the cruelest thing

so much of life as a woman under patriarchy is centered around the crushing pressure for us to be inoffensive in every possible sense- in opinions, tone of voice, appearance. we’re promised that if we fit these rules of being a woman that finally we’ll be taken seriously but the cruelest thing is that it’s a completely false promise. you can never gain true respect when you’re playing by the rules of your oppressor, especially rules that are meant to silence you by their very design

Hey parents of autistic and nuerodivergent children!

If you refuse to accommodate any of your child’s sensory issues because you want to “prepare them for the real world” or intentionally trigger any of these issues so they can “get used to it” then you are AN ABUSIVE ASSHOLE.

You are supposed to be their anchor of support and understanding in a world that doesn’t understand them and denying them that in some selfish attempt to get them to be “normal” or “toughen up” is one of the cruelest things you can do and will create deep and lasting trust issues that they will carry with them for the rest of their lives.

If your child had a food allergy and you specifically fed them the foods that could cause a fatal allergic reaction because “the real world won’t always be accommodating” you would get CPS on your ass so fast your demented little head would spin.

You don’t get to shape us into your ideal of a “normal kid.” And yes, it is YOUR idea; you don’t get to say “it’s not about what I expect, it’s about what the world expects!” You don’t get to blame the world for your hang ups. YOU are supposed to be the understanding one.

One of the most beautiful and at the same time cruelest things in the world is falling in love with a fictional character.
Falling for their thoughts, for the way they talk and their deepest secrets which they only share with you.
Getting to know them better by each page, forming an idea of their facial expressions and making up conversations with them when no one is around.
And sometimes, you will spot someone on the street, with hair just like this character or a smile that reminds you of your daydreams and your heart will ache in the most hurtful way because you will never see all that characteristics combined in one person.
—  // maybe at another time, in another world…
j.d.m.
List of deaths in volume 4

(Obviously, this post contains spoilers. Like 90% of everything I post. Be warned.)

After I made a friend watch RWBY and told her nobody would die (I know that’s the cruelest thing I ever did I’m so sorry) and of course people died in volume 3 and it kinda hit her (she’s still fucking mad), I made a list of every death in volume 4 so she can be prepared before she watches it. Left out some grimm. Enjoy.

Every death in volume 4 (that came ot my mind)

  • a whole village… men, women, children, all of them (offscreen)
  • actually more than one village
  • some huntsman 
  • some poor farmboy’s sanity
  • whoever used to wax Mercury’s eyebrows (offscreen)
  • Tyrian’s sanity (offscreen)
  • some other parts of Tyrian
  • Ruby’s cloak (offscreen) 
  • Raven’s chance of ever winning a mother of the year award 
  • Qrow’s liver
  • bumblebee, according to black sun shippers
  • black sun, according to bumblebee shippers
  • peace between black sun shippers and bumblebee shippers
  • the sanity of all renora shippers, but I think they’re okay with it
  • Blake, to some of us
  • Sun, to some of us
  • Yang, to some of us
  • Tai, to some of us
  • the FNDM, to many of us
  • Whitley, to all of us
  • all the respect we had for Jaques Schnee
  • all the hate still left for Weiss Schnee you precious girl 
  • Hanzo aka Ren’s father
  • Ren’s mother
  • our sanity                        
  • Kevin, you will be missed  
If you’re with her and you wish you were elsewhere then leave. One of the cruelest things you can do to a person is make them feel like home, when to you they’re only temporary. We all deserve adoration and undistracted attention. We all deserve to feel complete. If you can’t give her your whole heart, then don’t you dare hold it hostage.
— 

unknown

You may also like this
Always- An Ivar Imagine

So @whenimaunicorn sent me the prompt: “Truth or Dare? I dare you to spend the rest of the night tied to Prince Ivar at the wrists.” Thanks for the prompt!

Here is the result. More angst than originally planned. Oops?

TW: mild sexual content, infidelity

***
You had never known Hvitserk to be cruel.

Okay, that was a lie. You had never known him to be cruel to you. Other people were another story. But tonight, tonight you fell into that category of “other people”. For what he had done, you would consider the cruelest thing of all.

It had started innocent, a game of truth or dare among brothers and friends. It was a game played often, as you had known the Ragnarssons since you were all grubby children, playing in the mud. The ale and laughter had flowed, to the point where you could almost forget the aching hole that was etched permanently upon your heart. But then, it had been your turn. You had chosen dare. And Hvitserk, drunk and careless, had dared you to spend the rest of the night, tethered by the wrists, to none other than Ivar.

Ivar, the man you were hopelessly in love with. Ivar, the man you could not stay away from. Ivar, the man who would never be wholly yours.

You agreed to the dare, not only to be spared the severe penalty but to savour any sort of closeness you could get with the Prince.

You moved to sit beside Ivar. Someone came and bound your wrists together, you didn’t know who. All you could focus on were her eyes, staring at you from across the table, hating you. Wishing you would one day take to your father’s fishing boat and not return. Drowned, dragged to the bottom of the sea, a sea that she could somehow bend to her will. She knew, she knew that his heart lay with you and not with her. She was a pawn, a token used for land and power and offspring with a strong bloodline. You, you were the fire in his blood, the beating of his heart, the name on his lips when he took her to bed.

But you were a nobody, and princes did not end up with nobodies. They had mothers and fathers and brothers who pushed for alliances, for duty, for the good of the people. They ended up with someone who could give them those things.

You were not that someone.

You could feel Ivar’s skin next to yours, where your wrists touched, warm and familiar. It made you ache for an easier time, when there was nothing but bare skin and love and the hopes of the young and foolish. Hopes you could one day be together, love freely and without restraint. You hardly got any time with each other now. Every moment you could spend by his side was a precious one.

As if he could sense your distress, your lover placed your linked hands under the table, onto your thigh. He had not said anything when Hvitserk had issued the dare. He had not protested, had not insisted it be an insult to his wife to be tied to another woman. He had simply let it happen. A choice. A declaration. You over her, every time. And she knew it.

The weight of your joined hands on your thigh was comforting, a balm amidst the tension that was threatening to suffocate you. She flicked her eyes down to the table, disgust marring her pretty face. To her, you were worthless. She could not see what kept drawing him to you. You both knew she didn’t love him, only married him for the name and the power and the role of duty. But it irked her to no end that he did not fall at her feet like all the others, did not desire her body. She wanted to catch her prey, but he kept slipping through her net.

The game continued on. You could not focus. Ivar’s hand had inched higher up your thigh, fingers stroking over the soft material of your dress. Her eyes were now on her husband, cold and stony. He growled, baring sharp white teeth as his fingers sunk deep into your thigh. Baiting her, showing her what she was to him. The title of wife meant nothing.

It should have comforted you, to know he only wanted you. That she was nothing to him. But it still hurt. It hurt to know she carried the title of wife, and not you. It hurt to know she was by his side, would one day grow round with his child in her belly. She would have his future, and you would be naught but a secret in the dark. You did not want to share, you wanted all of him. Every moment, every look, every touch. It was not enough to know he loved you. Your heart was greedy. It wanted everything, for it and it alone.

Ivar pushed your joined hands further into your lap, fingers teasing your flesh. You could feel the desire flowing through them, his simmering need for you. With her, it was all about business, securing a child. With you, it was love and passion and burning, all consuming need. You did not get many chances to be together, and every encounter was a like a wild summer storm, fierce and raging.

He stopped his movements on your thigh, instead leaning over to ghost his lips over the shell of your ear. No one was watching but her, no one cared but her. You should have felt bad for her, how must it feel knowing your husband cares not for you? But you did not. You would never see her as anything more than a thief. A thief who stole your happy future.

“Truth or dare?” Ivar whispered softly in your ear, voice laced with a dark lust. You shivered as his words slid over your skin like a silken scarf.

“Dare,” you whispered back, not daring to look at his face.

He leaned closer, his heady scent enveloping you like a tender embrace.

“I dare you to take me to bed. My bed.”

He meant the bed he shared with her, in the back of the Great Hall. You sucked in a breath. You had always met somewhere, never had he taken you in that bed, since he had gotten married. It was probably a bad idea.

But you did not care.

You stood up, grabbing Ivar’s crutches for him from where they leaned upon his chair. He allowed himself to give you a heated smirk, before the two of you awkwardly made your way towards the back of the Hall.

Her eyes followed you the whole way there.

But once you were enclosed in his private quarters, all thoughts but Ivar left your mind. He somehow managed to get his knife out of his belt, cut your bonds and throw you onto the bed with a few smooth motions. You eagerly reached for him as he lowered himself out of his crutches, desperate to feel all of him against you.

You needed him like air, you craved him like a drug. He fell upon you with a fervour only he could have, all groping hands and hungry kisses and loud, needy moans. He did not try to quiet himself, he did not care if she heard. If anyone heard. You found you did not care either. You arched into him and let him sweep you away in a tidal wave of pleasure.

He took you fast, and he took you hard. No loving caresses, no soft teasing, no slow and sweet build up. Pure carnal desire, the kind that leaves delicious aches and bruises to savour. Ivar in his truest form, making you cry out, making you beg for more, more, more. You knew nothing but the slide of hot, slippery skin, the taste of salt and sweat, the stars exploding behind your eyelids.

After, you curled yourself around him, pressing your shaking body as close as you could get. He enclosed you in his arms, letting you rest against him as you both caught your breath. As you laid there, your euphoria faded, and the ache in your heart returned.

“It should be enough,” you said softly, tracing a pattern over his chest with your fingers. “It should be enough to share you, and know that it is me who holds your heart. People do it all the time. Look at your brothers, sharing Margrethe between them. But I am selfish. I want you all to myself. I want to be your only wife, and the only woman you take to bed. I want to give you all your children. Is that wrong?”

He began to stroke his fingers through your long hair, blunt nails scratching gently over your scalp.

“It is not wrong,” he said, voice rumbling in his chest. “It is not wrong, for I feel the same way. I do not want to be tied to her. I do not want her to bear my children. I chose you, and only you, a long time ago. When I think of how I would feel if our situations were reversed, I want to kill something. The thought of another man touching your makes me sick.”

It made you sick, too. You twisted so you could press a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“If only I was not who I am. If only I was like her, from a family worthy-”

He cut you off with a firm hand to your throat, pulling you on top of him so he could look at you with angry eyes.

“Do not ever say that again,” he growls, fingers squeezing, squeezing. “Do not wish you were anything but what you are. You are perfect. You are not less than her. Do you hear me?”

You nod, and his fingers relax. His eyes, however, stayed hard and blazing.

“I will find a way,” he vowed. “I will find a way to weaken her father, to make it so he is not more powerful than us. I married his daughter so he would not overpower us; I will make it so he has no power, and so I will no longer be in need of my marriage. Then,” his face softens ever so slightly, “then I will be free to marry whom I wish.”

It was a lot to promise, and probably very much unlikely to come true. But you clung to his words like a child clings to its mother’s skirts. A distant hope. You leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.

“I should go,” you whispered, thinking of her sitting in the Great Hall. “I should go before she comes to you.”

His grip on you tightened, possessive. “No. You will stay. She will not come to me tonight. You will stay, and let me hold you. I will wake at least once with you in my arms.”

You knew you should leave, before leaving got any harder, but a night in his arms was more than you ever got. So you agreed, nestling down against him, letting him wrap himself around you. The darkness pressed around you like a comforting blanket, wrapping you up in a world where you could pretend only the two of you existed.

“Truth or dare,” you whispered, finding his hand in the dark.

“Truth,” his hand was warm, calloused, perfect.

“Will you always love me? No matter what our lives become?” You knew the answer. But to hear it was a bandage across your broken heart

A sigh. A kiss on your head. Broad fingers squeezed yours.

“Always.”

****
I known with Vikings sharing is caring, but I imagine some of them are not into it. Happy Sunday! ❤️

4

TV TROPES »  almost kiss: It just may be the cruelest, most frustrating thing a writer could ever pull. Two characters are finally about to bring all their shippers’ dreams to fruition. They’re about to resolve all the UST and cross the “Just Friends” line, at last. They’re staring mesmerized into each others’ eyes, inching forward ever so slowly, less than a millimeter away from lip-to-lip contact. This is it, the fans scream in their minds. They’re finally going to kiss! And then… They don’t.

The Pain of Death [1000 Followers Special]

A/N: This was due LONG ago, but I never got around to it. I’m really sorry it sucks guys. I just have no motivation today and it’s been one bad news after the other

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1660

WANT TO BE TAGGED?

MASTERLIST


It was difficult to feel alive in the world today.

The world was a cold, desolated place where dreamers simply couldn’t exist. It was really a cemetery, a graveyard filled with unfulfilled dreams of the young and old. It wasn’t a place for any friends either, only acquaintances, nothing more.

There was no we or us, there was only I and me, for in this world, there were only survivors and they didn’t crawl their way to the top of the food chain together with others. In the end, the only person that mattered was them and they would throw anyone off the ladder if necessary.

It didn’t come as a surprise. Humanity was doomed from the start, it was inevitable. The human race was bound to topple their own grand empire that they had built. All the cruelest, most despicable things in this world derived from humanity. There’s no place for this dying species in this universe. We had sinned too far to ever redeem ourselves.

Now everyone’s simply trying to find their own happiness, a temporary bliss they could indulge in until they get sick of it and move onto their next interest.

You had seen it in action, experienced first hand. There was no such thing as happiness in this place, not true happiness. Something always happened, as if the universe was designed to fuck with you. It was a consequence of being born and adding to this plague called humanity. But like everyone else, you tried your best to survive. Only survive. You had given up trying to find any lasting happiness in this sick world. What was the point? When it was torn from you, the only person that get the burn would be you.

You admit you never used to be like this. You had been happy, joyful… but innocent. And you were so in love. You were blinded by the driving force of nature and oh how it had ruined you to the point of no return. Your heart was a desolate wasteland where nothing thrived. You gave it no rain, you barricaded it, all because of him.

There used to be someone. Used to be, for he was long gone. He was reckless, impulsive, perhaps a little too daring at times, but bravery and determination ran through his veins. He was a hero, not just your hero but also the hero of others.

He was the second Robin, Jason Peter Todd.

When he came into your life, he instantly swept you off your feet. At first that was a quite bad term for you saw him as a hurricane that tore everything apart. Since you two were on opposite sides most times–you being Catwoman’s ‘apprentice’ and all–you two faced each other regularly, but those fights turned to bickers, and bickers turned into banters and it formed the strangest friendship.

Most of the time, you would play around with him while your mentor had her way with Batman. Sometimes you would sneak out to meet him on the roof. There were times when you even sneaked into the manor to spend time with him, and since you were good friends with Alfred, of course he had let you in.

You allowed yourself to fall. You allowed your heart to feel and love, because it gave you such happiness.

You should’ve known it was too good to be true.

There was no pain greater than what you felt when your mentor informed you of his death.

At first there was that numbness in your chest. You weren’t in denial, you were in shock and couldn’t comprehend anything. And then when you were left alone, that was when you finally realized what the news meant. Then the tears came, and it wouldn’t stop.

It was on that night that you had stopped loving, for what was the use of such emotion when everything would end?

Yet even when you tell yourself that, here you were, standing in front of the grave of the second Robin years later.

“Hey there boy wonder,” you whispered, crouching in front of the grave and placing the bouquet of flowers you bought him, “yeah it’s me again. Got bored of me yet?” You had been visiting him at least once a week, making sure that, if he was ever watching, he knew he was remembered.

You fully sat down, crossing your legs and closed your eyes, remaining silent. When you first visited him, you used to always cry, and then try to talk to him about your day. Now though, while the pain lingered, you didn’t break down. You refused to, you couldn’t show such weakness. Usually you would sit there, thinking. It was peaceful and those who do come by knew not to disturb you.

Your trained ears picked up footsteps behind you after several minutes of silence but you made no attempts to turn around or look back. You knew whoever it was, they would leave–unless of course, it was one of the Waynes or Selina.

“Red roses? Classy.”

Your eyes shot open at that voice. There was something…. Frighteningly familiar about it, and deep down you could identify the person but your heart didn’t want to believe it. You weren’t going to give yourself that benefit.

Still, you began to shake as you slowly stood up and turned around.

And there he was, looking very much alive.

Jason Peter Todd had changed a lot. His young features matured greatly and his blue eyes were colder, haunted. He definitely grew taller, much taller, not to mention he was a lot more muscular. There was a streak of white in his hair. However, despite the change, all you could see was the boy you sat on the rooftop talking to for hours and hours on end.

“No… no, this can’t be right.” you shook your head, feeling tears in your eyes despite how much you tried to fight them back.

“Hey, [F/N],” he began, noticing your mood, “ it’s me. It’s Jason.” he insisted, stepping closer, only for you to recoil.

“NO!” you shouted, raising your hand to keep distance. “Get out of my sight, right now.” You tried to sound firm but you couldn’t disguise the crack in your voice.

Jason’s brows furrowed in confusion but his eyes showed a hint of anger. “What?

“You heard me.” you said coldly, though your voice wavered. “Whoever you are, whatever sick joke you’re playing, leave, before I do something that I will very much regret.”

“[F/N], you think I’m some trick?!” Jason demanded, “hey, I’m real. It’s really me, somehow! Look, I can explain later but–”

“No! You are not…” you closed your eyes and began to pace, “you are not allowed to just magically come back to life! No, no this is some fucked up prank. It has to be. This can’t be happening right now.”

Growing frustrated and agitated by how stubborn you were being, Jason grabbed you by the shoulders. “Look! Look at me! Do I look like an illusion or some impostor?”

“You have to be because there is no other explanation!”

“[F/N]–”

“No, you can’t!” You pushed him away, causing him to stumble back. “You can’t… you can’t…” You sounded so defeated, so torn and broken. It was as if the adrenaline had left you and you were struggling for breath.

“Can’t what?” Jason urged, wanting to know why you were pushing him away like this. The person he was seeing here was a great contrast from the girl he used to know, and that broke his heart.

“You can’t just come back to life and act like nothing happened! You’re not allowed to do that!” Your emotions were all jumbled up inside you and you didn’t know what to feel. Everything you had kept buried inside you was bursting out and it was a storm of emotions that you couldn’t control. It was suffocating you and controlling your actions. Seeing him in front of you reopened closed wounds that barely healed in the first place.

“Shouldn’t you be happy?!” Jason demanded, shocked and confused by your reaction.

“How?!” you retorted, throwing your arms up in the air. “How can I be happy?! This isn’t happiness, happiness isn’t so fucking painful!”

“Painful?” Jason repeated, “do I have to remind you that I was the one who died, not you?”

Hearing this, hearing him say it so easily, you lost it. You lost every ounce of control you had and everything that came out of your mouth was nothing but the absolute truth.

“And do I have to remind you that you haven’t truly died until you have someone you loved taken away from you?!” you yelled back at him, rendering him speechless. Before he could respond, you continued with tears streaming down your face, “for you it may’ve ended in death, but for me? Death was just the beginning,” your voice wasn’t raised, nor was it a whisper, it was a deadly calm that expressed your full emotions, as if the tears falling down your face wasn’t enough already, “because then you remember, you remember all the good times and mourn for them. You remember all the bad times and you regret. And when you wake up every day for one blissful second you forget and then it all comes back to you and it’s like hearing about it the very first time all over again. So don’t you dare tell me that I hadn’t died because believe me, I hadn’t felt alive since the day that clown killed you.”

By the end of it, you were crying so hard you could barely see, but you did feel strong arms wrapping around you. You did feel him pulling you close to his chest, letting you cry, but that only made you cry harder.

Because, after years of being alone, you finally got the chance to embrace the one person you loved most again.

Lucifer is all about choice. And he just found out that Chloe didn’t really have a choice, at least in his mind, of loving him or caring about him. Meanwhile, Chloe just finally kissed this guy, that she’s been fighting herself against and then finally got an intimate connection with him and the end of 12 it’s all, there’s just genuine connection between them. And then she gets sick, and when she wakes up – he’s gone. So, from her perspective – she’s missed all this story. *He’s a jerk - Ildy* So there’s some righteous anger and a lot of other things on Chloe’s side and then Lucifer’s side he’s on a journey of trying to figure out what do you do now? And in his mind, he’s in a protective mode of her because how he feels is that if God sent her, she has no choice in her feelings so they’re not real. And that’s not fair to her. So he’s like “how do I break this, how do I undo? How do I undo it for her sake?” She doesn’t deserve to have been put on a burden called Lucifer. She was put on his path, she deserves to make her own choice but how do you do that when she is sort of chosen to love you but… it’s that ultimate conundrum. For somebody who is about free will, that’s his thing, that’s all he is. He’s like “this is the cruelest thing you could’ve done is put her in my path” but what’s ironic is that of course, she’s the only human who is immune to his powers so everything was her choice but he just doesn’t understand himself. That’ll be the thrust of our midseason premier and that’ll push the dynamic for the last 5 episodes.

from this video