#A piece of shit and I like that in my characters

[spamblog-w]

that's why I love Red, white and royal blue because book was a piece of shit, sorry not sorry, and they created a masterpiece with a movie - it hardly ever happens but honestly... I can't stand how book was written and can't even believe someone could like it so much besides for an idea to make it appear on the screen

it's full of boring political facts, characters are overly sexualised without much depth and love factor, there is no symbolism that you can see in the film version, everything is out of place/logic/time to the point I didn't even catch when they fell for each other nor that they truly care so I'm super glad I've watched it first instead of reading and as soon I finished the book - I sold it

nobody has to agree with me but this movie means so much to me you can't even imagine! how the actors play, how they formed a good story out of chaotic scraps, how you showed things without telling them - it's everything including how much I relate to the prince himself

so...

yeah I totally agree with the fact that it's important to stick to the original in a way like I'd love to finally see War of the worlds that is what it should be or I miss some important things from books I've read that turn the whole movie into something else (I try to separate medias - treat them as similar yet different things even if they have the same title as I guess that's just a vision of a director and not everything can be showed the way a reader wishes nor even the author as it doesn't work this way) but still would love people to make it better if it's already crap if you know what I mean

also am one of those people who absolutely hate when characters don't look like on paper - I have aphantasia so it's hard for me to SEE them but still when I see a blonde guy who used to have black hair and was for sure shorter and with scars to make him prettier my eye starts to twitch

The real problem with books-turned-movies isn’t “omg they didn’t include every single word in the book” it’s “omg they completely overlooked the main theme, threw out any significant allegories, took away all the emotional pull, an turned it into a boring action movie with a love triangle in it”

[velnna]

So y’know when you're devouring an awesome piece of media, and you see one lil guy and it's like "OH. YOU. I LIKE YOU, HOW FASCINATING, YOU ARE NOW MY FAV, I HAVE IMPRINTED ON YOU LIKE A BABY CHICK". And then they turn out to have a very minor role, and die? That is Hirasil for me. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY LOOOOL. But in all seriousness, your characters are all so intriguing and multi-faceted, I love it. If you would have mercy on a poor soul, and drop a few Hirasil facts I would be v grateful! :')

Oh my god HIRASIL?? 😭 I love this for you

First fact is his last name (Sa'ryn? It's been a while i forgot) legit comes from the word sardine because we all affectionately called him that before the comic release

Second fact is I think at one point I wanted him to have a dragon so I'm gonna straight up say he had a dragon. Not a dragon dragon it was more like a legendary sea serpent that for some reason he got along with. TBD whether that had strong implications

Speaking of dragons he definitely had an arc of being overly confident in his invoker skills to the point of doing dumb shit like facilitating the deal with Jeoan (he hated his ass) and in line with that I gave him a 9 day period to die from radiation poisoning as a vague nod to Louis Slotin and tickling the dragon's tail

[froggibus]

Hay, I recently found your stuff on here. I really like your writing. I'm not really sure how the request works? I hope i'm doing it right:)

Can you do DC characters/Batboys finding readers self-harm scar's/marks and how they react

(I've struggled with self-harm off and on for a long time, and at least for me, I've kind of like thinking about how my favorite characters would react/try and support)

Also, if you do, can you do some about Mark some on the thighs. it's hard to find stuff about other then on the arms

Im dyslexic, so I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense.

Leaping Into The Light - Batboys + Wally West

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Tim Drake x reader, Wally West x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.4k (Dick), 1.3k (Tim), 1.5k (Jason) and 1.2k (Wally)

Summary: their reaction when they see your old self-harm marks/scars

CW: mentions of self-harm (past), self-harm scars (thighs mostly), awkward conversations, embarrassment, mental health, allusions to depression and suicidal thoughts, injury & blood (not from SH), insomnia, nightmares, Wally walks in on you changing, maybe some corny dialogue, mentions of sensory problems, recovery and healing this is at least the second fic ive wrote where Jason brings you chinese food--no clue why.

hi lovely, hope you're doing alright :) so sorry its taken me so long to get to this, january was a bitch for me. i also struggled on and off with self-harm before starting this blog, so writing this was incredibly personal to me <3 thank you for requesting, and i want you to know that my inbox is always open if you ever need to vent i really wanted to go for a more recovery-based fic where you're healing. i wanted to show that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, it does get better, we do recover. you will be okay.

Dick:

It’s a rare, sunny morning in Bludhaven when you wake up and stretch your limbs. The sunlight filtering through the window catches on the bare length of your arms, casting brilliant patterns across your skin.

A newfound warmth filters through your apartment as you pad across the wooden floors and make your way to the kitchen. The sunlight seems to follow you, dancing across walls, door handles and cupboards as if saying hello.

The sight of Dick Grayson hunched over a laptop greets you at the kitchen island, his black hair almost brown in the morning light. 

He offers you a sleepy smile, “I made coffee.”

Your eyes move from his pyjama clad figure to the fresh pot of coffee sitting on the counter, tufts of steam still flowing from its spout. A smile breaks across your face, your eyes falling shut as you inhale the scent of fresh coffee.

Yeah, it’s going to be a good day.

Dick watches you from over the rim of his ‘World’s Best Detective’ coffee mug, blue eyes tracing your figure as you shuffle around the kitchen.

Dick watches as you cut open one of the croissants you’d picked up from the bakery yesterday and slather it in a generous coating of butter. He watches as you open the cupboard above the coffee machine, the one where you guys keep your dishes, and stretch up on your tippy toes to reach your favorite mug. 

This is his favorite part of any day—watching you. The soft domesticity of the morning blankets him, soothes him. It’s his daily reminder that there’s still good in the world around him.

His eyes stay on you as your fingers brush the handle of your mug, tugging it towards you little by little. He watches as it slides to the edge, your fingers just barely grasping it and—shit. He watches as the mug falls from the cupboard, shattering on the edge of the counter into a dozen pieces, the largest of which embeds itself in your leg. 

Everything happens so fast, you barely have any time to react. The ceramic shard slices through the leg of your pyjama pants and you keel over, clenching the skin of your thigh. The pain is searing and carries an unfortunate familiarity that has tears bubbling up in your eyes.

Dick’s at your side within seconds, an arm wrapping beneath your shoulders to keep you steady. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” You suck in a breath and risk glancing down at your leg, noting the splotch of red starting to soak through the fabric of your pants.

A sigh slips from your lips. So much for today being a good day.

Dick’s hand wraps around your own, positioning your fingers on either side of the wound. “Here,” he says calmly, “try and apply as much pressure as you can.”

Dick guides you to the bathroom with a steady confidence that only someone who’d trained under Bruce could have. He helps you onto the bathroom counter, your legs splayed out in front of him.

“Keep applying pressure,” he commands. 

You watch as he ducks beneath you, rummaging through the cupboard to pull out the first aid kit you’ve seen him use countless times. A weak laugh bubbles up inside of you—usually it’s the other way around. 

Dick holds up the kit triumphantly, dark strands of hair bouncing as he stands. He fixes you with a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, the familiar blue filled with concern.

You force a smile despite the aching skin of your thigh. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” you assure him. “It's just a flesh wound.”

It’s not the physical pain that has tears pricking your eyes and thoughts racing around your head. No, it’s the reminder that comes with it. The flashbacks of nights spent entirely alone, of nights where the world was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. 

Dick exhales in what seems to be a laugh, the tension in his shoulders falling. “Alright then,” he rubs his thumb along the seam of your pants, “let’s get these off before they get stained even more.”

You’re quick to agree, if only to not make him worry even more. You scoot to the edge of the counter and let Dick hook his thumbs into your waistband. The action is so casual but so intimate, and it has heat rushing through you.

The warm air of the apartment meets the bare skin of your thighs and Dick’s hands still. Realization flashes through you and by instinct alone, you grip the fabric of your pants and try to force it back up your legs. Dick catches your hands in his, gripping them just tightly enough to keep you from moving.

The pain of your wound is forgotten, replaced by a sudden surge of embarrassment. Your gaze lingers on your thighs, on the scarred skin that reminds you of the hardest time in your life.

Your mouth is impossibly dry as you force yourself to look at Dick. You expect disappointment, that annoying older brother look you’ve seen him use a thousand times. You’re wholly unprepared for the softness in his gaze, the kindness and warmth that radiates off him.

“Dick,” you say softly, ready to explain yourself. “It’s not…I’m not—”

You’re thankful when he cuts you off.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

You scrunch your nose. “But—”

He brushes a thumb across the faded marks, his touch delicate and firm. “It’s alright. I know what these mean.” A new intensity flickers through his eyes, but as soon as you see it, it’s gone. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Dick kneels down and gets to work soaking up the blood while you stare at his working hands in confusion. You’d told him before about the hard times you went through, the mental state you were in.

That was part of the reason you moved in together—so Dick could help you and keep a better eye on you. But you’d never told him about the self-harm or the scars that speckled your skin.

Yet, his reaction is so normal it has your head spinning.

He finishes wiping up the blood and gets to work disinfecting it. The rubbing alcohol stings but the burn is quickly snuffed out by polysporin.

“It’s been a while.” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Sometimes I still think about it, miss it, even. That probably sounds strange but…it’s hard sometimes.”

Dick glances up at you but says nothing. 

“I-I have bad nights sometimes, and it’s all I can think about. But it helps. Living here with you, I mean. It helps.”

Dick secures a thick piece of gauze over the wound, patting it gently to ensure it stays in place. “You don’t have to hide it, you know.”

“I know, but—” You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut. “You already have so much on your shoulders, with work and your family and…other things. The last thing I want to do is weigh you down even more.”

He rests his hands on your thighs and levels you with a serious look. “That’s ridiculous. The only thing that would hold me down is knowing that you’re hurting alone. You’re so incredibly important to me, how could you ever think you’d be a burden to me?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

“I want to take care of you, I want to help you.” He traces circles across your skin with his thumb, “I don’t want you dying in the dark, y/n.”

Tears prick your eyes once more, a heavy warmth settling into your chest. “Dick…”

“C’mere.”

He pulls you into his chest, settling between your legs at the counter. One of his hands wraps around your neck, petting the back of your head slowly. 

“Just promise me this,” his voice is soft. “If it gets bad and you need help, promise you’ll reach out. Call me, come to me—whatever. We don’t even have to talk about it, just let me help you. Please.”

You nod quickly, burying your face further into his chest. Don’t want you dying in the dark, his words echo inside your head. 

Within the warmth of his arms, you can’t help but feel that this is a step forward, and with Dick by your side, you’ll be leaping into the light in no time.

Jason:

It’s midnight when Jason Todd comes banging on your door, takeout bags in hand. Despite the late hour, he still sports his day clothes—grey cargo pants and a black compression shirt over a pair of combat boots.

Setting your book down on the couch, you stumble to the door as quickly as you can, if only to keep his incessant banging from waking your neighbours. You swing the door open and raise an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

“Hey.” He holds out the takeout bags for you to take, “have you eaten yet?”

“At midnight on a Saturday? Yes.”

In spite of yourself, you reach out and take the bags from his hands. You shuffle back into your home, gesturing to him to follow after you.

Jason shuts your door behind him and locks it in one, smooth motion that has you wondering if he’s been here one too many times. You try not to dwell on it, just like you try not to think about how easily he finds a spot on your shoe rack—the same one he always uses—and seats himself on a stool at your counter.

Jason watches while you unpack the takeout, cardboard contains billowing with steam lining your counters. The scent of fresh Chinese food fills the room, a heavy sort of comfort settling over it.

“So,” you say, propping yourself on your tiptoes to reach the last container in the bag, “what brings you over?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders falling heavily. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Just thought I’d check in.”

A frown flashes over your face but you quickly mask it with a tight lipped smile and a nod. It has been a while, and any hope that Jason wouldn’t notice is immediately snuffed out. 

“I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

It’s a half-truth at best but you’re not quite sure what else to say, how else to explain what you’ve gone through lately. 

Jason squints, examining you. If it was anyone else, they might not have noticed something was wrong. They probably wouldn’t notice the shadows beneath your eyes, or the slight shake to your hands as you bring out plates and cutlery. If it was anyone else, they’d probably believe you.

But Jason doesn’t.

You get to work dishing up a plate, sucking in a breath when Jason sidles up next to you to dish himself up. The sudden proximity has the breath leaving your body and heat climbing the back of your neck. God—how long has it been since you touched another person? Since you’ve seen another person?

You force the feelings down and finish grabbing your food, making your way to the couch you’ve been rotting on for days. A small stack of books and a few empty glasses scatter the side table—clear evidence of your struggle.

Jason sits at the opposite end of the couch, balancing his plate on his lap. You don’t miss the way his eyes skim over the room, taking everything in. He takes a bite of his fried rice but his blue eyes remain on you.

He clears his throat. “That’s a good one,” he points with his fork at a romance book near the bottom of your pile. “A little racy for my tastes, but the worldbuilding was insane.”

“Something’s a little too racy for you?”

“Hey,” he rolls his eyes, “believe it or not, I do have standards.”

Joy swells in your chest and threatens to bring tears to your eyes. You’ve shut yourself away for so long, you’d almost forgotten what normalcy feels like. But this? You and Jason, eating takeout and talking about books on your couch? That’s the most normal thing in the world to you. 

You snort. “Sure you do.”

“I do!” He protests. “I loved the first four books, but that one? My god. Half the book was just them going at it.”

You laugh, your chest aching with longing. You missed this, god, you missed this, One minute you’re laughing over Jason’s review and the next you’re sobbing, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Your voice cracks, a horribly cry ripping free of your throat.

“Woah, woah.”

Jason’s voice is soft, a beacon of light in the sudden storm of emotions that’s gripped you. He sets his plate on the coffee table, scooching down the length of the couch to your side.

“I don’t, I can’t—” 

“Hey,” he says calmly, taking your half eaten plate from your hands and setting it on your side table. “It’s alright. Shh, it’s alright.”

You let yourself slump into the couch, your feelings eating away at your physical strength. Jason throws an arm around you, pulling you into his side. The warmth of his body floods you.

You sob and Jason speaks, though you don’t quite catch what he’s saying. The world around you fades to a mosaic of tears and sorrow and guilt. Your heart is so heavy in your chest you worry it might fall out and drag you down with it.

“Talk to me,” Jason says softly. “Please.”

A calloused hand lifts to your cheek, wiping away wet tears. You want to give in to his touch so bad, give into what he’s saying. But how can you take his comfort when you’ve avoided him for weeks? When you’ve pushed yourself so far away that it feels like there’s no hope of coming back?

You tear yourself away from his grip, forcing yourself to your feet. Your hands shake as you turn to face him. When your eyes meet, his are filled with something entirely new to you—concern.

“I-I can’t.”

He sets his jaw. “Why not? You’ve been away from me for so long, you’ve been avoiding me,” he forces himself to keep his voice level. “I just want to know why. I just want to help you.”

His sudden pleading tone has you freezing in your tracks. You look at him seriously, “swear?”

“Swear.”

You sigh and slip your fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. For a second, you clench your fists, trying to ground yourself. The world around you seems to still as you tug your pants down, shimmying out of them until they lay in a pool around your ankles.

Jason watches silently, his head cocked to the side in visible confusion. It’s only when you self-consciously rub a hand over the skin of your left thigh does he notice.

The breath leaves his body, his lungs squeezing so tight he’s afraid they might burst. He’s no stranger to scars—he has at least a few dozen himself—but these are entirely different. 

The scars scatter the surface of both thighs, long and thin. Most are completely healed, some just barely finishing the process. The size, the shape, the distance…intentional is the only word that comes to mind.

Jason feels his heart break in his chest but he can’t bring himself to look away. You’re hurt—you’re hurting, and he can’t do a damn thing to help. “Y/n,” he says softly.

You shrink beneath his gaze. You can’t think of a single time he’s looked at you like this—scared and worried and broken. It has the guilt rising in your throat once more, threatening to suffocate you.

“I’m better,” you try to assure him, your voice hoarse from crying. “I’m getting better. It was bad but—I’m getting better now. I-I’m okay. I swear.”

You wait for him to say something, anything. You wait for the anger, for a lecture about how stupid and dangerous this can be. You wait for him to scoff at your problems. 

You’re utterly shocked when Jason falls to his knees in front of you, head tilting up to look at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

“Jason…”

“This is why you’ve been avoiding me?”

You nod slowly, as if moving slower will keep the ice from breaking.

“Fuck, y/n, why didn’t you—god, you should know that I of all people would understand.” He traces a finger across a particularly fresh scar, “this isn’t something you needed to hide from me. This isn’t something you ever have to hide from me.”

“I—”

“I’m not finished.”

You’re taken aback, the words ripped straight from your mouth. 

“Let me help you. Come to me and let me help you. Don’t shut yourself away in the dark and suffer all by yourself.” He runs his fingers through his hair, cracking the ghost of a smile, “god, who are you, me?”

A half-laugh, half-sob leaves you. “I just don’t like bothering people.”

“You think you could annoy me? You overestimate yourself, y/n. The only people who annoy me are Waynes and Wayne-adjacent.”

He rises to his feet in front of you and tugs you into his chest before you can react. His grip on you is tighter than usual, the warmth of his arms threatening to consume you. 

“You’ll come to me next time you feel this way, yeah?” He says, and he feels you nod against his chest. “Swear?”

“Swear.”

Tim:

Your chest burns as you sit up in bed, lungs heaving as they try to force some air into your body. Your ribs ache from the way your heart hammers against them.

Rubbing your aching eyes, you force yourself to swing your legs over the side of your bed and reach for your lamp. The light comes on with a click, illuminating the walls of your room. Finally, you manage to take a deep breath, the cold air soothing your burning chest.

It was just a dream. You’re safe here. But the words taste bitter and empty, the images you’d seen while you were asleep still spinning around your head. You rub at the exposed skin of your thighs where the seam of your shorts come to an end. The friction barely manages to warm you among the cold night air.

Before you can even think, your feet are meeting the ground and you’re padding across the room. You hesitate for just a second when your hand meets the door handle, but the hesitation melts into need and you continue on your way.

Your steps are quiet through the hallway, unimposing. When you find yourself facing the closed door, identical to yours, you knock softly. Once, twice, and then the door is swinging open.

Tim stands on the other side, bleary eyed and messy haired from sleep. He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey,” his voice is raspy, “everything alright?”

“I can’t sleep.”

It’s all you have to say before he’s opening the door as wide as it goes, gesturing you to the disheveled navy covers of his bed spread. The sleepiness fades from his body as he watches you closely, examining your every movement.

Your eyes are red-rimmed and sweat beads along your temples. Despite wearing pyjamas—patterned shorts and a t-shirt that looks suspiciously like one of his—they don’t look wrinkled with sleep like they should be. 

Tim frowns. Something’s wrong, and it’s more than not being able to sleep.

He shuffles in after you, closing the door and clicking the lock behind him. His examination continues as he reaches the bed and crawls in next to you. You fit together so easily, so perfectly, it’s hard to believe this is the first time you’ve ever sought him out.

In all the time you’ve known each other, never once have you ever gone to Tim when you can’t sleep. He’s known about your sleep problems for a while, from even before you’d told him. Yet, never once have you asked for his help.

Until tonight.

Tim’s arms fall easily around you, one gently across your waist, the other falling on the side of your thigh. You’re so tired, so shaken from your dream, your head falls easily into his pillows and your eyes flutter shut. 

It’s not so much sleep that hits you as much as it is contentment. Tim’s hand trails up and down the side of your thigh, fingers exploring the soft skin while he tries to soothe you to sleep.

His hand shuffles sideways, just a tiny bit more, and then pauses. His fingertips graze something rough, something raised slightly, and the breath leaves his body. His hand trails further and he’s met with another, almost perfectly parallel to the first.

No, it can’t be.

Trying not to startle you, he moves the arm around your waist as slowly as he can. His fingertips make their way up his own body, finding their way to the scar on his abdomen from when he lost his spleen. He swipes his thumb over the area, feeling the rough patch of raised skin.

His other hand trails over your thigh again, feeling the rows of similar skin. For a moment, he swears the world stops turning.

The feeling is unmistakable, and even though it’s dark and he hasn’t laid eyes on them, he knows exactly what they are.

He wraps his arm around your waist once more and pulls you closer. “Y/n,” he whispers.

You whimper, the exhaustion weighing heavily on you. Tim’s hand rubs over the scars on your thigh once more, and suddenly your weariness is replaced with an icy feeling in your veins.

You sit up abruptly, forcing your body away from his. 

“Y/n.”

You gasp, looking up at him through teary lashes. You draw your knees into your chest, the pressure helping soothe the sudden cold in your chest. You bury your face between your knees.

The longer Tim stays silent, the worse your anxiety gets. You wait for the familiar cold logic, for the warmth to fall away and the sarcastic, callous detective to show up. You expect it any second.

But Tim does something that surprises you even more.

He wraps an arm around you, letting your head lean on your shoulder, and murmurs, “how long has it been?”

It takes a few seconds for you to gather your bearings and realize what he’s asking. You blink a few times, slowly unfurling your body. Though you know it’s too dark for him to see the scars, you see his eyes fall on your bare thighs anyway.

“A while,” you admit. “It comes and goes.”

He rubs his hand up and down your arm. “Is that why you came to me?”

You swallow, remembering the horrid dream you’d had earlier. “Partially.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

The pet name takes you by surprise, washing away the cold shame that threatened to drown you. You relax further into Tim’s side, relishing in the heat of his body.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” you say quietly. “I know it’s bad, that I shouldn’t do it. And I try not to. I’ve been really good about that lately. It’s just…”

Tim stays silent as you trail off, trying to find the right words to explain yourself. He keeps rubbing the skin of your arm, as if reminding you that he’s still there.

“Things get hard sometimes. I don’t like asking for help, because I don’t want anyone to think less of me, or think I have problems and—”

“Why would anyone ever think less of you?”

His words stun you out of your speech, every thought you had falling away. You take a few deep breaths, letting them echo around your head.

“God, this is so hypocritical of me but,” he sighs, “there’s nothing wrong with needing support or asking for help. You’re not any worse off because you needed a little comfort on a bad day, you’re not a burden just because you’re hurting.”

“I just—”

“You came to me tonight because you needed comfort, right?” He gestures around the room, “did anything bad happen because of that?”

You shake your head.

“Did I question you at all, or make you feel like it was a problem?”

Realization dawns on you. “No.”

“That’s because it’s not a problem, you’re not a problem. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, but the first step to feeling better is helping yourself.” He offers you a sleepy smile, “and that’s what you did tonight. You helped yourself by asking for help.”

“Tim…”

“I’m really proud of you for coming to me tonight, y/n. Whether it was consciously or not.”

A stray tear rolls down your cheek, his kind words washing over you in waves. 

“Keep coming to me when you need it. Let me shoulder your problems with you. Please.”

The sudden plea catches you off guard and suddenly more tears are falling down your face. You wrap your arms around Tim and let your head fall into his shoulder, burying your face into the side of his neck.

He holds you tighter, letting you cry it all out.

Wally:

The sound of rain on your window seems to taunt you as you struggle out of your soaking wet jeans. The fabric sticks to your skin, chafing as you try to force it away from the chilled skin of your legs. 

As if the sudden torrential downpour that had ruined any hopes of a morning breakfast run wasn’t bad enough, now you seemed to be forever trapped in your sensory nightmare—wet denim. A groan of frustration leaves your lips as you abandon your jeans and instead tug away the sopping fabric of your t-shirt.

Goosebumps rise across your damp skin the minute the air touches it. You shiver slightly and wrap your arms around yourself, stumbling across the room to find a sweatshirt.

You settle on one you’d stolen from Wally months ago that you’re partially convinced he’d stolen from Dick. Still, the worn cotton warms your skin as you make the trek across your room and to the full-body mirror resting against a wall. 

You use the guidance of your reflection to peel away your jeans, shimmying awkwardly until finally the heavy fabric gives way. They land in a wet plop on the floor, splattering water that you can’t be bothered to clean up.

Just as you turn away from the mirror, one of the shiny scars on your thigh catches the light and draws your attention back to it. You frown, pulling the marked skin of your leg tight, examining the scars in the mirror. 

Most are small and thin, luckily not bad enough to leave more than a faded, dark mark on the skin. You cringe at the ones that are worse—raised and puffy and shiny in the centre. They’re still healing, you remind yourself.

“Hey, no way you’re still changing in here—” the door clicks open and Wally’s voice trails off.

You whip your head to him, watching as he stumbles into the room. A flush falls across his face. His eyes trail over you, tracing your figure, falling onto your underwear and the uncovered skin around it.

Wally freezes, green eyes glued to the scars you’d just been examining. His brows scrunch together, his lips twisting into a frown.

Oh, goddamn. 

Any other time, Wally would feel mortified—and somewhat blessed—to walk in on you changing. He’d cover his eyes and stumble around awkwardly, mumbling out some goofy apology laced in innuendos. 

It’s clear now from the frown on his face and the hard set solemnity in his eyes that that Wally is gone. 

He’s at your side before you can react, falling to his knees in front of you. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did someone—”

His words trail off, his face falling as realization dawns across his features. He traces a thumb across the biggest of the scars and you swear you see tears prick at his eyes.

“Wally, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” He looks up at you seriously. 

And you pause, reconsidering your words. Wally’s always been the kind one, the goofy one, the comedic relief. It’s rare that you see him serious, rare that he wavers like this.

You lower yourself to the ground beside him, cringing at the unpleasant cold meeting the bare backs of your legs. Wally keeps his focus on your thighs, fingers tracing over every scar, every mark, like he could somehow erase them.

You stay entirely still next to him, letting him calm himself with your touch. “It’s not really something I do anymore,” you say quietly.

His hand stills, the warmth of his clammy palm resting on your upper thigh. In any other situation, it would feel intimate. But right now, all it feels like is a slap to the face. 

“I still have bad days, but I manage. This,” you gesture to your skin,“was a last resort. I know it looks bad, really bad, and that it probably seems so—so stupid compared to what you face and—”

His voice is barely a whisper. “It’s not stupid.”

You scrunch your nose. The normal, goofy Wally you’d just gotten caught in a rainstorm with is gone, and you’d give anything to bring him back right now. 

“You don’t have to be a superhero to be hurt, y/n.” He clasps your hand tightly. “I know I joke a lot but I am capable of being serious. Especially when the people I love are concerned.”

He looks at you so intensely when he says the word love that it sends shivers down your spine. You can’t bear to meet his gaze. His hands find your waist, tugging you to sit between his legs. It scares you how easily you settle into him, how well you fit together.

You sit in silence for a moment, letting the beat of his racing heart thump against your back.

“I can’t stand to see you hurt, or know that you were hurt. Emotionally, physically, whatever.”

“I’m doing okay now,” you offer him a weak smile. “It’s rough sometimes, but I’m okay now.”

His shoulders slump slightly, but his jaw remains clenched in an un-Wally way. You can’t help but wish in this moment that you could have his powers, if only so you could run to the past and stop this from happening.

“You could’ve told me. I might have made a few stupid jokes but you could’ve told me. God, I want you to tell me. I want you to want to tell me.”

“Wally.”

“I want to help you, y/n. Always. Please,” he sighs, “please, want my help. Let me make you want my help.”

And for a moment, you see a glimpse of an awkward teenager. You see a yellow costume and a scared kid just trying his best to help people. To save people. You see sleepless nights and the burden of a power that makes him both the fastest man alive, but never fast enough to save the people who matter most to him. To save you.

“I just don’t know where to start,” you admit quietly.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, crushing your body against his. “You start here. You start today. You start with me.”

You cross your arms over his in what you hope is a gesture of affection. 

“Say the word,” he leans in so his mouth is only inches from your ear, his voice dropping an octave, “and I’ll be there for you as soon as you need me. Ask for my help and I’ll be there in, well, a flash.”

You can’t help but laugh at his pun. It’s dumb and silly and so unserious for such an uncomfortable, serious moment. But it’s Wally and it’s you and his joke has you thinking that maybe, maybe things really can be okay.

“I care about you so much. All I want is for you to be happy. Got it?”

“Got it,” you echo.

He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head before loosening his grip on you, rising to his feet. He offers you a hand, helping you stand up.

“Now,” he grins, “let’s say we forget the pants, and order in some breakfast, hm?”

thanks so much for reading! ^^

masterlist | dc masterlist

[utilitycaster]

How would you rank each of the PCs endings against each other? I feel like I have a pretty good guess who's end up at the rock bottom but I'm curious about the rest. Thank you for the time!

So I'm not sure if you mean Bells Hells only or everyone but I'll do everyone. No one fully fails for me, actually, but there's a LOT of low-tier shit. Also I don't know what Fy'ra is up to so I can't speak to her and she is not included.

S tier: All of the Mighty Nein (includes Molly) whose stories were not significantly changed; FCG; Pike, Grog, and Scanlan; presumably Taryon; honestly for me Morrighan; Bor'Dor in that his ending was interesting.

A tier: Deanna, FRIDA, presumably Prism, Dariax and Deni$e. Percy and Vex; this is a drop from their pre-C3 S-tier because the way that they had both largely moved on with her life and Keyleth hadn't was an interesting dynamic, and while the people who made a big fucking deal about Vax mostly focusing on Keyleth and not Vex in his role as Champion struck me as deeply unwell weirdos, bringing Vax back actually does kind of like, show the cracks in that dynamic. I still very much love their story but it's been weakened slightly. I would also put Braius here; being in only a small part of the story and having clear goals really worked for him.

B tier: Chetney, Fearne, Orym, Dorian. I wish that the story had done more justice to their character concepts and that their plot hooks had actually been explored in depth, and Orym and Dorian in particular feel ill-served by both having a lack of consequences that feels justified but is weakened by the overall narrative never having consequences for anyone, but I like their endings and I can see where they follow from.

C tier: Ashton, Imogen, Laudna. I don't dislike where their characters ended up - in fact, I genuinely was pleasantly surprised by where Ashton ends up, though "dying in their first genuinely heroic move after so much posturing" would have shot them up to at least B-tier if not A-tier - but it all feels entirely unearned and empty. Somehow, in a story where Imogen was constantly at the center, I feel her concept, which was a strong one initially, still feels unexplored given how poorly she inhabited her decisions and how little philosophical grounding she had; and I've said my piece about Laudna.

D tier: Vax and Keyleth; self-explanatory.

edited: forgot Opal, she is also D-tier; wholly unearned freedom from everything Lolth did, seemingly unaffected by the loss of her memories, what the fuck was that honestly

[decoy-sammy]

Hmmm.... I used to do realism(yes, shocking, I know) and was genuinely really good at it! But after spending 6 whole days on a FNaF piece for the 5th time that no one irl liked I decided to do more cartoon-ish drawings since they took less time and I would feel less awful when everyone told me how shit drawing fictional characters is because I spent less time on it..

Anyways, it was mostly those full on boxy arts people have done that influenced it along with those beautiful, smooth, soft, beautiful women drawings people post on here that helped me get people right too.

I used to draw h4rry p0tter scenes from the books using the sticky ass drawings they had on the covers as reference also, soo my drawings used to look far too tall with giant heads for a while, until I learned how to draw fat and other typa bodies.

ok im just really curious but reblog this and put what your art style was most influenced by as it started to develop and grow. mine was naruto

[doodlespaulas]

Being made to care for a rabid dog. No joke this is one of my fav pieces ive made in a lil while. Basira is one of my fav characters and i have very intense and complicated feelings abiut her and her relationship with Daisy Like- people say Basira is an enabler... but i cant stop thinking about s5, the way in which Basira is the one constant victim of Daisy's domain. How she alone is responsible of destirying this beast which hurts her back. In the police force, Basira was shoved aside abd isolated from her coworsers cause she was sectioned. Daisy was her only friend- and Daisy was in a higher position of power. Daisy explicitly tried to hide her killings from Basira. Im not saying Basira is an angel but girl gets so much more shit than she deserves. Also she wasnt That mean to John, ever. Girl was going throufh a lot yall, its not fair I love her <3

[olderthannetfic]

So there was a stupid, badly executed major character death in my fandoms canon. And fans trying to defend that media from other fans frequently argue that we simply can't "handle" MCD and need to grow up and get over it rather than being upset that character died in a really poorly written way.

I'm now watching a different thing, with a really well executed, beautifully tragic MCD. And I'm essentially petty and salty of being talked about like a wittle weak baby who can't handle big mature themes.

I can appreciate meaningful, well done MCD. I am not a lesser or less mature fan because I point out when it's done badly for shock value. I am allowed to be mad my blorbo died for nothing.

And why do fellow fans so often feel and act as if they have to defend their franchise from any critique from fellow fans?!? Or worse, tell fellow fans to leave the fandom if we're not thrilled with what fandom gave us. I'm still writing for it, which is contributing more than some who only mocks and attacks fans who disliked how things went.

--

I am so fed up with people crying about how MCD is such a valid artistic choice. 99% of the time, the interest and value from some character's occasional future appearances in an ongoing piece of media would have added up to more than the death did even if it was wonderfully well done.

A death towards the end often takes a gigantic shit on the other themes of the piece or is idiotic in light of genre conventions that would normally make that uncurable poison/lingering illness/minor flesh wound non-fatal.

Nearly nobody wails that some two-hour film festival fare shouldn't end in the lead's death. We all know those are going there, and they often do it competently.

"You should like my bad art because consuming drivel misery builds character" is never a sympathetic argument.

[darkfictionjude]

Okay so I know this is a touchy subject already especially since certain people have already been bitchy about it before, but sometimes Crowny is genuinely difficult to play as. I feel super conflicted about them since they're the literal personification of "damn bitch you live like this?"

Realistically, progress isn't linear and different people get different results even if they do the exact same thing, but as of now it feels like they aren't really allowed to improve at all. If you study you're still mediocre leaning towards bad in terms of understanding. You try to workout you see absolutely no results, not even the tiniest bit. When it comes to the other characters, it's always one step forward and two steps back. When you give them a hobby or try to get them to pick up a skill they find little enjoyment. When people bother them they barely fight back or even argue, and when they do it's like a sarcastic quip or a grumble at most. By the end, they haven't even made a dent. These don't make them less of a person and it doesn't make them a failure since the world is quite literally out to get them, but it's like they aren't allowed any satisfaction in their life. (Yeah it's been like a month, maybe barely scratching two in the current timeline so maybe this contradicts what I first said about progress but I'm dumb as hell)

It's wild to go from the side quests, backstory segments, interactions with the ROs and then Crown family just for all the hype to fade when there's a segment with just Crowny all alone. I know that there's a reason for why they are the way they are, but I literally have to take breaks from reading their solitary moments sometimes because it seems to drag on. I know things aren't easy in this universe, I know the world is supposed to be cruel and unfair, but like can they at least get a cake for their efforts? Or a hug? Or be able to sleep through one night and wake up well rested?

I hope I'm not sounding like an asshole or a insane here. Personally, they're relatable in a lot of aspects. I may not have had supernatural shit going after me, but I had a lot of issues that many of their experiences brush way too close to. It's just the way it's presented that makes them feel like they're like the random piece of chewy cartilage in an otherwise perfectly cooked steak, unpleasant but I'm gonna eat it anyway.

I literally just wrote a whole ass book complaining, but I at least wanna say I do love your work, Crowny included even if my words seem to say otherwise, and I'm super excited to see what happens in the timeskip since i know this is like JUST the beginning. I'm like seriously praying my tone is coming off the right way if that's even possible. If you read through all this thanks. I'm not gonna hide behind anon because I at least wanna be able to explain myself if this comes across wrong.

but like can they at least get a cake for their efforts? Or a hug? Or be able to sleep through one night and wake up well rested?

Well no 😭😭

And that comes from the fact that they are self loathing, depressed as hell and have virtually no support system while dealing with things that they aren’t mature enough to handle, actually their mental health is getting far worse which is by design

I feel like perhaps some readers have not realized just how depressed crowny is. All the things you described about them finding little enjoyment, etc., are key markers of major clinical depression

I feel also people did miss the fact that crowny kind of exploded in the library they didn’t shut up, they didn’t let it go which I think is a positive because this is the first time they’ve have enough to say “enough”

Sorry but I like my things slow burn 💀 that Halloween party is meant to be a breakthrough for them and I think perhaps it’s been glossed over by some because what happened to James has gotten the most attention and the final moment in the woods. Crowny outed their “friends” for the first ever and fought back against their tormentor in only one single night. James for all his issues did the one thing that broke the camel’s back and pushed Crowny over the edge, all 7 episodes have led to this

Crowny is meant to fall before they come up that’s how I wanted it because realistically someone could not handle all of this without losing their mind. It has barely been two months, Crowny has only seriously hit the main plot in episode 4 which in the current timeline was about 3 weeks ago (from episode 7)

Truly the progress that crowny did make in episode 7 should have taken longer, people with crowny’s issues spend years in therapy before they feel they have the right to fight back.

There’s a reason episode 7 is the midseason finale. It’s not only about the plot but about crowny themself….

Dw you’re tune is fine I can usually tell when someone doesn’t think before they write 😭

[bogleech]

I'm actually not going to let this go until Gerry is at least as widely ridiculed as Human Pet Guy. That guy still didn't do anything half as disturbed as this fucking loser, let me pull up my favorites again:

Gerry messaging me from an alt pretending not to be an alt

Gerry claiming again that it's antisemitic of me to say the IDF are bad guys who do not represent the entire Jewish population. This is not, in fact, the same as saying they're "not jews anymore." Also bragging about supposedly baiting and sealioning me into saying whatever they believe I said wrong. I guess the stupid ass hell thing????

Calling me a "blorbo" like I'm a fictional character rather than a human. Also, I went and got the original hell comment to double check it:

.....This doesn't even say the IDF should go to hell. It says I hope people "excusing" the IDF's actions should go to hell, I just typoe'd it as "excising." I guess Gerry successfully gaslit me, since I fully believed I had said specifically "the IDF go to hell." Thanks!

Gerry accusing me of "lumping them in as pro genocide" in response to a comment in which I specifically state I do not see them that way. How else am I supposed to read them NOW, though? Because I defined that as "someone who thinks kids deserve bombs dropped on them," and Gerry's response is "how dare you say that about me......???????" What?? Not once do they ever simply say "no one deserves their town to be bombed" or anything like that. They absolutely refuse, because they do in fact believe that it's okay to bomb a whole community if some of that community might hypothetically be "hamas." They do in fact think it's acceptable that people who never hurt anyone else should die that way for some sort of greater good, or that only hamas can be blamed for those deaths by "forcing the hand" of the ones with those bombs.

Gerry admitting the IDF bombs, loots and tortures, even though most comments they call antisemitic are calling out just that very behavior. Gerry to my knowledge has never willingly blamed anything negative on the IDF since this comment and continues to attack people who do.

Gerry admitting the honest core of their beliefs and behavior. This isn't really about me, though. I mean, part of it is, I can definitely be vindictive. But I mostly ignored this asshole for the past year until the doxx comment, and now I'm getting more messages than ever from people who feel actually hurt and terrorized by this motherfucker. I've suffered ZERO fallout from their attacks, I am evidently too big I guess, but there are people who change their username to hide from this piece of shit, even fucking minors who dared to say "free palestine" once. Then there's @stoptheantisemitism, who is NOT gerry, but is impersonated by gerry's alt account @spottheantisemitism and other alt accounts, @stop-the-antisemitism and of course @stop--the--antisemitism in this very thread. Creating so many variants is a deliberate attempt to make it as hard as possible for casual rebloggers to remember which one is the real person. I mean, two alts only add dashes to the same username, and the other only moves one letter "p." I have no idea how tumblr staff can rationalize that as okay. But, again, if there's a guy who can't show his face without human pet jokes because he was just generally creepy, or everyone remembers sixpenceee's family having slaves, why can a user devote this much of their miserable life to "baiting and sealioning" people from multiple accounts and still have a usable blog left? ONE LAST THING!!!!!!!

In the notes on this very post, gerry is so bent on finding people to call out and slander they tried to find "misogyny" in a comment saying that women like studying bugs????????

Gerrysherry, the user who tells people I'm antisemitic because I think IDF soldiers are killing innocent civilians (rather than framed by some kind of Hamas conspiracy), believes my real name was a secret that I only just now accidentally revealed rather than the default way I've signed all my web content since the 1990's. Also believes that I have an employer, that "telling my parents" would affect a grown man, that my hippie mom would disagree with me anyway, and that the hatemail they got last year was all me rather than the natural and inevitable fallout of the supremely fucked up shit they say about the victims of a mass murder. Apparently would gleefully leap at any hypothetical chance at "doxxing" me though. Good to know. Literally wishes they could ruin my real actual life because I don't think Netanyahu is a hero.

[worthyprnce]

quick reminder for my bbc merlin moots, oomfs and anyone else seeing this:

stay away from me and my blog if you hate gwen, even if you just "don't like" her, I don't care, I don't give a fuck, stay away.

specially if you think she "gets in the middle" of any ship, if she is less than any other character or anything remotely similar. you're all just fucking dumb, stupid, racist, misogynists and even homophobic pieces of shit and I don't want you here.

i don't care if you ship merthur, I don't give a fuck. I care if people in fucking 2025 are still being hateful towards a black character just because she canonically ends up with the white boy you ship with this other white boy.

no, no one is obligated to like or ship a couple, that's not the same thing for the love of the gods please use your fucking brains to understand what I mean.

also if the shoe doesn't fit, great, keep scrolling or whatever. I don't need to know if you like merthur but don't treat gwen like that, you're doing the bare minimum

[chaifootsteps]

I forgot to add, not to be *that* person but as a SA survivor who doesn’t really get upset over fictional rapists getting merch, I think that people, other SA victims included, should give way more grace and voice to SA survivors who get bothered by it. I just think that’s the humane thing to do? Like, I don’t lose anything if a fictional rapist doesn’t get merch, but a SA victim potentially feels triggered or upset by rapists getting sexualized. Like, isn’t the decent thing to do to show compassion here if someone is getting harmed by something and is speaking up about how that thing is harming them? Is it just me?

It's definitely inhumane, and also, I just miss the days when people approached these things with a dose of empathy.

It's like...okay, I don't like Valentino, but I do like Freddy Krueger. Despicable character, child murderer, canon child molester, just an absolute piece of shit. The brainchild of a late creator who to the best of my knowledge didn't argue with strangers on social media if they didn't like Freddy, but anyways. If you tell me I'm a child molesting serial killer because I think Freddy's a fun villain, I'm going to get pretty pissed off by that because I'm a CSA survivor, but if someone's a survivor and uncomfortable with the general idea of merch of Freddy, why would I feel the need to attempt to bully them out of that opinion? They're entitled to that. I don't get less merch and the merch I already own doesn't disappear from my house.

"Respect all survivors" doesn't mean "respect all survivors who agree with me on all things."

[mamawasatesttube]

Are you still accepting asks for the ship ask game? Bc if so what are your thoughts on TimSteph?

oh sure, i'll take it!!

Don’t Ship It (gently)

1. Why don’t you ship it?

so when i say i don't ship it i mean like... i like what they had in canon vis a vis "childhood sweethearts driven apart by The Horrors and they can never go back". i love divorce.

but also if i'm being honest, a lot of chuck dixon's writing of steph was really grating to me - the way he bashed ari and later zoanne to prop up steph as the Correct/Better tim love interest (she's Quirky and Fun and #NotLikeOtherGirls!!!) left a kinda bitter taste in my mouth, and made it a lot harder for me to actually like steph or tim/steph as a ship, tbh. and it's really not steph's fault she got juggled from misogynistic shithead writer to misogynistic shithead writer, but it did mean that plotlines like "steph becomes robin in order to spite tim because she saw darla kiss him against his will and didn't stop to ask any questions. this is how teen girls behave right?" made me so tired in robin '93. i honestly enjoyed the times she got to appear without tim more than their relationship, for the most part, but ... oof.

2. What would have made you like it?

lewis getting to write more than like 20 issues of the run before fucking willingham showed up lmao. lewis run was the first time in robin '93 that i actually liked seeing tim and steph together or felt like steph even had much of a character. which is wild because dixon is the one who created her! it's just that dixon only knows how to write two kinds of women: "the old ball and chain" and "quirky whitegirl who throws herself at robin do you like her do you like her do you like her you have to like her!!!!"

as opposed to lewis, who actually gave her depth, like... explained some of how her dad made her childhood shit, went into her complex feelings on him and her relationship with her mom, and made it actually read like she and tim enjoyed spending time with each other, not just "he was a boy. she was a girl. can i make it any more obvious." if he'd stuck on the book i probably would like tim/steph way more than i do.

3. Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

oh sure! i think tim and steph have a fascinating dynamic. when you pick through all the issues with dixon and with willingham and with war games and all the writers that could not stop hating steph for the crime of being a girl (which... is a pretty tall order because jesus christ so many of them wrote her so shittily), you can kinda piece together a narrative that is really juicy.

my possibly unpopular steph take is that while i know her post war games and resurrection writing was not very good, i do actually find it compelling that she set assassins on tim at bruce's orders. i think having such a demonstrable and visible example of bruce being the driving force behind every single nail in the coffin of their relationship is fun. like, to me, timsteph is a formative relationship, but never an endgame one. there's a lot of fun stuff to say about them! i just unfortunately struggle to really enjoy picking through the mess of how steph has been written, so they don't compel me all that much.

[mumbojumboshipbrackets]

REMEMBER THIS IS JUST THE CHARACTERS NOT THE CREATORS

MumScarian

Includes: Grian, Scar, Mumbo Submissions: 9 Reasons: - Because Buttercups, my beloved. They fit each other like puzzle pieces. - Chaos gremlin giran, accident prone scar, and mumbo who has to deal with them - Mumbo and Grian are inseparable and in love, and very, very weird about each other. Mumbo and Scar are, in my controversial opinion, in love and very, very normal about each other. Together they make such an interesting dynamic, whether you go an angsty or fluffy route. Mumbo is fond of both Grian and Scar, who are both fond of him, and both fond of each other, and they just meld so wonderfully. Scar has paired Grian and Mumbo together multiple times, telling them to hold hands in season 9 and to stand on the same trap door in the season 8 finale. Grian made a scarecrow with Mumbos face and scars hat. Mumbo has his Scar and Grian armour stands right next to each other in his build. They want to see each other happy so bad and they care for each other so much! - have you seen them - weird soulmate shit idk man - My absolute fav trio, I love grumbo, (mumbo x scar) and scarian why not all three!

LDshadowlady

Submissions: 3 Reasons: - They’d be so silly and awkward. I want the string bean man to have a short fairy girlfriend that flusters him - Imagine they were in double life together- they would have probably been soulmates. Imagine what a power couple they would be? Girlfailure x Girlfailure. Competently incompetent. Lizzie encourages Mumbo to have fun and get silly without being as much of an anxious wreck about it, and in turn Mumbo sticks by Lizzies side and lets himself add to the mischief tenfold. That, or he leaves Lizzie behind and she kills him in retaliation. Both are fun! - Last life parallels!!!!! These two I feel are the only ones who’d truly understand each other’s pain in the life series because most of the other players joined the games in 3rd life which was way less hectic and betrayal heavily compared to last life, Pearl had a much more stable alliance in last life and had other seasons to grow from her experience in last life and Gem only joined in secret life which wasn’t as betrayal heavy and she got to be the instigator of most of the violence which she enjoyed! They both joined last life without knowing how these games were supposed to work, joined an alliance and then watch that alliance crumble apart in front of them, abandoning them once they turned red. This lead to them both getting trust issues in secret life with Lizzie not allying with anyone and Mumbo attacking the Mounders on red. I feel like they’d bond over their similar experiences in the life series which allow them to be more vulnerable with each other, something which they can’t afford with other players, because they both know the struggle better than anyone else!

[martialartslover7]

And this is exactly why, I refuse to acknowledge Neji's death as canon. Not only did it serve to disrespect his character arc, along with NaruHina (seriously, what were they thinking? NaruHina was already super lacking in screentime, along with the rest of the Hyuga clan, making this sacrifice just come off as a cynical and meanspirited way to steer the ship into the canon continuity, just so the shippers would shut their mouths, NaruHina fam, you deserve better), and feeding this contradictary narrative of "fate cannot be defied, in the end", essentially proving Neji's delusions as a kid correct in the process.

If anything, Hiashi should have been the one to sacrifice himself during the war, not Neji. With his passing, the Hyuga would have finally been freed, and could be reformed from the ground up, at long last. The Main and Side Branch would cease to exist, because either he, or Hinata, take the crown, whatever you prefer. Because, at least, the Hyuga situation would have gotten resolved in a much more satisfying way. And Naruto could have still felt affected by this sacrifice, because, losing a parent is NEVER pleasant, no matter how shitty they were in their lifetime, because, if Naruto's forgiving nature would have gotten applied, he would have found it an insane shame that Hiashi never got the chance to be a better father. That would have been far more impactful and believable, than telling Obito "you're cool".

And Boruto showcasing Hiashi as a loving, redeemed grandpa. actively makes me hate Ikemoto and Kishimoto for this nonsense. Like, thanks for the tease, assholes! Don't you think, you should have invested that energy in actually fleshing out the Hyuga clan instead? All that energy he has, treating Boruto and Himawari like his babies, should have gotten invested in learning the hard way, he shouldn't mistreat his, and his brother's, children, the way he did. This is so freaking cynical, I can't. And the height of all insults came for me, the moment Naruto's and Hinata's wedding rolled around, and Hinata looked at her father for approval. DUDE. STAY OUT OF HER LIFE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! YOUR APPROVAL MEANS NOTHING! LEAVE HER ALONE!

Also, poor Tenten, man, as if the story hasn't disrespected her enough already, now she even lost her emotional anchor, that was Neji. Even with their lack of screentime, it was more than clear, he and Tenten were the only mature ones in their team, and felt to have had the most migraines, because of Lee's and Guy's antics. If my headcanon of Tenten being a weapon- and ninja tool inventor were to be applied here, she could have used a blood sample from Neji to preserve the effects of the Byakugan, into a pair of visors to use for those shinobi, who were born with lackluster genetics like herself, Lee and Guy. And Neji is a huge weapon lover himself, he would felt entranced to see his girl working her inventor magic.

FUCK NEJI'S DEATH. FUCK HIASHI. FUCK "THE LAST". AND FUCK IKEMOTO AND KISHIMOTO FOR THINKING, THIS WAS AN ACCEPTABLE WAY TO CONCLUDE EVERYTHING.

They'll never make me love you, Hiashi. YOU MUST PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO MY BABIES!! 😭

[moonlitenvyillust]

I yap under the bars. I needed to get this shit out of my chest

These are shit I associate with characters from epic the musical, the Odyssey, and the illiad. Purely based on the vibes of how I learn about them. May be a part one or a single post but u know the damned drill

I associate Odysseus with a map. Because he always gets lost and needs one/j nah actually it's because a map shows how and where you gotta go. If you took a turn against said map, you will be lost. Like how his crew must follow his every order and means to survive. And the second they don't, chaos happens and now they're lost. thank you Eurylocus

I associate Telemachus with a star, no matter how far he is, and doesn't matter if he's sad, he still shines to everyone around him. But sometimes that light is hidden by the clouds (overshadowed by his father's legacy. Needing to live up to it and not being able to) and ending up unseen.

I associate Penelope with a warp-weighed loom. For obvious reasons. But also with the North Star. As she is Odysseus's destination pinpoint. The true reason he wanted to return to Ithaca.

Most would think I associate Polites with the sun, but no. I see him as a candle. That lights the way in the dark when there is no moon or stars to shine your way. Without it, you will become lost. Like how Odysseus's morals slowly go more and more distorted ever since Polites.

I associate Eurylocus with a sword. I know I know it's uncreative but come on you can't say you don't see it

I associate Helen with the finest most beautiful art piece. It is sought for a lot, even if you don't like stuff like that you would still admit it is beautiful. But it's super expensive and you have many competitors trying to get her. Greed can drive someone to steal it. Like how Paris abducted her away without any say on her end.

I associate the suitors with broken dirty dishes. If not thrown away, only takes up space. But you can't really just flat out trow it away, you have to clean it up first. Like how Penelope can't kick out the suitors who are only taking up space and supply, Odysseus has to "clean up" First.

I associate Neo with a fireplace. If kept correctly it can bring warmth and a feeling of sanctuary. But if left unattended, will bring chaos and suffering later.

So like... Yeah thanks for coming to my tedtalk

[budgetaus]

FUSIONZ:

SONIC+SHADOW

Here is Sonic+Shadow’s fusion: Racing Stripes! I thought the name “Shadic” was stupid and Sonic loves a good nickname- though, Shadow obviously would think this one is stupid. I guess you could consider them one of those “Tsundere”/“Kamidere”/“Coodere” types but if you said that to their face you’d probably have the shit beat out of you so maybe don’t actually.

They’re one of more “incomplete” fusions, they’re still united, but they can switch between acting more “Shadow” or “Sonic” at any given moment, though, pro-tip, usually “Sonic” comes out after “Shadow”— and they only rarely talk to themself and, surprisingly, rarely argue, since they usually come to a consensus, talk within their mindspace, or are equally locked in.

Some of their weaknesses is: Chaos Energy sapping devices (though, they’re still plenty capable they get debuffed back down to Sonic’s prowess) and water. They are bad at swimming.

Another pro-tip! As with most Sonic fusions- you can placate them more with food or snacks of their liking! Sonic cannot resist being food motivated and Shadow can’t deny a good treat- though, he usually hates being bribed.

Oh and when I combine them? I’ll actually fuse them. Tacking pieces on each other like a doll is cheap. When I fuse them- they will become their own separate character with a mixed personality, likes, body etc. It will be Shadow and Sonic, its own thing, and neither singular of them at the same time.

(PS: The Fastest Lifeform Alive: They are THE #DragonBall character. They are a GOD-KILLER and you’re as easily cooked fighting them as you are BrainBlast. Luckily, they’re mostly good but they COULD gut you alive and hang you by your entrails faster than you could BLINK once before your death. You’re just dead good fucking bye.)

(FusionZ post: here)

Also I might go a little out of order depending on what designs plague my brain the most!