#gain some empathy. grow the fuck up

[yantao-enthusiast]

can some fucking people stop being to celebrities like “oh this person is either gay or queerbaiting because their personality is making me interpret them as queer because they act ‘stereotypically’ gay and that if you act like this you have to be queer. so we’re gonna either force this person to come out via peer pressure when they may not want to or be ready to or bully them for acting a certain way if they’re not queer because that’s the only way i can accept these people acting this way.” it’s really fucked up, based on toxic patriarchal values, and plain homophobic. analyze these parts about yourself and put a stop to it. it’s not funny. it’s not doing the lgbtq community a favor. it’s an asshole thing to do and you better be leaving that shit in 2023.

#this shit upsets me so deeply i hope you noticed #kit connor #harry styles #billie eilish #shawn mendes #honestly i’m not even a huge shawn mendes fan but what some people did when they were look omg he’s gay bc he acts 💅 #fucking disgusting #let’s not even start with how people made gross speculations about him and camila’s relationship #don’t forget the fact that billie had to come out bc she was put on the spot and she can’t just exist as a queer person #it really rubs me the wrong way all of it #and the kit connor situation is self explanatory #oh right i forgot to mention #taylor swift #like read the prologue please #also i feel the large majority of the community drowns out the g*ylors but it still clearly gets to taylor y’all #she’s stated multiple times she’s straight. stop insinuating otherwise. #even if she didn’t #the public doesn’t have to act like they’re entitled to sensitive details of someone’s life bc they’re famous. #gain some empathy. grow the fuck up #lgbtqia #lgbtq #queer

[evilminji]

My WIP fairy hates me. But like... in that homoerotic Nemesis sorta way, I swear.

Cease an desist, woman! (I scream into the void, knowing damn well she, being my own brain, SHAN'T.)

Cause NOW? Now I CAN NOT stop Pondering, with a Capitol P, the life of a Sentient Quirk. The trials and tribulations. The indignities and sufferings. Countless micro-aggression and out right dismissal of sentience. The reduction to the EXTENSION of another.

You are not a person.

You are JUST a Quirk.

An organ that "thinks" itself separate, in the way knees spasm when struck just so. The child you are attached to just needs to get better CONTROL of you. Your words and actions are actually THEIRS. You are simultaneously an unruly animal and strange adult, not allowed near other peoples children.

Why are you trying to follow this four year old into their school? Why are you SITTING out side a pre-school? Are you stalking that child?

You are a grown adult. Connected to a random Japanese child.

The child is expected to "control" you.

Punished if they do not.

No one is listen to EITHER of you, as you try to explain the situation. The child is upset, scared, and does not have the emotional maturity to understand why you are not to blame. All they can understand is that you appeared and everything became stressful and "bad". They started getting punished. Have to share their room now.

Do you even have rights? If you get hurt, get MAIMED, what will happen to you? Can you hold a job? Own land? Open a bank account? Fuck it! Can you have a RELATIONSHIP?

If you went out RIGHT NOW and punched a purse thief, would the FOUR YEAR OLD be arrested?

If the kid grows up, becomes a hero, and you do secretarial work... does his license cover you? If YOU wanted to become a Hero, would he be your hero partner? Could he technically sit in a corner and let you work?

If no one could TELL, over an internet connection, then surely that should prove SOMETHING? Right?

And! The question NO ONE ever seems to ask!

Could..... could you LEAVE? Do people have the right to force you back? If you don't WANT to be some kid's Quirk? You're sentient. If, unlike Dark Shadow, you are not PHYSICALLY connected, but tethered by distance?

Could. You. Leave?

Just "Allright, I'm out. The way you're all treating me is unacceptable. See ya never." And walk out the door? You'd be able to gain distance as the kid grew older. As long as you hid? You be homeless, without papers, but free.

A sentient Quirk means free will. Means you don't HAVE to do shit. It's like being born with a twin, not a slave. And that Twin does NOT have to put up with your bullshit. YOU are the one asking THEM to work with you, after all.

This? Of course, ALSO just ABSOLUTELY BEGS the question? What if that four year old grew up to be a BASTARD? Just... NO self reflection or empathy. Everything is everyone else's fault, always. And they want a NEW Quirk. One that won't question them.

So they sell theirs, buy a new one. Probably die off screen trying to throw it around.

What happens to you THEN? Pain, obviously. Like... massive, massive amounts of pain. You ARE a Quirk. You're being ripped out by your metaphorical roots. By the NERVE ENDINGS. But? Do you... for lack of a better word, "reset"?

Are you back infront of "your" person? Or do you stay, safely, where you are? Both would be fascinating, honestly. Because I imagine All for One? Does NOT get sentient quirks often. If at all.

They'd sooner kill themselves.

After all, if your choice is "kill yourself and your beloved twin" or "be ripped apart and watch them die horribly, then be used to go against everything you both stood for"? You weep and promise to make it fast.

Then you make it fast.

It's... really annoying, I'd imagine, for All for One. It's not necessarily that he WANTS a sentient Quirk. But they are INTERESTING. And he likes interesting.

He also likes owning things that can't leave. Ever.

So of course he'll poke and prod at the Quirk. It will inevitably be a nightmare, either way. Because EVERY Sentient Quirk has some degree of communication aspect to it. Just because the original holder never figured it out, doesn't mean HE can't.

And while your range may now be much, MUCH bigger? Because the fucker is strong as hell? How useful is that... if he can talk to you when ever HE feels like it? Day or night. 24/7.

And that's assuming you don't reset. God help you if you reset. Because THEN your STANDING infront of, most likely, pre-face-smash All for One. Who's looking at you like he just won a Mildly Interesting Prize and you would PREFER HE NOT. But what are you gonna do?

Walk out again?

You think THAT'S an option here?!

I mean... you can and do TRY. But, obviously not. So like? Fuck ™.

THEN the question becomes? Would YOU go to Tarturaus. Are you a hostage? Or an accomplice? You have the same level of power and authority as a cat, deliberately knocking pages of tables and cups to the floor, but... like? Oooooh~ oh yeah! THATS gonna slow him down! His empire crumbles beneath the sheer MIGHT of your petty inconveniences!

*trips the doctor again*

Fffffuck you.

#bnha #bnha ponderings #minji's writing #minji's ponderings #bnha oc #sentient quirks #all for one #prompt i guess? #bnha prompt

[ohtobeleah]

Gift of The Gab // Bradley Bradshaw

Summary: Throat Cancer. It’s never the way Rooster thought he’d go out. But when he does—he gets to give Jake a piece of his mind.

Warnings: Throat Cancer. Mentions of suicide. Mentions of death. Bradley Bradshaw x Platonic!reader. Afterlife lore. Death.

Word Count: 2.1k

Author Note: Day Seven of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Flatline. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list. This is also apart of the Life After Death Series

Bruises Masterlist | Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Name: Bradley Bradshaw. Age: 60. Cause of Death: Aggressive Throat Cancer.  

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“Get me a crash cart in here!!” There are distinct differences between male and female brains. Female brains tend to have a larger hippocampus, which usually makes them better at retention and memory. “He’s coding!” 

“Jesus what the hell happened here?” Male brains however, have a bigger parietal cortex, which helps when fending off an attack. Male brains confront challenges differently than female brains. Women are hardwired to communicate with language, detail, empathy. 

Men? Not so much. 

“He was fine five seconds ago! Dammit he’s flatlining.” But that doesn’t mean they aren’t any less capable of emotion. They can talk about their feelings. It’s just that….. 

Most of the time—they’d really rather not. 

***~***~***~****~***

It wasn’t uncommon for Bradley Bradshaw to wake up in an unknown environment. Over the years he’d made quite the reputation for himself amongst the young, dumb and hopelessly ignorant badge bunnies that would saunter into the Hard Deck. He never saw a reason to settle down, find the love of his life, create a family, grow old with someone. Everyone Bradley Bradshaw had ever cared to care about had left him in some way shape or form. 

But a name Rooster never thought would be added to that ever growing list of people who had left him behind, was Jake fucking Seresin. 

“Fuck—“ Bradley groaned as he rolled over onto his back, he could feel the draft coming up between his legs as he did. The hospital gown that was tied together in the back by three little bows did nothing to keep his broad shoulders, back, and ass covered. 

Across the way—Jake was busy in the horse pen trying his best to train one of the wild brumbies that hung around more often than not. He’d been trying for a few days. It wasn’t easy, but it was honest work that kept his mind at ease. 

“Easy boy—easy.” Jake cooed as he approached the gentle giant that had become used to his presence. “I’m just here to help.” He mumbled as he approached the horse he affectionately referred to as Simon the stallion. “We’re just gonna hang out.” 

Bradley sat up with a groan, he could feel the air in his lungs that he hadn’t been able to feel in what felt like an eternity. When he reached up to touch the port that he’d had in his neck for months to find that it was gone—Bradley couldn’t have been more confused if he tried to be. 

Where was he? Why did he feel thirty years younger? Why was he not in his hospital room with the blonde nurse he really liked? And—hold on a minute….is that? Is that Jake fucking Seresin? 

Bradley would never forget the day he walked into Jake's home and found him unresponsive. Seeing one of his closest friends lying there without conscious thought. It was one of the worst days of his life, nestled between losing his mum and dad. Jake's death affected everyone in all sorts of ways that couldn’t begin to be unpacked in a far too expensive therapy session. 

So—as a long drawn out beep rang out in Rooster's mind, the sound of his heart monitor flatlining, he stood and made strides to where Jake stood trying to gain the horse's trust. Ass on display and all. 

He never spoke to anyone ever about Jakes suicide, he never spoke about how it made him feel or acknowledged any of the trauma that came alone with seeing one of his best friends dead in his bedroom. Bradley thought with time Jake would be alright, he didn’t know how much he was truly suffering because Jake never spoke about it. He never spoke about your death and how you died. He never spoke to anyone besides himself in the depths of the night. 

Where no one could see just how much he missed you. 

Jake saw the man he’d left behind all those years ago in favour of reuniting with the love of his life coming towards him like a brick shit house. Jake couldn’t say he regretted doing what he did though—but he missed Bradley, every day. They were close, but he wasn’t you. 

“Shit—“ This was the reunion Jake had been dreading the most. “Sorry pal, looks like our session’s just been cut short.” It was only as Jake was jumping over the wooden fence that Bradley took off into an all out sprint in Jake's direction. “Bradshaw! What the hell—Oof—“ 

“YOU MOTHER FUCKER!” It was as painful as it was laced in spiteful anger. A rage that had burned in the depths of Bradley Bradshaw’s heart for years and years and years. He didn’t look a day older than when Jake had last seen the mustache clad aviator. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT? HUH?” Rooster laid as many punches as he could get in into the friend he hadn’t seen in years—getting out all his built up aggression. 

Maybe it was the past that was talking, screaming from the crypt telling Bradley to punish Jake for things he never got to do. It was his way of  justifying his anger. 

“Rooster! Stop man—“ Jake shouted back as he tried to wriggle his way out of this situation. “Would you cut it out! You don’t have any pants on!! Get off of me!” 

“YOU KILLED YOURSELF!” Rooster huffed as he dismounted from the wingman he hadn’t seen in over two decades. “You coward, I always thought you were stronger than me, but then I had my fucking fingers down your damn throat begging you to stay and I knew—I fucking knew you were the one who was full of chicken shit.” 

“For someone who’s got the gift of the gab you sure do talk a hell of a lot of crap man! Get off me!” Jake wasn’t backing down. He could do this all day if need be. But he knew Rooster had a lot to get off his chest. 

“Who’s dad yelling at mama?” Ellie asked as she watched her father swing a right hook into thin air. 

“You remember the imaginary friends we spoke about, baby?” You cooed as you held your daughter's hand and walked across the expanse of the gravel drive across to the paddocks. “Well—I think another one of daddy's friends is here.” 

“But I can’t see him?” Ellie frowned. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t see the people who had passed by your family farm. She wasn’t old enough to understand. But one day, one day you would tell her. 

“Because this is one of mummy and daddy’s friends darling, it’s like how we can’t see your imaginary friends.” As you made your way over with your daughter hand in hand, Jake caught your eye. He knew the moment Bradley saw you he would understand. 

“Bradshaw, your entire ass is hanging out for the whole afterlife to see.” You chuckled behind your hand as a heat so pure rushed to your cheeks. “Cute tattoo though, I always thought you had an ass tat but never got a chance to ask.” 

“Hollywood?” Rooster nearly collapsed on the spot when he saw you, it had been so long yet you looked exactly like you did the last time he saw you. “Oh my goodness, I—“ 

“Could you maybe stop beating my husband up? He keeps the house from falling apart around us, I need him in one piece.” 

“Husband?” Bradley turned back to where Jake stood dusting himself off. He caught the sight of a silver ring wrapped around his left ring finger. “You married Hollywood?” 

“Of course I did, I died for her—I wasn’t not going to marry her.” At the very mention of the word death it all sunk in. You could see it plastered all over Roosters face—he was connecting the dots. “Bobs been through, so has Nat.” Bradley felt again at his throat for scars and staples that were no longer there. “What was it?” Jake asked softly, he knew it was always better to rip the Band-Aid off. 

“Throat cancer—I think I flatlined, I just remember not being able to breathe and then I was here.” Bradley never thought he’d be one of those people who get some form of cancer. He didn’t smoke or do drugs. The most he ever did was drink and sometimes that could reach an excessive amount. Liver failure seemed more on brand for the Naval Aviator. Not throat cancer. 

“I’m sorry Rooster, that must have been awful.” You really didn’t know what to say, because what do you say to people once they’ve died. Natasha didn’t want to believe it. Bob seemed scared, Rooster though? He was just angry. 

“You were just gone—“ Bradley shrugged as he looked around the farm, amber orange from the mid afternoon sun made the fields look almost angelic. “You both took so much from me, I never saw a reason to love, to settle down, share my life with someone because I couldn’t put them through the experience of loss.” It made sense, but that was a heavy burden to carry. Jake wasn’t even sure he deserved to be the one to carry that load. “I saw what happened to the both of you and it scared me shitless, it made me so goddamn angry.” 

“Rooster—“ You cooed softly as you approached him. “Honey what happened to Jake and I, it was an extreme case.” You tried your best to explain as you reached out to touch his cheek gently. Bradley leaned into the gentle touch of a woman he kept a picture of on his mantle piece, alongside Hangmans. “You know we love you, but it was our time.” 

“Did you fight?” Jake asked as his daughter raced his way. Bradley watched as the man he’d known from the academy crouched to pick up who Bradley could only assume was his daughter. They looked the same in so many ways. But she was her own version of you too. “The cancer?” 

The silence that fell over the four of you as you waited for Bradley to answer was heavy, you knew he knew that he was dead. You didn’t need to explain it. But in the silence you saw a man racing across the field—there couldn’t have been two Dagger deaths in the same timeframe could there? 

“I wasn’t ready to die.” Be a man. People say it all the time. “I wasn’t ready, but I’m glad I got to tell you how much of a jerk you were for leaving us behind.” 

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t live without her Rooster—Hollywood, she’s everything to me, and after everything we went through? I never wanted her to be alone again, even in death.” 

You watched as the man ran and ran and ran—he looked like Bradley, just a little less buff and sporting the same stupid mustache. He wore a smile so bright it could have broken his cheeks. 

Your neighbour was Roosters dad, Goose, this entire time and you never even knew it. 

“I can still hear the beep, that flatline on the monitor.” Bradley explained as he furrowed his brows. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back or not. “How do I stop it?” 

“Just means that you can go back, if you want to, someone’s trying to bring you back.” It was probably the doctors and nurses handling the defibrillator, giving him rough but life saving chest compressions. 

Be a man. But what does that even mean? Is it about strength? Is it about sacrifice? Is it about winning? 

“I don't think I wanna go back.” Bradley sighed as he watched you make your way over to Jake and your little girl. The perfect mix of the two of you. God he was angry, he was still so mad at how things turned out the way they did. Why you both did what you did. But he’d get over it. He had to, he didn’t have a choice: Because the beeping had stopped. He’d flatlined. 

“Bradley!” The man who Rooster had been trying to make proud ever since he was a little boy, called out as he ran. “Bradley! Is that you! My boy!” 

Maybe it’s more simplistic than that. 

Men have to know when not to man up. Sometimes it takes a real man to set his ego aside, admit defeat, and simply start all over again. 

“Dad?” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#whumptober #ailesswhumptober2023 #bruises // jake seresin #Bradley bradshaw Whump #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #tw: throat cancer

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl — Patrick Hockstetter.

part two

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader (descriptors such as beautiful and nicknames such as dollface, darling, ect, but no described features— ie. long hair, brown eyes)

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal abuse , graphic depictions of murder/gore , you being murdered (in third person) 🤗 , self image issues

word count : 5.5k (part one)

a/n : i don't know how accurate this is to patrick, but i tried to make him lack empathy and remorse and he can't exactly feel love— just obsession and fascination. also, i hc patrick as a lefty so do with that what you will.

Patrick had once again been feeling that familiar itch. It started subtlety this time, like a tickle from a weightless feather that blew lightly across his skin every so often, and it began to gradually grow.

He tried his best to satiate the hunger of the beast within, to scratch that itch in the same way he had so many times before— by killing the neighborhood pets.

But, it appeared this craving was a different kind altogether, for when he lit his lighter, allowing the aerosol to spray through the flame and fry the kitten until it was unrecognizable and it's shrill screams had died out, he felt nothing. There was no sense of relief, no satisfaction or even the small semblance of happiness— because Patrick truly couldn't feel such uplifting emotions.

There was just nothing.

Well, there was still that nagging itch.

It took some contemplation. Long nights staring up at the empty ceiling of his room, his right arm propped under his head while his left laid passively across his torso. How could he rid himself of this feeling?

He pondered that perhaps burning just didn't do it for him anymore. To test his theory, he tried many other options— drowning, suffocation, mutilation— he even, regrettably, attempted tasting the vile little creatures.

So, definitely not the method of torture because he was sure that if he hadn't even feeling so empty, those, with the exception of the last one, would have been a world of fun for him. Well then, maybe it was the animal!

Squirrels, cats, dogs, raccoons, lizards, frogs, birds— anything he could get his hands on became helpless victims in Patrick's reign of terror, but none of it helped.

That feeling began to grow until it took up every inch of his body. All he could think about was the kill. Even when he and his friends were torturing their pre-pubescent victims, images of blood and agonizing screams plagued his mind.

And that's when it hit him— he needed a human victim. One that brought real stakes to the equation, one that would get his adrenaline rushing at the idea of being caught.

Initially, it had been an idea. He hadn't planned to act on it... but then you came along, and god, you were just so perfect.

You ran into him, through no fault of your own. He had been walking down the wrong side of the hallway, and you were just coming around a corner, so he was in your blind spot.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry. I'm such a klutz," you chuckled lightly after you collided into his hard chest. You looked up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

As he stared down at you, he just knew that you were the one. You were so perfect. So beautiful. And it made him furious. He couldn't quite discern why, but the way your eyes sparkled with genuity and naivety caused a pit of red hot rage to build in his stomach.

But he couldn't act yet. He had to gain your trust. He had to ensure that he could get you into the woods by yourself so he could enact his plan and finally scratch that fucking itch.

"My fault, dollface," he spoke with a wide smile, attempting to be somewhat gentlemanly. "I wasn't paying attention." He gently clenched and released his fist as he watched you smile brightly. "I'm Patrick, Hockstetter," he introduced, leaning forward to tower over you in an attempt to be intimidating but in a way that could also come off as flirtatious.

"Ah, yes, the infamous Patrick Hockstetter, I presume?" You asked, your eyebrow arching slightly. There it was again. That anger. It had to have been your subtle cockiness, the way you weren't the least bit fearful of him even though his reputation clearly proceeded him.

"The very same," he smirked, leaning close to your ear. His breath lightly fanned the shell of your ear. "Why? Does my reputation scare you? Do I scare you?"

You let out a light chuckle. "No." It was a simple answer, and yet Patrick still found himself having to cling to that feeling on his skin, the one he desperately wanted to be rid of, to ensure that he didn't snap right at that second.

For some bizarre reason, in your presence, Patrick felt utterly powerless, which was a very foreign feeling to him. He had always been calm and calculated, except for when he was alone with his projects, so to be so out of control of his emotions just added to his resentment toward you.

"You should be," he replied ominously before turning and walking away from you in long, precise strides. He let his smirk fall and his lip curl up in disgust as he felt your eyes on his back the whole way down the hallway.

It had been such a simple interaction, and yet it had left you completely and utterly captivated. You should have been afraid of him. You'd known of his tendency for him and his friends to terrorize younger kids, and of course, you had heard the whispers of what he did when he thought no one was around, but those were just rumors... right?

Either way, you were intrigued by Patrick and wanted to see him again.

The next time you two had met, you were walking home. You lived above your parent's old record store in the town square, which was extremely convenient for you because it meant all the stores, the arcade, and school were just a short walk away. The record shop had been your grandfather's before it became your mother's, and soon it would be yours.

You were coming up on the arcade, and as you approached, you hesitated. Should you go inside? Your parents were expecting you home, but it was Friday, so they'd be okay with you going out for a bit, right?

As you contemplated, a blue Trans Am pulled up next to you, and a voice called out to you. "Y/N!"

Your eyebrows furrowed as your mind registered the familiarity of the voice. It sounded like Patrick, but it couldn't be because you had never told him your name. You turned, eyes widening slightly in surprise as your gaze met Patrick, who was hanging with half his body out the window of the car. In the passenger's seat, Henry was staring forward, a bored and slightly irritated look on his face.

"Hockstetter?" You asked with a grin. "I don't remember telling you my name."

"You didn't," he replied, sending a grin of his own your way.

"Did you ask around about me?" You teased, your eyebrows raising slightly as you gave him a playful look.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Still not scared of me?" He asked, placing the palms of his hands on the door to push his upper half out the window toward you.

"Hmm," you looked up and to the side, pretending to think for a moment. "Nah," you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Well, in that case," he drawled out. "You wanna go out with me tomorrow night?"

"You bringing your posse?" You asked, nodding your head to the three other teens in the car that had undoubtedly been listening in on your conversation.

"Why? Do you want them to come?" He asked suggestively. "I mean, I didn't know you were into that, but if you insi-"

"Stop! Stop!" You laughed, clamping your hand over his mouth. He looked you dead in the eye, and for a moment, you were so hypnotized by his eyes that you didn't realize the wet sensation of his tongue flicking across your palm. "Ugh!" You shrieked in disgust with a small laugh. "Gross."

"So?" He asked, his eyebrows raising. "Whatdya say?" He grinned his Cheshire cat grin, and you couldn't help but relent.

"Okay," you said softly with a little nod. "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

"Great," he smirked, doing a little drum solo on the door in, what appeared to be excitement. "I'll pick you up at 8." You nodded, not able to contain your huge smile as he tried to awkwardly pull himself back into the car. "Oh," he said, sticking his head out the window a bit. "And wear white." Before you could question him, he sent you a wink, and then, the car was off speeding down the street.

You began to absent-mindedly walk the rest of the way home, all plans of going to the arcade having fled your mind, replaced with the thought of going on a date with Patrick. Your first date!

You really didn't know what he saw in you. He was so charming and handsome, and you were just... you. You weren't exceptionally attractive like Shelly Benson and Daniel Klein or outrageously popular like Greta Bowie and Jackson Pines. You were smart in subjects you enjoyed and not as smart in one's you weren't, and you had average social skills but never really made friends, just acquaintances.

You were just normal.

And so you stood, staring at yourself in the mirror as you examined every inch of your outfit, desperately trying to look less like yourself. You sighed in frustration, running a hand through your hair with a huff as you turned around, refusing to look at yourself any longer.

Your room was your safe space. The walls were covered in posters of your favorite bands, celebrities, and movies. You wondered what it felt like to be so effortlessly flawless as you stared around at all the beautiful people littering your walls.

Aside from the posters, your room was quite cohesive. You had chosen an excellent set of neutrals to pair with your accent color (which was your favorite color, of course), and it created a very attractive and appealing color pallet.

The sound of a knock on the apartment door made you snap out of your admiration of your room. Leave it to you to critique your artistic excellence when you're on a time crunch.

You took one last look in the mirror before taking a breath and exiting your room. You proceeded down the hall and through the living room. With one last mental reassurance, you turned the knob and opened the door.

Patrick had been practicing and planning his moves precisely. He had to shower you with compliments and be completely polite. It would let your guard down, and that's when he could strike.

The door opened, and Patrick's gaze fell on you. Even he had to admit, you were undoubtedly attractive, but it wasn't companionship he was after. It was relief.

So, putting on his best show, he opened his mouth as if he was going to speak before closing it and giving you a once over, trying his best to seem in awe of you.

"Wow," he breathed with an awkward chuckle. "You look," he let out a puff of air, motioning to you as if he couldn't find the words. "I mean- you look perfect."

He watched in satisfaction as you smiled sheepishly, gaze averting to the ground. "Thank you," you replied. You looked back up and playfully said: "And you don't look too bad yourself," in an attempt to play it cool, but Patrick could see right through you. You were falling for his charm, and how could you not?

He was a God, after all.

"So," you asked, stepping out of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. "Where are we going this fine evening?"

"Well," Patrick started, placing his hand flat on your lower back as you two walked down to the record shop on the first floor. "I know this perfect spot in the woods away from town-" You gave him a concerned look, and he chuckled lightly at your fear. "I know how it sounds, but there's a firepit me and the boys set up out there, and it has a great view of the stars because there's no light pollution out there."

You bit the inside of your cheek, and Patrick felt his pulse begin to quicken. It seemed like you were going to back out. Should he have told you? Or just let you panic when they got there?

"Okay," you nodded, turning to him with a smile as you made up your mind. "I don't love the idea of a first date in the woods, but I'm like 99% sure you're not an axe murderer or anything, so," you trailed off.

Patrick gave you a wolfish grin. Oh, if only you knew that he was a predator and you were his prey— so innocent and oblivious to the things that the night had in store for you.

The two of you walked out of the store, and Patrick read the shocked look on your face as you saw Belch's Trans Am, which was then followed by discomfort and then relief when you noticed his friends hadn't accompanied him.

"Took some convincing, but I got Belch to let me borrow Amy," Patrick said proudly as he took one long stride forward and opened the car door for you.

"He named his car?" You asked with a little giggle as you climbed into the passenger's seat. "That's cute."

"Yup, although cute isn't the word I'd use," Patrick replied before shutting the door and walking around to the driver's side.

"And what word would you use?" You asked, amusement coating your tongue and dancing in your eyes.

"Demented," he said, giving you a look as he started the car. It was ironic coming from him, and he knew it. If anyone was demented, it was the pyromaniac freak who killed animals and was tricking a girl into thinking he liked her when really he was taking her to the woods to kill her.

"That's interesting coming from someone with such a," you paused, for a moment, thinking for the right word. "Colorful reputation."

"Touché," he shrugged, pulling out of the spot he was parked in and continuing down the road to the woods. The car settled in an awkward silence as neither of you really knew what to say. Patrick knew he should ask you questions and engage with you, but to be honest, he didn't really care about what you had to say.

"Let's see what Belch has in his glove compartment," you said with a grin. Patrick's blood began to boil again. Not because you were invading Belch's privacy— he quite liked that part, actually. No one was ever allowed to look in the glove compartment. In fact, he had specifically told Patrick not to and that he would know if he did, and now Patrick could satisfy his curiosity while blaming it on his date.

No, his blood was boiling because of how casual you were. Most people would ask a stupid question to fill the silence or just sit in it, but you found a way to light heartedly and nonchalantly attempt to start a conversation. It was Infuriating to him how different you were.

Patrick considered himself an expert on human behavior. After all, it was his world, and everyone else were pawns, so growing up, he had to learn about people. He had to pick up on their little habits and understand why people did certain things so he could manipulate them and use them as playthings.

But you were different, and that's what infuriated him so much. You were still plenty easy to manipulate, but you had little quirks and ways of doing things that he'd picked up on that went against his understanding of the human condition.

You were defective, and that's why he had to get rid of you. You weren't normal. You weren't a plaything or a pawn.

You were a threat.

Patrick glanced over at you, watching for a moment as you rummaged through the glove compartment.

"Eyes on the road, pretty boy," you said absent-mindedly. "I don't plan to die tonight, and especially not at the hands of you." This made him internally smile. That was the second reference you'd made tonight of him hurting you and each time you had been wrong. You were going to die tonight— a very painful death— and the blood would be on his hands.

"He has got a lot of tapes in here," you observed aloud, pushing things around a bit more before a gasp left your lips. Patrick looked over again as you pulled out a pink piece of paper with a red lipstick stain in the shape of lips and a message in a hot pink sparkly pen that read: I really enjoyed tonight. We should do it again sometime =).

"No fucking way," Patrick said in shock, a laugh leaving his lips as he registered what he was seeing. "I can't believe that fat fuck actually gets bitches."

"Hey," you scolded, smacking him lightly on the arm. "Don't be mean," you defended. "I think it's really sweet, and clearly, he knew you'd be an ass about it," you rolled your eyes. "He really tried to hide it in there."

Patrick turned the car into a little dirt road and parked. He knew no one would be out there that late, so the car wouldn't be seen. "Here we are," he announced before climbing out and making his way to the passenger's side to open your door.

"Don't take this the wrong way," you started as you got out of the car. "But I did not expect you to be such a gentleman." Your eyes followed Patrick as he grabbed a blanket out of the backseat and tucked it underneath his right arm before approaching you.

"Well," he said, linking your arm in his left one. "I don't usually care what people think," he confessed, one of the few true things he'd actually said to you, but of course, he was about to follow it up with a lie. "But with you, it's different." He looked over at you, only to find you staring. If he wasn't making an attempt at faking vulnerability right now, he would have smirked at how enamored you were by his words.

"And why is that?" You asked quietly, hypnotized by the way the darkness created shadows on his face that seemed to define it so well. Almost as if the darkness suited him better, which was odd considering usually the light was more well-defining to people.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met, and I don't want to scare you away," he professed, his voice seeming genuinely sincere, but obviously, that wasn't the case.

"That's quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," you said sheepishly, a soft smile falling upon your lips. You both walked in silence for a moment, the cruching of leaves and the chirping of crickets ringing through the vast area. "Wow," you breathed out, eyes glued to the sky. "You were right. The stars look amazing out here."

"Told you," Patrick grinned before unlocking your arms and advancing forward. You two had reached a clearing, and he was approaching the firepit in the middle. Surrounding the firepit, which was clearly homemade as the stones surrounding it were just stacked on top of each other haphazardly, were various random chairs and a long bench that looked surprisingly comfortable.

"This place looks cozy," you said, eyes sweeping over the area. A chill ran down your spine as a breeze blew through the clearing. The air seemed to grow thick, and something in your gut told you to run— leave now and never look back.

You would soon wish you listened to that feeling.

Instead, you walked forward, taking a seat on the bench as Patrick doused the wood inside the firepit with lighter fluid before grabbing a lighter from his pocket and setting it ablaze.

A wave of warmth fell over you as the clearing lit up gold. Patrick straightened up and came to sit beside you on the bench. You were so focused on examining your surroundings that you didn't notice Patrick carefully grab the knife that he'd hidden inside the folded blanket and tuck it under his leg before unfolding the blanket and placing it across you both.

"So," you grinned, finally looking over at him. "Do you bring all your conquests here?"

"Just the hot ones," he smirked. You rolled your eyes, laughing at his remark. "No, but seriously," he let his smirk fall into a soft smile. "You're the only one."

You looked into his eyes and couldn't sense any deception. God, those beautiful eyes. You didn't didn't think they were capable of telling a lie.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but Patrick didn't have a soul, so his eyes were more like mirrors, reflections of what he knew people wanted to see when they sought out answers to questions that were better left unsaid.

You stared at each other, the air growing thick with tension as the urge to kiss him overwhelmed you. Your faces slowly inched closer together. "Patrick," you whispered, a wanting evident in your voice.

He reached up to cup your face with his right hand as his left carefully, discretely retrieved the knife from under his leg. He moved his face in, and you were sure he was going to kiss you.

But instead, he moved to the right, his mouth next to your ear as he plunged the knife he had deep into your stomach. You let out a choked cry of surprise and pain as your mind raced with a million thoughts at once, all of them so loud that you couldn't think rationally at all.

"Aw, Y/N," Patrick said darkly, feigning disappointment as he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "I told you that you should've been afraid of me."

He pulled away, twisting the knife to create irreparable damage before pulling it out. He watched as you cried out in pain, hand clutching your stomach in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"But you were too pathetic," he spat. He ran the bloodied knife across your cheek, slicing it open before pushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Just a desperate little whore."

"Why?" You sobbed, tears streaming down your face from the burning pain. Blood began pouring out of your mouth due to the damage to your internal organs, and you knew you were going to die.

"Because I wanted to," he replied with a crazed grin, his tone of voice indicating that he believed it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had never been more fearful than you were now. Not just because you were dying, bleeding out in front of a boy you thought liked you, but because of the look in Patrick's eyes.

They were devoid of any emotion, as if killing someone didn't matter to him at all. You would have even preferred for him to look like he enjoyed it; that's how disturbing his absence of emotion was to you.

Patrick sat there and watched as you bled out before him. The glossed over, far away look in your eyes made his whole body ignite. It just felt so good.

Finally, the itching was gone, and he could live in peace for a little while more. He sat on the bench beside your lifeless body for awhile more, relishing in the feeling of freedom; it had been so long since he had felt that. When he was fully satisfied, he began cleaning up. He threw the blanket in the still burning fire before running back to Belch's car to grab the shovel he'd brought.

Sweat clung to him, sticking his shirt to his chest as he dug the hole where your body would lie. It seemed to take hours, and the feeling of sweating but also being cold was very unpleasant, but finally, he got the hole dug.

He threw the bloody knife inside and grabbed your body, picking you up bridal style and hauling you over to the hole. He dropped your corpse carelessly into your makeshift grave and didn't give you a second thought before he began shoveling the dirt back into the hole.

When he was finished, he walked back to the Trans Am, wrapping the dirty shovel in the other blanket he had brought so no dirt would get into the trunk of Belch's car. And, no one would question dirt in the driver's seat of a teen boy's car, so he wasn't overly worried about his dirtied hands and jeans.

For weeks, Patrick felt amazing. It was the longest Patrick had ever gone without feeling the compulsion to kill. Of course, he still tortured small animals, but that was for fun rather than necessity.

But then he started to see you.

At first, it was just glimpses. Like, when he was brushing his teeth, he'd lean down to spit out his toothpaste, but when he straightened himself out, there you were— standing beside him, blood staining your clothes and the cut on your cheek that he had gave you still fresh. But then, once he blinked, your figure was gone.

He would see you around like that sometimes, not frequent enough to cause concern that he was gaining a conscience. Just enough for him to think he was suffering from a bit of sleep deprivation.

He wasn't worried about being caught. The police hadn't found your body, and when he was questioned as to what happened that night on your date, he said that the two of you had planned to go out to the woods, but on the way there, you two got into an argument because you had been snooping through Belch's things and you got so furious that you demanded to be let out of the car right then and there. Belch, of course, backed this story up because he could tell someone had disturbed his glove compartment.

Soon enough, however, you began to haunt his dreams as well. He would have terrible nightmares of you coming back from the dead and murdering him in cold blood, just as he had done to you, and then, when he awoke, you were standing in the corner of his room.

It wasn't just his brain making shapes out of things to scare him. It was you. He could see clear as day; the moonlight illuminated your face, your once innocent and naive eyes now staring at him with hate and malice.

Patrick Hockstetter didn't believe in ghosts, but he believed in you.

"Dude, what's your fuckin deal?" Henry asked, snapping Patrick out of his thoughts. Patrick looked over at Henry from his spot, splayed out on the hood of Belch's car, which he had objected to until Patrick threatened him. The four boys were hanging around at the quarry, drinking beer as music blasted through Amy.

"What?" Patrick questioned, hostility lacing his voice. Who did Henry think he is speaking to him like that?

"You're not even listening, man," Henry complained, attempting to throw a crumpled up beer can at him but missing.

"Maybe because you fuckers don't have anything interesting to say," Patrick shrugged, looking to his left at the water and tuning their conversation out again.

You had been on his mind non-stop. All he could think about was your eyes. They were so real. That look of hate— he had seen it before in his mother and father after he killed his little brother Avery. He couldn't have imagined that so vividly.

"Do I scare you?" A familiar voice asked, voice a mere whisper as a breeze tickled his ear. He quickly turned and saw you. You were sitting right next to him on the hood of Belch's car, and this time, he was sure he wasn't imagining it. You were there in broad daylight. He had heard you. He had felt your breath across his ear.

But how was this even possible.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, genuine fear in his voice. He felt something he had never felt before as he tried to shuffle away from you, but there was nowhere left to go, so he ended up falling off the car and onto the ground.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" Victor asked, his eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion as he registered the panic and fear— he had never seen Patrick exhibit such emotions, and he could tell by the look in Patrick's eye that they were not fake.

Patrick couldn't hear Vic over the sound of your laugh. It was so loud, deafening even, and it made his ears ring. You hopped off the car and walked toward him slowly with a sickening grin.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked, scrambling backward, pebbles and rocks digging into his palms as he tried to escape you.

"Because," she stepped forward, leaning down and grabbing his faded yellow Tom and Jerry t-shirt by the collar. He felt her grab him. It was all real. "I can," she spat viciously. And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

"Are you alright, man?" Belch asked, genuine concern lacing his voice as his brows knitted together. Why had his friend been acting so strange?

"I-I need to get out of here," Patrick spoke quickly as he rushed to his feet, dusting off his clothes and looking around frantically.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Henry cackled, taking a long sip of his beer. Patrick gave him a hard, warning glare that confused Henry. What did he do?

Patrick took off running into the forest, driven by a pure, unbridled fear as he tried to escape you, but the faster he ran, the louder your laugh became. It echoed all around him. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once. He clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

And then, just like that, it stopped. He slowly opened his eyes and removed his hands from his ears, peering around the woods. He heaved a sigh of relief as he realized it was over.

It wasn't real.

You weren't real.

He took his time walking back home, stopping and tormenting a few animals on his way to relieve some of the stress that had built up from the games his mind had played on him.

By the time he arrived home, the sun had long disappeared below the horizon, replaced by the luminous glow of the full moon. He pushed the front door open, kicking his muddy boots off by the front door before shrugging his leather jacket off and tossing it onto the floor.

"Ma!" He called into the oddly silent house. He advanced forward, his eyebrow arching as he didn't get a response. "Ma, I'm home!" He tried again, still no answer. He continued through the house into the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.

As his eyes scanned the kitchen, a tiny post-it note stuck to the fridge caught his attention. He took two long strides and ended up in front of it. Grabbing it off the fridge, his eyes scanned it.

Gone to see your father. Be back in a few days. I left some lasagna in the fridge for you to heat up and some money on the table for pizza or something in case you eat all of it.

Love, Mom

Patrick scoffed, crumpling the post-it into a ball and tossing it into the trash. Patrick's father was arrested for attempted murder when Patrick was young.

After Patrick killed his brother Avery, his father went mad and tried to kill Patrick. He claimed that Patrick was evil, and the world needed to be rid of him. Fortunately for Patrick, his mother still loved him (he had no idea why she still did after what he had done), and she called the police.

The paramedics arrived in time, and Patrick was saved. Though the attack did leave a raised scar on his stomach that never went away.

Patrick pulled a plate out of the top cupboard and a fork out of the drawer before opening up the fridge. He grabbed a can of Coke and the large glass dish with lasagna out. Deciding he didn't feel like waiting for it to heat up, he just used his fork to pick the pre-portioned slice of lasagna out of the dish and drop it onto his plate before sliding the rest back into the fridge for later.

Grabbing his beverage and dinner, he began making his way up the creaky steps that led to the second floor.

The carpet that had previously adorned it had been ripped up when his mom was having one of her overly energized and productive moments, so staples and other sharp objects stuck up from the dirty wood. He was careful to avoid them.

He reached the door at the end of the hall with a yellow sign that read DO NOT ENTER and swung the door open.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

Tags : @fatfagsj @brokenloverr24

#patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #the bowers gang #it 2017 #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick x reader #henry bowers #victor criss #reginald huggins #belch huggins #it x reader

[drunkwhenimadethis]

I'm sorry but I cannot respect a woman who is just a dickeater. Just hungry for any man's attention and good opinion 24/7. Snake snake snake snake. It's so pathetic after the age of 21 like grow the fuck up and gain some human empathy and morals bitch.

[kyouka-supremacy]

Atsushi for the ask game.

ATSUSHI HERE WE GO THANK YOU FOR HEARING MY PRAYERS

Favorite thing about them: HIS SELFISHNESS. It's so so delicious to explore. Can you imagine a protagonist that saves others not out of simple good will, but because of egoistic self-preservation motives? It just feels counterintuitive for me lmao, and I found it quite messed up when I first watched the anime, but now it's so compelling to explore. His whole “everything I do is in order to gain the right to live” is crazy fashinating. Because lol, that's entirely nonsensical to me! There's no such thing as “gaining the right to live”; all humans, every person in the world is inherently deserving of life. All. No exception. So there's no level of “weak” or “worthless” that would make you lose that right. The fact that's it's a vision so distant and absurd from mine, idk, it just makes it very compelling to explore? “What if there was a little fucked up guy who believed the right to live had to be earned” just sounds like a very interesting premise.

Least favorite thing about them: When I first watched the anime, I think I found him low-key annoying? I just... Don't do very well with self-deprecating people and people who complain a lot in general, I usually suffer in silence and tend to (wrongly) assume others should do the same (this probably makes me sound pretty mean, I swear I try to be understanding irl). However, it doesn't bother me as much anymore, I simply think it's more of a distinctive trait of the character that makes him multilayered and unique. As of now, I can't think of anything I don't like about him if not the fact that I wish he'd rely on Dazai and others in general a little less. I know that has to do with his lack of self-worth, so maybe it makes sense,, but as of now he feels kind of stuck. I just wish we'd see him grow more on that front.

Favorite line:

There may be better ones, but I really like the delivery of this one.

brOTP: KYOUKA AND ATSUSHI they make me go insane. Already talked about this in the Kyouka post but just to reiterate: in my headcanon Kyouka really is the only person Atsushi feels genuine, selfless affection towards. It's very sweet. They're siblings. Kyouka's happiness is really important for Atsushi. They really do have that feeling of people who got out of an abusive environment learning what normality is supposed to be like together. I also really like how they compensate for what the other lacks, be it decisiveness and coolhead for Atsushi and empathy and positivity for Kyouka. Although plenty shipping them romantically, I really like platonic sskk and atsulucy as well.

OTP: I really like sskk eheh. I think they're neat. There's a thousand and one reasons why I find them pretty great. They're objectively the only reason why I got invested in bsd as well as the only thing that has me keep up with the franchise to this day. Right now, I feel like the one thing I really appreciate about them is how you can be the worst person in the universe and still somehow be loveable to someone. I think it's sweet. I also find it very fun and enterataining to explore their various soulmatism antics. They're both very complex and multilayered characters with something deeply wrong with how their minds work that makes them very fun to analyze both by their own and in the complexity of their relationship. Their collective story arc and canon relationship progression is extremely engaging and nice to follow, too. I love dazatsu and atsulucy as well!! Both were ships I wasn't particularly invested when I read the manga for the first time, but really grew in me in the last six months or so. I really dig akuatsulucy as well!!

nOTP: Nothing?

Random headcanon: He really likes reading. There's some real meta-analysis to be made here I actually had written this is probably not the right place to talk about, but in a work that's all about literature, he's the character who reads.

Unpopular opinion: He's the hardest character to write / characterize. That's why people should probably go easier on other fans when they mischaracterize him. He's just very multifaceted and genuinely hard to get. I keep seeing people being like “Stop babyfying Atsushi he's an independent adult!!” then turn around to say “he can't be shipped with Dazai because there's too much unbalance of power :// [somewhat implying Atsushi can't make free decisions for himself]”, or “Stop making of Atsushi a soft baby who never did wrong in his life!!!” then turn around to say “Atsushi is the happy puppy of the agency who gets treats and pats from everyone ^^ ” like. At least to me, a lot of people's arguments sound self-contradictory all the time; but that doesn't mean people should stop having fun and characterize the characters as they like! Just, let's stop being mean to each other and try to be a little more accepting towards others' takes, shall we? And yes that also includes letting people find Atsushi annoying if they find him annoying (although like, I've NEVER found anyone call Atsushi annoying ever, so really, what remote fandom spaces is everyone visiting? Why are you looking for clothes (good takes) at the soup store (Tik/tok I assume?) ).

Song i associate with them: Common World Domination by Pinocchio-P, HIBANA by DECO*27, Ghost Rule by DECO*27, so on and so forth.

Favorite picture of them:

Favourite panel from the manga:

Favourite illustration: Look, there's too many beautiful illustrations, I can't chose. Here's a very good one though.

Favourite illustration in the anime art style:

But also:

Favourite Mayoi card:

Send me a character?

#Btw I think the author does truly believe that people have to earn their own right to live and that #“people can't live unless someone tells them ‘it's okay to go on’ ” #Which is all sorts of fucked up for me and just goes to the encyclopedia titled Reasons Why I Strongly Disagree With Bsd Morals #But taking the character Atsushi on its own out of the context of which worldvies bsd does or doesn't enable. #I think it's very compelling to explore a character who thinks like that!! #Of course‚ feel free to disagree with my interpretation of the text #atsushi nakajima #bsd #mine #people asks me stuff #I feel like with this more than others I have more to say that just didn't come to me... #I have so many headcanons and opinions about Atsushi how can I only pick one!!!

[atopvisenyashill]

What if Tywin died instead of Joanna?

i’m so mad i had a better structured answer and tumblr ate it so now this is super long and ranty. blame tumblr!!

anyways, i’m seeing three scenarios here

everyone is better off

the twins are still Doing That but tyrion is better off, so probably everything is still better off

aerys loses his absolute mind bc joanna is single now

while i imagine joanna does engage jaime to elia - and this is probably a much happier outcome for both of them, because joanna would have attempted to put a stop to the incest, up to and including sending cersei to foster somewhere else - i do think cersei is a huge question mark. she is often the instigator of their problems!

not to lay the respsonibility at her feet or anything, bc she experiences shit in her childhood that is enough to damage most people’s psyches (losing a parent that young and to childbirth is hard developmentally not to mention a fucked up prophecy hanging over her head & potential issues with empathy already!) and then experiences decades of spousal abuse, and is then given near unlimited power and told “now don’t do anything crazy lol” like, of course cersei decides “if i have to live in hell i’m taking these two idiots with me what are baby brothers FOR after all” and if you want them to have a chance at normalcy in adulthood, the key is for cersei to have a less traumatic time so she has half a chance at adjusting to the regular stressors of life. the main way to do this is to get her away from jaime and away from any terrible prophecies that trigger some sort of fucked up neurosis in her from an early age.

now, we don’t know who joanna had in mind for cersei, if she had even thought that far, but being lady regent of the west, she’s going to have significant control over who cersei marries. if she sends cersei away to foster somewhere to get her away from jaime, shes got a wide range of possibilities and if someone reaches out to her to get involved in their lil rebellion, she might take the opportunity to send cersei somewhere quite far, like riverrun or the eyrie or dorne or the fucking north, so long as it’s right now immediately & the distance might do cersei some good but equally possible cersei takes this as rejection and turns on her mother; though, if she’s spending her adolescent years somewhere with a healthier dynamic (and the bar is in hell) maybe cersei isn’t so paranoid. but that’s ONLY IF joanna is healthy enough & aware enough to send cersei away when she’s like 8 or 9. it’s a big if.

then there’s the tyrion of it all - i think joanna warms up to him eventually and cersei being elsewheres means he’s probably better off. at the very least, there’s less conflict if jaime married elia and had heirs like he was supposed to wrt tyrion, and Joanna may even attempt some matchmaking for him and can do that without the added stress of “he is disabled and also inheriting casterly rock” bc like, i’m not saying joanna would take the same hardline stance but i AM saying she saw something to love in fucjing TYWIN, and i don’t think she’s a saint who would unequivocably embrace her disabled son. BUT i don’t think she’d shame him or abuse him the way tywin does either. tyrion grows up in a family all similar to jaime; they certainly aren’t always respectful, frequently patronizing, dismissive, and tyrion is likely to get resentful at times (who wouldn’t) but i think everyone can agree that a household full of “i know they mean well but they don’t understand what it’s like” is an improvement over whatever the fuck tywin was doing.

all of this means…maybe the twins are married elsewhere when robert gains his throne potentially after KL goes boom since Jaime isn’t there to whack Aerys, but potentially after a much easier rebellion because dorne sided with the rebels, house lannister sides with the rebels, and they coup aerys the fuck out of there a bit easier. robert probably marries a tyrell or a hightower (there’s a few of marriage age and they’re rich) in that case. the realm is a lot better off lmao. OR cersei isn’t married yet (she’s still a lil young admittedly) and does marry robert. probably still attempts to pull jaime to her but joanna knows this is happening and is more inclined to stop it, especially with jaime married to elia, her best friend’s daughter and the beloved sister of the now prince of dorne. this probably causes a lot of problems ergo scenario two, but i do think a world where jaime or joanna is in charge of casterly rock, even a world where the incest still exists, is a world that is miles better off just bc joanna isn’t going to ignore the problem like tywin, and tyrion being even marginally less fucked up is a net win.

OR like i worried above, aerys starts a war for joanna. i mean, petyr started a war over his obsession with cat & sansa, it is not out of the realm of possibility that aerys “burning the lord paramount and his heir alive is fine actually” targaryen goes “joanna comes to court or i set casterly rock on fire” and that’s not really good for ANYONE.

so anyways if joanna lives it’s probably fine, probably even better actually, or maybe, everyone dies on fire. typical westeros really.

#valyrianscrolls #canon divergent au #joanna lannister #this is so long i am so sorry #there was more analysis of cersei tbh but it was getting like essay length #asks #to be extra clear the person i blame most for The Fall Of House Lannister is TYWIN not cersei. tywin sets a bomb in his house by treating #his kids like shit & teaching them to treat others like shit & then says ‘gee i hope this thing doesn’t explode’

[lloydfrontera]

So I think it's pretty well established that one of the biggest sins of Lloyd and Alicia's relationship is that they just don't interact enough to justify them being endgame.

So imagine an au where Suho get's transmigrated into the body of a palace servant instead of Lloyd Frontera. He'd still be forced to work hard and bust out his civil engineering knowledge to make money because I assume palace servants are mostly paid in room & board. But of course Alicia would notice this talent and want to keep him close. And since Suho doesn't have a Barony to go back to, he has no reason to turn down her jobs as long as she keeps paying him. (This is going off of the novel's characterization of her where she tells Lloyd that she isn't a tyrant and won't force him to work if he doesn't want to).

Plus I'm positive she suffers from Swordmaster Syndrome like Javier, so Suho would definitely offer her his lullaby service in order to gain some sort of leverage over her as well. There could even be rumors that the two are actually sleeping together and that's why Suho keeps getting jobs and titles. It would be really funny if whatever body Suho transmigrated into was just as plainfaced as Lloyd and the entire court is throwing a tantrum over it. Especially if Alicia is completely unbothered by it as she has spent her entire life surrounded by stupid and petty rumors. And since anything relating to romance is one of the few things that can fluster Suho, I could see him being secretly bothered by these rumors, even though he tries to hide it. This could then force Alicia to grow an empathy bone and help this man she has genuinely grown to trust and care about, and maybe even love.

As their relationship and level of trust progresses, I think it would be different enough from Lloyd's relationship with Javier to be interesting. Where Lloyd has to reestablish, for lack of a better word, trust with Javier and then prove that he would make first a good lord and then a good friend (and lover lol). Whereas with Alicia Suho would not only have to prove himself to her, but also overcome the huge power imbalance and status between the two of them. That could actually be a great way to visualize how close their growing as Suho rises in noble status to become closer and closer to her equal.

Speaking of Javier, if the restoration of fate is still a threat he might wind up being one of the main protagonists. Because Suho wasn't transmigrated into LLoyd, he wouldn't have saved the Barony so Javier begins his journey as the lone protagonist destined to lose virtually everyone and everything he ever loved. But also Suho wasn't there to build up his trust with him, so when Javier learns that either he or Suho has to die or else the entire continent is screwed, he has no reason to believe that Suho isn't some loose cannon threat. But by this point he has gained the trust with Alicia and there is no way she is letting Javier kill the man she loves. Maybe she orders Javier's execution/suicide, but would the other nobles/kingdoms allow that after Javier has spent years as a wandering hero? So now Suho is left with three options; 1. Die, 2. Somehow find a way to kill the most overpowered man in history, 3. Let everyone he knows and loves die, mostly at the hands of the woman he loves the most.

god. when are you dropping the fic again.

this is a way more compelling way to make me interested in alloyd than anything bk moon ever wrote. what the hell.

personally i cannot handle the idea of lloyd and javier not being close in any way shape or form it literally doesn't compute in my head but. this is so fucking good i can ignore the screeching little gremlin in my brain.

just a comment, i don't think alicia suffers from swordmaster syndrome. she's already a swordmaster by the time the novel starts, she probably powered through her insomnia and then learned how to shut down her augmented senses to fall asleep just like javier expected to be able to do when he became a swordmaster. javier just had the misfortune of becoming reliant on the lullaby service and then was unable to quit it once he already experienced it. alicia didn't rely on it before she was swordmaster and so suho wouldn't have been able to leverage it against her once she was.

but everything else is fucking amazing i love it <3

#hey i got an ask #appledawn3464-blog #tged #the greatest estate developer #lloyd frontera #alicia magentano #alloyd

[detransdamnation]

hey, i'm a transgender person who came across your blog while looking through some tags. i don't necessarily agree with much of your views (i'm very much not a gender critical), but your posts have given me a new perspective on detransitioners. i didn't hold any animosity towards them before (or much of an opinion at all really), but my understanding of them didn't have much depth. i just wanted to say that i feel a great amount of empathy for you. transitioning might have not been the answer for you, but i hope someday your dysphoria dissipates and you're able to find peace. you aren't a freak for pursuing a path that didn't end up being right for you, you simply tried to alleviate your dysphoria in the only way you knew how to. i'm sorry it didn't work out. and i'm sorry so many of my peers treat detransitioners with vitriol when we really should be extending our support to them. i apologize if this came off as me pitying your situation. i'm not good at conveying words through text, but i just want you to know that my sentiments are genuine. i'm sure this is kind of a weird thing to get in your inbox (probably even weirder coming from a transgender person, sorry). i suppose we're at odds with each other, but i hope you are able to find happiness and someone who will love you for you.

Thank you so much for this message, sweet. One of the driving forces in my decision to publish my mostly unfiltered turmoil in relation to my dysphoria (beyond the fact that I just need a place where I can drop it and forget about it) was/is the wish for people to gain this very perspective through my blog. I find that a not-insignificant portion of the gender-critical community consists of people who (self-admittedly) do not actually experience long-term dysphoria to the degree that I and many other transgender people experience (meaning they're just parroting talking points without a personal, in-depth understanding of what it is actually like to hate yourself and your body to such a degree and be so fucking desperate to just make it stop), while the wider detransitioned community (contrary to somewhat popular belief) do not actually criticize gender identity as a concept, and in fact, often continue to find comfort in upholding it post-detransition. I also find that the ways in which dysphoria is approached and talked about in both communities can be a bit... shall I say... missing-the-forest-for-the-trees in that there is so much emphasis on "curing" dysphoria (whether through the means of transition, therapy, or simply "growing out of" it) riddled into the ideologies that when they come across someone like me—someone who has continued to have severe, persistent dysphoria through transition, detransition, and pretty much everything under the sun—they, very often, have no idea what to do or say because I exist outside of the plane of generalizations they have based their beliefs off of. I believe, if you want to have an honest conversation about mental health, you have to acknowledge that you can do everything "right" and still suffer—I am living, breathing, walking proof of that shitty fact. I choose to be pragmatic about it, to show that both "solutions" to this internal nemesis have caused me pain in different ways, because I think it's way too easy for people—including myself—to forget that real people's stories are often much more nuanced and complicated than mere theories would have you assume. Maybe that's cliché, dramatic, pessimistic or self-defeatist of me. But it's messages like yours that show my decision has made the intended impact.

You have nothing to apologize for. I don't read your message as your pitying my situation (and even if I did, I'd totally understand, considering the content of some of my posts lmao). I'm so glad to know that you have found some value in what I have shared here, even more so that you read through my blog and came to a place of compassion instead of defense. I'd go out on a whim and say we're not so at odds with each other, seeing as how I do still live my offline life as a transgender person currently, although I understand how many would disagree with me on that considering my perspective. Especially in this past year, it can be very hard for me to not look at this clusterfuck of an issue and want to throw back all of the anger and hatred that the trans community has shown me in the past, I'll honestly admit that—but through it all, I try to hold out hope that we will move past this weird timeline of extremism (on both sides) and we will all be able to come to a place of mutual understanding that will benefit all dysphoric people who precede us.

#genuine fanmail #detrans #submission #text #my post

[chloeseyeliner]

(there's ranting. you've been warned.)

um... happy monday to the young royals fandom/edvin's fans in general.

(via edvin's instagram stories)

he is... he is twenty years old. good grief.

(i won't comment on anything regarding his physical appearance on this post, even if everything i'd say would be very, very positive, due to the fact that, although he's never going to come across this, it would still go against his wishes.)

can we just please, please leave people alone? this behaviour... it's not healthy, for anyone involved.

generally speaking, we live in a society where beauty standards are, unfortunately, an inextricable part of some people's lives. these same people believe they can force their own standards, "inspired" by a million different factors surrounding all of us every day (family, school, friends, the environment we grow up in etc etc), to other people, the "trend" (if i can call it such) especially targeting complete strangers, mainly on the internet.

and yes, that includes celebrities, too. famous people, if you prefer this term better. artists. whatever they want to be and are- most of us have been there to not know a day where these people's rights on their personal lives and choices and clothes and pets or whatever a paparazzi or a fan is going to decide does not fit their standards of the day have not been infringed on.

because, believe it or not (and i am NOT refering to the wonderful, respecting, brilliant, supporting majority of fans, at least in this specific fandom), your favourite actor is not your friend. even if the comments on their appearance, for example, like in edvin's case, are written in a playful, sarcastic tone, this cannot be understood through text on a screen- another problem of our society's current state; harmful words you write on a screen, whatever the intention is, do not just stay there, floating around. you aren't trying to communicate with your notes app. a person is reading them, even though you may think they will never reach them, because, for instance, of their huge audience. and it can (excuse me for my language) fuck them up the same way it would fuck someone (e.g. at school or at work) up to say the same harsh words- again, even if you don't correctly estimate the power they can hold- to their face.

so, again, as i have written and reblogged posts in the past regarding similar issues in this specific fandom,, which i love so so dearly, my intention is not to play the part of the "angelic fan" or whichever label might fit the text.

my intention is to maybe, just maybe, reach someone out there who will change their way of thinking; who will have second thoughts when writing a comment about a mustache (for god's sake); who will gain a little grain of empathy towards a fellow global citizen of theirs; who will try to cease some of the "madness"... before a person whose only intention was to make their dreams come true by entering the, in this case, film industry feels obliged to address the issue via a platform on the internet, as if not commenting on his looks etc is not the sensible thing to do... before this attitude turns to bullying for real. if it hasn't already.

that's all i had to say. i am apologising for the length of the post or any mistakes, since english is not my first language and i am quite mad and disappointed, maybe little hurt actually, especially as someone who has been struggling with their physical appearance and comments on it since i was literally a child.

i cannot imagine dealing with that plus being famous and having people judging you all the time. jesus. i really hope edvin has his support system near him and that he will be alright. <3

#seriously okay #at first i was like #maria don't address the issue people are going to say there are more serious stuff going on #but then i was like #yes i acknowledge the very serious stuff surrounding us at the moment and not only in a social media space with only generic posts and such #(like many people OF COURSE) #(and people don't have to know everything we can act on justice withour the internet knowing) #so yeah i did it #because it pissed me off very much #this is not healthy at all tbh #i am not being judgy i thought taylor swift and selena gomez would be my besties when i was like eleven #but parasocial relationships are not good #neither is (technically speaking here) online bullying #some comments appeared on my instagram feed when i liked edvin's post the other day #but i did not want to comment on it if edvin did not say something bc it felt very personal so yeah #this happened #young royals #edvin ryding #cw discussion/(better) mention of physical appearance issues #anyway #i still canot believe that respecting one's boundaries is not taken for granted nowadays

[kwilooo]

Incoming long vent-ish post

This song kind of represents how I feel at the moment. With life. Everything’s gone to shit. Between the Ukraine and Gaza wars, kosa, and my family going through a rough time financially and mentally, I just can’t really get a grip on reality.

I can’t help but feel this constant feeling of anxiety in my stomach, with the stress of hours of homework, keeping up my grades, class registration, dealing with my family, my friends, and just the world in general, it all keeps me awake at night and I’ve been getting so little sleep. It’s really starting to affect me just in everyday life.

Speaking of everyday life, what has it gotten to? It seems like nobody has any fucking empathy left. My faith in humanity—while never being very highly to start with—is almost zero at this point.

Kosa -

I’m sorry if I’ve been talking about it a ton, but if this bill passes and we lose our access to platforms such as this, I, and many other minors, will lose places where we can have some sort of stable ground—where we can gain any sort of grip on reality.

To be truthful, I’m not entirely sure of exactly what this bill proposes and what it may do, and I’m really going off of rumors. I know that rumors are not trustworthy, but I do know that this bill is unconstitutional and violates our rights.

-

I’m running out of time, I’m running and my time’s up…

I truly feel like this. I feel hopeless. Limp. Like I can do anything but help. There is nothing I can do, truthfully. As a kid, there isn’t anything you can do to help. Whether it’s because of strict or overprotective parents, or just because nobody will believe you.

They don’t listen to you when you’re young. They think you know absolutely nothing. They think we’re dumb. They think everything they think they know is correct. In reality, they have no clue what we’re experiencing and what we need. Both parents and the government.

This has been a problem for years. We as a generation have been speaking out against so many things for years, but we were never heard. Climate change, genocide, etc. We were never listened to because we’re “too young to know anything”

“Kids these days”

Adults say that in recent times, kids spend more time online or inside than outside. This is true statistically, but there are more reasons for it than we are “addicted to those damn screens”

A lot of the reason is that due to current events such as the wars, politics, disease, and just society overall, kids (I’d say currently between the ages of 10-16) have been forced to grow up a lot faster. I know that there have obviously been worse times to be a kid, but in the last few decades, this is it.

We’ve grown up through the COVID pandemic, where everything was online. This also gave us more exposure to media and rising stars who gained popularity over social media.

And that’s another reason; our generation (Z-alpha but mainly the younger part of gen Z) has grown up with a lot more disposable media in their hands. Much of this disposable media is how influencers gained their popularity. A lot of kids strive to be like them because they want to have popularity to feel that little twinge of excitement to have attention.

With all the current events, much of adults focus have been on those and how to give themselves and their kids the best life, which then in return gives the kid little attention. A lot of minors crave attention and an audience, so they create an online presence for themselves that can hopefully help them gain that audience. That’s another reason for being on screens.

Lastly, with the rise of social and disposable media, comes the inevitable effect of image. People who show off their body could create dysmorphia in teens and kids. People who show their life and travel could create a sense of inferiority for kids with families that maybe can’t afford to travel as much.

All of this then leads to declining mental health, also attributed to comments that might be made by other kids about a hobby one might have. Or maybe about the clothes they’re wearing, the color their skin is, their heritage, their opinions.

This is why the US is so fucking corrupted. Nobody has empathy or sympathy. Nobody cares about anyone else’s views. Nobody ever stops to think about how their actions or words might affect others. I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s a real and important thing to realize.

Kids and teens these days need help, we need attention, we need support, we need to be stable.

We don’t need censorship, we don’t need war, all we ask for is awareness and peace.

Stop the war in Ukraine.

Stop the war in Gaza.

Stop Kosa.

Control climate change.

That is all we ask.

And with Kosa; if the rumors really are true, I want to thank everyone for making this platform an escape for me. I want to thank everyone for their amazing ideas and artwork and writing and awareness posts. I love you all so much.

I’m not going to tag anyone as this is quite a serious and personal post, but specific thank yous to my tumblr best friends, Alex, Doli, Nat, Panna (I believe?), Hibi, Lizzy, Jami, and Sophie. If you see this I’m sure you’ll know who you are ❤️

I’ve connected with some of you little, some quite a lot, some for a long time, and some for short, but I assure you that all of you have changed my life for the better.

This post has taken me two hours to write, so I hope it can do something for someone.

Thank you.

#personal #internet freedom

[vampzxi]

this isn’t anything hateful ,uncomfortable or offensive towards you or your mutuals, I promise…I really feel sick of what’s been going on.

The anonymous button was created for those who have some sorts of anxiety, insecurity or fear of communicating with others. It was created for them to reach out and ask, share, bond and in a way help them grow and regain that confidence that was slight or missing. But now it seems some of you have gained too much confidence in hiding behind that button to disrespect those who give you that opportunity to talk to them. An opportunity you aren’t worthy of.

Too much confidence in stepping out of line and talking mess; it’s one situation to give your opinions and thoughts of something you dislike. It’s a whole other situation to call others names, attacking them based on their decisions, experiences, and lives to which you have no business to! You’re lucky enough for them to even share a piece of themselves with you- and yet you take advantage of it and later on acting as if you’re the victim in this entire mess when YOU’VE started it. They’re strong enough to try and push through the uncomfortable feelings and screw up names and defend themselves because they know their boundaries, their worth. They clap back because it’s what you deserve. Advocating for themselves is never being difficult or acting as a victim. Their feelings are allowed to be expressed, they’re allowed to change their mind, disagree, express discomfort, and not always  be silent or “chill” about everything.

I understand we all have our different opinions on things and it’s good to share it, there is nothing wrong with honesty and expressing but at this point (a long time ago it was a point) it isn’t even that. Opinions are really the lowest form of human knowledge. It requires no accountability, no understanding.

The highest form of knowledge is empathy, for it requires us to suspend our egos and live in another's world. It requires profound purpose larger than the self kind of understanding. And yet it isn’t that now. It’s threats, harms, names, revealing, nosiness. Major difference between honest expressing and carelessly speaking and doing. Do ya’ll even rethink and reread what it is you’re typing before sending it? Of how that person has a life outside of this app that maybe is already affecting them enough and you come on here with your puterias, feeding your negative and fucked up energy to their minds and hearts, damaging them more? Why would you criticize another human being harshly? Have no decency? Have you ever felt the struggle between good and evil? Do you not have the capacity to keep your mind in your own business?

To shed your judgments on yourself instead of strangers? To learn out of your ignorance and into a place of acceptance and understanding? Do you not know what it's like to feel hated and let it scramble with you? If you did, you wouldn't pass opinions about people that are trying so hard to fight their way out of a personal hell. And then you’re there wondering why that person’s disappeared. It’s sickening and exasperating to see when people are unnecessarily mean. Like, you didn't have to make that comment. You could have just kept your mouth shut and left that person not feeling bad about themselves. What do you gain from making someone else feel like shit? Nothing of substance. Maybe a fleeting moment of power but that's gone as soon as it comes so why? There's enough unhappiness in the world without you adding to it.

This app isn’t- WASN’T for all of this…negativity, all this hatred, harassment, drama, toxicity. It was to escape from the real world for just a few moments, to create new bonds, to meet beautiful people in fandoms you could relate to and have a friendship with, to express yourself. To let others know you. But now, it seems the real world is just seeping through nearly everything and everyone, sharing a single post has everyone attacking you…it’s infuriating. It hurts too- you’re hurting people with your words. It’s disappointing to see what has become. And I'm sure we’re WAY better than all this. I know we’re all human, mistakes, flaws, bad paths we take. It’s normal and there's always going to be something bad and situations like these in life. And I realize that not every situation deserves a reaction, sometimes you just have to leave people to do the dumb shit they do. Sometimes we have to make peace with the fact that we might be the “villain” in someone else’s story even if we’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. We don’t get to tell them how to narrate their experience. But should we really make it a frequent occurrence every damn month? Do you not get annoyed by repeating the same cycle? By repeating the same words yet in a stronger way? Don’t y'all have a life, or have time to check yourselves first before hopping on here and calling someone a bitch? Ungrateful? Butting into someone’s personal life and revealing it? Asking weird uncomfortable questions and more shit that just irritates and hurts others? Grow up, please.

If they do unfollow you, delete, block, and leave— don’t think they’re being childish, petty, a “pussy” or that you’ve “won.”

It means your toxicity is invalid in their lives and they know their worth and appreciate their value. They don’t want any form of contact with that energy you have. They want to move on in peace and not give a damn of what you’re doing, thinking or saying. They have requirements, not expectations.

Don’t like the people on here? Block, delete, unfollow, unfriendly, erase, disconnect, turn off, and leave. Stir up whatever it is you want out of this app. Or if you are going to stick around, do us all a favor and shut up. Keep those thoughts and that energy to yourself…or a therapist. Matter a fact I don’t wish that on a therapist- turn to God. Seriously. He can handle you better than we all can. Don’t like what you read on a writer’s post? Bible- pick that up, work on kindness, respect, and humility. Thanks.

(I believe in you dizzy…all of you🤍)

oh wow. this was definitely a read but this is the sweetest and most realest thing ever ☹️☹️. like my eyes started to sweat☹️. thank you so so much, whoever sent this, REVEAL YOURSELF. SO I CAN KISS YOU ON THE MOUTH!! you have such a beautiful and kind heart, i really needed this. and i’m sure others do too ☹️☹️ thank you so much 🥹🥹 I CANT BREATHE!

tagging people who’ve been getting fuck shit in their inbox, i love you guys. ☹️🫶🏽: @zayswriting @vixentheplanet @marsolgy @verachii @inmyheadimobsessed

#dizzysinbox #like ur literally an angel #i’m gonna frame this

[aeirithgainsborough]

Honestly a TLOU2 about Abby going on her revenge journey and still having all her bonding time (or, you know, more) with whatstheirfaces and then... you know, basically giving her Ellie's arc, where she has to choose NOT to enact revenge against Joel... that would have been a good game.

oh definitely! if their goal was to parallel abby/lev’s journey with joel/ellie’s that would have worked SO much better. if we had met her on her journey TO jackson and travelled it with her and along the way she met lev and yara maybe trying to escape seattle and the seraphites (for a different reason plssss cus idk why we still have to have transphobia 20 years into an apocalypse) and there’d be that same arc but fleshed out and over a longer period than 2 fucking days (their day 1 together hardly counts lol) and through that bond growing abby begins to understand why joel saved ellie cus she’d do the same for this kid - in fact, she does in a way when she kills all her own people for him but it would have stuck better if a) it had been longer than a day to get her to that point of turning on the people she’s known and fought beside for years and b) we’d seen a moment of clarity like ohhhh now i get why he did it and why my revenge was unjust and wrong. it’s really amazing how they wanted to parallel abby and joel but they couldn’t even make that basic connection of abby gaining some clarity and ppl say it’s well written lmfao???!!! it was right there in front of them… but yeah anyway if she’d had that moment of understanding why joel did it and then be able to grapple with this revenge she’s set out on it would have been SO much better.

the issue is this. neil wanted to tell his story about abby. that in itself is not an issue. the issue is that bcus he wanted to pull in those big numbers, he decided ellie and joel needed to be a big part of the story too. the result is a ham fisted and heavy handed mess that doesn’t work narratively or structurally. the way it’s structured to accommodate for all the different parts makes it feel like such a slog to get through. ive played longer games that felt shorter to play than tlou2. and narratively it’s just a mess bcus the stories have been forced together in a way that doesn’t work and ends up being a hypocritical, unsubtle mess. if neil had just told a story about abby in which ellie and joel aren’t there in person (only in presence through abby’s journey) or are just there at the end when abby gets to jackson, it would have worked better narratively and structurally. and like fix the abby issues too pls - it’s extremely weird to be trying to make me sympathise with her when she’s so brutal (the way she killed joel, being sad she has no time to torture seraphites, the fact she’s top soldier in her authoritarian militia and has no qualms about wiping out a whole group and killing children etc) and generally unpleasant (horrible to mel, sleeps with owen when mel is pregnant, has a serious lack of empathy towards ellie ‘we let you live and you wasted it’ ok well u also killed someone clearly very important to her, maybe show remorse and empathy bcus losing ur dad was so painful to you?? again it’s wild the point of the game is to find empathy for abby when she behaves as she does). but again, if there’d been more than 3 days and we’d been able to see her grow and change from that person to a better person the way joel did, it just would have worked better.

#the last of us spoilers #anti tlou2 #also to the other anon abt tess #there’s an article i read that i largely agreed with abt hbo tess #im trying to remember where i read so i can link it pls bear with me #ask #anonymous

[drbased]

I think the reason certain people can't shake off and resolve parts of their childhood is due to an internal confusion. You see, I think we all carry within us this belief in the fundamental separation between 'child' and 'adult' - that there is a child's mind, and an adult's mind, and ultimately there is little in common between them, and 'growing up' means progressing from the stupid and naive to the wise and aware.

But the older we get, the more we start to realise that 'growing up' involves the realisation that you agree with your younger self more than you could have ever expected. But there's a confusion there: how can you ever resolve the horrors you went through knowing that if you went through them now you would kick and spit and tell people to fuck off and fly on a plane to a different country never to be seen again? How do you resolve things like childhood bullying - weren't they also mini-adults, capable of the same reason and empathy that you had at the time? And now they walk around in this world, presumably 'sorry' for their behaviour, but dismissing it as childhood nonsense, something they've 'grown up; from? And what can be said about the full-grown adults of your childhood, who justify their behaviour with words like 'discipline' and 'children should be seen and not heard' and 'I needed to beat some sense into you'? Do they not remember being children, of lacking the words to explain that their own hurt was wrong? And if they do, why did they so easily switch to viewing your childhood self as a dreaded 'other' - and not even the abusive ones, but the kindest ones, too, also saw you not as capable of reason and empathy, but rather as a mere child.

In the end, you have to come to the conclusion that childhood is not a different self but a fragmentation of the self, and as you 'grow' you slowly put parts of yourself together, building a fuller picture of understanding. But the human brain is great at interpretation, and just like a black shadow in the dark that you interpret as various objects before it comes into view, your understanding of the world constantly shifts and morphs as you gain comprehension, as you progress forward in time.

The ultimate realisation comes in the recognition that it is easier and more comforting to see something as 'other' instead of putting in the work to move forward and build comprehension, especially if there's something to be gained from not understanding. But on the flipside, certain things feel so integral to the center of the picture that they must be constantly assessed and reassessed. People repeat their parents' mistakes because that cruelty seems alien to them, and they wish to emulate it, to normalise it, to understand it, and also that they, too, wish that they could have gotten away with the cruelty; they will perpetuate cruelty to some extent out of spite, and will never admit it to themselves. The fact is that people do that exact same process of perpetuating cruelty whethere they're 4 or 84. Some people put the pieces together of compassion at an early age, and some people never want to - and those reasons will be fundamentally alien to you. A lot of things will be alien to you, for no matter how much you want to formulate an understanding of the bigger picture (oh, how we all wish we could comprehend the bigger picture), the picture will always be yours; it will always be your comprehension, and that comprehension will shift; maybe one day, you'll realise you were perpetuating a cruelty that you didn't realise, and your whole perception of existence shifts, a new piece of the puzzle in place.

#wisdom posting #my writing

[writer-of-various]

Snippet...[Warnings: N*zis, Strong Language, and the Crew are just a warning to anything]

"I'm done, man, honestly, I'm done." Dempsey shut his eyes, his breathing growing shallow as he struggled to gain control of the anger that is brewing inside him. Richtofen frowned, looking at his teammate and shaking his head.

"No–"

Dempsey made a noise, like a strangled animal, and jumped up from the old chair he was sitting on, his arms outstretched as he lets out another noise. "I'm done, Eddie! This time travel BS is fucking with us! I mean, come on, the Nazis won? The Soviets won? The US turned into its worst possible nightmare?! Fuck this man, I'm done!"

Nikolai shrugs, "I mean...at least we haven't gone back in time and gotten the Black Plague or went into another universe that was dictated by women." He avoids Lilja's hard stare, her eyes narrowed. Takeo sighs.

"You're making it worse." He mumbles, and Nikolai gives him a look.

"Worse? No, I'm trying to say that what we've seen so far is nothing compared to what could possibly await us. We've chased after some stupid piece of uranium, we're looking for some artifact, we encountered a crazy group of people from the future of another world that plans to use zombies to gain control of their world– I mean, how can anything possibly get worse, actually?"

"Alright, you better shut up before I knock all your teeth out. I'm sorry this isn't going according to plan, but if we decide to avoid this, then everything we've known is completely fucked. Our old lives were the same, fighting the undead constantly while we followed him," Lilja points at Richtofen, who gives a small, sheepish smile. "We died so many times, we sacrificed so much. But Samantha needs us. The universes are merging, and if we don't stop it, we can face a death more horrific and real than we have ever gone through."

Dempsey sighs, nodding his head while walking closer to the group. "I know...I'm sorry. It's just...these different versions of us...Vietnam? Post World War Two? Fuck, being royalty? How do we know that this...is actually who we are?"

"Because we remembered each other. The dreams, the memories...I've told you all this before and you better start believing it. Fate brought us together. In a horrible way, but we found each other again. And I think now, that's all that matters." Lilja offers him a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Dempsey doesn't notice this and smiles back, nodding his head once more and rubbing his hands together, the light returning to his eyes.

"Alright, where to next then?"

As Lilja explains their next objective, she can't help but think back to her sadistic self. She knew everything her previous selves have went through, the troubles they endured in both World Wars by the Russians and then Germans. To see her Ultimis self joining the Germans, to becoming a sick person who loved to get her next thrill by torturing POWs and traitors of Germany?

To see Richtofen growing more insane by the second, his desire to rule the world so unreal, so different, even from his Ultimis self. And the brainwashings, how they changed Dempsey and Takeo. Dempsey, someone who loves to help others and has a big heart, to be changed to a supersoldier with no empathy or that childlike light in his eyes. Takeo, someone who knows the pressure of being honorable and someone who takes his actions into full responsibility, to be so reckless and bloodthirsty.

And Nikolai, to betray his home, his people, to indulge in severe drinking and drug use and to be...she can't describe it. It makes her stomach churn, to have seen them in their worst versions, to force the boys to see themselves like that?

The outcome of World War Two was always a big topic among everyone, the 'what ifs' like a scary story. What if Germany won? What if the Soviets caused a nuclear fallout? What if the USA finally pursued Manifest Destiny? What if all the countries that have abused by bigger powers teamed up and caused another war? Her country being the cause of another war.

"Lilja, you okay?" Richtofen looks at her with a questioning gaze, and it makes her feel so...vulnerable. She wants to cry. She wants to just say "Fuck it", and give up. She doesn't want to see what else awaits them. She doesn't want these memories, she never wanted them, she never asked for them. They weren't a gift, they were a curse. Like being chosen by the supposedly dead Kronorium.

Instead, she forces another smile and nods. "Yes, I am. Let's get to work, the fate of all humanity depends on us."

There's no hope for wherever they go next. Because it's another death Lilja is going to be pained with.

So I planned, like a year or something ago, to try continuing the Zombies storyline since these recent CODs have been disappointing in continuing Cold War's story. I haven't published much story content, rather Headcanons and short snippets here and there. I'm not even sure if I have actually discussed this topic with y'all. But, basically, in these storyline, I chose my OC, Lilja, to be the new leader of the crew. She is chosen to attain all memories from her Ultimis and Primis selves, and she has to reunite the crew after Samantha Maxis manages to contact her with many warnings, the main one being that all universes could merge and humanity could end once that happens. If this wasn't OC led, Dempsey would have been the "Chosen One" and have been the new leader.

Anyways, basically they are guided by Samantha (and sometimes the evil forces from the Dark Aether who disguise themselves as Samantha) to time travel and jump universes to find objects that can help them in the final battle against the Dark Aether to save Samantha and basically the whole fucking universe.

The Crew has to jump universes to not only find significant artifacts, but they have to kill the different versions of themselves, and killing another version of themselves is painful in pretty much all the senses (for example, Nikolai shooting another version of himself in the head gives him a horrible headache.)

This snippet takes place after the crew finds themselves in an alternate universe where Germany won WW2 and took control of pretty much the whole world (with some territories given to its Axis Powers allies.) The versions of the crew are, as you can imagine, terrible and troubled and it affected the crew a lot to see themselves represent themselves as followers of the Nazi party. It's hard enough for me to write shit like that, but the What Ifs of World War Two are always a big topic among pretty much everyone and I couldn't ignore the opportunity of putting this theory to the test with our crew, who are World War Two oriented.

So this is basically what I've planned to write, and I might not even the get the chance to actually write a full on story about this potential work of continuing the zombies storyline (this is all my own opinions) since I won't get the chance to actually see how Gulf War's zombie storyline works out. Anyways, I hope you somewhat enjoyed this and I understand if you just left midway through my rant.

Have a wonderful day!

#cod cold war #call of duty #cod zombies #lilja alekov #tank dempsey #eddie richtofen #nikolai belinski #takeo masaki #idk even know what to name them anymore #medietas? novus? #idk and idgaf #my story #my stuff #headcanons #snippet #my oc #cod black ops zombies #zombie storyline

[aries-writingblog]

Enemy Fire: 10

Summary: There's a new kid in town, and she's got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd × F. Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: language, weapons, threats, violence, stressed family relations, mentions of parental death (maybe a couple sentences)

AN: photos are from Pinterest

YN exhaled slowly, attempting to settle her nerves.

The cafe was mostly quiet— soothing music playing over the speakers, paired with the scent of coffee and tea mingled her senses.

It had been too quiet after the attack in the market. No raid on her apartment, no one gunned her down in the street. Not a single sign that said they were still there.

She had almost come to the conclusion that it had been some nightmarishly real terror. Some hallucination.

But she knew better. He taught her better.

‘Wait out your target. Make them nervous. Your patience will be what makes or breaks a kill.’

Her fingertips were numb as she clasped her cup of coffee. She knew why his methods were so effective, now.

YN scanned the cafe again. A businessman, speaking quietly on his cell phone. Two guys sitting in the corner, enjoying their time together. A college age girl with headphones on. Her hands steady typing on a laptop.

Taking a sip of her coffee, YN eyed the girl. It could’ve been her, she supposed. Graduated high school early, taken college classes, graduate with high honors. Go for a doctorate degree, perhaps.

She had been doomed from the start. Her circumstances were never the right ones for that child to grow.

“Hello, sweetheart.” YN froze. Her cup nearly slipped out of her grasp. Her knee jerked, her body working faster than her brain, already trying to escape. The man clicked his tongue, sliding into the seat across from her. “I wouldn’t move. There’s a sniper trained on you from across the street and your dear old pops doesn’t deal without holding.”

Something hard pressed against her kneecap, demanding her silence.

She was a fucking idiot. She should’ve taken more precaution— what the hell was she doing, drinking coffee out in public? YN leaned back against the booth, her lips settling into a line. Displeased with herself and the situation.

“You aren’t my father.” She snapped, her lip curling.

Adrian laughed; His smile was bright and easy, like he wasn’t holding a gun to her. Like he wasn’t threatening her.

Like they were truly father and daughter, sharing time over a coffee.

“I’m the closest thing your sorry ass has for a parent.” He corrected her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her lips curving even further downwards.

“I don’t think parents hold their children at gunpoint. Or hire assassins to kill them.”

Adrian shook his head, reaching over to the bag of pastries. Fishing out a cookie, he snapped it in half and took a large bite.

“No, no, sweetheart, they weren’t meant to kill you. Just teach you a very valuable lesson.” He explained, chewing the remainder of the stolen treat.

YN shifted, finally gaining enough sense to put her cup back down on the table. Placing her palms face down before her, she straightened her spine.

A feeble attempt at making herself bigger than him.

“Who’s to say I don’t light this shit up right here and now, all just to burn you?” She hissed, leaning forward.

Adrian raised a brow.

After his brother met an unfortunate end, he decided to help his dear sister-in-law and niece. It had been quite a shock for the woman to learn of her husband’s brother. Once the initial shock and despair of losing her husband, but gaining another male figure, she accepted his offer of help.

But she was concerned about her daughter meeting new people.

When he met YN, her mother had warned him she might not accept him immediately. She had terrible trust issues, and just awful people skills.

But, the more he was around, the more he took note. She didn’t have terrible people skills. She just didn’t care. The empathy wasn’t there.

Sure, she handed out baskets to the poor, participated in food drives and donated. She never used her powers in public spaces if she could help it.

Her mother had made such a point about teaching her daughter the correct path. Guiding her down a path of a good spirit. Because she knew, deep down in her kind heart, that her daughter would always be hunted because of her abilities. And her daughter could not differentiate good or evil without being told.

She had always been the same. Apathetic. Disinterested. She wouldn’t change. She couldn’t.

“You won’t.” He assured her. Not with her mother’s warnings so heavily in mind.

‘You’re different, sweetheart; They will chase and persecute you for these abilities. Even if you were doing the right thing, you will be blamed.’

YN glanced out to the cafe. It wasn’t badly crowded for the time of day, but soon, it would be. Schools would be let out in thirty minutes. But there were still people around. People she shouldn’t kill.

People who would point fingers and blame her for killing a man who does nothing but evil.

“I won’t be your weapon.” She shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek. “I know my worth now, Adrian, and it’s too high for you to pay.”

“Pay? Now that’s an interesting topic.” He agreed, his voice edged near furious. The click of the safety being taken off somehow echoed over the noise of the cafe. “Because you, my darling daughter, you were filtering money from my accounts. Enough to make a dent and for me to notice. That’s what the hunters were for. And my visit today.”

He was bluffing.

YN stared at his eyes. A glint sparked off the deep, rich, brown color of his irises.

Wasn’t he?

“What do you want?” She demanded.

“Either you come home today, with me, and I’ll reinstate you as the Jersey manager, or you walk away right now and I’ll have your head as payment for your crimes.”

“They weren’t crimes.” She protested through clenched teeth.

“They were to me.” He snarled, lowly.

The tension was thick and cloying. But she refused to back down.

Not anymore.

Even though her fingers were trembling and her skin felt like it was alight, she would not be under his thumb again.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She warned.

Adrian shrugged, wiping his fingers on a napkin. He reached over and snagged her drink. Sparing a precautionary whiff, he took a hesitant sip.

Strong notes of spices and dairy. All sugar, barely any coffee.

“Then you stay here and die by my hand.” He reasoned.

YN’s lips curled into a frown.

Adrian’s face didn’t move.

Clenching her hands into tight fists, she tilted her chin up. Anger curling into a ball in her belly. Sparking along all of her muscles.

“If you’re gonna kill me, you’d better do it now, while you still have a shot.” She advised, inching her foot closer to his, extending her kneecap. Welcoming the bullet.

He hummed at her faux bravery.

“No….” He answered. He turned to face the window, using his free hand, he held two fingers against the glass. YN swallowed, bracing herself for the bullets to penetrate the glass. They never came; Adrian dropped his hand. “No, I think I’d like to see you squirm first.”

Adrian pushed himself to his feet. Her eyes slipped down to his hand.

She wasn’t sure why, but seeing the handgun there was more unnerving than feeling it press to her skin.

He brought his hand up to the magazine, loosing it. He pushed a single bullet from it and let it clatter against the table.

Then, he turned and walked out.

YN’s breath left her lungs in a rush; Lightheadedness overtook her senses, leaving her with vertigo and nausea.

She hated that man.

She hated he made her feel like a kid again.

But she would not cry. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t cry, or throw up, or scream— nothing. Her fingertips moved across the table shakily. Barely touching the cool metal of the bullet.

Rolling it into her fingers, she stared at the gold plated gunpowder. She stared at certain death.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Straightening her spine, she glanced around.

She locked eyes with a man, standing across the cafe. Waiting for his name to be called.

He was staring right back at her.

A cruel scar curved upwards from his mouth, jagged across his cheek.

Fuck.

He pushed off the wall and started over to her table. YN turned her head to the window and blinked, rolling her eyes upward to prevent any tears from escaping.

He slowed to a stop at the booth table’s edge. Before he could speak, she turned back.

“Well, seems you’re getting your way after all, Todd.” She nodded to the booth seat across from her. “I need your help.”

“So, this Adrian guy is your…”

“Uncle. More of a ghost, nowadays. Runs a crime ring in New York.”

Jason hummed, tapping his fingers against his cup. YN shifted in her booth, her eyes moving constantly. But never landing on him, it seemed. They would flick behind him, to the shop’s entry, then to the windows, on the streets, then back into the shop to glare at patrons.

“And you were running Jersey for him until he caught you laundering?” Jason confirmed.

She had explained, in very minor details, as soon as he sat down, what kind of trouble was hunting her. Now, he was attempting to piece together the fragments he was able to catch from the rapid, one sided conversation.

YN tilted her head. She tapped the end of the bullet against the table. The metallic noise was muffled by her fingertips.

Would he ever believe her, even if she told the truth? Not that it mattered much. Her plans were shattered now.

“I was relocating funds for a necessary purpose.”

“Can I know what that purpose was?” He pressed.

YN frowned, her gaze switching between his different colored irises.

His face held a strange, masculine beauty. Thick, dark brows paired with equally dark lashes. Tanned skin and a mop of unruly black curls, his signature white streak flopped against his forehead.

His scar across his cheek, one sliced through his eyebrow. His eyes were the true beauty; Strange and uncommon. His left was a pale blue, the right was green with a sliver of blue.

He reminded her terribly of an alley cat. Someone who has lived too many lives all in a single lifetime.

“Care packages.” She admitted, finally lowering her eyes to the table. Fiddling more with the bullet, she kept her eyes focused on the gleaming gold. “Jersey has a decent sized homeless population. It’s only worse when there are crime rings.”

Jason took a long drink of his tea, his gaze never leaving her face. On his own, he doubted he could have ever guessed that information.

Dick had admitted to him he had seen her in the Narrows, giving out bags. She had apparently been doing it in New Jersey, too.

He hadn’t found much information on her— and he still wasn’t sure how she avoided his first facial search all those weeks ago. But once he had a full face, and access to the BatCave’s computers, he found her after a couple hours.

Granted, he only found a learner’s license, a fake passport, and a couple of past addresses.

But here she was, giving him more information. Willingly.

“And now he’s in Gotham.” He summarized.

“To kill me.” She confirmed.

Jason nodded once.

Her story was making more sense, and simultaneously, less sense. There were certain holes that he supposed were meant to be left unexplained. Her own insurance.

And as much as he hoped to have the full idea, he doubted she would give it up. Though, he would still try.

“So you were trying to stack defense here.” He clarified.

YN hummed, pushing her own cup around the table. It left a water trail of condensation.

“Until you started fucking up my plans.” She divulged. She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Then he arrived earlier than I’d anticipated. Guess I was being predictable.”

Running from a guardian. Fighting against their grip.

That he had some experience with.

“What do you need me to do?”

She almost seemed surprised by his open offer. Not a backhanded, quid pro quo deal, no strings apparently attached.

“I need manpower.” She admitted, cautiously moving forward with his offer. Waiting for the shoe to drop. “You have control over the largest portion of Gotham’s rings. I just need some backup. And firepower.”

A deal. She seemed to have learned some things from her uncle.

Jason sat back, staring her down. YN didn’t waver. She kept her own gaze level. Giving no more information than she had to.

Finally, Jason sighed, running his tongue along his teeth.

“I don’t want a shootout in the middle of the street. Even at night, civilians are still around.” He explained, his arms crossing over his chest. “Besides, a broad attack won’t be good enough. You’re scrambling and he knows that now.”

YN growled, threading her fingers into her hair, pressing her elbows to the table. She took a moment, several deep breaths, regaining her control.

“What do you want me to do, then? I only have so many options.” She admitted.

He bit the inside of his lip.

He was taking away more and more of her options and not giving much in return. She was willing to do things his way, he couldn’t make her regret that.

A prominent buzz against his thigh drew his attention to the clock on the wall.

Shit.

He was dead. He was completely dead.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jason fumbled through his pockets for a pen.

“I have somewhere to be. I’ll give you my address, stop by tomorrow.” He instructed. Snatching a napkin, he scribbled out barely legible numbers with his initials at the bottom. He glanced back up, to see her doubtful face. Brows drawn together and eyes narrowed. “I’m not gonna kill you.”

“Sounds like what I’d hear just before I’m killed.” YN snipped, carefully pulling the napkin toward her.

“You have my word.” He promised.

A disbelieving laugh broke free, leaving her lips curled in a mimicry of a smile.

“That means jack shit.”

Jason huffed, rolling his eyes.

“What do you want me to do, handcuff us together?”

“No.”

He nodded, collecting his cup.

“Then you’ll have to find some morsel of trust in your shriveled little heart.”

“Jeez, I was joking. No need to go Rambo.” YN muttered, watching him back away from her booth.

“That goes both ways.” He added. “You’re not allowed to kill me, either.”

“Allowed?” YN questioned. It was too late to argue any further, as Jason had already ducked out of the doors and was headed down the street. The wind ruffled his hair, flapping at the hood of his sweatshirt. The black fabric stretched over his broad shoulders— YN scowled. “What a dick.”

She looked down at the napkin. An apartment? Now that was surprising. She figured someone that had the Red Hood as his alter ego, he would live somewhere more secure. More controlable.

YN hummed, the ever present crease forming between her brows again.

Tomorrow.

#jason todd x f!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #enemy fire