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#i condone what they did

a0random0gal · 8 months

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Hot take, but I personally think all the Criston Cole hate is bs. He's probably one of the most despised characters in hotd and the slander is so unjustified.

Like damn, are you guys really going to hate on him for despising Rhaenyra after all she put him trough?

I'm 100% certain that if the genders were swapped almost everyone would side with him.

Just imagine a girl that owes her dream job on a prince that is in a significant position of power over her. One night, after things don't go his way, he makes sexual advances on the girl. She feels like she has to sleep with him, because of how he helped her achieve her goal. Also because if she refuses, the prince may be enraged and make up a lie to get her executed. Afterwards, she feels dirty, she knows she broke her oath, and that if caught she would be tortured and murdered, so she deludes herself into believing they love each other and should run away together. At least that way, she won't have ruined her life in vain.

But when she tells the prince her plan and confesses her feelings, the prince tells her that he's not willing to give up the throne for her and that all he wants her for is sex. She's pretty much just his glorified whore.

I bet all I have that in this case everyone would call Rhaenyra an evil fuck boy misogynist who only sees ladies as objects to sleep with. But since she's a girl, then the fandom views her as an empowered, sexually liberated girlboss who takes what she wants. Even if that leads a man to almost committing suicide.

The fact that the fan base also has the nerve to call him a pathetic incel is just the icing on the cake.

Guys, I'm not sure if you now, but hating a woman for something that has happened between you is not the equivalent of hating all women.

Criston hates her and her only, while treating every other lady in the show with great respect, hell he worships the ground on which Alicent walks! And scolds Aemond for how he treats sex workers, 'Cause for him they should all be respected like the mother! He's probably one of the least sexist characters in hotd lmao.

Sometimes I wonder if Rhaenyra stans can't stand him because they genuinely can't fathom a man receiving her advances, being offered to be her lover, and rejecting. Like "how dare him break our queen's heart!"

Poor dude never stood a chance

#Obviously I'm not condoning what Criston did at Rhaenyra's wedding #That was still fucked up #Though I know some people have analyzes the shit out of that scene and it' super complex and interesting #pro team green #pro criston cole #pro alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #anti team black #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower

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cock-holliday · 11 months

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THE funniest take I saw about yellowjackets so far was that the ambiguity of the wilderness is "laziness" on the writers' part and that it is "clear" the writers "can't decide if there is something out there or not." Hello? Are nuance and ambiguity and lack of brightline answers engaging storytelling? No, it's bad writing. Did Jonas survive in the end of The Giver? Was Nick 's perspective trustworthy in The Great Gatsby? Was Will Graham a good guy? Are the characters in Squid game? Idk, it wasn't blended up and fed to me gerber style so I can't tell.

Is something controlling the girls? Are they doing everything entirely themselves and pretending it's something else because they are just evil? Are they trying to survive and they assuage their guilt with the idea that something is making these decisions, not them? Is it somewhere in between?

Thank you Lottie Yellowjackets for stating the fucking thesis, "Does it matter?"

#yellowjackets #did I pick like middle school books for my comparisons? yes because apparently we gotta go back to 8th grade eng lit #today we're gonna google 'what is a morally grey character?'#'does a writer automatically condone the actions of their characters if they don't have someone go ''hey thats bad'''#'what are the themes of books like lolita'#'what does ambiguity mean'#'wikihow think for myself'#y'all can hate characters or not like the show but themes like grey areas and unreliable narrators and morally reprehensible protagonists #are not automatically signs of ''bad writing''

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time-to-write-and-suffer · 1 year

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It's hard to have sympathy for the crying streamers and YouTubers getting harrassed by the evil transes and Jews when they play the I Hate Transes and Jews Game. Like you could just not play it. Trans ppl and Jewish ppl don't get to choose not to be those things. We've been asking you for years not to play it for many reasons. You could've chosen not to play it but you still did, despite knowing the big stink around the game. And now you face the consequences of your actions because people are hurt and upset by your betrayal? Because the people who asked you not to play it because it directly hurts them are seeing you ignore them and play it anyway? What were they supposed to do? Enjoy your letsplay of I Hate Transes and Jews? Just sit back and accept with a shrug that you spent money on something that directly makes their limited time on this earth worse? Idk man ... seems like you walked into that one.

#i don't condone telling ppl to kill themselves or whatever it is those 'harassers' are accused of #but you like stepped into that pile of shit on your own fam #nobody asked you to step into that shit #but you stepped into it and now you don't get to cry about how your shoe smells like shit #like what did you think was gonna happen famsquad???#anti jkr #anti hogwarts legacy

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m4ndysk4nkovich · 7 months

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i wonder what the response would’ve been from the fandom if mickey had been the one to not sign the marriage license in 10x08🤷‍♀️ i feel like people often give mickey the benefit of the doubt, but never ian. ian was open about the fact that he did it because of his parents, so i wonder if mickey had said that people would’ve sided with him. i feel like people don’t acknowledge what frank and monica did to ian as abuse that often, because it’s always compared to what terry did to mickey. it’s really not a competition even if terry’s actions were more horrific and extreme

#ive talked about this so many times but wtv #seriously though ian was physically mentally emotionally and sexually abused growing up #he’s traumatized and his perception of love is fucked up and although what he did wasn’t great i get it #and again if it were mickey people would get it #because they have a fucked up view of abuse and many people only see it in a certain way #this isn’t anti-mickey we love mickey here and mickey fans but i hate how people treat frank and monica vs terry #they should all be universally hated for what they did to their kids #shameless #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless us #shameless meta #10x08 #frank gallagher #monica gallagher #terry milkovich #and this isn’t me saying that mickey’s feelings weren’t valid #because i’d be heartbroken too #…although i don’t condone punching ian so hard he falls down the stairs and breaks his leg #but still #gallavich #gallavich meta

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irafuwas · 10 months

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The Enemy Summary: Lilia did not call the child "Silver" because of the lunar gleam of his hair or the starlight in his eyes. No, he chose the name out of spite. Content Warnings: Depictions of violence against a child, strangulation, blood, expletives, book 7 spoilers Pairings: None Length: 3.8k (Header artwork from here)

You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!

The princess’s death struck the nation like a meteor. The Knight of Dawn had killed her, contemptuously, brazenly, at what was meant to be a peace conference. Before the fae could even draw their swords, he and his troops had scattered like a bevy of doves into the golden light of daybreak. Most of the congregation rushed to gather around their sovereign’s limp body, but not Lilia. He stood at the window, staring at the backs of the retreating soldiers, transfixed by the reflection of the sun blazing in their iron armor, a yellow blot in a sea of white fire. It looked to him like an evil eye.

Dazed by the hot stupor of his great injury, Lilia hunted down the man and killed him. And then he killed the man’s wife, and then the chambermaids and the kitchen staff and the guardsmen and the stewards. He executed them impulsively; their bodies fell before him like heavy ragdolls slumping to the ground.

The glint of his blade was a bright smudge in the darkness of the castle that night. It moved through the air like an emerald wraith – at times languidly, at times striking faster than an adder. For those who’d sought refuge in the pitch-black shadows of the underground passageways, its viridity was the last thing – the only thing – they saw before it pierced them.

His path was methodical.

He stalked from room to room, listening for stifled breaths and choked back sobs, tearing apart every quivering shadow and wrenching open every closed door. He found the pageboys cowering together in one of the storerooms, their small faces shining white with a vicious fear. He told them to run, and they did. They fled crudely, tripping over the hardstone floor and entangling their wiry colt limbs into each other as they stumbled down the halls.

He waited until they left before moving on to the final room. He’d overlooked it earlier; the door was concealed within the tall bookcases that lined the knight’s bedchambers, and he’d only noticed it after one of the maids had left it ajar as she fled. He flung open the door apathetically and marched inside, scanning the room for any sign of life. A wooden object in the corner caught his eye, and a sharp unease pooled in his stomach once he realized it was a cradle.

When he peered inside it, a baby with eyes the color of the aurora peered back up at him. He had seen those eyes before, staring down at him triumphantly as a sword plunged through his sister’s chest, staring up at him from the pale face of a corpse lying in a pool of blood in the adjacent room. And now those same eyes blinked at him dully, as though he were the source of all the light in the world.

He didn’t know the Knight of Dawn had already sired an heir. No one did. He placed a weary hand on the cradle and rocked it absentmindedly as he thought. He easily could’ve walked away, could’ve turned around and left that rotting pit behind him and reemerged into the night’s black embrace, could’ve gone on to live the rest of his life wallowing in the murky waters of his deep grief. And he should have. But he knew, with a firm surety that scared even him, that his grieving peoples would soon come to claim the boy - long before the first light of dawn could reach down its shining hands and begin to soothe their wounded nation.

Lilia’s hesitation possessed him. His gaze flew between the cradle and the door and back to the cradle again. He reached down and gripped the baby’s throat. He stood there, dazed, unable to tell if he was fighting the urge to complete the act or the urge to let go. The muscles of his forearm bulged and tensed, writhing like pale snakes underneath his skin. When the child smiled at him, he ripped his arm away as though he’d been electrocuted.

After a final moment of trepidation, he plunged his arms back into the cradle. His hands had torn that castle asunder mere moments ago, and now they trembled quietly as they pressed the heavy head into the warmth of his chest.

The night held its breath as he left that place. The only witnesses to his transgression, the somber oak trees surrounding that land and the black-eyed creatures concealed in their lofty boughs, watched him silently. He tried to ignore their expectant gazes, but they dug into his skin like daggers as he raced back to camp with the child in his arms.

Later, when he stood with Baul in the heavy heat of their tent and confessed what he’d done - and what he had failed to do - the man nearly exploded.

His barrel chest swelled in contempt. His face flushed hot with a venomous rage. He loomed over Lilia as massive as a grizzly bear, his thin lips pulled back into a snarl, the whites of his eyes blazing like spotlights out of his ashen face.

“Are you fucking insane!?” he roared. “That… That thing is that bastard’s son! It’s the enemy!”

“Baul, I can’t kill a baby,” Lilia croaked.

Baul scoffed. “So you can slaughter a whole castle full of people, but a baby’s too much for the Great General Vanrouge, huh?”

Lilia looked away, and Baul continued, aggrieved, “Fine. If you won’t do it, then I will.” He tightened his grip around his halberd, and the wooden staff groaned in his hand. He dipped the axe head towards the baby sleeping in Lilia’s arms.

“No!” Lilia yelled, taking a step back. “Please, just… just give me some time… A decade. Give me a decade, and then I’ll do it, I’ll kill him.” He licked the cold sweat running down his lips, his eyes flicking between the glowering man and the axe hovering before him. The cold metal shimmered threateningly in the dim candlelight.

“Sure you will,” Baul spat, retracting his weapon. “Sure you fucking will.” He stormed out of the tent, muttering angrily as he threw back the tarp with a growl. The stifling air evaporated with his departure, and Lilia took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked down at the child and sighed.

When Lilia returned to the castle town, he discovered that Baul had revealed his great failure to the rest of the world. In the wake of their general’s betrayal, he and the other guardsmen had ransacked Lilia’s room in the barracks, carelessly strewing his meagre belongings before the castle as though they were garbage. Lilia found the blanket from his cot entangled in the branches of one of the courtyard trees, fluttering sadly in the gentle spring wind. He dislodged it and wrapped it around his body, using it as a makeshift sling for the child.

None of the guards, not even Baul, came out to speak with him. They didn’t need to – he already knew their judgement was final. He stooped over as he gathered the rest of his items, weighed down not by the tiny infant strapped to his back, but by the enormity of his decision, of his failure. Here was the home he’d spent the last three hundred years of his life defending, here was the honor and prestige he’d finally won for himself after centuries of flawless servitude and thankless atrocities, the only family and friends he had ever known – would ever know. He understood that he was a traitor, a fool, but his inanity was far overshadowed by his revulsion at what they demanded from him.

He looked up at the castle one last time, craning his head back, trying to memorize every jagged stone and turret and tower, trying to memorize the curve of the windows, the green of the flags flapping weakly in the breeze and the faded grey of the ancient masonry. He stood there until the strained muscles in his neck begged him to stop. And then he turned around and left.

His legs carried him unbidden to the edge of the forest surrounding the castle town, where he found a small house hidden in its verdant shadows. The walls were rotted, and the roof lay sunken under a tangled mass of vines and moss. He couldn’t tell whether humans or fae or wild beasts had last lived there; he only knew he was too tired and too apathetic to continue his search elsewhere.

The first night in that house, they slept on the floor. The child dozed soundly, but Lilia could not sleep. He stared at the stars peeking through the holes in the roof, counting each pin prick of light until his eyes burned. As the black-blue sky began to fade, he realized with a start that he didn’t know what the boy’s name was. He raked his exhausted brain for something – anything – he could call him over the next ten years. The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Silver. It wasn’t a name; it was an utterance. Two syllables that weighed heavy in his mouth like poison - air that passed between his lips and nothing more. It was a word he’d hiss on nights when the mist lay heavy over the forest and his mind would sink into the quicksand of old memories he wished desperately to forget, when he’d dream of his sister’s face, pale and drained of blood, her mouth frozen open in a scream that would never come out. The Silver Owl had tainted his heart the darkest black, and this was his chance to finally rid himself of their scourge forever.

From then on, Lilia kept the boy at a distance. He fed him and bathed him and clothed him mechanically, moving most days like a puppet on strings. He tolerated being called “Father”, but staunchly refused any concessions beyond that. His anger was a bulwark against the child’s affections.

Only during the winter would Lilia let the boy sleep next to him. The small body would shiver offensively at his side, interrupting his faded dreams, and he would groan and tuck the thin creature against himself before falling back into an uncomfortable sleep. He would push the child away as soon as he awoke the next morning, repulsed, as though the thing clinging to him were a disease.

It wasn’t just the boy’s neediness that vexed him. Lilia hated everything about him, hated his shy half-smile and his crescent-eyed laugh, hated how the walls around his heart he’d spent so many long years carefully constructing would groan under the terrible weight of the boy’s love. But what disturbed Lilia the most was his eyes. Many of the valley residents were dumbstruck by them – they’d murmur how, on the night of his birth, Nature surely must have plucked the northern lights from the sky and pressed their iridescent glow into his supple skin. But Lilia only saw evil in their lunar beauty. And he watched, incredulously, as the boy grew older, stronger, the infantile roundness of his face hardening around the angle of his jaw, watched the back straighten, the eyes narrow, the smile broaden, watched the child melt away and the visage of his sister’s murderer slowly and steadily emerge in its place. Some days he felt suffocated, like every inch of that small cottage was tyrannized by the boy’s meagre presence. The only thing that stilled his hand was the child’s youth. He could not kill him yet.

The days were long, but the years whipped past him like a tempest. The hot coals of his anger gradually cooled to a tepid warmth, and Lilia at last conceded to the child’s innocence. He wore the clumsily made daisy crowns and ate the burnt and misshapen cookies, he no longer denied the pleas for one more race across the meadow and one more story, accepted the tiny hand that groped across the bed for his own on cold nights when their breath hung above them like fog.

A year before his tenth birthday, Lilia began taking the boy with him on his evening walks. As they padded through the darkness of the hushed forest, Lilia would teach him the names of all the wildflowers and the trees, of the prying creatures observing them from the black shadows, of every star and moon and planet that peered down at their upturned faces. One night, emboldened by his newfound knowledge, the child thrust a single, bony finger into the air and betrayed where the North Star had concealed itself in an ocean of shimmering lights. Lilia looked up. But his gaze did not follow the line of the boy’s indication, beyond to the heavenly body shining above. No, his eyes rested on that tiny, outstretched hand. In that moment, Lilia finally understood that he loved the child.

The realization that he had surrendered his heart to his oppressor, to his enemy – to the hand that’d been gripped around his throat for the past ten years and had torn his beating heart right out of his chest – paralyzed him. (Oh, but what is a decade of pure torment to eyes of liquid moonlight! What is a man – shriveled up and broken, stupefied by his hatred and rendered ignorant by his grief – in the face of pure love!)

He tried, in vain, to suppress his burgeoning feelings with the heavy mass of his anger, but his love would burst open the fortifications of his heart time and time again, threatening to drown him in its raging waters. He fought back against it the same way he had been the past decade - with his ignorance. But as the child’s tenth birthday rapidly approached, he found that for the first time, he no longer took solace in counting down the days.

Lilia awoke the child shortly after midnight. He tugged on the boy’s arms until he finally sat up, grumbling as he rubbed at his tired eyes, only dimly aware of the world around him. Lilia sighed. He dressed the boy impatiently, his fingers trembling as he fussed with the lacing on the small tunic. While he worked, his eyes darted between his sword hanging on a nearby wall and the child sitting slumped over in front of him. He decided against taking it.

He led the child outside into the balmy spring air. The heat prickled at his skin. He inhaled deeply, forcing out the tension gripping his body as he exhaled. Somewhere in the distance, an owl let out a plaintive call, and a nightingale began its serenade in reply. The moon was a shining pearl overhead. Lilia could not bring himself to look at her face, didn’t dare defile her perfect visage with his great shame. He turned and stepped down the dirt path leading away from their home, and the boy followed.

The forest watched disdainfully as the man and the young child walked deeper and deeper into its bowels. Once, the boy asked where they were going, but Lilia did not answer. He felt too shy to speak again, and they spent the rest of the journey weighed down by a pregnant silence.

When they came to a glade, Lilia finally stopped. He turned around slowly, like a cornered beast reluctant to face its hunter.

The boy’s eyes – the enemy’s eyes – reflected the moonlight. The evil shone dimly in their argent depths.

Lilia lunged at him like a panther.

“Fath-!”

They slammed into the ground with the force of a hurricane. The boy cried out as his back struck the earth, pain shooting up his body like shards of ice. He lay there stunned. He could not understand what had just hit him. It had looked like a black storm, impenetrable and overwhelming. His mind blankly refused to reveal its identity to him. But he knew it could not have been his father that struck him, and he knew it could not be his father now pressing those cold hands around his throat and staring down at him with eyes the color of blood.

Not once in his life had the boy ever known fear. He had always ignored it, looked past it, content with the knowledge that his father would always be there to protect him from its ploys. Anything that scared him, anything that invited unease into his stomach or agitation into his heart, was dispelled in the comfort of the man’s steady presence. But now his father was the thing itself. An animal panic gripped his body, his eyes blew wide open like a spooked horse.

They wrestled. He tried wrenching the arms away from his throat, but the bony limbs felt like rods of iron under his hands. He clawed and pounded at the man’s chest, his mind racing as tried to remember every movement, every self-defense technique his father had ever taught him. When the whirlpool of his thoughts stilled for a split second, he ripped from its calm waters the lone memory he’d been desperately searching for. The boy hooked one hand over his father’s wrist and gripped the other one higher up his arm, around his elbow. He kicked a leg free and swung his foot over his father’s ankle. The hands tightened around his throat. The world blackened before him; his lungs begged for oxygen. Using the last bit of his strength, he bucked his hips and rolled over, bringing Lilia underneath him. The hands at last released their grip; he was free.

He shot away from his father like a bullet. He scrambled to his feet and feverishly gulped in the warm spring air until his lungs burned. He took a trembling step forward, trying to flee, but Lilia was upon him in an instant. The man wrapped his arms around the heaving chest and threw the child back to the ground, crashing into him as they fell. The boy writhed frantically in the cage of his father’s arms, almost slipping free, but Lilia shoved him flat on his back with a snarl. He crawled atop the boy, straddling him once more.

The child fought back feebly. His hands pawed against Lilia’s arms, his face, anything solid his trembling fingers could grab onto. Lilia swatted away the flailing limbs, trapping the boy’s arms in one hand and seizing his throat with the other. The child’s screams contorted into a panicked screech as white stars exploded before his eyes. He kicked up his legs and thrust his knees into Lilia’s back, but the man was immovable, his arms and legs pinning him down as heavy as pythons.

Lilia’s hand tightened around the thin neck; the child’s heartbeat pounded against his palm like a thunderstorm. The boy’s flesh melted underneath his fingertips as soft as dough. He squeezed until the eyes began to burst from their sockets, until blood seeped into their auroral haze and foam spilled from his half-parted lips.

The seconds passed by in an eternity. At last, the child’s body stilled, his gasps terminating with a final, strangled sob. Lilia released the neck slowly, marveling at the purple-black splotches blooming across the skin, the imprint of his hand stark against the ivory flesh. He closed his eyes and panted, exhausted.

He sat there, waiting. For a decade he had envisioned this moment, had clung to it like a promise of salvation, had dreamed of the pure relief that would wash over his body and befree him from the prison of his immovable grief. He waited, but it did not come. The enemy was gone, yes. But with it fled the black shadow of Lilia’s anger that had obscured the child from him all his life. He looked down. His eyes flew open in shock. For the first time in a decade, the first time since he peered down into that cradle all those years ago, he finally saw the boy. He finally saw Silver.

“Silver!” he gasped, recoiling, as though the name burned him. He threw himself off the body and crawled away from it on his hands and knees. He pulled himself up against a tree and doubled over as he began to vomit. It felt like this was the pure poison of his rage leaving him - like a decade of repressed anger was erupting from his body all at once, pouring out of his throat and his nose in a scalding torrent of acrid bile, burning his eyes, his lips, his tongue. He stood there heaving until his knees gave way, collapsing into the ground with a mutilated groan. As he rubbed his raw throat, he suddenly remembered the boy.

He whipped his head around in a panic and found Silver lying motionless where he’d left him. Lilia staggered over to him. The few meters between them seemed to stretch on for miles, and he tripped and stumbled as he clawed his way across that great divide, falling to his knees once he finally reached him. He cradled the limp body in his trembling arms. He kissed the boy’s eyes, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips slipping weakly across the wet mess of tears and blood. He pressed his face into the silken hair, filthy with dirt and grime from the forest floor, breathed in his soft lavender scent, drowned in the milky white flesh, ice cold against his own feverous skin. He nuzzled his face into the crook of the boy’s neck, choking back a sob as he felt a faint pulse throbbing weakly under him.

Silver’s mind reentered the world conscious only of the sharp pain in his throat and his father’s white face hovering above him. He stared at his father, and for the first time in his short life, the man did not look away. The eyes that had long haunted Lilia, had aggrieved him and insulted him, finally revealed to him their beauty. They were bloodshot and swollen, the skin underneath enflamed with irritation, but they were more resplendent to him than any gemstone.

Silver swallowed weakly and opened his mouth to talk, but Lilia shushed him with a shake of his head. As he gazed at the boy, a faint memory flashed before his eyes – he remembered the heavy head pressed into his chest, the limp neck resting in his hand, the wet mouth opened in a gasp, the shining eyes boring into him silently. Lilia shivered violently. Yes, it was just like that night, all those years ago. The days-old babe he’d stolen from that cradle was in his arms once more, born anew before him.

As he embraced the child, he decided that he would try to do better, to be better. He would try, falteringly, with the desperation of a marked man begging for a pardon, to rectify the decade of his ignorance.

He would try until it no longer hurt him to speak his son’s name.

#lilia vanrouge #twst silver #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #sorry if this is cringE im not using to writing evil stuff dfkgjdfg #when i said i been brainrotting about ch 4 this is what i meant #also tried writing in past tense for this which i dont like to do cause its gross but i did it #obligatory no i do not condone or aim to glorify any of this

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cerise-on-top · 2 months

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Rudy with a jealous s/o? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I NEED THISS

Hello! Here you go!

Rodolfo with a Jealous!S/O

The moment he sees you’re jealous he’ll chuckle a bit but also be a bit worried. It’s nice to see that you like his attention enough to want it most of the time, but would he really be able to calm you down from your frenzy? He most likely could, but the worry is still there. At first he’d be a bit apprehensive about approaching you, especially if you’re being snappish and keep hinting at you being mad at him for spending time with someone that wasn’t you. If this doesn’t happen very often he wouldn’t know what to do, but if you’re a very jealous person and it keeps happening then he’ll have a talk with you. It’s not particularly fair to him that you always snap at him whenever he spends time with his teammates or friends, so he’ll sit you down and discuss your behavior and how you can both improve yourselves. Communication is very important to him.

If you don’t get jealous as often, then he’ll approach you after a bit and ask you what’s wrong. It’s up to you whether or not you honestly respond to him, but he’d much prefer you being upfront and honest with him. He won’t really know too well what to do if you just keep lying to him, pretending that you’re alright. Rodolfo will, however, take you to a secluded place if you’re out somewhere together and just talk to you. While he may not be the biggest fan of PDA, he would give you a small kiss, either on your lips or your cheeks, maybe even a hug if you’re especially mad, and apologize to you. He knows it likely isn’t his fault, but maybe an apology could calm you down. If it’s late and he’s been with his friends for a while now anyway then he could make time to just leave, especially if nothing important is going on anymore and the main events and conversation topics are over. However, if he has to stay for a bit longer, then he’ll apologize again, but promises you that you’ll be going back home soon enough.

Once you’re back home all of his attention is on you, if you want that. If you prefer to be left alone then he will let you be, but will check up on you once every hour and ask if you’re doing alright. But if you don’t want that then he’s more than happy to talk with you, or spend time with you in general. You wanna cuddle? Play a video game? Bake some cookies? He’s not opposed to any of those things. Because, truth be told, you being mad but quiet sort of scares him. He has to deal with loud, angry soldiers almost on a daily basis, so he knows how to put someone in their place if they’re being openly aggressive. Therefore you being so quiet is very worrisome and he’ll be on edge this entire time. As soon as you laugh again he knows he did something right, though. That’s the goal: To get you to calm down and smile, maybe laugh even. But he knows that, at the very least, it will likely be over by the time you both wake up again in the morning. If he can, then he’ll spend the next day with you. Or at least as much of it as he can.

#cod #cod x reader #rodolfo parra #rodolfo parra x reader #at first I thought I had already written something like this but no it was jealous!rodolfo and not jealous!reader. hopsie #as someone who gets jealous very easily I sort of vibe with this even if I don't condone snapping at someone just because of it #I used to get jealous when my ex would talk to someone that wasn't me. which happened a lot during school #but then again I also felt suffocated whenever he did spend time with me so I'm glad we broke up #Rodolfo would make for a much much better boyfriend. I'm not into men at all but I'd give him a chance in all honesty #he's a sweetheart. he's attentive. he knows how to cook. he knows when to be quiet. he's introverted #what else could someone want?#I do HC him to be more into men than women though. being in a poly relationship with him and Alejandro must be bomb though #they level each other out. Ale is more outgoing while Rudy prefers to stay home #perfect equilibrium. I wanna go on a hike with the two of them they'd be so proud of me. I also wanna hear them speak Spanish at me #I don't know the language at all but it's probably lovely to hear. especially something that isn't “pendejo”#they'd be two absolute sweethearts together to each other and to their s/o #maybe if I ever find the time I'll write some poly AleRudy HCs with a reader #I'm such a sucker for poly relationships. Since I'm poly myself naturally

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l-wandering-etranger · 1 year

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Tbh after watching buddy daddies finale i think it wouldve been hilarious if rei's dad turned out to be extremely supportive of kazurei family.

And this is somewhere near episode 9 and Rei is getting pressured to come back and gramps is like "tf is holding him back" so he goes to investigate and finds out why. And just one day we see grandpa suwa coming in to their house and everyones on edge, Rei especially being threatning and growling whenever he looks at Miri. Kazuki is trying to be polite but equally threatning too (also Kyu is there for some reason i guess babysitting?) and gramps is like "so... i have ice cream. I bought all flavours cause idk what kids like?" And everyone is confused.

Like yknow how asian grandads are? You hear from stories that they were absolute beasts meanwhile they treat you like a prince/ss.

And i can imagine the reasoning being like "oh she isnt my blood heir so no point in wasting my time abusing training her" or like he just wants a granddaughter to spoil.

#buddy daddies #just for kicks tho #lemme specify i do not condone what rei's dad did to him and let it remain clear that in this au he doesn't forgive him #neither should he #its purely for comedy #like suprise plot twist the #the mob leader is a loving grandpa #idk man i was bored #rei suwa #rei buddy daddies #buddy daddies kazuki #buddy daddies rei #kazuki papa #kazuki kusuru #kazurei #buddy daddies kyutaro #kyutaro kugi #miri unasaka #miri buddy daddies

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strawglicks · 6 months

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growing up is realizing the whole 'team savvy vs team brooke' defeated the entire point of lps popular . likes its iconic and part of my childhood but why, in the series where these young women are suffering under societal expectations and impossible beauty standards for the sake of men's approval, are we putting the women AGAINST each other . sage bond is right there let's beat him up

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masked-alien-lesbian · 2 months

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Spoilers for the traitor in Alpha, though I'm late so who doesn't already know? Lol

You know, the werewolf legacy is kinda fuxked up if you ask me. Parents forcing their kids to undergo a potentially life endangering ritual for what? To run around the woods, licking your nuts and howling at the moon?? At least in WB, the wolves help heal nature, what do these wolves actually do?

#I mean #All the power to those #That want to and truly consent to turning #But it has to mess with somebody #To know that their parents would prefer a #Dead feral werewolf over a happy healthy human son #And I'm not condoning what Randy did #Ppl could have died #But he obviously didn't feel like he had many options #I think his parents #And parents like Kala's are the bad guys #choices #pixelberry #Playchoices #Alpha #choices alpha

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the-witchs-cafe · 2 months

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Bianchi

The Convicted Witch, with a secluded nature. A heaven made by memories as sweet as honey, and notes as soft as silk; the world around the witch continues to eternally decay from the accumulation of plaque over the years, as the sickly scent of boiling sugar is now indistinguishable from that of corpses.

A hollow, solemn note breaks away from the cacophony of his familiars' chatters; a haunting reminder of the emptiness in his heart and the bleeding cracks in his memories. During his every waking hour, the shadow of his conductor continues to haunt the edges of his sight. He shall not look at what is before him. He shall not dare to ever succumb to the prospect of snapping out of his happy dream. By his own hands, the strings of his violin shall continue to play his hymn, eternally in wait for its accompanying tune, only for it to never arrive- only for their duet to never debut, and he nor his melody will ever be complete again.

Barrier appearance:

The dream's illusion has finally worn away; leaving behind an old theater that's barely kept together and is falling apart from years of neglect and natural damages. What was once designated as "headspace" in Sunny's mind has been reduced to nothing but a small stage, shining and floating amidst the "sea" of stringy rot and disease.

There aren't any windows within the dingy halls leading to the stage, the doors are sealed tight...but why do you feel like there's something standing right behind you at all times? The shadows in the hall just don't look right; you're not even sure if that's even your own anymore. In spite of the atmosphere and his familiars' twisted and disgusting appearances, what unnerved you the most...were the spiders hanging from the ceiling; gazing at you with their clusters of eyes...

Familiars:

Le Marionette Della Sala (The Sala/Hall Puppets). Minions of the Maestro witch. Their duty is to play by the script. Residents of his little dreamland; their one and only role is to continue having a pleasant life as the lights of the stage, their witch's eyes, are cast upon them. The cruelty of reality shall never leak into their home, the stage, so long as they stuck to their roles. The leading cast's aliases are Gratificazione (Gratification), Aggressione (Aggression), and Rassegnazione (Resignation).

Fiore. Minion of the Maestro witch. His duty is to gather dust. A defected Marionette Della Sala; in the effort of keeping the rest within this sweet dream, his porcelain body, once stainless and floral, is now being ravaged with tartar. As result, he has become a reminder of what lies beyond the heaven that is his home barrier, and is now constantly being rejected by it; leaving him rotting beneath the stage, alone and afraid. The alias he possessed back when he was a member of the main cast was Restauro (Restoration).

#Omori #puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica #sunny #Sunny Omori #Omori Sunny #Madoka Magica Witches #Madoka Witch #Witch cards #Just a disclaimer: I don't condone jack shit of what Omocat did #My support goes out to the rest of the dev- art- and writing team #but not Omo themselves and the ab-ser she's hired as part of the music team #mod h.n elly

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