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allbark-no-bite · 20 days

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good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

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You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction.

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x y/n #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #challengers imagine #challengers x reader

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hottiehiei · 1 month

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- NSFW Alaphabet with Hiei (but I pick the letters I want)

nsfw (but its not overly explicit), gender neutral

i used the word c*ck… im so sorry. i literally hate that word but i had to.

✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻

𓆩⟡𓆪 A = Aftercare

Hiei has unlimited stamina compared to you.

While you’re worn out and exhausted, he’s barely breaking a sweat. He simply looks down at you expectantly, even when it’s clear you won’t make it through another round. The need for rest overpowers all of your senses, and you’ll drift into a soundless slumber, leaving Hiei alone.

Of course, this ticks him off. He scolds you for having such a weak human body— all the while massaging your hips and thighs because he knows they’re aching. It’s mostly his fault, so he tries to compensate by doing small things like wiping your body clean.

Hiei watches you rest, grateful to have you by his side.

𓆩⟡𓆪 B = Body part

His Jagan eye is his favorite body part. He has a full view of your entire body. There isn’t a single thing he misses, not even the shiver that crawls over your skin when he tears off your clothes.

Hiei also likes his physique. When you trail your fingers down his chest or claw at his back, he’s over the moon.

As for your body, he admires your lips. He likes the way you pout when he pulls out of you, and the way your mouth hangs open from pleasure when he thrust back inside of you. Or best of all, when your lips wrap around his cock.

Hiei really enjoys kissings. He will bite your lower lip, suck on it, pull it with his teeth, you name it.

𓆩⟡𓆪 C = Cum

The taste is bitter. Literal battery acid. Do not recommend.

𓆩⟡𓆪 F = Favorite position

Hiei favors any position that involves you being at his mercy.

There’s this undeniable urge to bind your wrist, spread your legs further apart, and kiss you senseless. If the position hinders any of that, then he doesn’t bother with it.

Occasionally, he’ll let you on top, but be ready to endure some teasing. The minute he notices you getting tired or struggling to take him…

“So predictable. All that begging for nothing.”

“Just say the word and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

𓆩⟡𓆪 K = Kink

He gets turned on when arguing.

Don’t be fooled by his calm tone. He lets you think you have the upper hand, meanwhile he’s plotting. Lash out all you want, it only makes him want to put you to the test. The more you push his buttons, the more he’s thinking about bending you over and making you beg.

Seeing you act aggressive toward other people also turns him on. Whether it’s yelling at one of the boys or knocking someone over the head, he’s impressed.

The fastest way to rile him up is to physically tease him. Keep it brief and subtle. Whisper in his ear when no one’s looking, he’ll get aroused just from fantasizing about you.

Reel him in little by little, then scurry off before he has a chance to capture you. Hiei loves it.

𓆩⟡𓆪 O = Oral

He prefers to receive, mostly due to the power dynamic. You’re below him, looking up through your lashes, doing your best to please him. It gets him going every single time.

The dirty talk is ruthless, but hot.

“I know you can do better than this. Don’t expect me to praise you.”

“Relax your throat and take all of it.”

If you allow him, he’ll grab your hair and guide you deeper.

He’s good at giving oral though. If you can handle the teasing, edging, and overstimulation….he won’t disappoint.

𓆩⟡𓆪 P = Pace

Hiei is naturally fast, so that’s usually the normal pace.

But if you’re one to enjoy it hard and fast, then he might purposely slow down. He wants your body brimming with lust before letting his impulses take over.

Other times, he’ll skip the foreplay and take you how he wants, just from sexual frustration. Don’t even bother asking for a break, he’s too focused on how good and tight you feel, his mind hazy with pure desire.

𓆩⟡𓆪 V = Volume

Mostly grunts. He’s gritting his teeth, holding the noises in. The only time you can get a full moan is during oral or when he’s close to his orgasm. It’s a pleasant sound. Deep and husky, like his voice dropped a few octaves.

✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻

extra:

𓆩⟡𓆪 W= Wild Card

Hiei is a brat tamer.

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davekat-sucks · 1 month

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imisshomestuck popping off with the jake meta, damn

i agree completely, but also this paragraph

"Unhappy endings are better because of that. Fuck that. That's not why people read stories. People read them to see the ideal, to feel the potential of a character and then later see their faith and hope be rewarded. Reading a fictional story shouldn't be like gambling where you hope the writer ends up closing a characters story well and having them turn into the best version of themselves. Why do so many writers have the idea that reality always ends up being shitty and disappointing! Stories should too! It's like that stupid Mad at Disney song. We should all be bitter and nihilistic. The 1990s nihilism trend did a number to these mother fuckers. They think that trying is pointless and flaws are weights around our ankles that make it impossible to win the race of lie."

yes holy shit im so fucking TIRED of nihilism in stories, yet it seems its all i can find in everything nowadays (example: GOT, that was ass and im tired of pretending otherwise, all the good interesting main characters dying triggered my homestuck ptsd). and i fucking hate how this garbage webcomic has ruined my perception of character interaction for me forever because nothing comes even close! and all i get in fanworks is davekat uwu shit or discourse! im so fucking pissed! i hate hussie, hiveswap, the epilogues and hsbc and this idiotic fucking nu fandom!

someone send some book/shows/manga recs plz

in exchange i can give some too, if you like homestucks minimalist art style give alex toths works a try, his artbooks in particular are great. invader zim, irkens is where hussie stole the trolls and alternia from. also emily the strange, the maxx (1993), sam & max. for manga, lupin iii is fun.

There is only such much nihilism I can take before it becomes annoying that we get it, everything fucking sucks. Worse if said media tells me that I'm an idiot for even caring for watching/reading the series in the first place. At this point, it makes one question then who the hell you are writing for at this point if you slap the audience in the face and purposely make yourself feel like shit. As for series: Smiling Friends, Mashle: Muscles and Magic, Crayon Shin-chan, Gintama, Sgt. Frog/Keroro Gunsou,

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iforgotwhaticalledthis · 1 month

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Imposter by Ratwyfe is THE Sophie Foster song

specifically, its book 1-4 sophie. this song was written for her. And heres my line by line analysis:

“So i finally reached heaven but the door was pretty hot” Sophie finds a place where she should be accepted, where she should finally be accepted but she Isn’t hence heaven i.e a perfect place, and hot door i.e something is still uncomfortable

“And I’m tired of being liked for someone that i'm not” Sophie being the moonlark, having all these people look up to her, have expectations for her, even though she barely knows who she is

“I feel like I’m a poser” Refer to above “I’m scared and I’m alone, I’m in a new place, I’m too far from home” this is especially sophie like RIGHT when she arrived, she has maybe one person who she actually knows before making three other friends( Dex, jensi, marella) she doesn’t know anything she has to relearn everything and AHHH

“I don’t belong here it's clear to see” She has brown eyes, a constant reminder that she’s not like everyone else.

“I’m disappointing everyone who believes in me” Book 2, knowing that she was modified to heal minds, that's her purpose, but she's broken.

“I’m not who you think i am, you think i’m so amazing” I feel like this is in relation to fitz in book 4, he sees her as someone insanely talented, and good, but she feels like such a messy person, with so many secrets

“I don’t deserve the life that I am chasing” Her thinking she’s not good enough for fitz, and also being constantly worried, in book 3, that by the Vackers being friends with her she's bringing down their reputation

“I’m an imposter, i’m a monster. Why am I here? I don’t belong here.” Being a genetic experiment, not knowing the black swans motives, being so different from everyone both human and elf.

“I feel like nobody likes me and i keep messing up. ” Book 2, fitz anger at her and her reaction, as well as book 3 after kenric died

“It’s obvious to me that everyone has had enough” councilors giving her the restrictor

“I feel like im a nuisance, im a burden, im a pain” Sophie to everyone after losing her abilities, but also like, in her relationship to Edaline and Grady in the first book, and after losing her abilities.

“And its all my fault, im the one to blame” She read king dimitars mind, she broke the rules. But also her guilt towards Dex being hurt because he was with her when she was kidnapped

“Yeah, do i belong here I just can’t see, I’m disappointing everyone who believed in me” Book 4 after she couldn't heal prentice.

“Why am I here? Why am I here?” Jumping back in time a bit, Book 1, when she didn't realise why she was brought up with humans

“Why do I wallow here in my pity and self doubt” Honestly i feel like this is kinda self explanatory? Like she doubts herself SO much

“And why do i hurt the people i cant live without” Literally all of her friends/ anyone associated with her getting injured really badly throughout the series

“I try to change, i try to do better, but i dont know if i can keep it all together” ok so this can apply like generally, but i think specifically how she stopped tugging her eyelashes in book 2 but returned to that habit in book 3 and hasnt stopped since(at least in my memory, i haven’t read the later books in a bit, thats why im mainly citing the first 4)

“I don’t belong here I just don’t fit, But i’d be worse off if i chose to quit” She may be different in the lost cities, but it's better than being different amongst the humans

“It means so much to me that you think im so amazing” i feel like this line fits mainly with her relationship to calla, Calla admired her, trusted her, etc “I can hardly deal with all the obstacles im facing” self explanatory. Like. Hello??

And the rest of the song is mainly just lines that ive already dissected/discussed so im not going to past them again.

#soop.txt #kotlc #sophie foster #ive had this in my docs/drafts for a whilee. now everyone gets to see it!.#i wish i could put this level of effort into my school work lmao

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13tter · 1 year

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AVATAR TWOW RECS

⭑ i am no longer updating this anymore !

⭑ im keeping this pinned until i make a new recs post

⭑ i read sfw & nsfw works . . . mdni with nsfw works

⭑ dont forget to send much love to all these authors :P

please note that some of these works have heavy topics: read the warnings b4 u read plspls

[❕] nsfw / smut ,, [🩹] suggestive ,, [🗯] angst ,, [☃️] fluff ,, [🐰] personal faves

➷ loverboy #1 neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan

all for you , part two ✶ 30.2k, e2l, grumpy x sunshine ⊹ 🗯☃️

When Quaritch attacks the Ta’unui water clan looking for Jake Sully, the clan’s Tsahik forces her younger sister, Y/N, to escape and seek refuge from the Metkayina clan. As Y/N deals with the trauma of losing her home, she discovers that she isn’t the only outlander in the village. She develops conflicted feelings for Neteyam but the tensions grow when Y/N finds out that Neteyam is the son of Jake Sully - the man she hates.

worthy pt 2 ✶ 4.3k, aged up ⊹ 🗯☃️ [❕]

You and Neteyam argued before he left for his 3-day hunt. After he arrived back to the reef, he discovered you were never waiting for him. He finds you unbraiding your hair near a tide pool and decides to offer his help.

🐰 soft as clouds ✶ 6.3k, non wellknown!reader, wingwoman baby tukie ! ⊹ ☃️

You weren't well known in the clan, and when you become friends with Tuk, no one believes her.

hide and peak ✶ 3.5k, aged up, mates, sub teyam, exhibition ⊹ 🗯☃️ [❕]

Neteyam is oblivious to flirting from other females. so, reader decides to make it a point to show everyone neteyam's is theirs.

quiet love ✶ 6.3k, insecure!reader ⊹ 🗯☃️

You didn’t see the way Neteyam was longing for you, too caught up in why it was impossible anyway. But he was insistent that you were the one he wanted.

how they would react to you dressing up for them (hcs) ✶ 1.7k, aged up ⊹ ☃️🩹

NETEYAM - already compliments you everyday, like smothers you in them to the point where it’s more common than hearing your name. he can’t get enough of you. the biggest smile comes onto his face when he sees you, immediately forgetting how tired he had been from his responsibilities earlier. you’re like a breath of fresh air to him and he can’t believe how lucky he got with you.

uncomfortable ✶ 1.7k, aged up, lil bit of jealousy ⊹ 🗯☃️

Being a hunter provided you with so much purpose. You provided food, safety, pelts, strength and everything in-between to your clan. And in turn they provided you with love and support. You had felt this way since you were eighteen and finished the rites of the hunter, since you technically became an Omaticayan woman. Being a spoter in the war party provided you so much more. You felt adrenaline, you felt responsible for all your brothers and sisters in the fight. You felt like you were personally making a difference against the enemy. And besides, by taking this life path you were able to meet your best friend.

🐰 me and you pt 2 ✶ 3k, aged up, teyam is so attractive here ⊹ ☃️ [❕]

no summary provided — but trust me when i say this is the hottest thing i've read all year. reader & teyam's banter is unmatched and they're so cute.

do you still love me? ✶ 2k, aged up, argument, misunderstanding-ish ⊹ 🗯☃️

You and Neteyam’s family has stayed the same for many years, only one daughter who was now 4. But you fear that Neteyam doesn’t want more, scared he had fallen out of love with you after the birth.

fix me ✶ 4.1k, mentions of blood, made by one of my fav people on here ⊹ ☃️

no summary provided — trusttttttt me, she never disappoints !!!!!! this fulfilled everything i have ever wished for and man i love reading charas in love.

different ✶ 4.9k, TUKIE !!!! my babie taking my heart again, a bit of rude remarks towards reader :(, loved the idea of half omatikaya & half metkayina ⊹ 🗯☃️

Request — Hiii Do you write for Avatar? Could you do something where reader is both omatikayan and metkayina (mixed) and she’s living with the metkayina when the Sully family comes? Maybe do a slow burn between reader and Neteyam? The rest is up to you!

(new!) 🐰 human stuff ✶ 2.3k, human!reader, revolves around readers' period, HE GETS FED CHIPS. hope that says enough thank yew ⊹ ☃️

the one where a confused na’vi teenager tries to comfort his human friend while she’s on her period.

➷ loverboy #2 lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan

the moon, the stars and his life ✶ 2.4k, aged up, possesive/jealous lo'ak ⊹ [❕]

Lo‘ak didn’t know what he did to deserve such a blessing in the shape of you. Did he even deserve it? He doubts it. You were just so perfect, from the top of your head to your cute little toes and the tip of your tail. Perfect. Which is why it hurts even more, to hear those Metkayina boys talk about him like this to you...

brat ✶ 2.7k, aged up, mean dom!lo'ak ⊹ [❕]

Lo'ak is a brat tamer, what can I say?

(new!) 🐰 reckless (but helpful) ✶ 2.4k, OLDER SISTER READER OHMYGOODDODFDF, shes so badass ugh im in love, loak is so enthusiastic its so cute seeing him not being scolded by his parents (smh i hate that he does) ⊹ ☃️

three avatars dead, one injured big sister, and two angry parents waiting at home. what could go wrong?

➷ lovers #3 sully family

the sully's stick together ✶ 3.2k, hurt/comfort, i need to be a sully NOW ⊹ 🗯☃️

becoming one with the metkayina’s has not been an easy task. as everyone continues to settle in their own ways, your family begins to grow more worried about your well-being. this isn’t the sully they know. you’re withdrawn, and quiet. what better way to fix that than to seek you out when you least expect it?

too late ✶ 3.6k, reader is 6 feet under , suicidal thoughts + actual suicide ⊹ 🗯

they loved you when it was too late.

parts of my heart ✶ 2.3k, mama neytiri T_T, ofcourse my tukie is here ⊹ ☃️

A look at the Sully children through the loving eyes of Neytiri, and how you as the oldest daughter fit into this puzzle piece. Also a slight rediscovery of Neytiri and Jake’s relationship after the war cause it’s not talked about enough.

by the time you're hearing this i'll already be gone ✶ 4.9k, bittersweet ending ⊹ 🗯☃️

all you wanted was to not be the family disappointment.

(new!) 🐰 when the time comes , part two ✶ 6 / 7.5k, theres war and violence, YN HAS A LOVE INTEREST ANDHES SOOO CUTE OMD !! he has a lil dickhead slip up tho but it gets fixed <3 ⊹ 🗯☃️

1: IN WHICH the future Tsahik of the Omaticaya and oldest daughter of Jake and Neytiri, Y/N has always carried the heavy weight of future duties. Her trouble making antics can only aggravate her relationship her family...and somehow drive her to meet a certain grumpy Omaticayan.

2: IN WHICH the humans come for your father’s neck again, as you and your family fight alongside him. When the sky people come back to destroy Pandora again, will you be able to save your family and potential lover?

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v-arbellanaris · 1 year

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OK SOME OF MY THOUGHTS ON ABSOLUTION BELOW THE CUT!!!!

qwydion is so relatable. the bit where they were like "she can handle herself" [cuts to her running, screaming, crying] was very me in every fresh da pt of a new game i had EOFDJGKFDJGKDSFGJ. i also love her little "if you don't want him i'll have him" bit. AMAZING

i love roland and lacklon. like genuinely love them sm. theyre so sexy and i love them. 10/10 no complaints nothing to say at all

hira and miri were... interesting. i'm actually not 100% sold on them - mostly bc im a bit tired of bw always doing this kind of shit to their wlw; i also really hope they don't get celene/briala'd in da:d

rezaren and tassia were interesting. i really like how he was structured; he was clearly very inauthentic and manipulative from the start. i think he thinks he has genuine affection for tassia, and hira and neb, but it's clear from his interactions with tassia that it isn't true. he constantly & repeatedly uses her emotions against her to get her to capitulate or to think he's capitulating only to do whatever he wants anyway, without fear of consequence because he can always just keep using her feelings against her. narratively sound decisions from the start with his writing and a really interesting aspect, and you really start to see his face crumble when miri confronts him about the reality that they (her and neb) lived. and then to cement it with neb turning away from him at the end, to refuse to allow rezaren's gaslighting of reality... love that.

i also really love that hira's choice was based off a valid criticism of the inquisition lmao. the idea of the hope people had for change - real change - only to get... nothing. do i think it's realistic for hira to have expected the inquisition to go to war with tevinter? absolutely not, but that's the point. the inquisition was created, banking on the hopes of the people, but ultimately serving its own agenda. this was a criticism of the inquisition that went unchallenged, which is something i wasn't expecting. i'm still not entirely pleased with how hira's decision to ultimately not work with the inquisition was framed (esp w the implication that meredith is going to use the circulum, which requires blood magic sacrifice which seems a bit... out of character for her) but i'm interested in the fact that she was allowed to make that decision -- the decision not to forgive, to decide the oppressed lives of millions in tevinter meant it needed to be brought down -- rather than having bioware cave and have her be swayed in the end.

my gut feeling is still that da4 is going to revolve around pitting elves and mages against each other; specifically by focusing dreadwolf in tevinter, they can bypass any and almost all of the complications that there would be in this kind of argument in the rest of thedas, because mages are (usually) the ruling class in tevinter and specifically practice elven slavery. as you can imagine, i'm not keen on it.

i was also... really quite disappointed by by the presence of a circle tower with templars guarding the outside of it right at the very beginning. that, to me, implies cassandra as divine -- specifically because fairbanks comments on the divine in tevinter being a mage, which implies that the andrastian divine is not a mage. the presence of the circle's continued existence implies bw's canon is cassandra as divine which i expected already lmao. i knew they were just going to reset everything, but gloss over the entire purpose behind the mage-templar war (which funnily enough did not even get mentioned ONCE despite presumably only happening a handful of years ago, with a LOT OF PEOPLE at the time commenting abt how they were terrified of southern thedas becoming tevinter - INCLUDING A TEVINTER ALTUS) because now the story is set in tevinter, where there aren't circles like we're used to, and templars are subservient to mages, because mages make up the imperial chantry.

it was also hysterical to me when they were like qunari are hated and elves are enslaved in tevinter! coming from the guy who STARTED CAMPING OUT IN THE FUCKING EMERALD GRAVES?????? is bioware serious like eogfjkdfgjkdfgj tevinter has many! many problems! acting like anti-non-human sentiment is specific to tevinter is an insane approach and not one most people who don't know anything about orlais or ferelden or the free marches would know! the fuckery of it all...

and OF COURSE. KIRKWALL. CITY OF CHAINS, MY BELOVED. almsot started crying, i miss kirkwall so much SLDFJEODLFKGJ. and MEREDITH!!!!! the implications... like is this before or after the red lyrium idol was taken out of her??? if it was after, does that mean she was AWARE the entire time she was frozen or whatever??? we also get introduced to the idea that blighted wardens can be controlled by corypheus through blight magic - is there a possibility that someone is influencing meredith through the red lyrium? how is she surviving being encased in red lyrium like that? is she subsisting on the blight? WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH KIRKWALL THAT TEMPLARS ARE THIS RESISTANT TO RED LYRIUM? meredith, samson - arguably even cullen who is as far as we know the first templar to have SURVIVED lyrium withdrawal!? isn't varric or hawke supposed to be the viscount???? WHAT IS GOING ON KIRKWALL??? did they just not notice meredith's (NOT!!!!) DEAD BODY disappearing from the gallows courtyard??? how are red templars just HANGING AROUND and BUILDING A BASE THERE??? and hira said she was going to meet a contact AT THE HANGED MAN???? red templars are currently operating out of kirkwall, right under varric's nose?? ISN'T THE INQUISITOR LIVING IN KIRKWALL?? HELLO??

why was rezaren banishing demons into what looked like a portal into HELL? where was neb's soul being retrieved from - the well of all souls or whatever in the fade? or does this imply souls go somewhere else when they die? why does the inquisition want the circulum - is it just a throwaway item with no relevance (like the items from the felicia day webseries), or is it something big? what does the circulum actually do - it's implied that there's other purposes for it!!!!

basically, i'm going insane x

#dragon age #dragon age: absolution #dragon age: absolution spoilers #da absolution #da absolution spoilers

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thegenderfluidace · 10 months

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Rant TW I’m hella depressed will probably properly do later don’t even need to read I’m just ranting

AHDHHSN Screw what I said about feeling better earlier I am no longer better, I am now significantly worse and I am so close to just going and jumping out of my moving car on the freeway the next time I drive, jumping off a cliff, whatever I am so so done right now.

And my family wonders why I don’t trust them or really tell them anything unless I’m on the verge of ending it all and overwhelmed

Tell them I’m not feeling great mentally so I’m sorry if I’m a bit snappier, and I almost always apologize after anyway, but then they threaten me with taking away the things that are making me even slightly happy right now cause if im gonna be depressed anyway it doesn’t matter, threaten to take away my therapy and the things for my gender and stuff because I can’t afford them alone because they’re stupid expensive

They say to tell them if I feel bad but this is the kinda stuff they pull every time!!!

I tell them something bothers me or im not comfortable with and they just purposely do it to get me annoyed!!

I’m so done. I’m so done with them and everyone and work and life and existence and im just done.

Today has sucked, cracked my windshield while out doing their stupid errands and people just suck and im just so done.

Ughebdh I just wish I could stop existing im so tired of this, im so tired of everything.

I was already on an 8-9 on the depression scale and my therapist was telling me the goal was to just try and get it down even just a little but I’d say im a solid 10 now im so done.

If I didn’t have my own plans later this week I don’t know what I’d do. Plans are one of the few things that stop me from doing anything cause I’d feel bad to flack and disappoint my friend

I’m just so done. I wouldn’t care if I dropped dead right here right now. A part or me hopes that I just don’t wake up again after I go to bed tonight.

I’m just done.

I’m just so tired of existing.

I just want everything to stop.

#tw depression #tw sui vent #tw sui ideation

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klanceeobsessed · 2 years

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tw: suicide, death

honestly, once the new year rolls around, i might kill myself yk? i don’t have much going for me. i wanna do it after november so i can see illinois one last time and then after january so i can be there for my sisters bday. i have been taking more photos when we go out so my family will have more recent photos of us together. im just so tired man. i hate waking up to disappointment every single day. my grandma’s dead, my dad’s dead, college is horrible, i can’t keep a job, i live in constant fear, everything i do disappoints my mom, i can’t win. my mom acts like im the biggest disappointment and that i am disappointing her on purpose. maybe she will be happier and relieved once im gone. she really only likes my other sisters. maybe because im not the person she wishes i was. im just convinced my mom hates me. just for once, i want her to tell me that she’s proud of me. maybe i make life worse for her, she always seems angry and stressed around me. she ignores me a lot when i talk. maybe it’d be better if she didn’t have me around. maybe she could genuinely smile again. im so sick of life. i sucked at this whole “life” thing. i haven’t been genuinely happy in so long, the last time was probably before 2011. why did my parents have me? i never asked to be born. im not really living or doing anything fun with my life. i just don’t have anyone in my life anymore. i have thought about ways to kill myself. the less people that know, the better. the only person i know will 100% miss me is my older sister, she’s the only one who cares about me. i will try to stick it out for her but idk if i can even do that.

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haedgaf · 2 years

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girllllllllllllll

i leave the enha fandom for a few WEEKS (wait im pretty sure it was like 2 months HELP-) just to focus on skl. i come back and see fat shaming choking the whole community like????????????????????????????? is this what we've come to in society??????????? AND NIKI?????? NIKI COME ON NOW??????? I WOULD'VE NEVER SUSPECTED HIM.

i absolutely LOST IT when he compared sunoo to baymax. im so done with kpop i fucking swear 😭 i need to stan viviz, i think i need to be severely humbled and be a solo stan for one grp,,, preferably a gg bcos these bg arent doing it for me.

-xi, who is just tired of kpop bullshit

PLS RIGHT IVE BEEN SO TURNED AWAY BY THEM BC OF IT. it was already bad enough that hs said the n word and jake for a sacred necklace for aesthetic purposes and danced with it, and niki can’t go a week without mentioning sunoo’s weight, IM TIRED OF THESE MAN AND IM TIRED OF THESE KPOP PEOPLE. i fr only like jungwon jay and sunoo in that group atp. also though ggs can be problematic maybe i should do that too, i’ve been getting into XG these days and im pretty obsessed with them.

tbh i think i’ve said this before but the only reason im still in this kpop shit is because of nct and seventeen once they’re done IM LEAVING. every group has disappointed me tbh but i enjoy the music a lot so 😭 so yh id say solo stan a group bc it’s better than having to go through the embarrassment other groups put you through.

#✰ xia !#moot.zz #mon amour <3 #maybe you could stan aespa? if you ignore giselle it’s a good group with a great music

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veeveex3 · 2 years

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bro, just a quick late night thought (keep in mind, im only caught up to twst's story up to the english translation and only know about book 6 via spoilers -_- so if im wrong then please don't spoil anything that happens in book 5 part 3 and onwards)

alright, here it is: i don't think that twst is gonna end at book 7. i dunno if the devs ever said the story was gonna end at book 7 or not so correct me if im wrong but i feel like there's so much we don't know that i feel would only be rushed if the game's main story were to end at the end of book 7.

for example: anything about crowley! all we really know about him is that he's the headmaster, claims to be very generous and kind despite being a lazy prick who dumps all his issues on the dorm leaders + yuu, and seems to avoid getting yuu home at all cost, either cuz it's tiring for him (which would be funny but sorta disappointing) or cuz he needs them at nrc.

another example: mickey fucking mouse. i think the plot with mickey is gonna be resolved in book 7 but i still can't get over his existence (#antimickeyclub ig lol)

i know the whole point of the game is to focus on nrc and the villain students but id like to see more of royal sword academy. like, i think rn the main purpose of rsa is to juxtapose itself to nrc as well as to be the school niege comes from since he's based off of snow white and you get the point

ive seen one theory on tik tok (ill put their @ at the end of the post at a later date) or somewhere else but the theory goes that the reason as to why overblots seem to be happening so often is bc the stone you were trying to get in the prologue is inside nrc and probably affecting the students more. i wanna add onto this more by saying that overblots are deadly, meaning the spirit attacking you in the prologue is either the dead dwarves (yikes) or the spirit that appears after the overblot victims either fused with the dwarves or roaming free after the dwarves deaths. im really tired so idek where this is going but that's just another reason ig that the story would feel pretty empty after book 7 if it were to end there

another thing is malleus. assuming that he's going to be the next overblot victim and the final boss for his book, that would be really weird to end the book after that since, after defeating each book's boss, prologue included, grim (like the little dumbass cat he is) decided to eat the overblot residue rocks that are excreted at the end of the fight (which also give a flavor profile of the person who overblotted ??? which is sorta funny ngl). and im 1000% certain that this isn't just a read herring and him eating the rocks is going to lead to, as most people suspect, grim overblotting himself (during the tutorial, you even fight a boss that looks like grim but with characteristics of the other characters: dragon wings (malleus) more agressive blue flames (iida) a lion like face / muzzle (leona, which i know is a reach but still) as well as some of the abilities introduced in each book (idk i didn't really pay much attention to the tutorial lol)

so yeah, tldr; it doesn't make any sense to end twst's main story at book 7 unless they either add an epilogue where grim blots or at the blot sequence after malleus' boss fight, which would be pretty cool ngl, sorta like a little curve ball

im sorry this is so long, I just had a lotta thoughts and dumped them here lol

edit: I KNOW I JUST POSTED THIS BUT I JUST REMEMBERED SOMETHING! y'know how there's 22 students in the game? well, there's also 22 cards in the main arcana. given how clever the game can be, i don't this is just a coincidence. might make another post just on this specially since i like tarot cards and stuff like that

#twisted wonderland #twst

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saveemefromeviil · 2 years

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Im tired of this constant emptiness that i feel everyday from the moment i wake up to the time i go to bed . And i dont want any sympathy from anyone im just here to let out my feelings. I live everyday the same. I go to work mon-fri, 6am-2pm with people who are just so internally ugly . I get home just to find myself with no motivation but to play my video game, smoke some weed and get sucked in as the hours pass… 2hr 3hrs to 5hrs or more, till i get hungry and decide not to make dinner but order food bcs i have little money to always spend on groceries or i dont feel like cooking. Eating distracts me from my bad thoughts for a bit i guess it gives me a euphoric feeling when the food is good. I think about all the things i could be doing but i dont do them, mainly bcs i dont enjoy the area (city) i live . It’s not safe i cant dress the way i want to without getting harassed or feeling like im dressed inappropriate or not normal . Theres not much to do when you dont drive or have a car of your own, but ig thats my fault for not studying for my permit. Everything in walking distance is just grocery stores or parks for kids and nature thats all. I dont have any friends at all and i mean really… I cant remember the last time i had someone to hangout with , to laugh and talk about whatever i want with . Now. I have my boyfriend of 3 yrs we live together and he great and i love him and he loves all of me but i can see in his face that he knows im unhappy, it upsets him. Ik i let him down little by little everyday . Everythings been killing me slowly, all these feelings and thoughts of, guilt, anger, sadness, dissatisfaction, disappointment, and worthlessnesses. Its gotten to the point where i dont look forward to waking up anymore or just waiting for the day to be over. If im gonna live the same day over and over whats my purpose if im not doing any good for the future my future .. his future.

My mom wasnt very successful in life so she never taught me how to be strong a go for what i want and my dad wasnt in the picture very much to support me in those ways. I have so much anxiety and no ones ever told me how to go on in the real life after high school. Ive been trying to get by with what i can. Its so hard i dont understand why i cant motivate myself to be better, healthier. Im 23 and i almost hate myself, but i don’t want to. I know all the things i could do to feel better but im not motivated anymore. I have moods that flip flop day to day, one whole week ill feel on top of the world and the next is like a downpour of anger and sadness thats makes me feel sooo heavy. Ill be wanting to be nice to everyone one week and the next i dont even want anyone talking to me or looking at me. I dont understand why i have those episodes. I wish I could.

-lena

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ibolyafagyi · 11 months

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im just a gworl and lets call it what it is my mind is tormenting meee

i finished my first week interning and it didnt go badly and also i am overwhelmed and so tired, so why is my mind racing with this work stuff? its so fucking difficult being hyperfocused on tasks and pleasing people. i hate that im balancing my need for rest/4 day work week so i can go to therapy with the deep deep unrelenting and larger than me gut urge to do well and match the speed (ppl be coming in on SUNDAYS) and i hate that other people tell me to assert myself cuz im not paid that well like its EASY and i hate that my work friends (diff dept.) are like wow you need to calm down its fine becuase their need to calm me down registers as Another outside impulse that i need to fix myself up, pulls me in another direction --- while i appreciate their care, how am i supposed to not stack this on the care pile?

i hate that i care but i know that its my biggest strength also 😭 i hate that i cannot just switch to not caring after clocking out, i am not getting paid nearly enough for this. i remember and cringe at minute interactions and wrack my brain for ways to do better and my mind just cant let it go. "this is your purpose now, you have to do well" and doing well means anxiety and hyperfocus

i wanted a purpose but i dont want this

and my mind wanders to other places too, like ill miss out on time w my loved ones (my bf) by being seven to six at work, then summer ends and fall semester starts and ill be doing shit and then preparing shit for the exchange semester and then and then and then and he will be disappointed in me and we cant spend time together (anxious attachment) and i havent texted back that friend still and i need to write to my therapist that i cant go next week but i need to talk to her for MY NEEDS which are also in a weird way an external need enforced on me to not be so weird and panicky, but I CANT talk to her anyways

i get advice like i have to take care of myself and find myself and hold onto myself and assert myself and shit but HOW. WHAT does that even mean. i couldnt do it when i wasnt busy, i cant do it now. my mind is empty and i mostly think im just a shell for average qualities and withering passions towards anything other than the stronger than steel determination to make people say i do things well and im capable.

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foranpo · 2 years

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ੈ˚★ the roots of love.

@lon-done asked: hey !! i see that ure opening reqs omg i've been waiting for this moment since foreverr, may i have a scenario for tending to childe after the osial incident? im a sucker for hurt/comfort but if you want to make it fluff, im totally down ! dont forget to take care of urself n pls rest if youre overwhelmed, i hope you demolish that writer's block soon <33

fandom: genshin impact.

characters: childe.

reader: gn!

genre: one-shot.

content: lil angsty fluff ig.

word count: 2k.

ੈ♡˳────── enjoy the reading <3 ──────

Tartaglia walked without any destination or goal.

Leaving behind a trail of betrayal and hurt, tinged with the red of his pain, Tartaglia walked slowly through the wide forest far from the city, leaning on as many trees as there were, always looking straight ahead, always remembering the fury that burned inside him.

Tartaglia was tired.

Perhaps it was the battle that had taken place moments before, or perhaps the fact that he had given a little too much of himself to a cause that only made sense to him, but the reality was that Tartaglia was tired; but Tartaglia was also lost. He believed in respect. Tartaglia believed in the equality of communication between people, regardless of their status or purpose; but here he was, panting and too sore to understand why he'd been lied to, why he'd been used.

Tartaglia's feet followed the speed of his thought, tripping over memories he'd made, clinging to details he just couldn't understand. All that forest had become more complicated to walk when Tartaglia wandered through it aimlessly, totally oblivious to its more dangerous paths.

There was no rest inside Tartaglia, not after everything that had happened that day, not when he had lost, twice. Defeat always went wrong for Tartaglia, the first emotion that bloomed in his wounds being intense anger towards his opponents, the roots of hatred taking time to blossom into determination and commitment. These were moments of torture for the redhead, dozens of malevolent thoughts showing how useless, how childish, how naive he had been.

He could have won.

He should have won.

A scream of frustration began to rise from among the roots of hatred, creeping through the thick hurts and pains he felt, finding an abrupt, hoarse exit through Tartaglia's throat. Tartaglia's disappointment echoed through deserted fields, sheltering in the countless golden leaves of the forest, acclaiming that land as its own, sowing all Tartaglia's grief and suffering in the most fertile soils that existed, in the hope of spreading and leaving, once and for all, Tartaglia in peace.

“The last time I heard you screaming like that, you had fallen on nettles.”

Your voice drowned out the whole forest.

Delicate and always playful when addressed to Tartaglia, your voice floated with the gentleness of a secret to the redhead's ears, forcing him to turn his body and see you behind him.

And instinctively, Tartaglia's eyes widened with the surprise of finding you in the unknown, the hatred that once shone in his beautiful eyes now giving way to fear and uncertainty, the panic present on the redhead's face being so intense, so true, that it did not fail to bring you worries.

“Childe, you’re…”

Your words did not reach Tartaglia; losing all his strength at once, overwhelmed by the weight of an intense battle and destitute of any power, Tartaglia allowed the gentle breeze of the calm you had brought to push him down to the cold, sturdy floor of the forest.

You hurried after Tartaglia, tripping over small branches, ignoring the leaves that fell in front of you as if trying to get you away from the redhead. But it wouldn't work. Nothing would stop you from reaching Tartaglia, not when you were seeing him, for the first time, devoid of his essence.

“Get away from me,” Tartaglia spoke breathlessly, partly from the tiredness he felt, partly from the extreme pain that penetrated every corner of his body, leaving him totally vulnerable to the fierce anger that burned inside him. “Go away.”

“Don't talk nonsense!”

Your eyes didn't know where to look, getting lost in so many red lakes in Tartaglia's torn clothes. Your hand hovered over the redhead's torso, not knowing where to land, not knowing where it was safe to touch. You were distressed, your mind racing desperately over all the basic knowledge of medicine you had acquired in your village. But nothing seemed to help, not when you were watching, for the first time, Tartaglia defeated.

“Go away!”

He pushed you without any strength or desire.

Tartaglia's hand patted your shoulder awkwardly, as if looking for some reason to send you away, only finding a little comfort in your body. His hand couldn't lift itself from your shoulder; perhaps for lack of strength, or lack of support, but Tartaglia could not, nor did he want to, get away from you. It didn't matter what his mouth screamed.

Oh, and what barbarities Tartaglia's mouth whispered before the despair of having lost, before the madness of having failed, before you. Growls of pain drowned out Tartaglia's arrogance, reminding him over and over again that not a word he muttered should be said now, not when he needed you the most.

“What happened?”

Your voice flew slowly to Tartaglia, a sigh of concern wrapped in a cloud of affection resting gently on his chest accompanied by your hand. And he, without realizing it, used his free hand to shield yours from all the negativity emanating from him, all the anger and pain of Tartaglia not being able to reach you when protected by him.

Tartaglia didn't answer and just looked at you.

You were too focused on Tartaglia's physical state to notice the way he was staring at you. Calm and without any malice, Tartaglia allowed his eyes to capture with full attention every movement you made: the way your lips murmured worried questions painted painful smiles on Tartaglia's face; the way your fingers delicately traced Tartaglia's wounds in an attempt to close them with your care alone stained Tartaglia's eyes with nostalgic tears; and the way you crouched beside him, never wavering at his aggressive words, made Tartaglia feel safe.

For the first time in years, Tartaglia felt safe.

“The important thing is that it's over.”

Tartaglia spoke with difficulty, his grief trailing in a whisper across the forest as his head rested on the large trunk that supported him.

“Childe, you need to tend to your wounds…”

“No…”

Tartaglia's eyes grew incredibly heavy, all the weight of defeat and frustration forcing the redhead to close his eyes. There were no more strengths to continue fighting, there were not even strengths to hide, so Tartaglia allowed himself to be subjected to the fatigue that had accompanied him on his long journey.

Tartaglia squeezed your hand with what little strength he had left, all the euphoria of that delicate gesture coursing through both of your bodies, creating vast waves of affection and security that wrapped you as delicately as your touch in Tartaglia.

“Why are you here?”

“I came to get herbs and…”

“No,” Tartaglia coughed a bit, his voice growing huskier and ragged after his show of weakness. “Why are you here? With me? Always?”

Tartaglia did not see.

With his eyes closed in an attempt to stifle all the pain he felt, Tartaglia just waited for your words, totally ignoring the lightness in your expression, the affection in your eyes, the passion in your small, shy, intimate smile.

“You asked me when we first met, remember?”

It had been years since that request, and it wasn't even a sincere request, just a pointless joke created by a young Tartaglia too excited about life to leave a poor soul like yours to be consumed by festival boredom. It had been a nostalgic request, without any purpose to create bonds or roots between you, just for the purpose of feeling the joy of a party, ending up becoming the best request he could have made to someone; for after a festival came a walk, and after a walk a lunch, and after long conversations and many laughs, there was no fate or god able to drive you away.

“So why not stay by your side?”

It wasn't a concrete answer, not least because even you couldn't find an answer to Tartaglia's question. You just wanted to spend more time with him, you wanted more conversations with him, you always wanted more, you wanted to continue to have that strong feeling running through your entire body every time you were with him. In a way, you just wanted the flowers that threatened to bloom inside you to finally gain a voice and turn into courage and pure passion.

“It just feels right.”

“I will hurt you.”

You shook your head and finally sat down next to him, your legs lightly touching his outstretched legs, your hand still being held by Tartaglia, the other cleaning with the sleeve of your shirt any dirt that could infect his most serious wounds.

“I don't fight like you.”

Your laughter was as magical as your touch, freezing the forest breeze, calming all the storm that had been raging in Tartaglia since his defeat. With your laughter, with that sound of yours that echoed freely through the depths of the forest, all of Tartaglia's frustration retreated inside him, hiding behind the security he felt in being with you.

At that moment, Tartaglia ceased to feel.

When he heard you laughing, whispering the most common words ever, Tartaglia stopped feeling, all the hurt and betrayal that consumed his essence to be taken away with your kindness. At that moment, Tartaglia felt no pain or fury, no sense of corruption grew in Tartaglia. At that moment, only serenity and tiredness coursed through his body, chipping away at the roots of hatred that he had forgotten existed.

“That's not what I'm talking about.”

You knew. You knew what Childe wanted to say to you, for the repetition of the same speech had lasted as long as your friendship, consuming you inside, ruining all the hopes that could have been inside you. You knew. You knew that all he could offer you were occasional smiles and small complicities. You knew all that, but that didn't stop you from dreaming.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

Silence settled between you as Tartaglia's raw and sincere words sowed little flowers of uncertainty and suffering in your heart, a cloud as black as the hatred you had wiped from Tartaglia slowly growing inside you once more.

“Can you…” Tartaglia coughed again, you stared at him again, a brief silence once again calming the tension he had created. “I want you here. Stay..."

“Just rest, Childe,” your smile had faded at Tartaglia's words, your gentleness dissipated with the sleep Tartaglia had fallen into so suddenly. “I am here.”

Tartaglia was finally asleep. Defeated on the battlefield and in his mind, Tartaglia finally gave permission to his weariness to evolve and to lull him quickly into a deep sleep to forget all the wounds that painted his body.

And you stayed by his side, tending his wounds with one hand, taking the herbs that were kept in your pockets to ease the pain he would feel when he woke up. Your eyes worked with tears of remembrance of reality, your lips forming smiles of sadness after each wound was tended to, your heart yearning for a lonely moment to be able to expel that funny cloud that had been born at the time of Tartaglia's words.

However, Tartaglia was still holding your hand, his unconscious revealing that all his words that created seas of disgust in you were simply false, Tartaglia's true feeling being noticed by the way he wouldn't let you go, by the way he asked you to stay when sleep took him to unknown lands.

As such, you stood by Tartaglia's side, new roots growing between you as his gentle breath invited you to accompany him to a land where there was a chance he wouldn't hurt you.

ੈ♡˳───── feedback is appreciated <3 ─────

#;genshin impact constellation;#childe x reader #childe imagines #childe headcanons #childe oneshot #childe drabble #childe fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #childe angst

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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Note

Hi! Have u done any pregnant Hanji and overprotective daddy Levi already?? Yep i think im craving for more domestic levihan family, im sorry 😭

Im a bit new here in the community, and when i read ur works, i fell in love with it already, thank you for existing!!! 💖💖💖

Hello anon! Thank you so much, I’m so glad you enjoyed my other fics :3 Sorry for the very long wait for this one, I've been struggling to find the time/motivation to write lately, but I'm feeling a little better and I figured I'd get to work on some of my prompts. Starting here!!

It ended up a little less domestic and a touch more angsty than I had originally planned, but only for a moment--happy endings all round!

Warning: this does start off with non-graphic depictions of nausea/vomiting, I hope that doesn't bother you!

Hange had been feeling unwell for days.

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence—Hange tended to wake up feeling nauseous some days, most often when she'd neglected to eat a decent meal the evening before—but this was the fourth morning in a row now, that Hange found herself bent over the toilet bowl in the early hours of the morning, heaving up nothing but acid and empty air.

She retched until her stomach ached. There was nothing left to bring up, but her gut still rolled unpleasantly and there was a telling tremor under her tongue that warned her it might be best to stay in the bathroom a little while longer. She settled heavily against the wall to catch her breath.

It didn't make any sense. For most of the day, Hange felt fine. A little tired, maybe, but that was only to be expected after spending half the night every night on the bathroom floor. Tonight, no doubt, would follow the uncomfortably familiar routine: Hange would dry-heave a little longer, until the queasiness abated enough for Levi to convince her to come back to bed, and then she would toss and turn, too warm beneath the bed clothes, until she could fall into a restless sleep. She'd wake up feeling a little groggy, a little bleary, unreasonably hungry, but after a coffee and some breakfast she would feel well again. Perfectly normal.

Like clockwork, Levi appeared in the doorway just as Hange had flopped herself back over the toilet. She felt his palm, cool and soft, press against the back of her neck. Hange gathered her hair back from her face with both hands, braced her elbows on the toilet bowl, letting out a groan of discomfort as her stomach twisted, threatened to revolt again. Levi's thumb rubbed soothingly against her neck.

Sure enough, she brought up nothing more, but she gagged plenty, and found herself gasping for breath by the time she leaned back against Levi, aching and exhausted. His lips pressed into her damp hair.

Levi was as silent as always. His touch was pleasant, his presence welcome. Hange needed the hand he offered to pull her to her feet, needed his reassuring grip at her hips as she brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth out. Her quaking knees felt unstable beneath her.

He lay facing her after they got into bed. Hange was sprawled out atop the covers, shifting restlessly to find the coolest patches on the bed. Levi watched her for a moment, then said, "This isn't normal."

Hange only grumbled.

"You said you'd book an appointment with the doctor."

Hange grumbled again. Levi ticked his tongue and rolled to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Call tomorrow."

"If I didn't know better," Hange said sluggishly, "I'd say you were worried about me."

He scowled and rolled onto his other side, his back to her now.

"No, just sick of waking up at half four every morning to drag you back to bed."

Hange managed a small, wicked snicker, but shuffled across the space between them and pressed an apologetic kiss to the back of his neck.

"Must be dreadful," she said. Her voice sounded raw, hoarse. She buried her nose into his hair and took a long, deep breath. Levi grunted, but reached back and pulled her arm loosely over his hip. He knotted their fingers together loosely.

"Call them, Hange."

Hange gave his fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"I will."

Hange prided herself on being a reasonably intelligent person. She had two degrees, was working towards her doctorate, and already had her name on a small handful of peer-reviewed research papers. She spoke multiple languages, read dissertations for fun, kept a (in Levi’s words) disgustingly realistic human skeleton in a box under the bed for study purposes, and had spent the better part of the last 26 years of her life studying human biology and physiology.

How she had not predicted that she might be pregnant was almost unfathomable.

She left the doctors office in a daze with an appointment card and several pamphlets in hand. She had been referred hastily to a midwife and the hospital would soon be sending out a date for an ultrasound—“As soon as possible,” the doctor had said, “since you’re not sure how far along you are.”

The thing is, Hange had been on the same birth control pill for years now. Forgetful as she may be about many, many things (like eating, and bathing, and washing the dishes and taking out the garbage and and and), Hange was religious in taking that damn pill at the same time every single day. She had never missed it, not even once. Without a regular cycle, Hange had no way of predicting when they had conceived, and the doctor was eager to make sure no essential landmarks in her antenatal care were missed, if they could possibly help it.

The thought had never even crossed her mind. It seemed ridiculous now, in hindsight. The sickness was one thing, but now that she thought about it, there were a whole host of small oddities that Hange could easily attribute to pregnancy. Lethargy, and bloating, heartburn, and she had been peeing more than usual—Hange groaned, and scrubbed her hands over her face. She should have suspected, at least. Should have put the pieces together sooner.

But, stupid and naive as it may be, she hadn’t thought it possible. Why worry about it, when Hange had taken consistent precautions to avoid it?

She felt queasy the entire bus ride home.

It wasn’t that she was against the idea of having children. One day, maybe. When she had finished her doctorate, got herself a steady, well-paid job. When she and Levi had moved out of their tiny, cramped apartment into somewhere bigger, somewhere more suited for a family.

And god. Levi.

This was something they’d never really talked about. For his part, Levi never seemed all that interested. He was good with Hange’s nieces and nephews, and Erwin’s son adored him, and he hadn’t showed any express dislike for children, but—well, tolerating other peoples little brats and raising your own are two very different things.

What if Levi didn’t want the baby? What if he did? Hange wasn’t even sure herself what she wanted to do about the whole situation—what if she didn’t want it? What if, after some reflection, Hange decided now wasn’t a good time? Could they even afford a baby right now? Hange’s money was tied up in her education, while Levi was just making ends meet at the office. They got by well enough with just the two of them, but add in a baby? A whole other person, entirely dependant on them for support? Hange could barely feed and bathe herself, some days, never mind responsibly care for a child.

By the time the bus pulled up near the house, Hange felt more distressed than ever. Levi, at least, was at work until the evening, so she had a few more hours to herself to mull everything over, but the entire situation made her stomach clench and churn unpleasantly with every new thought.

The prospect of having a child was terrifying. The prospect of not having this child was nauseating.

Levi had left the flat in pristine condition when he had left for work, but Hange barely had the energy to feel even a little guilty as she shrugged off her coat and kicked off her shoes, leaving both strewn about the floor. She dumped her bag and made her way sluggishly through to the bedroom.

Levi had made the bed. The sheet was stretched flat over the mattress, the pillows perfectly fluffed and set against the headboard. Hange’s nightshirt, one of Levi’s old, baggy shirts, too stretched and threadbare for him to wear, had been folded neatly and left on her side of the bed, her slippers lined up smartly with the bed frame. For some reason—hormones, she told herself—her eyes watered, and a lump swelled in her throat. She sniffled pitifully as she stripped off her clothes and pulled on the shirt, clambering into the bed and tugging the sheets until the cocooned around her.

Hange passed the rest of the day tossing and turning in bed. She tried to nap, but her mind was too restless, occupied with thoughts of the baby, with the concept of having to tell Levi when he came home. She could try to lie, say the doctors had done some blood work, that she was waiting on the results of some test or other, but Levi knew her too well. She could never lie to him, and her despondent state would give her away before she had the chance to say anything.

The sun was beginning to set by the time she heard Levi’s keys in the door. She felt exhausted, head aching with all the thinking, considering, weighing up her options; with running over every possible outcome she could imagine. Keeping the baby, getting rid of the baby, Levi not wanting the baby, Levi leaving over the baby—every scenario she could imagine was worse than the last. There was only one idea that she had hardly dared entertain, in fear of disappointment if things didn’t work out.

She heard Levi call out for her, but gave no answer. She listened, curled up in a ball on her side, as he shuffled around, no doubt picking up her coat and shoes from where she had abandoned them. And then he made his way towards the bedroom, steps soft on the plush carpet. The bedroom door creaked open.

“Hange?”

She made a small, warbled noise under the bedclothes. Levi came to sit on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His hand found the curve of Hange’s hip.

“How was it?”

Hange made another noncommittal sound. She wiped her nose and eyes on the sheets, but didn’t dare show her face just yet. She wasn’t ready. She had never prepared for this conversation, never even imagined it before today. It was too soon. Not enough time to rehearse.

Levi’s hand moved to her back, rubbing lightly up and down her spine, before dropping to the mattress behind her. He leaned over her, and she felt his lips press warm and gentle to the point of her shoulder. A fresh wave of tears poured over the bridge of her nose and down the side of her face.

She tried to be quiet, but something—the shake of her shoulder, perhaps, or the shudder of air as she tried to take a steadying breath in—gave way to her crying. Levi moved off the bed, but Hange felt his fingers prying lightly at the sheets, pulling them down until he could get a good look at her face. He was kneeling by the bed now, face level with her, and he looked at her with worry pinching deep creases between his brows.

“Oi, what’d they say?”

Hange bit the inside of her lip and rubbed her damp cheek on the pillow. If Levi was bothered by her using their bedding as a tissue, he didn’t show it. He simply looked at her, eyes darting over her face, searching. It occurred to Hange then how this must look to him. She had gone to the doctors due to unexplained, violent sickness, and now she is in bed, hours later, still crying about whatever news she had received.

“I’m fine,” she said. Levi’s tense shoulders relaxed a fraction, but his face remained pinched, frowning and concerned. Hange wanted to tell him quickly, simply, like ripping off a plaster, but the words would not come. She opened her mouth, but her throat constricted painfully.

Eventually, she said, “my bag. There’s some stuff in my bag. Have a look.”

Levi gave her a somewhat quizzical look, but stood, dropping a quick kiss to her temple before going to fetch the bag, and dipping his hand in to fish out the contents inside.

Hange watched with her breath held and her stomach clenched as Levi pulled out the handful of leaflets and turned them over, looking at each one in turn. His eyes widened fractionally as comprehension dawned on him. His lips pressed into a thin line. Leaden weight settled in Hange’s gut. She curled into a tighter ball, pressing the bedsheets over her mouth and nose, waiting for him to gather himself enough to say something.

After a moment, he spoke.

“That’s all?”

Huh? “Huh?!”

Hange disentangled her arms from the sheets and sat up, staring at him. Levi moved to sit on the edge of the bed again, a scowl back on his face, though there was an intriguing flush high on his cheeks as he whacked her lightly on the top of the head with the leaflets.

“Stupid four-eyes,” he said, exasperated. “Crying like that. I thought you were dying.”

“I’m pregnant.” Hange said the word slowly, carefully, in case Levi had somehow misunderstood. He had the audacity to look at her like she was stupid.

“I can see that.”

“And you have nothing more to say about it? That’s all?”

Levi shrugged a little at her. Aside from the small patches of colour in his cheeks, Levi seemed wholly unfazed by the revelation.

“It’s just a baby. We can handle a baby.”

“That doesn’t terrify you?”

Levi scrutinised her for a moment, before he said, “are you scared?”

“Yes? Yes! How are you so calm? We can’t afford a baby—we don’t have the time for a baby? Where will they going to sleep? We don’t have a spare room. Can we get time off work to take care of a baby? How will we pay for childcare when we can’t be around?”

“Hange,” Levi said, putting a stop to her rambling. He watched her with a pinched stare. “Do you not want it?”

Hange had spent the majority of the day mulling over this same question. Staring a family was a huge, life-changing commitment, something that required careful forethought and planning. They had not had that luxury. Hange was pregnant now. She had doubts and fears, more than she could ever express, but the idea of simply having a baby—of having this baby—wasn’t upsetting. In the small, brief moments she had allowed herself to imagine a future where she and Levi were parents, where they weren’t wanting for money or time, where things were well, she felt happy. Giddy. The prospect was almost exciting.

“It’s not that,” Hange said earnestly. “I do—I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I—I do want it. But I just—we had no time to prepare. We have no savings, we have no space, I’m a mess. How are we supposed to take care of a tiny person? Babies are hard work, Levi.”

“You’re already hard work.”

Hange laughed weakly, and wiped at her face again. Levi pressed a kiss to her raw cheek.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said.

Hange leaned into him, sighing quietly.

“Is this the kind of thing we can just figure out?”

Levi hummed, shrugging his shoulder. His fingers skimmed up beneath Hange’s shirt, splaying over the small of her back and pulling her closer.

“Why not? We’ve done a good job bullshitting our way through everything else.”

Hange laughed lightly and bumped the side of her head against Levi’s.

“This is different, Levi. This is a person. A tiny little person who is going to need me and you to do everything for them. What if we can’t do it? What if we mess up?”

“Hange.” Levi pulled back a little and his hands came up to grip either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “Stop. I know all that. But if you want the brat, and I want the brat, we’ve got no choice but to get on with it.”

“I know, I know, but—wait, you want the baby?”

Levi maintained eye contact with her, but it seemed to take a concentrated effort to do so. The flush of his cheeks deepened a little and his lips quirked at the corners. No doubt to compensate for the show of emotion, he pulled his face into his customary frown.

“It’s fine,” he said. Hange fought the urge to roll her eyes and caught his hands as he lowered them from her face, pulling them into her lap.

“Are you saying that because it’s already too late, or do you want to keep it?”

Levi’s face took on a look of constipated strain. He curled his lip as though in distaste, then hooked a hand around the back of Hange’s neck and pulled her face to his abruptly, smacking a kiss to her lips. He let his forehead settle against hers and stroked his thumb over the hinge of her jaw.

He fought to keep his tone neutral, but Hange could hear the happy tremor in his voice as he said again, “It’s fine.”

For the first time since hearing the news that day, Hange allowed herself to feel excited. To accept the idea that she and Levi were about to start their own bizarre little family. That Levi was still with her felt incredible enough, but to know that he was pleased—it was more than she could ever have hoped for. Hange gave a wet laugh and kissed him again.

“Are you allergic to looking happy?” Hange asked as they broke apart. Levi clicked his tongue and pulled back to flick her square between the eyebrows. She laughed a little louder and leaned to wipe her runny nose on his shoulder. Levi muttered under his breath, but didn’t push her away.

“Okay,” Hange said, after a moment. She sat back and pushed her hair back from her face. “Okay. We’re having a baby, then.”

Levi’s rubbed the smile from his lips with the back of his hand, nodding. “We’re having a baby.”

Hange sunk down to flop back over the pillows. Levi looked down at her, head tilted, chewing the inside of his lip. Hange reached up to brush his fringe off his forehead, warmth spilling in her chest when he held her hand close and turned to kiss her palm.

She smiled a little playfully, and freed a leg from the sheets to dig her toes into his ribs.

“If I’d known you wanted kids I would have been significantly less stressed, you know.”

Levi quirked a brow at her.

“I’ve told you that before.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“I have. At your sisters wedding.”

Hange racked her brain, searching for the conversation. She remembered the occasion, and she remembered that she and Levi had somehow ended up babysitting Hange’s family brood. She remembered Levi, wrestling to keep her youngest nephew on his lap while the eldest, still only five or six at the time, was clambering up the back of his chair, sticky hands tugging at Levi’s collar. Hange fought hard to recall more of what was said, but could remember nothing at all of Levi announcing that he had wanted one of his own.

“You said these brats aren’t so bad,” Hange said slowly.

Levi nodded at her. Hange waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, only looked at her like there was nothing more he needed to say.

“That’s it? That’s your idea of telling me you want kids?”

“The hell else could I have meant?”

Hange dug her toe at him again but Levi caught her foot this time, pushing it firmly down onto the mattress. Hange reached for him with both arms instead, curling them around the back of his neck and tugging him down quickly. He toppled over her with a quiet oof, and Hange rolled them quickly, straddling his waist and dropping her weight down onto him.

“That is the kind of thing you say clearly, Levi! These brats aren’t so bad—you’re ridiculous!”

Levi wrestled with her arms a little longer before giving up and bringing his hands instead to rest low on her hips. He watched her with a curious expression on his face, something open and soft, and then his eyes roved down to her abdomen and his thumbs brushed inwards, beneath the hem of her shirt, stroking over her lower belly.

This time, he didn’t fight his smile.

He reached up and pulled her down by the neck, and kissed her soundly. Hange melted against him, welcomed the press of his tongue between her lips, shuddered pleasantly when he nipped at her bottom lip. She went with him willingly as he rolled them both over, nudging a knee between her legs and settling his weight against her.

She was spreading her legs to make space for him, when he paused suddenly, and pulled back, leaning over the bed and scooping through the discarded back of leaflets. Hange, winded and dishevelled, watched him incredulously as he flicked through the contents of one, then tossed it aside and opened another.

“What are you doing?”

Without looking up, Levi replied, “Checking.”

“Checking what?”

“I wanna know if we can still—” he waved a hand between them, and went back to searching.

“We’ve been—” Hange mimicked his gesture, “—up until now anyway.”

Levi looked up at her, looking mildly horrified. He held up one his open leaflet and said, “You’ve been drinking alcohol, too. You’re not supposed to do that. And look, here—you’re not supposed to overwork. You’ll have to take on less hours at the university. And you’ll eat. Proper damn meals. Every day.”

Hange flopped back against the pillows, eyes rolling, watching as Levi picked up each new leaflet in turn, pointing out every little adjustment that Hange would have to make.

“This one says you should get eight to ten hours sleep per night. Every night. And not so much coffee, the caffeine’s bad for the baby.”

The baby. It sounded surreal. It sounded ridiculous. Levi shifted to sit against the headboard beside her after opening the chunky little What to Expect While Expecting volume Hange had been handed while leaving the doctors. He seemed thoroughly engrossed, and seemingly unaware when one of his hands reached out to pull Hange’s hair free of its ponytail and sink into her hair. She hummed happily as his nails scraped over her scalp.

Things were still scary, and Hange was still uncertain about how this whole adventure might turn out. But Levi was still with her, and Levi was happy, and that—

—Well, that was good enough.

#levihan #ask #my writing #this was fun!! thank you :D #hoping I can get around to the other prompts soon too!!

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airiustide · 3 years

Text

The last few months, I have encountered a lot in the zutara fandom. A lot of which had me contemplating on my own personal issues with it and how often I’ve been silent in serious situations in an effort to keep my bubble safe. Because this fandom is my escapism and I desperately wanted to keep it that way even if it meant sacrificing my voice and just isolating my feelings. After having discussions with others who are in the same position as me and when also mentioning these to people close to me in the fandom, it dawned on me just how severely different some of us are treated. I’ve thought over a lot before proceeding to make this post and I’ve determined that I’m tired of staying quiet.

Im doing my best to rely all this as best as I can, so I ask you all to bear with me. What I want to bring up includes why POC most likely don’t reveal their identities. What I personally went through at the hands of other zutarians who made assumptions about me because they didn’t know my race. How I’m treated when bringing up issues about my race in fandom. The disturbing way white people use POC as shields in discourse. And how I and a few others of my race have been treated in the fandom among POC.

I’m black, which is something I don’t state in my bio. If I happen to mention it publicly, it’s very little. Otherwise only those where I take part in private platforms are aware.

Reasons are:

1.) because I have had racist encounters on tumblr and other public platforms before.

2.) because I’ve often felt isolated in the fandom due to my race

3.) I’ve always feared my opinions or interpretations of fandom being criticized because I’m black.

These were also the reasons why it took me almost 10 years being in the zutara fandom to gain the courage to create content or interact with others.

The good part is, keeping my race private I managed to get tangled in very little discourse or hate. The disgusting part is that in doing so I was placed in situations over the last few months where horrible claims and assumptions were spread about me by certain groups including mutuals that are not in my immediate circle. I was shocked and torn. This forced me to reveal that I am black and reveal my own traumas directly to the persons that started it. Granted they apologized and made corrections on their end after confronting them, the harm was done. This confirms how one sided this fandom always is while not fact checking, and how quickly the fandom I eventually trusted were willing to agree with a white person over verifying these claims first.

After seeing many POC openly interact and actually have a voice and share amazing content over the last few years, I was thrilled. I felt like I could finally be a part of something without worrying about my identity. I could be part of a new side of fandom and actually be heard as a POC. But here’s where my issue also lies; even among POC, black people are still treated differently in the fandom. Now, this isn’t me saying that black people have it worse in fandom than any other POC. This is what I, and a few other black people I’ve spoken to (not just in zutara) have experienced.

It always seems where topics surrounding POC issues are treated as serious discussions, mentioning any issues regarding specifically what black people go through in fandom is ignored. This has always happened to me, especially when mentioning topics like this to any of my non-black fandom friends. I don’t know if it’s because they don’t want to listen or if no one knows how to react but oftentimes I just drop it and begin to feel like subjects like these are treated with exceptions. Which is disappointing after I assumed there was improvement with inclusion for all POC. Years ago when I would express my opinions or disagreements, I would always get a response claiming I was just being a typical angry black woman. I’m not oblivious to the fact that this still goes on- though not as vocally as it used to- it’s clear in how the people around me react to black voices that shows there’s still a long way to go. I don’t think it’s always intentional but that’s something that bothers me. Having these concerns ignored has created this environment where some of us are afraid to openly take part in fandom.

It shouldn’t be like this for me, or anyone for that matter. I’ve also noticed how quick those in the fandom are to defend a white person who says they’re speaking for POC while ignoring actual POC voices when they don’t share the same views. I also noticed how non-black people have way more support when expressing their personal feelings in fandom than the black people I know of in the zutara fandom.

I don’t think I’m asking for much, not when it comes to a fandom that claims how inclusive they are. I would not say any of this if not for hearing other black people out as well (this in itself confirmed I’m not misinterpreting my observations). This isn’t just me venting or feeling disappointed and isolated in the fandom. This is me sharing something I want people to take with them.

And what I want people to take away from this is:

- Don’t pick and choose POC opinions about fandom while simultaneously ignoring other POC’s. You don’t come off as an ally, you come off as a leech who’s only purpose is to use our voices to justify your agendas.

- Stop treating black people in the fandom like our opinions have lesser meaning and actually listen. If you have a black friend within the fandom, make them feel included just as much as any other POC regardless how uncomfortable you are about the issues we present to you.

- Quit making assumptions about blogs that don’t reveal their identity when it comes to discourse. Chances are they are a POC like myself who are afraid of being criticized of their part in the fandom specifically because of their race.

I’ll admit I never felt so small in the fandom until recently and I hope whatever content creators that are POC who come after me have a better and healthier experience than I did.

#zutara #zutara fandom #cw racism #black people in fandom #black issues in fandom #long post

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