject is teacher’s favorite? What is Dad’s favorite cookie? What was the funniest interaction he’d ever had after a storytime? Some serious ones too. How did Joan know they were non binary?

What made him decide to come out as gay to his Christian parents? How did he know it was the right time?

Is it hard being out and proud while being a public figure?

Tips on how to handle social anxiety.

“Okay, final question, I peeked on this one,” Joan admitted, making Thomas let out a dramatic scandalized gasp. “I wanted to make sure we’d end the video on a fun note. Go on read it.”

Joan is chuckling already, so Thomas quickly reads the comment.

“Thomas love your content! But the people need to know. Is it Marcus or Kevin?”

Thomas frowns in confusion. There is a link and when he clicks on it he is brought to a long reblog chain on tumblr. He quickly reads through the first few posts and snorts.

“Oh My Goodness, that is just amazing!” he squeals in delight. He loves that the fanders are so enthusiastic about those two. And from what he can tell both ‘armies’ are battling it out in good fun.

“Well, I can’t confirm, nor deny either name at this time. But I think he’d very much approve of the one his faithful minions have chosen for him. Personally I do think Kevin would be hilarious though.”

Joan chuckles and nods in agreement.

“We might learn the dark overlord’s true name someday,” Thomas smiles. “But for now, take it easy guys galls and non-binary palls. Peace out!”

“Are you quite done Princey?” Virgil huffed. Roman had been laughing nonstop since Thomas heard about the debate going on in the Fanders comunity.

“Sorry. I’ll stop. Honestly it’s not that funny. Please do forgive me… Kevin,” And just like that he was doubled over again. Virgil groaned in annoyance.

“Okay, okay, I’m done. I honestly didn’t mean to. You can’t always help it when you laugh though. And you must admit it is a little funny,” Roman said once he got a hold of himself, whipping the mirth out of his eyes.

“What’s all this commotion about?” Patton wondered as he entered the commons.

Virgil tensed up. Patton had been… Different lately. He’d been checking if Virgil took enough food when he ate in his room, and that he ate everything when Roman coaxed him into eating with the others. He knocked more often to check if Virgil had laundry to be done, or to tell him that it was time for him to go to bed. He was taking this whole dad thing a little too seriously.

And some part of Virgil wanted to just accept and appreciate the effort, but the other kept wondering why Patton was doing all that for him when he clearly wanted him to just move back downstairs already.

It was in the little things. The way Patton would tense when he entered the room. How he would hesitate before smiling at him or greeting him. The way his voice wavered when he asked him stuff. And sometimes Patton would say stuff like “I don’t care how Deceit does things, but up here we…” Insert whatever rule Patton was trying to get Virgil to accept.

Honestly. He didn’t mind doing chores. Even if it was redundant when you can just will stuff to be clean. He didn’t mind making an appearance in the commons once a day either. Patton had just jumped from not involving him in anything into expecting him to fight him on everything.

Sure he’d roll his eyes and huff a little, but he wasn’t that difficult. Patton clearly expected him to be though. Perhaps even expected him to get tired of the rules and leave.

The problem was, Virgil had actually tried a few times in the beginning, and he couldn’t go back downstairs. Not really. Not for more than a visit when Thomas was asleep. The rest of the time, he was stuck in the in between only able to go to the upper commons.

Virgil’s best guess at how this worked was that Thomas had acknowledged his existence, but was still trying to push him down most of the time.

It’d been Janus’ decision to reveal this truth, when Virgil had been triggered into a panic attack one morning out of seemingly nowhere. Janus and Remus had been very calm that day and that had been exactly what had made Virgil worry that something big was coming. Janus realized this was not a healthy environment for him. So he lifted the denial on Thomas’ anxiety and told Patton and the others that Virgil would be living with them from now on.

Next thing Virgil knew his room was moved up, just not all the way.

He wasn’t sure, but he felt like he’d gotten closer to the upper level since he and Roman became friends. Logan didn’t seem to care one way or another. So that left Patton as the one to push him down right?

Virgil closed his eyes to calm his reeling thoughts for a moment. He couldn’t get swept up by his own head when in public. Princey got it by now, but how would he explain this to Patton.

“Oh, hello Padre. Kevin and I were just discussing the latest video and…”

Then Virgil found himself crouching on the kitchen counter ready for an attack. Patton’s high pitched squeal had been unexpected and terrifying.

Roman, once he recovered from his own surprise, moved a little closer to Virgil, putting himself in between him and the perceived danger. It helped calming him down a lot faster and adjust his position to look more casual and less terrified.

Patton was still squealing and clapping. It seemed like he had missed Virgil’s panicked reaction.

“Your name is Kevin?” he gushed.

“No,” Virgil objected immediately. Holding up both hands in a stop sign.

“That’s just one of the names the fanders gave the villain character. Princey thinks he’s hilarious for calling me that,” he explained.

Patton deflated. “Oh… Well, it’s nice the fanders enjoy your character so much,” he smiled awkwardly. Virgil suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He wanted to get out of here, like now.

“Padre! You just must see the gorgeous artwork this fander did about the prince!” Roman declared as he grabbed Patton by the arm and led him away.

Virgil finally fully relaxed. Roman was really pulling through on every level.

Protecting him from Patton’s parenting, deflecting Logan’s tough questions, and even making Virgil feel appreciated. Whenever Virgil had had a rough day of keeping Thomas safe, Roman would come find him in the field and just hang with him, humming his favorite music, set up one of his favorite movies with him, telling him stories of his grand adventures. Just hanging out. Once they did each other’s nails. That was a lot of fun. Virgil had actually quit nailbiting  all together because he didn’t want to ruin them.

At first Roman had tried gifts and lavish praise, but that did not sit well with Virgil. He panicked over not being able to live up to the praise or give good gifts in return. And Roman listened and adapted.

Virgil in turn had been trying to give Roman verbal praise whenever he did something nice for him, or did a good job with Thomas. It was hard for Virgil to say this stuff out loud though.

Virgil entered his room trying to think of a way to thank Roman for today without making it awkward for the both of them.

His eye fell on some purple craft paper. One of Roman’s early gifts. He’d thought that maybe Virgil might enjoy creating things to take his mind of off his worries every once in a while.

Virgil had never really found a good project to use it for… But now.

When Roman got back to his room after bidding Patton a good day he could feel a slow rhythmic knock on his door. They never agreed on a code, but he could tell that this was just Virgil trying to get his attention, but that he could take his time if needed.

He decided to note down his new idea for a Vine first so he wouldn’t lose it. When he opened the door, Virgil was nowhere to be seen. Not that Roman noticed right away, he was far too focused on the purple paper rose hanging from the doorframe by a piece of yarn.

It was clearly hand crafted. Which must have taken Virgil quite some effort. He carefully untied the flower and brought it to his room where he put it on his vanity in a little vase.

He smiled softly at the little token of appreciation. A friendship with the emo knight wasn’t always easy to navigate. But it was definitely worth it.

He picked up the idea again, confident it would be another hit.

The dark overlord scowled at the bright morning sky. "Curse you, eternal sun." He turns his attention to the star map on the table in front of him "and every single one of you stars." He raised a picture of the solar system and glared. "And to hell with all you planets! I hate you all!" Then he dramatically turned and picked up a small ball resembling a certain non-planet. "Except for you,” he says softly stroking the ball delicately as if to comfort it. “You get me. You may stay."

Next: everyone falls

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hot Blood [1]

Warnings: non-consent sex

This is dark! (mob) skinny Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Synopsis: Steve Rogers is on the rise in the New York underground as you’re trying to keep your own place there.

Note: This will only be two parts because I couldn’t fit it into a oneshot. Yes, I took liberties in terms of not making Steve brittle as a twig so forgive me for that. Also this is back in the 1940s, so keep that in mind. :) Otherwise, I love writing my skinny boy and hope you like it too.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You wanna prove you're the better man You wanna reach for the things that nobody can

🌆

You checked your watch as you strode down the sidewalk. You felt the snugness of the bundle just under your jacket as you pulled your hat lower over your eyes. At the right angle, you seemed a man about his business. A closer look and you were nothing but a woman in pinstripe trousers.

Another day, another drop. You were tiring of the tawdry tasks but the reality of your position, of your sex, was inevitable. The men were back from the war and the women were expected to return to their kitchens. Well, most of them.

It was easier in the days before victory. When you were the one sending others on your tasks. But Vic had survived his campaign in Italy and he was back with a vengeance, and few scars. The only thing which kept him from tossing you entirely was that you’d kept his organization afloat in his absence. You’d even thrown the feds off his trail and onto another’s.

Even so, life wasn’t what it was. You had to take orders, had to swallow your pride. Well, it was better than living as some bastard’s wife; better than a secretary in a tight skirt. You checked the time again and looked ahead to the brick building with the rusted horseshoe over its door.

You neared and leaned against the bricks. You turned to face the street and watched pedestrians pass. You knocked with your elbow. Two knocks, a pause, then three more. You waited and listened. The door shifted and you spun quickly as you muttered “iodine” and the code word saw you past the man on the other side.

And yet, another change. The warehouse was empty. You looked to the man who’d answered the door. It wasn’t the usual fellow. You frowned and your hand went to your waist and felt the wooden inlay of your pistol.

“Wouldn’t do that,” The man warned. “Boss is on his way. He doesn’t care for corpses. Too much clean up.”

“Boss?” You kept your hand poised but didn’t draw. “And who exactly is your boss?”

“People fall for that?” He ignored your question as he pointed to your jacket. 

“Fall for what?”

“You don’t exactly fill out a three-piece,” He reached into your pocket and you gripped your gun. He pulled out a silver cigarette case and popped it open. “Well, you know…” He gestured to his shoulder, “In some ways.”

You scoffed and shook your head as he offered you a smoke. He shrugged and put one between his lips.

“You didn’t tell me who your boss was,” You said as he struck a match and lit the cigarette.

“Vic didn’t tell you?” He asked. “Heli don’t run Brooklyn anymore.”

“He mentioned there was trouble but there always is in Brooklyn,” You tilted your head and ran your finger along your pistol handle. 

He chuckled and took a drag.

“Bucky,” He held out his hand. “Boss will be here soon.”

You shook his hand and retreated, pacing two steps back and forth as you waited.

“This isn’t how it goes. I drop the money and go.” You stopped. “Never more than five minutes.”

“You got somewhere to be?” He asked. “You must be popular with the boys. Hell, war was so long, they’d fuck a hole in the wall.”

“I usually tell em to use the wall,” You countered. “You’re boss better show in the next five minutes or--”

The back door of the warehouse opened and shut suddenly. You turned as a shadow fluttered in the small slats of light which peeked in through the high windows.

“Kid took a wrong turn,” The voice sounded as footsteps cut through the silence. “You get the money.”

“Drop’s right here,” Bucky said as he nodded to you.

Your mouth fell open as you saw the man who appeared before you. Short, slender; skinny, actually. Even his tailored suit added little to his figure and his chin seemed even sharper in contrast to the angles of his hat. His blue eyes met yours and he removed the hat.

“Miss,” He seemed as surprised as you felt.

You laughed. You didn’t mean to. You covered your mouth before you could guffaw and looked at Bucky.

“That the new boss man?” You asked.

“Steve Rogers,” The skinny man said tersely. “And yes, I’m the boss man so you talk to me, not him.”

“Course,” You said coolly. “Vic wants a single load through Brooklyn.” You carefully reached into your jacket and dislodged the bundle of money from the waist of your pants. “Tomorrow, clearance till noon.”

He watched you and then his eyes flicked to the money. Usually, they saw the green first.

“Your husband let you run around playing these games?” He asked.

“We know this isn’t a game,” You said. “And, if I did have a husband, he couldn’t keep me from my business.”

He chuckled.

“Sorry, I’m just, a little amused. I expected a man.” He said.

“Me, too,” You tossed the money at his feet. “But I guess they’re all busy doing the real work.”

His smile fell. He toed the money but didn’t take it.

“You gonna wear the pants, you gonna be treated like what you’re pretending to be,” He beckoned Bucky forward. “Cause I don’t see a lady.”

“No, you don’t,” You said defiantly as Bucky came closer. 

Steve nodded and Bucky bent to grab the money. You held Steve’s gaze, the anger obvious in their glint as his narrow jaw ticked.

“Tell Vic he’s got til noon. Sharp.” He said. “Bucky, see her out.”

He put his hat back on and turned away. Bucky waved you away and you followed him back to the door. His hand rested on the metal handle and he paused.

“Put the torch to this place,” He said. “Next drop will be on our ground.”

“Sure,” You said and he pushed down.

“Oh,” Bucky stopped as he opened the door just a sliver. “I’m not much for advice but work on the lip. He won’t put up with that for long.”

“Not my boss,” You uttered. “He got his money.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shook his head and opened the door. 

You stepped out into the sunlight and strode away. You’d have a word with Vic. You’d think he’d have enough sense to mention a change in personnel but he hadn’t had much sense since he returned.

🌆

You sat along the bar as voices buzzed in the late morning din. The old pub which had glowed during Prohibition had grown darker over the years. With rationing, it had become lifeless, barely revived in the post-war jubilance. It didn’t matter much; it had never been meant for just booze, merely a cover for more illicit trades.

As usual, Vic was in his office. He wasn’t the same talkative man he had been, though his temper had worsened. When he wanted to be heard, he made sure of it. His propensity for violence had turned to an indifference to violence. There was no barrier left between him and blood. His hair trigger made him vulnerable; it made you all vulnerable.

The bar door shook and you looked over. Several bangs before the latch busted and Donny burst in with Richie hanging from his shoulder. He dragged the bleeding man inside and dropped him onto the floor as he fell to his knees. You rose and quickly shut the door. No one used that door during the day.

“Get rags,” Arnold called and rushed behind the bar.

Donny’s arm was bleeding as Richie gripped his side, his hands red and wet. Arnold tossed you a rag and you bent beside Richie. You took his hand and pressed the rag between it and his side. You applied pressure as Donny tied up his arm with his belt.

“What fuck happened?” You ask as you leaned on Richie and tried to stem the flow.

Arnold ran out calling for Pauly. He’d been a medic during the war but tended to drink away whatever use he had left to the organization. He was likely sleeping off last night in one of the stinky rooms above that were rented out by the hour.

“Where’s the cargo?” Vic asked as he appeared in the broad archway which parted the barroom from the kitchen and his office.

“Christ, he’s bleeding out, Vic,” You hissed as Donny handed you another cloth and grabbed another for his arm.

“We got hit.” Donny leaned heavily on a stool. “It’s gone.”

“What the fuck?” Vic swore. “Who--”

“Rogers,” Richie gasped and you scrambled to keep the crimson from leaking past your fingers. “He said…”

“Take was short.” Donny finished. “Five shy.”

“Five shy. No, I gave him the right drop,” You insisted.

Arnold brushed by Vic and Pauly ambled in beside him. The former dropped the small chest of bandages and the like beside Richie as the latter came around to you and yawned as he knelt. He casually waved you away and took the rags from you. He peeked under them and pressed down.

“Got a lighter?” He asked. “Get me some tweezers.”

You held up your bloody hands and Arnold got down to search through the box ox of odds and ends.

“New boss, new prices,” Donny uttered. “S’what they said before they…” He looked at Richie and blanched.

“God fucking dammit, I new that little rat was up to no good,” Vic punched his palm. “Had the gall to come in here and put an offer down on this shit hole like he can buy what I built for a couple bills.”

“What?” You reeled as you tried to wipe clean your hands. “He made you an offer?”

“He’s a goddamn upstart,” He snarled. “I seen his kind back before the war, when the Depression had us scraping trash cans for dinner. He’d sell his own mother. Probably has.”

“How can he-- Heli didn’t have that much going on.” You argued.

“The twerp spent a couple years up in Chicago before he decided to come home and make his stake,” Vic said. “Too skinny to serve so he ran wild over there. Now he’s got a gun and some money and he thinks he can just take the whole city.”

“Hold him down!” Pauly yelled and you looked over as he was digging the tweezers into Richie’s side. The wail which rose was sickening.

“Vic, you didn’t even tell me he’d taken over,” You snarled. “Now I double counted that take but you’re the one who arranged it. He said fifteen not twenty, right?”

“I told him I wouldn’t give him any more than I did Heli.” He sneered.

“And?” You urged.

“He said we’d see. And I never heard nothing else.” He growled.

“You didn’t hear anything or you just made an assumption?”

“I handled worse over in Italy,” He grumbled. “Little twit doesn’t scare me.”

“It’s not just him,” You huffed. 

It was so much easier when he was gone. You and Arnold had been a great team. He was too old to serve and he was wise; pragmatic. Don’t play big, play smart.

“Another word,” Vic warned. “I’m tired of the fucking mouth on you. Men go away for a couple years and all you bitches learned to bark.”

“If we hadn’t, you’d have nothing to come back to,” You retorted. “And I learned more than how to bark.”

“You think you know it all. You run around in your suits and play gangster, little girl.” He snarled. “I saw men holding their insides; I ran into a haze of bullets and you did what? Gave away your stockings and baked cakes without sugar.”

“You got a man holding his insides right here,” You snapped. “I should’ve let Crane have this place. I drove that snake out on my own. Me. So don’t you call me little girl.”

A knock interrupted him as his face turned red. The front door had fallen open as a figure leaned in the doorway. So slim it could only be one person. You reached for your gun along with Vic and Donny. The other men continued their struggle on the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Rogers?” Vic pulled the hammer back on his gun.

“Wow,” Steve stopped a few feet inside and several men, including Bucky, entered behind him, guns in hand. “I’m not here for a fight, if I can help it. I’m here for the rest of my take.”

“You already shot my men. I don’t owe you shit.” Vic hissed.

Steve chuckled and put his hands on his hips. He looked to the floor, the blood, the whimpers, then to you. He took his hat off and nodded in your direction.

“But I see they’re still alive.” Steve said. “And I got your cargo. More than willing to hand it over so long as I get my dues.”

“Maybe it wasn’t that skinny fucking ass that kept out of the war; maybe it was that peanut brain,” Vic said.

“I’m all for negotiating,” Steve said coolly. “But I’m gonna need you to calm down, Victor.”

“Calm down. I want my goods.” He insisted. “And my money back.”

“I don’t often give warnings,” Steve’s voice was even and quiet. Scarily calm. “But I will allow you one. I will finish what my men started and then I will burn this place with your bodies inside of it. Then I will hunt down every man who ever tied himself to your limping horse and put them next to you in the ashes.”

“Bull,” Vic scoffed.

“Jeffrey, by the bridge,” Steve said. “Friendly guy. Knows a lot about the city. Gave me an interesting little map. Looks like safe houses… in your neighbourhood. I don’t need to barter with you, Victor, but I am, because I can be nice. I prefer it over having to get mean.”

“Jeffrey,” Vic shook his head. “That shit.”

“Oh yes, if it wasn’t for his ties out west, I’d already have done him in myself but… he has his uses.”

Silence but for Richie groans and the squelch of flesh and blood. You glanced between the two men. Vic looked tired. You realised he was halfway drunk.

“How long? For the five I owe you?” He slowly lowered his gun.

“How long?” Steve smirked. “I’m not leaving without it.”

“Don’t keep my safe here. That’d be too obvious.” Vic said.

“No? Or maybe… you don’t got it?” Steve challenged. “Besides, I can’t trust you to send anyone for it because I can’t have them returning with more than the bills, can I?”

Victor was quiet and you glanced back at him. He looked lost. It was a look which had become common for him. As if he was far away.

“But…” Steve said. “There is value beyond paper.”

“Take a cut,” You intoned as Vic remained speechless. “That would more than even the debt.”

“And have to sell it myself? No.” He said. “But I do see something that I want.”

Steve’s heels tapped on the old floorboards and he stopped before you. You stared at him then looked around. You lifted a brow as you looked back to him. He touched your gun and you lowered it. You wanted to raise it again but Richie’s cries tugged at your ears. He took the pistol.

“I’ll take her,” He touched the lapel of your jacket.

“What? No, that’s not--”

“Fine,” Vic agreed a little too quickly. “All yours. But I’ll let you know, she’s a mouthy one.”

“Oh, I know,” Steve winked at you. “But you won’t get anywhere if you’re not bold.”

“You can’t--”

“I can,” Steve leaned in as he lowered his voice. “Because if you leave this bar without me, you won’t get far. I put the word out and you’re dead before nightfall…” He straightened your jacket. “But I prefer you living.”

He drew back and walked back to his men.

“Truck’s out front. All is accounted for. Ledger’s are balanced.” He said. “For now.”

You were jolted forward as Bucky grabbed your arm. You hadn’t seen him approach and he easily dragged you along as Steve left with his men in tow. You were numb but angry. You struggled until Bucky had your arm twisted behind your back.

“I told you,” He said. “He doesn’t like the back talk.”

🌆

You were silent as you peered through the windshield then glanced at the man in the driver’s seat. Bucky had wrestled you into the car himself but it had taken the flash of a muzzle to get you to stay.

Steve sat beside you in the back of the long car. He still had your pistol in hand and you watched as he emptied the bullets and dropped them in his pocket. He turned the gun over in his hand and ran his fingertip along the wood inlay carved with intricate grooves.

“This is a nice piece,” He said. 

He checked the chamber one last time and handed it back to you. You holstered the pistol and leaned into the door as you looked out onto the streets. The buildings were strangely familiar.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“You talking to me?” Steve countered. You turned to him and arched a brow. “Because when you are talking to me, you need to look at me, doll.”

“My name isn’t doll,” You crossed your arms. “This isn’t Brooklyn.”

“We’ll get to that,” He said. “You should be more than familiar with these slums.”

You squinted and shook your head.

“How did you--”

“I got eyes across the city and a woman like you sticks out,” He said. “Now, I’d like to forget our first meeting and start off on a better note.”

“Yeah? Do you usually buy people like race horses.” You scoffed.

“You’re a fine mare,” He grinned. “But that mouth does you a disservice.”

“So, what exactly do you want? You want me to say you’re a big man? Tell you you’re the boss?” You taunted. “I wonder how that ego fits in that body.”

“One thing at a time, doll,” He said.

“It’s not ‘doll’,” You growled. 

He chuckled and propped his elbow up on the door.

“My eyes have ears. They’ve told me a lot about you.” He said. “Must be hard with all the men back in town. I dare say, you might have been rooting for the other side.”

“Oh?” Your nostrils flared at the implication. “You running with those double-dealing bastards down in Chicago and you’re accusing me of sedition.”

“Chicago was a stepping stone,” He waved you off. “And a valuable ally. This world’s a whole lot bigger than five boroughs.”

The car stopped and you looked past Steve. Your building stood just outside his window and you sighed.

“No doubt bigger than you,” You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dumb enough to think you’re just giving me a ride home…”

“We got ten minutes,” He checked his watch as he opened his door. “Grab what you need. I got a schedule to keep.”

He got out and you pushed open your own door. You rounded the front of the car and peered down the sidewalk. You could run. The thought was tempting, but if Steve could figure out where you lived in less than a day, he could likely suss you out just as easily.

You followed him up the cracked walk of the building and he opened the grated door for you. You shot him a look before you stepped through. You fished around for your keys and unlocked the second metal door. He trailed you up the narrow staircase and you came to your door among the row of cramped apartments.

You entered with him behind you. His footsteps were light and barely disturbed the creaky floorboards. He closed the door swiftly as you glanced around your tiny home. There wasn’t much to it but it was yours. 

He brushed past you and went to the small kitchen which was barely more than a sink and stove. He pulled open the drawers one at a time and shuffled through them.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

He held up a box of bullets and shook them.

“Grab some clothes,” He said as he continued his search. “And anything else you need.”

You let out a breath and rounded the threadbare sofa. You went to the small closet on the other side of the apartment and slid open the accordion door. Inside hung jackets in varying tones of monochrome and pants to match. Dress shirts and vests filled out the rest of the assortment. You sensed movement behind you as you reached for a hanger.

“That’s all you got?” He asked as he came up beside you and tutted. 

You looked over at him as he slid the hangers from side to side and examined your clothes.

“No, no, this won’t do,” He said. 

“What are you--”

“This,” He tugged on your sleeve. “Is doing you no favours. Not to worry, I’ll send for some nice skirts, a couple dresses--”

“No,” You said pointedly. “No, I won’t--”

“You’re not getting this, are you?” He sneered. “I don’t need some pussycat in a suit, I got more men than I can count.” You stared at him as foreboding roiled in your stomach. “What I need is a gal on my arm,” He reached out and touched your cheeks. “With a pretty smile,” His fingers crept down your neck and rested on your shoulders, “In a pretty little number.”

You grabbed his wrists and tried to shove him away. Despite his slim figure, he was stronger than you expected. He twisted his arms around and grabbed your wrists. He drew you close.

“If you were a man, you wouldn’t have left that warehouse,” He growled. “So consider yourself lucky…” His eyes drifted down. “The walk gives you away. Your hips…” He tilted his head from side to side. “The ass…”

“Get off of me,” You hissed and pulled away. He released you and you nearly stumbled.

“Don’t bother with the clothes,” He sighed. “But grab whatever else you need; hairbrush, soap… I guess you wouldn’t have lipstick, would you?”

“You really that hard-up for a girl?” You laughed dryly.

He smiled and licked his lips. “Women aren’t as complicated as they pretend to be. Not if you got your pockets full. So no, not hard-up for a girl… just you, doll.”

“Not doll,” You huffed and spun away from him. His low laughter made your lip curl.

“Five minutes,” He warned.

[pumpkinpaix]

once again, please do not reblog this or take this personally, it is a vent post and I need to just be really unkind in a public space for a second. i love you.

god i swear every single time I think I’m getting better at not letting myself be swept away by an all-consuming rage over an inconsequential bad take, someone manages to prove me wrong, and then all the floodgates go crashing open and suddenly it’s summer again and I’m being called a race traitor, white apologist, mandarin supremacist as if i am not orders of magnitude more familiar with racial conflict and identity trauma the fucking gall of it “u know mandarin supremacy is like a big deal right, my family speaks dialect first and mandarin is violent” oh PLEASE tell me fucking more!! TELL ME MORE!! about how it’s mandarin supremacist to use a mandarin romanization system for a source material that is fucking, get this, in mandarin

tell me, someone who has lost no fewer than FOUR FUCKING DIALECTS in just two generations of my family history. tell me about the trauma of not being able to communicate with your own family, tell me about feeling untethered, tell me about your suffering all while dismissing the inherent complexity of my lived experience and invalidating my knowledge of my own language because I was born in the US. wow thank you so much for confirming that you ARE one of those people who think i am a hollow, rootless thing, that water cannot run through me, all while I am smiling and gritting my teeth and trying so fucking hard to be gentle when you will not grant me the fucking courtesy of considering me a fully realized human being. choke on it assholes.

it’s so fucking unfair that you attacked me personally and then had the audacity to be pissed because “how were you supposed to know” when I tried to be transparent about it. and then to be so self-important as to think that we make policy decisions as “revenge” against “POC”? why do i bother, why did i bother, why do i ever try when it takes less than an hour for people to tell me how much they missed my point every single fucking time oh im sorry you think i’m assuming that people know less than they actually do? maybe i wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been spouting clear misinformation about a job that i am currently doing as if you were some kind of authority on the matter. you think i’m assuming malice when there is none? fucking check my goddamn mentions. you think i don’t understand what happens when a non-white person talks about racism online? check my fucking mentions you stupid fuck

and all the while, there’s just this constant stream of self-aggrandizing fake-woke bullshit that could not have more obviously come from a shallow, young euroamerican leftist take on intersectional praxis that is so self-deluded they think they can cast themselves as w/wx, a righteous hero standing up to popular, immoral opinion all while demonstrating that they have completely and fundamentally misunderstood his character due to their utter lack of cultural context. i keep thinking i’ve seen the worst of it, but you all just find new and awful ways to surprise me. sure, say some angry shit and people will eat it up bc everyone seems to think that anger is an indicator for validity. thanks! i love experiencing relentless racism from both sides of the equation and then being told i’m the fucking problem. wow! revolutionary! it’s not like i’ve been experiencing this my whole life, but sure, go off i guess! demonstrate to me every day that actually, maybe i shouldn’t give anyone the benefit of the doubt anymore! show me that compassion is worthless! do it! fucking do it!!! show me that i’m the stupid one for expecting anyone to approach me as an equal because who goes back when they keep getting burned when am i going to fucking learn

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 23.1)

I KNOW MY EDIT SUCKED. HEH. That’s my book cover in Wattpad. Couldn’t post CHAPTER 23.2 there because the application is glitching and I’m annoyed af. Anyway, enjoy this chapter for WOTN. 

CHAPTER 23

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Maybe a witch isn't the key for your getaway because it could be deeper than that.

Warnings: The summary sucked. I couldn't write anything to avoid spoilers. LMAO. Curses. Tybalt and Geralt banter/hate for each other? 😂 Rohesia is my OC, not connected to any of the games or books. The witcher character named Gerd (AHA. I'VE INTENTIONALLY DID THIS. Surprised to see a stomach sickness used as a name lmao jk 😂) from the Bear school has been used. Bethleheigm is also a made up kingdom from moi. 😂 (Pronounced as Beth-le-haym)

Words: 4.3k

A/N: I know Kaer Morhen is located in Kaedwen. Damn it. I lately knew it when I was already half way through this fic and I can't change it anymore. Let's just say...oof. They'll eventually go there. Don't worry. Oop. Is it a spoiler? 😭

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! I apologize for errors!

Disclaimer: PNG's and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. (Credits to the rightful owners of the gifs, it’s written in the lower part of their gifs. Though, some don’t. Still, credits to them. If you want it to be removed, just kindly message me) The edits and this fanfic is definitely from moi. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be. This has no connection towards the books or games.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

DAY THREE CAME QUICKLY THAN WHAT WAS EXPECTED. Taking the shorter route to keep the proximity of hours easier for traveling back faster to Kaedwen. Geralt and Tybalt had an allayed journey towards the outskirts of Bethleheigm.

If a narrator was utterly dramatic, he or she could say that the witcher was beyond exhausted over being with the higher vampire because he only knew how to gall him over and over---a deathless cycle through out their travel, side by side with their own horses and vexation over each other. Yet, Geralt rarely has given him his energy for a battle that was pathetic as it ends.

They've both shared a night somehow. Their backs meters away from each other. With Geralt and his sarcasm never shutting one's eye until Tybalt was cursing him out under the moon light because the white wolf warned him not to think about hunting people to quench his thirst for blood. The higher vampire was left throwing him a pebble on his back and muttering how the full moon won't be until the day of the feast in the castle where he would technically celebrate over being a vampire but this choice could also be eradicated since blood was not in the highest scale in his pyramid law of needs.

Nights weren't the only thing shared between the two. Unbeknownst to them till Geralt was humming in displeasure, they've actually shared a drink of your home made ale. Tybalt commented how it was as good as Kaedwenian stout---perhaps, even better. Mentioning that the beer was probably made of your love for him which made the witcher scrunch his nose for how cheesy it sounded. Tybalt even declared numerical reasons as to why he kept you with him until today because you knew how to make his drunkard self swoon over your culinary skills.

Your cookery abilities were still different and utmost impressive than Geralt's regardless of how he has been used to embellishing his own food alone before. His midget's skills were technically amazing, add up the peculiar recipes that only you know---but, actually existed in earth---your earth. Those recipes that could get his family and him included, humming in deliciousness because it was new for their taste buds.

They were ought to arrive at the abandoned house today. Side by side, Tybalt and Geralt silently rode on their horses. Both of them fed up at the opposite of every presence that galled them to the brim. The witcher blurting out his opinions very frankly at the scowling vampire who was acting like he wasn't there along the hunt.

"You should've just stayed in the castle and played with your army stocks," Geralt grumbled as he held onto Roach's reigns. Tybalt's advancements for what he has done to you never leaving his memories when he clearly remembered the causes about why he was hating him more than to drown in a monster's stinking guts.

"I should've stabbed yer' horse while we were travelling---or feed off to er' horse blood," Tybalt clapped back, sending the remark in the nonchalant way as possible with a sarcastic raise of his brows.

"Leave Roach out of this,"

"Gods, yer' such a strange one, Witcha'!"

The witcher's scowl was as nasty as an Alghoul's bum. Tybalt seemed to be thoroughly embittered for even tagging along with a cold heart that was grudging to even join his hunt. If it weren't for the queen's request, he would never even be within Geralt's area of personal space. Howbeit, people have been trying to frustrate him even more with their sudden decisions erupting from either sides, like a dormant volcano that no one expects to explode.

Grey undertoned house. Ramshackled from the roof till the decaying roots of stones stuck in between their spaces. Close enough to be dilapidated if a wolf would've tried blowing the house down---though, the three little pigs weren't inside for it to hunt. They were closing in towards their destination, Geralt was anticipating this point of their journey; to immediately seek for the witch and to come back sooner than expected.

Yet, his anticipation burned in disappointment by the familiar look of the house rooted in front of them.

He'd heard stories about this abandoned home in Bethleheigm through drunk men in the Inns. They were having a tete-a-tete that it was a boobey trap made by homeless pirates who hadn't gotten back to shore, concealing the home as a place for them to steal one's belongings until they were ripped off their coins. Some tattled that the house was a dragon's nest where a woman lived in and disguised as one that Geralt knew entirely as a bullshit rumor because no dragons would dare pick to stay in the middle of a forest where the house was the only home built through out the map.

The witcher jumped off his horse, hushing Roach down with a soft caress to her mane because she'd begun to neigh.

Tybalt couldn't help but cackle from how he was affectionately eyeing the horse as if she was his other half, "---I wouldn't be surprised if ye' bring yer' horse with ye' while you bed yer' little woman!" he outlaughed and had a hand on his clothed stomach, shaking his head from the witcher's strange gestures with everything.

"Hmm."

Geralt gave him the side eye, endlessly shooting daggers since the moment they bonded together. His comment receiving a lour from the brooding white wolf because of the baldy judgement said.

"Yer' grumpier than usual---like ye' have been in a fight with yer' current flame---is it the tiny lass, anotha' one of your sorceresses or princess?" the Upir quipped with a smirk, hopping off his own horse before giving the house a look. He seemed to waver with a clear of his throat.

Geralt disregarded his ridicule and question with a blessed silence, his mood turning sour from even mentioning you. The weccan's golden eyes scanned all over the tumbledown house, his amber narrowing as he examined what was expected to be a necromage's hideout that he has heard from one of the drunk men's gossips in the inns.

"This abandoned house," he gruffly started beneath his baritone, harsh breathing as Geralt huffed for his disappointment over the founded location. The bind he had with you turning heavier as days go by like he knew you were turning into a melancholic person due to his faults. Hence, it was keeping him more insane than he can ever be because he always seem to offer only mistakes towards his people---where they end up getting hurt because of him.

Which wasn't new in his life.

"---There is no hag in here. Only a Necromage I presume."

Tybalt walked several steps to stop beside Geralt, shrugging his fur-coated shoulders with a curl of his upper lip, "I told ye' to take the longer route. Right path, Witcha'."

"And I told that you are bringing us both in an early demise because Golems and Downers are bound to get in our way,"

The higher vampire kept his mouth shut after that, his foot tapping on the ground before he received a subtle warning of Geralt's glare. The witcher was right about it. Basically, Tybalt was trying to stall over their journey because he knew what exactly was the stratagem kept for a clandestine truth bound never to be known.

Geralt pushed his peculiar fidgets away as it was still sounding so loud with his heightened hearing. He narrowed his eyes upon the engraved words carved inside the four corners of a mettalic flattened surface stuck on the grimy, stoned walls.

"Thou who shall take a step, requires a fee for entrance and something valuable to heart in order to talk with death,"

He silently read the words inside his head. Considering the requests before slightly pursing his lips, the ends looking like a frown but was actually just irrespective of what he was currently thinking. The ramshackle home being surrounded by an invisible strong force field shielded for not any normal man could trespass in without the rules asked. Another form of magic that he knew---though, this wasn't just any simple sign. It was created by sorceresses or wizards to safeguard the whole home for decades end, not risking anyone to touch whoever was inside, like it was keeping something from entering the place.

Geralt gave Tybalt a look while the vampire continued to whistle along the winds, his arms crossed in front of his chest whilst checking his awfully long nails, intentionally ignoring his companion until the witcher tried to grab onto a rock, strongly throwing the stone towards his head until Tybalt used his abnormal abilities, instantly dodging the stone coming forth and sprinting beside Geralt in just a second to see him nodding his head for his crackerjack skills that he seldomly uses.

"Coins." the white haired weccan roughly stated before he heard Tybalt huff and grumble from his demands, giving his palm to him and expecting for a bag of coins to be placed on his hands.

"You have your own, Witcher."

Geralt cocked his head to the side with a feigned smile, shaking his head, "My coins will remain untouched. I'm not risking mine for favors asked."

"Fuck you and yer' coins. I hope you feckin' go slow and die as soon as you're done with us,"

In the end, Tybalt eventually had to fish out a bag of crowns inside his coat, begrudgingly dropping them off on the witcher's awaiting palm who has shrugged his broad shoulders for his easy submission. The words to the engraved poster switching to dust, swirling through the air, changing into an arrow pointing at a brick where Geralt had to slightly touch for it to be pushed back.

Thorny, earthy tone colored vines snaked their way out of the hole. The brick of the old house never being seen as the roots formed a symbol of two palms sticking together like it was asking for alms. Geralt placed the coins on the makeshift hand, slowly slithering its way back to its home.

The house was alive. He was sure of that when he felt the aegis slowly fading away. Its stone doors cracking to slide open for them to enter.

Tybalt hasn't moved a step from his side. He returned to crossing his fairly muscled arms, hearing hasty pads of footsteps shuffling from behind as Geralt halfly turned to see a Hirrika panting on his side, yelping as a way of his bark towards the witcher who had his eyebrows furrowed in curiosity and stupefaction; stunned to see the familiar beast who has impressively found him despite of his long travel.

"Kolby."

"Your whore's feral pet," The Upir deadpanned, chuckling nasally like a sarcasm.

Tybalt heard a low growl coming the monster, his fangs shown to the vampire who he could sense and remember, his scent awfully making him remember how he'd hurt his master.

"Watch it." Geralt gruffly mumbled, giving Tybalt the side-eye as he tried monotonely hushing the rare beast like how he'd seen you soothe his annoyance or anger whenever Jaskier irritates Kolby.

"Down, Kolby. No teeth." he gruffly scolded with a raise of his palm.

The Hirikka chattered like a cat as he glared at Geralt's temporary companion, spinning on his own place before howling, his snout tilted at the sky as he yowled, the sound making him wince from how loud it was---too sensitive for his heightened hearing. Though, that didn't stop him from judging his gestures, noticing how he was jumping in his own spot whilst doe eyes stared back.

"He's saying something," the white wolf frankly stated, exhaling a languid breath through his nose because he couldn't understand what he wanted, "---Stay here and don't touch Roach or my Hirikka." he mentioned for Tybalt who appeared to be mentally finding their whole interaction as comedic. Geralt took a step forth, subtly leaving a pat on Kolby's head that eventually calmed him down, making him skip his paws to the side.

The Hirikka jumped to sit on his short tail, his knees bent and close to his chest as he silently watched Tybalt and Geralt conversing together with snarls and insensitive jests until the witcher finally moved away from him, bravefully entering the threshold.

"Where ye' going?" Tybalt called out and made him cease his steps, promptly giving the growling Hirikka his heed to see Geralt judging with his slightly entertained peepers, fighting off the curl of his lips because of how his Hirikka was making the higher vampire uneasy. He was agile but lacked knowledge over the beastiality of the continent. Probably, because of how he has been confined in the castle in an early age and known more politics and schemes more than the lore of monsters.

"To ask the Necromage about that witch,"

"Just like that?"

"She might know her whereabouts. Stay here if you don't want to get your vampire nails grimy,"

Tybalt cocked his head to the side, effusive of cursing out the witcher who had a smirk as he turned his back away from him, continuing his path around and ignoring his cavils.

"Why am I even following ye' around, Mutant?"

Geralt of Rivia entered the perimeters. His newly sharpened swords latched on his wide, broad back. Every step had his chest heavier than usual; bred-in-the-bone like he knew there was something happening to you back in the castle that he couldn't decipher and it made him scowl. The energy in the house even adding more of that deep-seated feeling---the home being cursed as well like some sort of magic was ceasing his advancements from talking to this person living inside.

The place wasn't ruined after all. It was all charmed and just a mere visionary trap or distraction that won't let people fall for even staying close to whoever was inside. Clean and utterly fixed, furnitures sat on their proper rooms which held up a second floor that Geralt didn't plan on exploring for as a presence could be felt while he stood in the middle of the kitchen.

"Hmm. Necromage,"

This person was a woman, Geralt silently stated the obvious inside his head. Her voice was tremulous and surprised to see a gigantuan man standing in the middle of her kitchen which she has never seen before in all her life.

"I am no Necromage," Rohesia calmly informed him, her heed turning distant from the mention, "She...has already died. Cristabell, My lady of the rarest in Bethleheigm---the only necromancer in this kingdom. May her soul rest in peace,"

"---You're the witcher." she paused, taking a gander and examining the white wolf before her. White hair falling on the tips of his shoulder blades. Gold eyes. A scowl prominent on his face. This was the witcher she has been warned about from both parties.

Geralt attempted a cynical smile, seeing that she held more lies and have been doing so for a lifetime, "There's no use of lying."

She was feeble. As old as Eanraig in terms of physical appearance but not his actual age since he was a scholar of the forest. The witcher held onto his medallion, seeming to feel no vibrations over his necklace that he strongly felt before the doors have been opened. His white and black spotted eyebrows furrowed for what singularity was happening.

This was supposed to be the Necromage. Yet, why does she felt human who had no magic to offer?

The hoary, old woman was not lying after all.

Rohesia forced to give him a small smile, walking past him to sit on one of the wooden, dining chairs. Gesturing her palm outwards for Geralt to take a seat that he simply answered with silence as he stood rooted on his spot, assessing what she truly was.

"I offer you no lies of secrecy. My mouth speaks nothing but the truth for I am just a mortal who thrives to live peacefully in the continent," she honestly answered his curiosity and judgements which made him nod at her uprightness---making his job easier for him.

The woman really was no necromage at all.

"A mortal who stands for her virtues. Hmm."

"Why are you here, Witcher?"

His glower was permanent even as he sauntered to where she was, standing upright and leaning a hand on the top portion of her dining chairs whilst he patiently explained.

"To find the hag who has cursed prince Althalos of Kaedwen."

Rohesia only offered a small, genuine smile. Her shaky laugh erupting through her chest because she knew this was the man who her former witcher and lover give fair warning to when the Kaedweni started their murdering plots upon fellow weccans who fall for their crimes. Vesemir never wanted to be involved with their delinquencies, explains his periodic leave in the kingdom---his constant visits for the woman seldomly occurring since Nilfgaard has attacked and conquered another domain after Cintra.

"Are you doing this because Vesemir has told you so?"

Geralt went on with his speechless talk, low humming followed suit for the flabbergast he felt over hearing his senior mentor in the art of their kind. The end of his lips subtly turning the opposite of a lour, relieved to suddenly hear his name through another person's mouth---a woman he probably had a relationship with; a former flame and mortal that Geralt least expect for Vesemir to entertain because of the conducts he had told him prior into becoming one skilled witcher.

It is that being involved with mortals and even having a soft spot in the job won't make them any better.

"Does he visit often?"

She ignored his question with a simple, wholehearted feeble laugh. Her circumvent obvious that Rohesia wanted not to talk about Vesemir after he has chosen to leave her for coins and another woman---another mortal years ago, thinking that because she aged badly was one of the reasons why he chose something better than to be with her. Hence, they were even known to be monsters of their own kind. Monsters who slay other beasts in exchange for coins. It was what she believed them to be---yet, she knew to herself that if Vesemir would come back to her, she would still accept him with all her mortal heart.

She dryly coughed, avoiding his eyes and covering her mouth with a tightened fist that Geralt quickly knew she was physically sick just by the looks of it.

"If you...still want to live and take your coin, turn back around and forget that you have stumbled upon this place forever."

The latter shook his head. Determined to find answers from this elderly human who knew his mentor and a fatherly figure he had been to his life. He believed Rohesia knew more than just Vesemir based on how she was trying to push him away.

"Where's the hag?"

"You cannot find the witch anywhere even out in Kaedwen, Geralt."

He was impressed. Geralt raised both of his eyebrows, pursing his lips with a tilt of his head that she knew his name regardless of not introducing himself yet.

"Vesemir has obviously told you more about me,"

She ignored his statement again, grabbing onto the ends of her dirty Tunic as she stood, saying her words firmly and with finality. Never knowing if her decision over dropping out hints would be good for her isolation from everyone---isolation and somehow imprisoned inside a house. The necromage being her sentinel, a guard given orders that she wouldn't escape and try to spill secrets that will ruin such plans. Howbeit, she still had high respects for Cristabell who had been too kind for her that she has brought Rohesia with her whenever she was out for some business.

"The witch you have been finding has been around the castle for decades."

Perhaps, it was time for the truth to set out free because Rohesia knew she had only weeks to live in the continent. Revenge pushing her through the decision she wanted for trying to keep her contained, watching her every move; ruining more of her wrecked life.

"I have been the queen's loyal servant. After she has given birth to Prince Althalos, he has already been cursed when he was a bairn." Pause. "---Sorceress Ingrith has managed to sneak into their quarters and cast the curse by whispering such spell and gaining a tiny drop of his blood. I've all seen her cantrips and heard them as I came back to guard the prince in his sleep. The wail of an offspring shall bring despair for the royal family,"

The sorceress' name felt like a crime to be told. Heaviness in her chest finally unleashing after decades of being caught up with the lies she was telling people who asked or went to gather information as to who has cursed the prince; finding the witch and ending up dying from the hands of her womanly guard. Cristabell recently died from the hands of the last witcher who she knew as Gerd, the necromage dying after their battle whilst she tried to fight for her cousin's trangression---continuing doing so for the sake of her selfish reasons.

"---She...she was also the king's mistress before the queen has given birth to Prince Althalos while she also gained her position. I may never know if it was made from jealousy over the queen's position. Though, it is their life that I promised to stay away from. Only sorceress Ingrith may reverse the curse or happen to know how,"

A beat of silence wrapped them both after Rohesia's candor. Geralt's mouth forming a deeper scowl than ever as he loudly sighed, languidly blinking in weary for being tricked by the sorceress and her right hand, Tybalt of Touissant. His jaw began to clench for who stood outside of the house, the higher vampire making him mad for leading him on circles---the cycle wouldn't have ended if he chose to go forth with his suggested path. It was why he was trying to lead him towards a swamp filled with monsters than the shorter route because the truth was with this rumored woman.

"Should've known."

He deeply grumbled begrudgingly, blaming himself for not thinking it through. His time wasted for you to be saved and taken out of the palace. If only he wasn't as pale as Ivory, his face would've been empurpled with fury for what they've made him appear to be---an idiot or for whatever bullshit they can call him.

"You're coming with me..." Geralt deeply said before he was cut off to her introduction of name.

"The name's Rohesia, Witcher."

He nodded back to the lady, going on with his ceased sentence with solicit, "---Back to the castle,"

Rohesia saw him walk closer to her, face to face with the infamous butcher she has heard tales about. The butcher of Blaviken who has managed to slaughter goons of Princess Renfri's hooligans and also earning another moniker of being a butcher of Ard Carraigh. Kaedwen's capital. The name would eventually spread throughout his kind because of how Kaer Morhen was close by. Her eyes catching onto the badge latched on the rain-guard of his sword.

"I have been told to never step foot again or I shall be put into death,"

"Do I need to beg for your compliance and offer protection?"

"What's in it for you and me?"

The witcher deeply sighed, shifting his amber away from her as Geralt looked withdrawn, his next words sounding like a mumble, dubious of his own bluntness. Disbelieving that he could hear his own voice say the words like an echo of his consciousness.

"You get to save the castle from anguish," pause. "---and you get to save the life of someone dear to me,"

"A woman I assume---your woman," Rohesia sounded so surprised, staring him down in incredulity, "---Is she royal? another sorceress too? a mutant?"

"A mere...mortal," he hesitated to honestly say, his eyes filled with a memory he truly can't forget. Your skeptical voice stuck inside his head when he remembered the first time he met you till the moment you told him how you suited to be a queen.

Geralt clearly remembered his reaction and teasing reply. Telling you how you suited more to be called a midget. His midget. Yet, now you were being treated like his queen where he would kiss the ground you walk on no matter how in denial he gets.

"---Perhaps...a queen to her kingdom in her rightful dimension," he was caught in his train of thoughts, never seeing the stupefaction in Rohesia's eyes over what dimension he meant---having no clue for his words. She could see what Vesemir once was like until life has ruined everything for her, including the sorceress corrupting and controlling the people and castle of Kaedwen.

"Learning to love doesn't suit your kind, Witcher."

"It's because it isn't what you think it is."

Rohesia shook her head for his lies, he was thoroughly unaware of the feelings sipping through his words once he mentioned you. This witcher believed that he wasn't capable to love nor emit feelings just like how her previous lover have been. A typical characteristic of his own kind. Denial and the feeling of being unworthy of recognizing such emotion was making him sound insensitive. But, people who could read others can see through him regardless of how he tries not to, "Deny it all you want. To us humans, it is. Love as many people assume."

"---you're still human after all. As far as I believe for your kind, Geralt of Rivia. Sorceress Ingrith might be glad to see me again soon---I hope."

Don’t hesitate to message me if you don’t want to be included in the taglist anymore, bb’s. I won’t be mad. Thank you. 

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means your blog can’t be tagged. Please check your settings) @alyxkbrl​​ @himarisolace​​ @barkingbullfrog​​ @ayamenimthiriel​​ @hellodevilslittlesister @turkish276​ @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us​​ @nympeth​ @amirahiddleston​​ @gabethelobster​​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​​ @uncoolcloudyhead​​ @melaninstylezz​​ @psychosupernaturalhero​​ @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​​​ @marvelousell​​​​​ @kingniazx​​​​​ @angelias134​​​​​ @tapismyforte​​​​​ @chook007​​​​​ @butterpumpkinscotch​​​​ @deadlydemon​​​​ @cheesecakeisapie​​​​ @angelofthor​​​​​ @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky​​​​, @shesthelastjedi​​​​, @a–1–1–3​​, @gutfucks​​​​, @raynosaurus-rex​​​​, @britty443​​​​, @suhke3​​​​, @shadowclawstudio88​​​​, @ruthoakenshield​​​​, @just-a-sad-donut​​​​, @gxrdenr0se, @singeramg​​​​  @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo​​​, @alexwinchester23​​​, @naturalthrone22​​ @supernaturallover2002​, @tellmesomethinggud​

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza​​​, @crazybutconfidentaf​​​​

General taglist for any Henry Cavill fics: @agniavateira​, @iloveyouyen​, @rahdaleigh​, @silverkitten547​, @henrythickcavill​, @kaatelyyynn​, @marvelousell​, @madelinelina​, @summersong69​, @raynosaurus-rex​, @fckdeusername​, @evansislife​  @nothinggoesunpunished

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

The Lovebirds

I have been looking forward to The Lovebirds since I saw the first trailer. As the first real Cinderella story from the early days of the pandemic in the US, I was ecstatic when it was announced that Netflix had bought it to distribute, and in an extra jubilant surprise, it was being released on my birthday! That’s a lot of build-up, PLUS the actual details of the movie itself - directed by Michael Showalter, and showcasing a couple, Jibran and Leilani, trying to solve a murder they’ve gotten roped into played by Kumail Nanjiani and Issa Rae? It’s like Netflix was raiding my dream journal again. With that much anticipation and (let’s face it) not a lot else to look forward to during the time of Covid, there was a lot riding on this. Did The Lovebirds deliver? Well...

I would definitely say yes! At this point, it’s refreshing to see a new, original comedy that’s genuinely funny with two leads as brilliantly charismatic as Kumail and Issa. The plot’s not really anything new or fresh - if you’ve seen Date Night or Game Night or any variation therein, you already basically know the story beats here. BUT by focusing more on character than chaos and letting the two leads have space to really play to their strengths, I was more than happy to spend an evening on this movie.

Some thoughts:

First of all, their chemistry is unbelievable. I mean that both from a sexual tension standpoint but also from a comedic timing standpoint - they complement each other perfectly. The script is lively and fun, but the way they argue, the way they finish each other’s sentences, the way they read each other’s reactions so well, it’s electric. Just a true delight to watch the way Kumail and Issa bounce off each other.

I’m so glad there’s a scene where they’re not going to the police and there’s a damn good reason why. It sounds ridiculous, but just having a central couple in a romantic caper like this be anything other than a straight white couple is fresh enough that it really reinvigorates the movie. And this conversation about going to the police would sound insane coming from a white couple - here, it sounds 100% reasonable and smart to avoid going to the authorities.

Wait, so you’re telling me Leilani did a WHOLE OTHER full face makeup look at her friend’s house when she borrowed this amazing sparkly dress? Aren’t you on a time crunch here? 

Related though, everything Leilani wears - even the drugstore discount ridiculous outfit - is stunning. Issa Rae is maybe the most beautiful woman in the world. You could put her in a potato sack and she would make that shit a fire #ootd post. 

This screenplay by Aaron Abrams and Brendan Gall is snappy and plays to Kumail’s strengths particularly well. The pedantry, the oneupsmanship, the snippy contentiousness, they all work so well. Also I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that Kumail was definitely in the midst of his glow up for Eternals while filming this, and there are some sweater choices that have him looking right. 

How is Bicycle’s phone not dead by at least the wee hours of the morning? Did he just charge it? Is this a BRAND NEW phone? Cause otherwise I’m calling bullshit.

There’s a whole long section of villain-monologuing-his-master-plan going on here, but I’ll allow it because the movie has built up quite a bit of goodwill with its subversion of other expectations so far. 

I’m really upset we don’t learn more about the weird secret cult? Like, this is an 87-minute movie, you couldn’t have left in a few more minutes of footage of what THAT’S all about?? My one complaint is actually that the movie felt a bit rushed and underdeveloped. Jibran and Leilani are solid, but the plot around them is a tad thin - since this is mainly about having their relationship tested, it’s a forgiveable sin, but damn, I would have loved 10-15 more minutes of worldbuilding just to add to the richness that’s already there. Like, Anna Camp is barely in it and the very funny Kyle Bornheimer doesn’t even get a line as her husband! 

Did I Cry? No, but I did get some tinglies from the moment before Jibran and Leilani kissed for the first time.

Do yourself a favor and watch this - it’s low stakes, and the rewards are high, especially if you’re at all a fan of Kumail or Issa’s previous work. Better to leave us wanting more than have us relieved that it’s over, after all!

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

[pink-chevalier]

Why am I not surprised that someone who can only make ambiguously brown sims (and one black person with blue eyes) with eurocentric features would support a post that claims that property is more important than black lives. You really have the gall to then reblog blm shit? Shame on you.

Hello, anon. I had to search through my likes to see what it was you were talking about. One of my friends was the one that found the post, and I didn't even know I liked it. This is going to sound like I have no life, but the first thing I do when I wake up is check Tumblr. I scroll down the long list, and like everything, when I'm out of bed, that's when I open my computer and read everything on my dashboard. I think that post just left my dashboard or just got buried under other posts from people I follow. But, I honestly do not believe that property is more important than Black Lives. For my sims, I am sorry that they have those features, and I was not aware of it. When creating sims, I tend to stick to what CAS gives me, and I rarely change any features. I'll add skin overlays, freckles, or whatever else to give the sim character, but other than that, I rarely change them.

[arcenciel-par-une-larme]

Before anything else, I would like to ask my brothers and sisters in Christ, IN ALL HONESTY, whether I erred in any way in the reply which I offered to this original post (there was also an intermediate reply which I did not include into the screenshots; either way it was OP who replied to me). (@ignorant-against-christians @anscathmarcach @doctorbluesmanreturns @bagheadautist @a-quiche-in-med @anotherpointlessargument @strawberry-milktea and anybody else who might need to chime in, please feel free to PM me if you prefer that to reblogging all this mess.)

And while I'm awaiting that, let's dive right into the last reply and give OP a much-needed reality check. (Translation: let's try to set some things straight for anybody who is willing to listen, since OP has already declared themselves sinless, infallible and above reproach.)

Where are my children growing up that you think they’re not going to be interacting with Christians and being exposed to Christian theology on a daily basis? Hell, my children will have multiple Christian family members, as well as several queer Christian honorary aunts and uncles. Also, you know, a Catholic-educated mom.

It isn't all that much of a good sign when literally the first paragraph in your reply is a mile-long appeal to false authority.

First of all, it is completely inane to consider my response as personally addressed to you. I didn't even reblog it from you or tag you.

Secondly, please accept this PSA: Having Christian friends does not make you an authority on Scripture. Nor does having a Catholic-educated (not even practicing Catholic) mum. In fact, if the state of millennial liberal "Christianity" online is any indication, it is very much a possibility that your "Christian friends" might very well be teaching you that "Yeah, basically atheists are right in all that they say about Christianity, but I'm a good Christian and I love Christ and I don't believe any of that outdated stuff that's in the New Testament!" in which case, yeah, the fact of the matter is that you WON'T be getting an accurate image of orthodox Christian theology from your friends, or from your mother who might very well have prayed her latest Rosary when she graduated high school.

You have completely misunderstood the point of this post if you think the above beliefs (which are overwhelmingly held and spread by Christians and ex-Christian atheists, not Jews) have the same negative effects on Christians that harmful beliefs about Jews have on us.

Right. So, in other words, you didn't want to draw attention to and decry anti-[whatever religion] slander and, in the course of that, also spread awareness of common anti-Judaism lies. You just wanted to compete in Oppression Olympics, and to virtue-signal your victimhood. Yeah, how dare I assume that you wanted the former just like any virtuous human being! HOW DARE I assume that you're not an intellectually dishonest SJW! THE HORROR!!!

Also, nice job pretending that you're "fair" and "not bigoted" when you try to blame CHRISTIANS for the ANTI-CHRISTIAN bigoted lies which are commonly propagated.

And again, the only reason that you think I blamed these beliefs on Jews is, as it seems, because you want me to mean that. Because you want to score oppression points. In reality, I made it perfectly clear that it is of no importance whether the person peddling anti-Christian slander is Jewish, atheist or whatever else; but that is something which either you missed entirely or you deliberately refuse to acknowledge.

Christians might not be uniquely bigoted, but you damn well are uniquely powerful in western countries, and with that comes unique responsibility, to paraphrase Uncle Ben.

Why didn't you just go the full "Check your Christian privilege, we live in a Christian hegemony, one can't be bigoted against Christians, a minority cannot oppress a majority, PREJUDICE PLUS POWER!" route from the get-go so we can know where we are standing, then?

This is a perfect example of why I shall always insist that

At the Oppression Olympics, nobody wins.

Because you looked at my response and you immediately saw not a complementing opinion (which it is), but a competing one. You saw an opponent, and in your mind you cannot be anything short of 100% right a priori, because of course it's a competition. Of course oppression and injustice are a zero-sum game.

Only in real life, THEY ARE NOT.

Any rational Christian, and any rational Jew, is horrified both by anti-Christian and by anti-Jewish bigotry. You, on the other hand, insist upon trying to find the "bigger victim" at all costs. And from your reply, it seems fairly certain that you had no rational reason to do that. You just wanted to downplay the injustices and slander which is aimed against Christians. It almost reads as if you vehemently refuse to even remotely sympathise.

By the way, I think that Devin Kelley, Chris Mercer, and Floyd Corkins (among others) might be some names which ought to debunk your opinion that anti-Christian bigotry has no tangible real-life effects.

Oh, but I forgot. "Prejudice plus power"...

I have every intention of teaching my children about different religions, but this reply was obviously in bad faith and just about jacking off your persecution complex as part of the poor, downtrodden 80% majority.

THERE WE HAVE IT!!! THERE IT IS!!! I F***ING CALLED IT. HEAVEN FORFEND IF IT DOESN'T HAPPEN ONCE. "A majority cannot be oppressed!!!! PERSECUTION COMPLEX!!!"

At this point, your rhetoric is barely distinguishable from an "AtheiSJW bingo" of sorts, or from the inane hate asks that we get at anti-christophobia...

I don't know why I expected any better. Maybe because I DARED to assume the best about you. Yeah, what a heinous thing to do...

And OF COURSE it must be true that I came into this in bad faith. Of course. Why? Because you say so. Because it's a JACKPOT for you. You've found before yourself the perfect chance to set the scene with me as "Le Mr. Evil Bigoted Christian" and score brownie points, and BY GOLLY you aren't going to let such an opportunity go to waste!! I mean, WHO EVEN CARES about such trivial technicalities such as TRUTH...

..........and in the wake of all this, you have the gall to accuse ME of playing Oppression Olympics???

Can your projection and intellectual dishonesty get any worse?

And the PERFECT FINALE of inimitable intellectual and moral superiority:

Do not interact with this post further.

Classic pigeon chess strategy. No comment needed.

-

Again, for what I have done amiss in this whole story, I apologise sincerely. My mistakes, however, do not bar me from calling out the errors of others and defending myself against unsubstantiated charges or pointing out their bigoted behaviour.

As for the potential few idiots who shall hasten to accuse of antisemitism (for whatever contrived BS reason their sick brains might conjure), do not even bother. Antisemitism is one of the many kinds of bigotry which I have decried in the past and shall continue to decry, and thus I do not automatically become guilty of the same bigotry just because I do not self-flagellate for being Christian and I refuse to bow down to your short-sighted, sociopathic cultural Marxist dogma of competitive victimhood.

God bless you all.

UPDATE: A few mere hours later and OF COURSE another Bingo square was checked off: I have been blocked. Should I pretend to be surprised?

[a-crimson-lion]

Further Discussion On Katsuki Bakugo

[Original Post Here]

@homez18

...I seem to have stumbled upon a rabbit hole which my hubris continues to lure me towards.

Because I genuinely want to have a discussion over your points (and I don't want to bog down my original post with too many reblogs), I'll move the discussions here.

[This isn't necessarily to flaunt my nonexistent superiority. I honestly think that you have a good argument going for Katsuki. I'm just seeing how my own analysis stacks on top of that. I'm no expert, but I'll give it my best shot. Also, spoilers for anyone else reading.]

Let's start with "I don't think Bakugo overestimates himself." This is an interesting point, which I believe does hold water. When I think about it, I realize that Katsuki actually suffers from a different problem, which I'll get back to later. As for "He's never shown to overestimate himself," that's... not entirely correct. As of late, I can think of at least TWO examples in the series where Katsuki could legitimately be overestimating himself. But first, let's address the basic issue.

9 times out of 10, Katsuki will UNDERESTIMATE his opponents.

This isn't without reason. Katsuki's strong, and he knows it. He's been strong since even before his quirk manifested, at least mentally. When his quirk kicked in, his strengths shifted to primarily physical, though he's still an intelligent person. However, even if he can gauge his own strength, he does an admittably horrible job of gauging others' strengths. Since he's been praised for nigh over a decade for having such a strong quirk, Katsuki's got the idea that he's among the best of the best. He might not be #1 yet, but he knows he's gonna get there eventually. The problem starts when he decides that everyone else is beneath him by default.

Don't tell me he doesn't underestimate others either when he tends to call everyone "extras" or just a crappy nickname (at least until he acknowledges them).

One instance where Katsuki distinctly underestimates his opponent is during the Battle Trial with Izuku. Granted, this is more of a hubris case than anything, considering Katsuki's absolute hatred for Izuku (that later does mellow out into begruding respect). The thing is, Katsuki knows Izuku has a quirk now. He knows his quirk is super strong (it beat his ball throw by 0.1 meters, after all) but there's still a part of Katsuki that believes Izuku is still a bug. He's still a worthless Deku, and to top it all off, Katsuki is convinced that Izuku hid his quirk from him since the start.

While his absurd self-centered persona is not the main focus, one must admit that Katsuki's hubris is a certain level of concerning.

So Izuku and Katsuki have a big showdown, and to Katsuki's surprise, Izuku pulls something else entirely. He manages to wreck the building above them, taking the explosion and allowing his team to pass. Katsuki thinks Izuku is looking down on him, but Izuku simply states that he wouldn't have used his quirk if he could have thought of someone else. And as Izuku collapses and the trial comes to a close, Katsuki is shaken by the fact that Izuku beat him. Worthless Deku beat Katsuki Bakugo, and he wonders if Izuku could beat him in other ways. Katsuki underestimated Izuku.

I've talked about Katsuki's obsession with strength previously, but the same idea applies here. If Katsuki wasn't so gun-ho on taking out the enemy (specifically Izuku) for the hell of it and actually tried to win the exercise, he might have been able to beat Izuku. But he's so caught up in his definitions of strength and victory that he ultimately falls flat, underestimating his opponent's capabilities to win, even indirectly. This dame idea comes back to bite Katsuki when Neito Monoma briefly takes possesion of Katsuki's headbands (granted, he does get them back later) because Katsuki didn't even bother paying attention to him, once again underestimating him.

Now, as I've stated before, Katsuki has overestimated himself at least twice. The first time was with All Might during the Final Exams. When All Might brings up his handicap weights, Katsuki has the gall to say that All Might's handicapping is "insulting." Katsuki knows that All Might is strong, he knows that All Might is the NUMBER ONE HERO, and suddenly handicapping himself is insulting? Granted, that's the same attitude he had against Shoto at the end of the Sports Festival, but just to put this scenario into perspective:

Katsuki is a 15 year old hero in training with a powerful quirk, a few months of experience, and versatile experience with his quirk among other strengths (including Battle Tactics).

All Might is an adult (age unknown) Pro Hero with a powerful quirk, years of experience, and, as a Young Katsuki once said: "No matter how bad things look, he always wins in the end!"

To put it simply, Katsuki is a Level 15 going against All Might, a Level 200 (whose handicap probably brings him down to Level 100).

Combined with Izuku (a Level 10 on his own), they might be a Level 30 (50 if I'm being generous) but All Might is still twice their skill combined, and Izuku and Katsuki's troublesome dynamic make it even more of a hinderance to fight against him. Katsuki even tries attacking All Might multiple times, even though he fails consistently each time, doing virtually nothing to change his strategy. It gets to the point where Katsuki gets straight up KO'd because he can't acknowledge that All Might truly is leagues ahead of him. Objectively, Katsuki knows that All Might is on another level, but subjectively? Shouldn't be too hard to beat him.

How would he have passed without Izuku again?

The second time Katsuki overestimates himself is actually fairly recent. Before Izuku and Katsuki head off to intern under Endeavor, they have a meeting with All Might. During that meeting, Katsuki remarks that he's be able to use all of One for All's quirks right then and there, whereas Izuku has only learned to *bloop* with his first new quirk.

Again, Katsuki is only focusing in the physical aspect of things, in this case OFA. We don't know exactly what All Might and Izuku told him about it, but I'd like to think they'd at least cover the basics of OFA's sentience. That, and the fact that since Katsuki is in on the All Might Tea Parties now, wouldn't he at least hear about Izuku's vision when he was undergoing the Black Whip episode? It's already been established that Katsuki has a strong quirk and is physically strong to an extent, but we've seen time and time again that his emotional strength needs some growing time. Plus, it has also been established that OFA gets a boost when it's motivated to save people. Katsuki has no such motives unless it benefits him. He's giving himself too much credit claiming he'd master OFA at that point.

Phew, that was long.

Otherwise, the rest of your argument is fair, homez18. Katsuki does fight to prove himself. He fights (and succeeds) to prove himself during the Entrance Exam. He fights to prove himself during the Quirk Apprehension Test (getting 3rd place and "losing" to Izuku in the ball toss, which pisses him off). He fights to prove himself in the Battle Trial (which is why he's so torn when Izuku wins). He fights to prove himself during all the events after that, like the Sports Festival or the Villain Attack at Camp. He does all that to prove himself.

The problem arises when he shuts out virtually everything else.

Yes, he should be mad at Shoto for not going all out at Katsuki during the Sports Festival, but he heard Shoto's backstory. He KNOWS Shoto hated his fire side, and saw how adamantly he refused to use it. He might not have heard what Izuku said to him in their fight, but Katsuki is so stubborn that he refuses to realize that people have issues beyond Katsuki. Not going all out against him is a personal slight. Being too weak is a personal slight. No one wins.

During the Villain Attack at Camp, Katsuki has every right to defend himself. But he's not defending himself. He's seeking out conflict because to him, fighting is the best part of being a hero. If he was truly defending himself, he'd have headed back to camp with Shoto, even begrudgingly so. Instead, he ignores Mandalay's warnings just because she brought up something about Izuku, and then narrowly avoids getting cut immediately afterwards, foreshadowing his poor choices.

TL;DR Katsuki tends to underestimate others more than he overestimates himself, and while he does fight with a warped sense of honor, it doesn't make his actions any more "noble."

Thanks for reading, homez18. I hope you enjoyed, and if you didn't? Well, that's on me I guess...

-Crimson Lion (24 September 2019)

[realisaonum]

Spread the love; be generous with your authors

Several people have asked me what happened to my fics, and for a while, I wasn't sure I even wanted to post a public explanation of what happened, since I have a feeling my reasoning might start Discourse or some crap. However, considering as it’s Thanksgiving and I have already received two asks today over this issue I felt like it might be time to break the silence, because the irony of that was just too much honestly.....[continue reading below the cut]

Before I get into it, I want to say: I am not interested in anyone’s explanations or reasoning for not commenting. Nor do I want their opinion on my decision to take either of my a/k fics down. There is a reason I didn’t make an announcement they would be deleted. Nor is it a cry for attention. It’s not meant to start a discussion. This is not a decision that can be shifted by one or two folks suddenly pretending to give a shit about my feelings now that they have been negatively effected. We’ve all made our choices. It is what it is. I will not be reposting either story. Having said that…..

I’ve spent three years of my life working on these two stories. Over that time, I have gathered a small, dedicated following. I’ve received thoughtful engagement with a lot of my updates of BRM and AK and that’s kept me going in the face of increasing hatred of the source text.

Until part iv.

Of all my adamk fic, this update undoubtedly had the poorest response and it’s not just because it was too long for people to read. I know people read it. They told me. And then….just chose not to elaborate on that.

It might sound a bit bitchy to tally up the number of comments I get and compare their content, but I want to see people engage with my story—and let’s be real there was a lot of part iv to engage with. So when a majority of responses—not just comments on ao3 but other places with people I consider good friends—consisted of basically two sentences telling me they loved it and that it was great or they finished it in one sitting; I was surprised. This is not real engagement. Frankly, only four people gave me a substantive response to part iv of AK.

I had so many people come tell me they had finished it and that it was great and...nothing else. No elaboration about their favorite interaction, not what scene resonated most with them, not even what they didn’t like….Of course, I knew it was a very long section of story to read. It was a lot to process and, like my taking so long to write the story in the first place, I figured if I wanted a thoughtful engagement with what I wrote I would need to be patient.

Only—aside from one very wonderful comment that came a few weeks after I published—that hoped for thoughtful engagement never came.

For several weeks, I had been trying not to look at my feelings about this lack of response head on, because I knew I would only feel let down and frustrated to put it euphemistically. I ask for comments every time I post, but frankly there are only so many ways to ask readers to comment without it becoming debasing. Why should I have to beg for something readers on any fanfiction site should be doing anyway? Complaining about a lack of response or threatening readers to take it down like some kind of mercurial child is embarrassing. Besides, comments written under that kind of duress hardly mean the same as when a reader writes to the author under their own volition.

But I spent a long time working on part iv. I really struggled with sections of it. It was a lot of work and I am very proud of it. I know it has some of my best writing in it and some of the most moving scenes for the characters as well. There was no way this part, where there were so many subplots, so many highs and lows for the characters, so much promise of what was to come, didn’t have something there to resonate with readers. So then they just couldn’t be bothered to tell me their thoughts—which is unacceptable. It was 111k; that’s novel length. It was a novel for free! I spent a year and a half trying to get this right and they can’t spend ten more minutes to write a few sentences about what struck them? Excuse me for expecting too much apparently.

Until a month and a half ago, I never understood why a fic author would delete their work, even if they weren’t gonna finished the piece. But staring down the barrel of two more years of writing (optimistically) to get the last three parts of AK done, only to get a similar—and in my opinion very un-giving—response to something I have dedicated so much of my life and soul to was untenable. Despite all the work I had already put into writing upcoming scenes for AK and BRM and loving them both dearly, I could not in good conscience do that.

This kind of hit and run reading behavior is something I associate with published fiction, not fandom. Knowing people sped read through it and then didn’t take a fraction of that time to communicate their feelings about what they had just read made me feel really gross. Considering how much time I dedicate to writing, when my primary feelings towards my work are of being taken advantage of by my readers, that is not a good place to dwell. It is an especially not good place to dwell when I hate the source text with the passion of twenty-billion burning suns. Clearly, how betrayed I feel about this is not particularly healthy and obviously I need to step away from fandom culture for a bit. So that is what I am doing. I am trying not to be bitter and give myself the space to grieve my two stories because I won’t be finishing them in their original glory.

Now all these people are coming out of the woodwork to demand where my stories went, when they sure as fuck didn’t have anything to say to me when they were still on ao3. I find this to be monumentally disrespectful. I spent a year and a half working very hard on something none of you felt the need to share (with me) that you engaged with in any real sense; you all should know why I took it down. That un-engagement was a clear demonstration to me that you did not care about the effort it took for me to write my fics and that I should be doing something else with my time. 

Do you see how ridiculous it is to come talk to me over the stories being deleted when you had nothing real to say when they were up? That's a pretty shitty kind of irony.

Look, I know I’m a good writer. That kind of validation was never what I was asking for. What I wanted to know is what specifically in my writing affected you. I am really not interested in the excuse 'you loved it, but didn’t know what else to say.’ As if I myself didn’t struggle with writing some of my story? Of course I did, but I made an effort and I found a way through it. There are more than enough guides on the internet to help improve a person’s commenting. If you gave a shit, you’d have found a way to communicate how you really felt. Since all these folks know where to find me on tumblr they should be able to find them even easier since I reblog a lot of conversation about this! In case you missed it, here is my tag for supporting authors:  https://realisaonum.tumblr.com/tagged/spread-the-love%3B-be-generous-with-your-authors Oh my! I know we say it a lot but fandom artists and fic authors do their work for free—for the love of it, usually. Ideally, that kind of passion—especially with the preoccupation of monetizing EVERYTHING—should be met with a similar enthusiasm. Unbridled geeking is kind of the definition of fandom in the first place. I don’t understand why people have been moving away from that. 

Spread the love; be generous with your authors.

Now I am not singling anyone out, obviously. By ‘you’ I mean the general you. It is not the actions or inactions of any one person, but an issue with the collective fandom. For whatever reason, it has become alright to just not comment on fic—including fic you all apparently really fucking enjoy????????? Well, hey, you could have fooled me. Like I said, it is what it is. You all wanted to know why I deleted, so I am here to tell you that kind of behavior affects writers negatively. Shocker.

tl;dr - Folks who don’t comment on a 111k chapter should already know why it was deleted. 

Everyone who has the gall to come at me now that my stuff’s gone when they had nothing real to say when it was posted might want to take a hard look at their life choices because that shit, it ain’t cool.

[solepunk]

I don't want any reblogs on this, i just need a place to vent.

For the last month or so, ive not quite been feeling like myself. I cut some stuff off with a friend, stuff that i thought was minor and would heavily benefit us both. We had agreed to cut it off in the past if it ever got to this point. I had carefully considered my options and feelings, combined with his. I thought he'd be happy that i told him how I felt and that i was honest about it, but it didn't turn out that way. He turned on me, telling me that i didn't even ask him for his input on the matter and that i underestimated how much he valued me as being 'safe'. He failed to realize that I really did consider what he told me in the past, that i did know i was safe for him, and i figured he would have valued my feelings more than being a safe outlet for other things.

I did everything i could with what info i had to prevent myself from getting more brokenhearted than i was already, and STILL somehow managed to leave enough loopholes to be misunderstood. I hate myself every time i do that with anyone, I'm just god awful at words.

I fell in love with him. Had been in love for a year and a half. While I'll take a bullet for only a handful of people, he's the only person I would ever do so for gladly. He's much more promising than I in terms of what he can put out into the world, and I want to make sure he always wants and is able to put goodness out.

He isn't my only friend. I have a few close friends, including ones on here, that are wonderful. I know what friendship feels like, I'm 26 years old for Pete's sake. I know what infatuation feels like, what lusting is like, what its like to see someone completely based on one aspect of them that i liked. I know what i want and don't want, but he doesnt think i do. He thinks I'm too socially stunted to know the difference between friendship and love, a thing he also believes most people don't know either. I think that was one of the hardest blows that night, that he had the gall to tell me I don't know my own feelings after ive been alone to wallow in them for the last 6 fucking years. I revealed a part of myself that i never thought i had, and was told it was fake.

I never thought I had the capacity to love. Ive been jaded for so long because I thought being ace and on the spectrum made me defective and uncaring. I still am defective and uncaring in a lot of ways, but I was surprised to find not all ways. After all, i fell for him. But that was my mistake. Because that's what it is, is a mistake.

You don't get heartbreak from these kinds of arguments with people that are 'just friends'. You can't easily construct an imaginary land where you marry 'just a friend' and have a house and a fucking life with them.

If he's right and I'm so fucked up that i mistake friendship for love, i don't ever want to be in love. I dont ever want best friends because I don't want to risk this disaster happening again. I don't want to fall in love with friends and have to suffer this way a second time. I'm so, so very tired of negative emotions, especially ones that i generate myself. If I have to cut people out to prevent them, then so be it.

I don't know that I'll ever fully recover from this. I think there is always going to be a part of the that, when presented with the prospect of another 'the one', that its going to shove this in my face, bare its teeth, and growl "you want this again?!" That same part of me has been yelling "I told you so, I told you this wouldn't work, i told you you were fucked" for the last month, since the argument. My therapist told me not to beat myself up for things, but this time it's warranted. I needed a hard hand for this.

I don't have much support right now. I don't have anyone i can trust with all the gory details, and so I post this here feeling like I at least told someone something.

If you've gotten to the end of this post, thank you for taking a moment to listen to me. I'll be okay, i just need time. This isn't a reflection of all similar circumstances that people go through out there, its just MY story, and shouldn't be compared, CAN'T be compared to everyone else's unique story.

[mythalsknickers]

TITLE: Vir'sul El'u Eolas RATING: Mature PAIRING: Fen’aslan x Solas (Sollavellan) TAGS: Post Corypheus, Post Trespasser DLC, Magical Amputation, Body Horror,  Flashbacks, Liberal use of Magic, Liberal use of  Elvhen, Magical Healing, Spirits are overpowered Link for AO3

This started out as a DADWC writing prompt, however, it quickly escalated into a full-fledged fic that demanded its own part of my canon universe. Reblogs, are always appreciated. As well as kudos and comments.

There was no pain; just a sudden nothing where her forearm should have been, and he was leaving. Walking away as if he hadn’t done that, as if it meant nothing to him.

As if she meant nothing to him.

Fen’aslan tried to stand up, stumbling forward in the numbness of system shock, crying out as her knees gave way and connected with the ancient stones that made up the broken, cobbled path. Panic seized her, keeping her from sobbing by stealing the breath she would have used as she realized she didn’t have the strength to keep herself upright let alone make it to the eluvian.

“Ma Vhenan!”

Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears, full of anguish and pain she didn’t yet feel. He paused, turning just barely towards her. “Don’t, Solas! Don’t leave me, ma vhenan!” she begged, standing up on legs that felt like withered branches, liable to snap at any given moment. Without thinking, she pulled on the fade with her right hand. It was only natural; their most tender moments, the moments of greatest intimacy, had been in the fade. The mist began to form around her as she took a single, shaky step forward. A breath later, she disappeared into the fade, hoping with her aching heart that it would work, that it would distract him just enough for her to catch him.

She strolled through the doors of the Exalted Council, her bare toes and heels soundless against the mirror-like tile, light robes swishing against her legs with a faint whisper, like the summer breeze through the grass. Her passage through the crowds was marked only by the quiet jingling of the six tiny leaves adorning her collar and the quiet hush she left in her wake. On the Dias, Arl Tegan and the Orlaisian continued their heated debate around the Divine in ignorance, unaware of how rudely they were about to be interrupted.

That thought almost made Fen’aslan smile, but the book in her hands kept her thoughts anchored on the moment.

“The Herald of Andraste,” a woman whispered, reaching out to touch her like she was their savior. She wasn’t, though, and before she could react, the man next to the woman snatched her hand back.

“It is a Rabbit, Woman!” he hissed through his teeth. “She was not sent by Blessed Andraste! More likely one of the demons her people worship.” He spat towards her as she passed him, but he may as well been invisible for all the attention she paid him.

As Fen’aslan became visible to her former advisors, she could see Josephine’s aggravation melt into relief and smugness radiate from the Divine’s smile. Her plan had been shared, then. Good, this would not surprise Leliana. The effects of her sudden appearance effectively pulled the two lords from their argument, just as she hoped it would. She wanted their undivided attention.

“You all know what this is!” She raised the book above her head as she took the final steps toward the Dias, her voice ringing out in the newborn silence the way her footsteps hadn’t. Defiantly, she faced the men who would put her organization under their sway, who were even now attempting to position themselves as Judge, Jury, and Executioner over the ones whose strength had revealed their shortcomings. As Inquisitor, it was Fen’aslan’s place to pass and enact justice, not theirs.

Behind her, the crowd waited with bated breath for her next words. No one spoke, not even the man who had spit at her, and not a single rustle of fine silks hinted that anyone was stirring. They were all either enthralled with her brazen declaration or - more likely - frozen by her audacity. It was time to find out. Exhaling, she spun on her heel to face them.

“This is a writ from Divine Justinia, authorizing the formation of the Inquisition.” The sea of silent faces, both masked and not masked, raised their eyes to the book clearly visible in her hands, and she flipped open the cover showing the distinctive ink of the blood-red eye staining the parchment. “We pledged to close the breach, to find those responsible, and to restore order - with or without approval.” She turned her head slightly towards Arl Tegan, catching Cassandra’s smirk and nod of approval.

The silence held; no one dared do anything but breathe, afraid to break the tension that drew every eye to her. Fen’aslan drew in another breath to steady herself, torn between the fluttering uncertainty in her belly and the wild exultation howling in her blood. Would he be proud of her in this moment, her love? She discarded the thought to continue with her plan.

“It was not a formalized treaty that saved Ferelden or her people,” she declared, turning to hurl the words directly at Arl Tegan. Oh, how smug he looked. “The Inquisition saved them when you could not. We will not disband for you.”

She could hear a squeak as the Arl sat back in his chair, too stunned for a moment to form words. His expression said it all for her - how dare she have the gall? She clenched her jaw, keeping her smile trapped behind her teeth. She was a wolf among the sheep who thought they could tame her. Stepping along the Dias with the sharp grace of a sword slicing through the air, she moved so she was directly in front of the masked Orlaisian.

“The Inquisition will not submit to an Empress who failed to end your inane civil war, and only keeps her throne because of Inquisition support!” It spoke volumes that Celene, Gaspard, and Briala had not attended these talks and instead, sent this Lord who was not important enough for her to remember his name. The Arl had presented more of a threat, but she was done with both of these sheep now.

The silence tore with the soft sound of gasps ripped from the throats of Orlaisian women. With that intangible protection broken, men put hands on their swords and yelled, their voices colliding in the air and forming a single incoherent jumble of sound. It did not matter; she knew every insult they threw at her, but they shattered against the armor of her indifference.

“This was never just an organization!” Fen’aslan declared when the volley of words ended. “It is about people doing what is necessary. We will continue to support you as we have done in the past.” Her eyes finally met Leliana’s as the Divine bowed her head in quiet approval. “There is worse coming than anything you’ve yet seen. We will not be rendered defenseless and riddled with the bureaucracy and the so-called politics of The Game. The Inquisitions will bow - but it will not be to either of you. Now excuse me.” Her tone turned the plea into a command of respect and authority, her robes once more whispering against her legs as she strolled away from the Dais “I need to save the world again.” She thrust the book towards Josephine, giving her little time to collect it as she passed. “I will see you at Skyhold.”

Like a wolf returning from a successful hunt, she prowled through the divided crowd, gliding through the room while gasps of outrage and protests lapped at her. How dare a blasphemous Rabbit and the supposed herald of Andraste voice such insolence to her betters! She ignored it all, chin high, unable to hide her smirk. It wouldn’t be more than a handful of breaths before the muttering erupted into a storm of shouting - but she would be gone before that happened. Throwing open the doors to the chamber, she grabbed her staff from a page and handed the boy a Caprice coin. Then, with the doors swinging shut, she smiled at the mutters rising into furious protests. A muffled boom behind her was the doors closing, silencing the storm as it broke.

As she materialized out of the fade, she could see the eluvian starting to darken and she quickly pushed herself through. How dare he try to shut her out again! Once she’d stumbled forward into the crossroads, however, she couldn’t see him.

“Solas! Tel’tuaun min ea el’u i em!” She could see the mirror closing behind her as she moved away from it, and for a split second, she wanted to jump through – but she continued, away from home, away from a guaranteed future. “Lasa em’an dirth ma’lath,” she begged. They needed to talk. Each mirror she passed, she sketched and made a note of it in relation to her path. “Ma tel’isala dina sul min! Tamahn emen to ea vir!” She cried out to the emptiness, but there was no answer and she sank down to the ground, her eyes slipping closed. “Fen’aslan ma ane a felasil Fen’harel.” Tears staining her cheeks, her body beginning to shake as she curled forward, she sobbed. He had left her again.

“Ma ane las, Da’lan.”

She opened her bleary eyes at the unfamiliar voice, noting the vallaslin on an equally unfamiliar face. It was her own – Fen’harel’s eyes was what her clan named it. “Ma ane isa ghi’la,” the elvhen asserted, crouching down. “Ar ame Rashale. Las, ma ane naim; ar juhalani ma vena mar sal.” He offered his hand and she took it, standing with his help and letting him lead her over to a mirror. “Fen’harel Enasanal,” he spoke. The mirror sprang to life, and he pulled her through it.

“Rashale?” she glanced at him, and he turned back. “Do you understand me?” She asked in the common language. At his nod, she continued. “Can you speak like this?” Again he nodded, and her shoulders relaxed. “Where are we?”

“The ones who raise you call it the Tirashan,” he replied as he led her into the temple. “This was where Mythal sent you to protect you from the Veil going up.” He watched her as she ran her over the wards on the temple walls, tracing their shapes. As soon as she removed her hand, energy pulsed through them. “Temple of the Hoping Moon,” he offered as he guided her deeper into the temple. Statues of two wolves appeared everywhere.

It had been a week since she went into the Eluvian after Solas, a week since Rashale had found her and took her to this temple. If Rashale was to be believed, it had apparently been created for her. She wasn’t sure she believed any of what he’d told her, honestly. He claimed that she was as old as Solas - or rather, her soul was, and she had been put into uthenera sometime during the slave rebellion. She frowned as she wandered the moss- and vine-covered floors, letting her bare feet pick their own path while she mulled over this information.

As she walked, she reached out with her remaining hand, touching the faded mosaic wall absently. Ambient magic pulsed through the tiles as her fingers ghosted over them, strands of vivid green arcing along certain tiles, lighting them up. That caught her attention and she stared at the wall, walking back a few steps to see the design.

It was the dread wolf.

The green magic changed; this time, it was purple, and she watched as a dragon took shape. Her lips parted as the color changed to a pale silver to make the last image in the mosaic: a moon's glow lighting up a white wolf ahead of the dread wolf.

“I wondered, Las, how long it would take you to find this.”

Looking around, she couldn’t see anyone, but the voice almost sounded like-

Her eyes locked with the dragon. “Mythal?”

She watched in awe as the dragon turned its mosaic head to her. “Well done, young one. You have come a long way since we last met.”

Her brow furrowed; the sentinels had told her Mythal was dead.

“I am a fragment, placed here once you were ready for everything. I am dead, child. We both know I can not help your wolf on his path.”

She drifted forward a few steps until she could reach out and touch the moon. “I am supposed to be his guide,” she whispered before looking at the dragon. “How, though? I am not even sure any of this happened.” Exasperated, she rubbed her hand over her face.

“How did the wolf claim to known things? That path is open to you...and it is time you learn to hunt.”

An orange glow began to appear along the dragon’s throat. As it opened its mouth, mosaic flames shot out but left the wall to smash into her chest, making her scream. The dragon closed its mouth as she pulled her hand back to touch her robe-covered chest, but there was no burn. The sudden sensation that she had swallowed the fire made her drop to the ground, gasping, trying to breathe past the phantom flames in her throat.

“Child, I have nudged history and shoved it. You are being melodramatic. Take what is yours; you are Elvhen, and kin, and would be gods just like your wolf; act like it!”

At the words, a fit of burning anger formed in her stomach and for the first time since the loss of her forearm, she reached out with her left hand. Ignoring that her hand wasn’t there, she attempted to pull the fade. Magic began to course around her, creeping along what was left of her arm after her forearm had been disintegrated, sickly green magic of the fade beginning to burst through the scars and drawing a scream from her throat. Her knees threatened to buckle from the sudden influx of pain in her arm and tears streamed freely from her eyes, her skin starting to tingle as the veil strained against her crude pulling. The sickly green magic traveled up her arm, skin smoking in its wake as the scars ripped open, the wounds cauterized before even a single drop of blood could drip onto the stone floor. Blindly, she staggered forward, away from the mosaic, feeling draconic eyes watching her with interest.

Clenching her jaw, she reached out with her missing hand, her weak legs causing her to sway dangerously. The anchor spread further with each faltering step she took. As she pulled on the fade, she could feel it begin to tremble around her. Her eyes went to her vestigial arm, which was beginning to ooze green fade-magic, and a hollow laugh burst out of her. This not-even-formed plan of hers was working? It was hard to believe, but the smoking grew worse with each tremor of the fade as more and more of the ooze came bleeding out.

The fade trembled and quaked under her assault, and the anchor began to spread past her arm. Each inch it crawled - sometimes leaped - over her skin, she could feel it trying to claw her apart. A scream tore from her throat but it echoed off the stone oddly, the sound warping until to her ears, it sounded like a howl. Hunching forward, she continued to stagger down the hallway, her nose filled with the smell of burning flesh. The fade was bleeding into the temple; she stared at a distant image of Solas removing his vallaslin from her face and her right hand tightened into an angry fist. She had been blind, so blind, so many signs that he had been hiding something and she hadn’t seen them.

She tore her eyes away from the memory, her heart aching because, despite everything, she still loved him. “Ma vhenan.” she whispered, her voice rough.

Something deeper in the temple called to her, and she struggled to continue her journey towards it. Bit by bit, the oozing, burning, green magic of the fade was forming the shape of her missing forearm. Her foot hooked a branch as she approached a door frame and sent her stumbling forward, her right hand catching one side of the frame as her shoulder slammed into the ancient stone of the other side. Leaning against it, she tried desperately to slow her frantic breathing. Each pull, each spasm of the fade left her feeling emptier than the last, and the pain still tore at the fabric of her very being.

As she stared at the remnants of her forearm, she pushed off the door frame and staggered into the room. In the center was a massive statue of two wolves nestled together. The shock of seeing what could only be her and Solas made her legs give out, her next pull on the fade purely reflexive as her knees collided with the overgrown tiles. He had to know what was happening, had to know what she was doing. If he didn’t, he either was not even looking at the fade or...well, she couldn’t think past the pain to figure out an ‘or’. Fen’aslan half expected his footsteps to echo towards her down the hallway she’d followed, and she could almost hear him calling her name. Tears trailed down her cheeks, and she closed her eyes.

It was nightfall when she opened her eyes again, one of them the sickly green of the fade. There had been no rest, no dreams for her. Breathing heavily, she stood up, her copper hair torn loose from its braid, and reached out with her left arm. There were still many missing pieces, and with soft exhale she attempted again to pull the fade, to tear the veil. She would have her arm back. Sweat dripped down from her forehead as she strained, splattering onto the tile. Another piece slipped through the fade, but there was not enough time to pull the rest of her arm through before something reached out and slammed into her.

Fen’aslan went flying backward, her head cracking against the wall as she hit it and crumpled to the floor. It felt like an eternity before she was aware of a groan slipping past her lips. Again she opened her eyes, but this time her green eye was met with a blue eye. The burning, clawing heat of the mosaic warred with the creeping chill of the glyphs as she climbed to her feet and realized she’d come face to face with herself.

A mirror.

“Inquisitor, you promised a price.”

Her eyes widened. The glyphs tightened on her face, attempting to spread to the left side. Another scream tore from her throat as the two ancient magics warred over her. The anchor pulsed angrily, and the only warning of it attempting open was the distinctively sickening popping noise. Her knees almost gave out again, every bit of her body aching and burning, leaving the fade scarred and bleeding even more heavily into the temple. It had already saturated the room, she realized as she looked up. There was no ceiling anymore, just the twin silver moons.

“Give in, Fen’aslan. This is our destiny: to serve the well. Fen’harel’s magic will kill us.”

Her mirror self spoke in a mocking voice, attempting to soothe her. Her reflection’s left hand was missing and her face was filled with unending sorrow and anguish, branded with the glyphs of the Well. Fen’aslan forced herself to keep her feet as she stepped away from the wall, her breathing heavy and ragged. Anger burned brighter than a star as the anchor flared along her left side, tearing into her further. Lighting, manifestations of her anger and pain, struck around the mirror.

“No,” she growled, her body shaking with her fury, and something began to change. The anchor had once been Fen’harel’s, but now she was making it was hers. It had been hers to claim all along. Slowly, at the tips of her sickly green fingers, silver magic began to emerge, spreading and clawing for each inch as it crept up her arm. The anchor fought back with violent pulses of magic that further assaulted the fade and clawed at her.

“Accept it, Inquisitor, and stop fighting. You will always be what you are now. Come home.”

She stared at the mirror, her heart hammering in her chest. Something in that phase had caused panic to seize her. Her left hand clenched into a fist as silver magic continued to bleed up her arm. Reaching out, she raised both her hands, attempting to pull the ceiling down on her mirror, only to stare in horrified when nothing happened; the mirror still stood in front of her and the ceiling remained intact.

“I told you, Inquisitor, you need to stop fighting this. You will never survive.” The image of herself in the mirror laughed. A wave appeared behind it, and the realization hit her: the woman in the Well had been her. Then the wave surged forward, smashing into her and tossing her back into the wall.

“I..I will never surrender…” As she struggled to stand up, ice spread from her feet, slowly creeping forward and freezing what it touched. Another wave smashed into her, trying to slide her back into the wall, but the ice held and her jaw tightened. Silver magic began to arc and hiss as it slowly overtook the green fade energy, bit by bit. It mended the skin that had torn, pulling her flesh together and quenching the burning pain. Slowly the green bled from her opaline eye, leaving only blue. She turned her gaze to the ceiling and pulled on it; the rubble tumbled down in a distraction as she began to walk towards the mirror, her legs trembling with each step. “I am no one’s slave. I paid the price of the well, now yield to me!” She commanded, throwing all of her strength into it. Every fiber of her body begged her to relent, to surrender to exhaustion.

The mirror shook violently as lightning began to arc between them. “We will not be commanded by a girl so foolish that she took what was not hers twice and would not pay the price!” Another wave began to raise up. “You will relent; in the end, they all do. Become what you are, child. It will not hurt, and you can rest.” The soothing mocking was back, each word casting a grapple of fade energy to entangle Fen’aslan.

This time, her anger was more precise, the lightning arcing around the mirror to entrap it. Each breath was focused on the glyphs, and her vision went black for a moment before she spoke.

“You dare command me?” Her voice was different to her ears; something had changed. The howl of a wolf echoed from somewhere as the two statues stepped off their base and began circling the mirror. “I am one Mythal calls kin. You will yield and become mine!”

Her magic lashed out towards the mirror as her skin began to ache and burn from the grapple she had been tangled in. Turning her eyes away from the mirror, she raised her now-silver magical hand toward the grapple, letting one finger claw at the grapple until it released her. The glyphs on her face began to change, silver magical energy coursing through them, turning both her eyes into pools of moonlight as another howl echoed through the room. Lightning flashed, the stone wolves growling before launching at the mirror. They savaged it with fang and claw and soon, silver magic began to ooze from it as it bled back to her. The Vir’abelsan had become hers; the mirror dissolved, and she could feel the voices fade from her mind.

Her knees buckled as exhaustion overtook her, silver eyes fading back into their normal, opaline mauve. The statues of the wolves were back on the base, nestled together as they had been, and as she kneeled there on the ground, Fen’aslan began laughing. Another voice joined her in laughing as the careful steps of armored boots approached, and when she looked up, there was Mythal.

“Well done, girl.” The woman’s amber eyes truly did seem pleased with her. “Now you can learn how to help him.” Mythal nodded, her lips curved into a slight smile. “Help him before he can no longer be helped, daughter.”

The warning chilled her. The goddess disappeared, the fade becoming less saturated in the room with each passing moment, and Fen’aslan staggered up onto her feet. She stared at her new arm admiring, magical energy substituting for the flesh that had been lost. Then a yawn distracted her, and she rubbed her eyes. Her body was exhausted and she could feel her stomach beginning to rumble and cramp with an increasingly-desperate need to find food. She needed to find Rashale. How long had she been in the fade?

As she hobbled out of the room, she noticed that the temple seemed to be repaired: the overgrowth was gone, the walls clean, the floors smooth with no ragged edges to catch her feet. She paused as she passed the mosaic and noticed the dragon’s absence. Was…it just a dream, she wondered? A glance at her left hand dispelled that; it was neither flesh nor missing, but a construct of her magic. It couldn’t have been a dream. Frowning, Fen’aslan limped gingerly out of the hallway and into the main thoroughfare of the temple.

“Las!” she jolted alert, her magic suddenly flaring to life at the sound of her name. Rashale seemed to appear out of nowhere, jogging up to her. “Thank Mythal I have found you.” His brows raised as he noticed her left hand, and he bowed. “My lady, pardon me. I was merely worried for you; you have been gone from the temple for a week,” he said, his voice formal and respectful.

“A week. I thought…” she whispered. She thought it had been less. Gone from the temple…Had she physically gone into the fade again? “Rashale, please. I am not a lady, and there is nothing to pardon.”

He shook his head firmly at her in disagreement. “You are a lady; your spirit has changed. You have found yourself, my lady.” It was his only explanation and while it was not enough for her, she was too hungry and too tired to worry about it for now. She yawned, swaying on her feet.

“My lady? Do you need refreshments?”

She stared at Rashale, blinking for a moment before his words finally made sense. Yawning again, she nodded. He offered his arm and, reluctantly, she took it and let him lead her to the kitchens.

The kitchens were rather large for the small temple. Carefully, Fen’aslan made her way around with a plate, gathering bits of fruits, jerkies and candied meats, hardened cheeses, and an glass of some kind of drink that smelled a bit like the wine Solas had introduced her to in Orlais. Lacking any sort of table or chair, she climbed up onto the counter where she perched with her plate of snacks, eating her fill and quenching her thirst. After her meal, she quietly made her way to her room.

Once the doors had shut behind her she looked around, closing her eye and trying to prepare herself. “Two weeks since I have dreamed…” she whispered to herself, wrapping her arms around her torso and squeezing in attempts to reassure herself. She made her tired way over to the bed and lay down, curling under the blankets, slowly letting herself drift off into the fade.

“Vhenan.” The word summoned her, and she found herself face to face with him. “Where are you?”

She stood up, and the images around them changed. He was trying to find her. “Where are you, vhenan?” she countered, shifting the fade on her own. “I will find you, vhenan. I told you I would not give up.” Around her, the fade stilled. Arlathan.

“I know you will not, Vhenan…” he seemed reluctant, looking around. “Allow me to show you these before we do not have time?”

She nodded, offering her hand. "Em ghi’lana,” she offered gently as he took her it, squeezing it gently. He lead her through the glass spires of the city and she watched the reflections, seeing multiple images of her and Solas. “In another time…” she smiled fondly; in another time, they had walked these streets just like this.

“Yes, Vhenan,” he added, turning and taking her- left hand? Her brows furrowed. “This is the fade,” he whispered. She realized they were in a grand ballroom just as Solas pressed close to her and began to dance. As they moved over the glass tiles, the room filled with people. “The Evanuris held such parties often. This was the night,” he started before spinning her. “The night everything I cared for was taken from me.” He growled, and the music took a deadly twist as she watched Mythal crumble to the floor. The young dreadwolf stared in horror at his kin, letting go of her. She recognized the figure in his arms. She tried to watch what happened to herself, but the scene focused on Solas lashing out at Elgar’nan.

“Wake up, Vhenan.” He leaned forward sadly and kissed her cheek. As her eyes opened, she sighed looking at the walls.

So it had begun.

Elvhen Translations

•Vir'sul el'u eolas (way to have secret knowledge) •Solas Tel’tuaun min ea el’u i em! (Solas don’t cause this to be a secret with me) •lasa em’an dirth ma’lath. (Let’s talk about it my love) •Ma tel’isala dina sul min! Tamahn emen to ea vir! (You dont need to die for this! There has to be another way!) •Fen’aslan ma ane a felasil Fen’harel. (You are a fool to chase Fen’harel) •Ma ane las. Da’lan. (You are hope. Young one) •Ma ane isa ghi’la. (You are his guide) •Ar ame Rashale. Las ma ane naim, ar juhalani ma vena mar sal. (I am Rashale. Hope you are lost, I will help you find your soul.) •em ghilana (guide me/ show me) •Vhenan (heart)

[p-redux]

Guess CO has reading comprehension problems just like ES do...(this won’t take long)

Apparently CO did what she does best--write a long ass whole lot of blah blah blah rebuttal of my post from yesterday. I’m not going to read it all, but I was told the gist of it. So let me just touch on 3 key points. Because unlike her, I KNOW, you guys don’t have the time, interest, or inclination in wanting to read all the nonsense going on between her and I. 

Sooooo. Point 1. All the screencaps I posted were SouthernBlonde’s PUBLIC comments and reblogs, except for TWO, just 2 DM’s she sent me. And I posted the DMs WITH SouthernBlonde’s PERMISSION. See the highlighted portion in the screencaps below. Boom, there’s SB97 saying “And you can publish this if you want.”  👇 I think that would hold up as permission in all 50 states, and maybe some countries around the world, don’t you? Doh.

Now that I cleared that up...Point 2. I didn’t go “ballistic” because CO simply posted a different opinion, or contradicted, me...what happened is that CO had ALREADY done MULTIPLE posts in the past with full character assassinations of me. CO literally slandered, libeled, dragged me through the mud previously, and I didn’t say anything. She continued to malign me, and I didn’t say anything. Well, like I said yesterday, the lioness finally had enough and bit back. My post yesterday was a CULMINATION of CO Attacking and Maligning ME for months now. Not the other way around. So, yes CO, you have a right to state your opinion on your own blog. What you don’t have a right to do is to smear my name, especially when I had been ignoring you and had made it a point to not mention you.

Point 3, since you’ve ALREADY outed my past fandom sins, I have nothing to lose. ES already think I’m the Anti-Christ. And NST who like me didn’t care about the previous shit you wrote about me. Unlike you, I don’t care what people think of me. I’ll be here whether I have 1000 followers or none. You, on the other hand, like to sit up on your high horse, and if I posted the proof that you most certainly knew that Vivid was a HUGE FRAUD, that I showed you the CONCRETE proof that she lied to me for close to a year, and that YOU tried to gaslight me into thinking I was mistaken, and you chose to IGNORE the evidence I showed you, and chose to continue being friends with a PROVEN LIAR, and then had the gall to use the info I told you in confidence against me, THAT revelation might change some people’s opinion of YOU. So, Vivid isn’t some “innocent third party,” she is a con artist and I proved it to you beyond a shadow of a doubt, and yet you remain friends with her. Mhm, what does that say about you? But, I guess no one would be surprised that you have no problem being friends with a fake, given that you’re still chummy with Costume Dude--the would be cyber rapist. 

Soooo, CO, let me put it to you this way, I don’t mind going down...if it means I take you with me. You know what’s the easiest way to win BIG at poker? To call someone’s bluff. I just called yours. To quote the legendary Kenny Rogers  “You've got to know when to hold 'em Know when to fold 'em Know when to walk away And know when to run.” 

You better run CO, because the bullshit hand you’ve been dealing people is about to catch up to you. Unless, your brain finally came back from the apparent sabbatical it’s been on and you decide to STOP talking about me. But I won’t hold my breath, since you can’t help yourself when it comes to me. I count you as one of the forever Purvsessed. Go ahead and post everything about me. But what’s gonna come back at you will be much worse. Trust me on that one, doc. Something else about good poker players, they always have an ace up their sleeve...