#For a hero's strength is measured by his heart

[voidfxndoms]

Every now and then I feel the burning need to rewatch Hercules, to remind myself that, even when you lose faith in yourself, there are others who don't. And it's those people you gotta surround yourself with. Those are the people that love you unconditionally.

[in-spain-without-an-s]

you know there’s a difference between msoat and goat ?!

because greatest does NOT equal most successful

[writeriguess]

HI HI HI! Can you make a Katsuki x fem reader where he gets really hurt and reader finds him from the alley, barely conscious, and reader is a nurse and somehow drags him to her apartment and manages to nurse him back to health? Bonus points if Katsuki is so out of it that he says something really sexual and dirty to reader and doesn't even realise 🤭

Mending What's Broken

The alley reeked of blood and smoke.

You were just getting off your overnight shift at the hospital, your nurse’s scrubs stained with the usual exhaustion and faint antiseptic smell. A shortcut through the backstreets had never felt so necessary… until you saw the collapsed figure slumped between two overflowing dumpsters.

Your heart dropped.

“Shit—Katsuki?” you breathed, kneeling by the ruined body of none other than Bakugou Katsuki, Pro Hero Dynamight.

His black and orange hero suit was shredded, revealing battered skin underneath. One eye was swollen shut, blood leaking from his temple, and his chest rose in shallow, labored breaths. His right arm hung at an unnatural angle.

You didn't have time to think. Instinct—years of medical training and some unspoken, deep-rooted concern—kicked in.

“Hey—Katsuki. Katsuki, can you hear me?”

A low groan, like a wounded animal, rumbled from his throat.

You glanced around—no civilians. No heroes. You were on your own.

“God, you’re heavy,” you muttered under your breath as you struggled to get him upright, bracing his arm over your shoulder. He leaned on you, semi-conscious, blood smearing your scrubs, his breath hot against your neck.

Somehow, you dragged him the four blocks to your apartment, adrenaline and desperation giving you strength you didn't know you had.

He passed out on your couch the moment you laid him down.

You worked quickly, cutting away the remains of his suit with shears, cleaning his wounds with practiced care. His body was a mess—bruised ribs, deep gashes, at least one fracture, and minor burns. He was lucky to be alive.

After over an hour of stitching, wrapping, disinfecting, and stabilizing, you finally sat back, breathless and sweaty.

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” you whispered, brushing damp bangs from his forehead. “Trying to be a one-man army again?”

A low groan escaped his lips, and his head turned slightly toward you.

“Katsuki?”

His lips parted. “...Fuck... mmm... boobs…”

Your eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

His voice was thick, dazed, and slow. “Soft... big… can I… fuck, yeah—bury my face in them…”

You blinked. Hard.

This man was hallucinating about your chest. While bleeding out on your couch.

“Katsuki,” you snapped, tapping his cheek lightly.

“Mmm… wanna… motorboat the hell outta you…” he mumbled, face relaxing into a crooked smile. “So soft…”

You froze.

Your face was burning so hard it could’ve melted the ice pack in your hand. This wasn’t just some babble—he was fantasizing, very clearly, and very audibly.

You cleared your throat, flustered beyond measure. “Okay. Yep. Definitely a concussion.”

The next morning, he woke up groaning.

“What the hell—where the fuck am I?”

“On my couch,” you said, arms crossed. “Bleeding all over my throw pillows.”

He blinked up at you, his expression groggy, then scowled. “Wait… shit. You found me?”

“Dragged your sorry ass four blocks,” you said coolly. “Stitched you back together. Heard you mutter something about boobs.”

Katsuki paled. “What?”

“Oh yeah,” you teased, arching an eyebrow. “Real classy stuff. Something about wanting to motorboat me?”

He gawked at you in horror, then groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Fuck. Kill me now.”

“Nope. Already did the hard part—keeping you alive.”

“…Shit,” he muttered, peeking through his fingers. “So… you’re not mad?”

“I’m flattered, honestly,” you smirked. “But maybe next time, try not to bleed out before confessing your dirty fantasies.”

He groaned again, muttering under his breath. You caught the word fuck and mortified.

You just smiled.

[snowbairdd]

For a true hero isn't measured by the size of his strength, but by the strength of his heart.

HERCULES (1997) dir. John Musker, Ron Clements

[n1ght0f-nyx]

mha boys asking you out 3/3

warnings/tags: cliffhanger, more fanon way of acting than canon ngl, i dont think there are warnings other than that- feel free to dm me if you notice a common warning that could affect someone characters: tamaki amajiki, koji koda, fumikage tokoyami, mezo shouji, hanta sero, tenya iida,yuga aoyama, shinsou, mirio togata, surprise guest at the end!! words: 2183

tamaki amajiki

I was sitting in the school courtyard, enjoying a rare moment of peace between classes, when I noticed Tamaki Amajiki standing a few feet away. He was fidgeting with the hem of his jacket, his gaze flickering between the ground and me. I had always admired Tamaki from afar—the way he carried himself with quiet strength, his incredible quirk, and his humble nature. But seeing him like this, so clearly nervous, made me curious.

"Hey, Tamaki," I greeted with a smile, trying to ease whatever was on his mind.

He looked up at me, his cheeks tinged with a light blush. "H-Hey, Y/N," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

I patted the empty spot next to me, inviting him to sit down. He hesitated for a moment before slowly lowering himself onto the bench, keeping a respectful distance. There was a moment of awkward silence as he seemed to gather his thoughts. I could tell something was bothering him, so I decided to gently nudge him.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, trying to catch his eyes.

He nodded quickly but then shook his head, as if he couldn’t decide which was the right answer. "I…I wanted to ask you something," he finally said, his voice so soft that I had to lean in a bit to hear him properly.

My heart skipped a beat. Tamaki was notoriously shy, so whatever he was about to say must have taken a lot of courage. I kept my expression calm, not wanting to add any pressure. "You can ask me anything, Tamaki."

He took a deep breath, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. "I…I was wondering…if maybe…if you would want to go out with me…sometime?" His words tumbled out in a rush, and he immediately looked away, as if bracing himself for my response. koji koda

I was standing by the school's entrance, waiting for the bell to ring, when I noticed Koji Koda quietly approaching. He always seemed so gentle, like he belonged more in a field of flowers than in a class of future heroes. Despite his large frame, he had a calming presence, and his love for animals was something I admired.

He hesitated a few steps away from me, his hands fidgeting nervously. I smiled at him, trying to put him at ease. "Hey, Koji. What's up?"

His face turned a soft shade of pink as he glanced at me, then quickly looked away, his eyes focusing on the ground. He took a deep breath and fiddled with his fingers "hiy/nwouldyouliketograblunchwithme?" he squeaked Fumikagi Tokoyami

One afternoon, I found myself alone in one of the quieter hallways at U.A. High. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows along the walls. I was lost in thought when I noticed a familiar dark figure approaching.

"Y/N," Tokoyami's deep voice called out, breaking the silence. I turned to face him, surprised to see him standing so close. Dark Shadow hovered beside him, a curious glint in its eyes.

"Hey, toko..hi dark shadow" I greeted, trying to keep my voice steady. There was always something about his presence that made me a little nervous, in a good way.

He hesitated for a moment, his sharp gaze dropping to the floor before meeting mine again. "There's something I...we..mneed to ask you."

I felt my heart skip a beat. "Sure, what is it?"

"I… find myself drawn to your presence, like a moth to the flame," he began, his words measured and deliberate. "You bring a lightness that contrasts with the shadows that often surround me. I… admire that."

My cheeks flushed at his words. I had never heard him speak so openly before. "Thank you, Tokoyami. That means a lot."

Dark Shadow nudged him playfully, causing Tokoyami to huff in mild annoyance. "What I'm trying to say is… would you be interested in going out with me? Perhaps, to explore the darkness together?" mezo shoji

The day had been unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like something unexpected is bound to happen. I was packing up my things after class, lost in my thoughts, when I noticed Mezo Shoji standing a few feet away from me. He’s always been a bit of a mystery, with his calm demeanor and the way he hides his emotions behind that mask of his. But today, there was something different about him.

“Hey, Y/N,” Shoji’s voice came out slightly muffled, but still gentle. I looked up, meeting his gaze—or at least what I could see of it. His eyes were focused on me, a certain determination in them that I wasn’t used to seeing.

“Hey, Shoji. What’s up?” I asked, curious. He wasn’t the type to strike up random conversations, so I knew this had to be important.

He hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His tentacle arms twitched slightly, as if he was trying to decide what to do with them. Finally, he let out a soft sigh, gathering his courage. “I was wondering… if you’d like to hang out sometime. Just the two of us.” hanta sero

It was a typical afternoon at U.A. High, and I was making my way down the hall when I noticed Hanta Sero leaning casually against a locker. His usual laid-back smile was in place, but there was something different in his eyes—like he was up to something. I raised an eyebrow as I approached.

“Hey, Sero,” I greeted him, trying to keep my voice casual. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” he said, pushing off the locker and standing up straight. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

I chuckled. “Well, you found me. What’s on your mind?”

Sero scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly nervous, which was rare for him. “So, there’s this new café that opened up downtown. They’re supposed to have some killer sweets, and I know you’re into that stuff…”

My heart skipped a beat as I realized where this might be going. “Yeah, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Right, so I was thinking…” He paused, glancing away for a moment before locking eyes with me again. “Would you want to check it out with me? Like, this weekend? Just the two of us?” tenya iida

The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, and I gathered my things, ready to head home. As I reached the door of the classroom, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw Tenya Iida standing there, his usual serious expression slightly softened.

"Y/N," he began, adjusting his glasses with that characteristic sharp motion. "Could I have a moment of your time?"

"Sure, what's up?" I asked, curious about what could be on his mind.

He hesitated for a second, something I wasn't used to seeing from him. Tenya was always so confident, so decisive. But now, it seemed like he was carefully choosing his words. "I wanted to speak with you about something important," he said, his voice steady despite the nervousness I could sense beneath it.

I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"I admire your dedication and the way you handle yourself in challenging situations," he said, his tone sincere. "You have a sense of responsibility that I respect greatly. Because of this, I’ve been thinking… perhaps we could spend more time together, outside of our usual school activities."

My heart skipped a beat as his words sank in. "Are you… asking me out, Tenya?" I asked, feeling a mix of surprise and excitement.

"Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing," he confirmed, a small but determind smile appearing on his face. "I believe we could be a good match, and I’d like to get to know you better. What do you think?"

Yuga Aoyama

I was heading back to the dorms when I noticed a familiar sparkle out of the corner of my eye. Yuga Aoyama was standing by the fountain, his usual confident smile in place, and something about the way he was looking at me made my heart skip a beat.

"Ah, mon ami!" he called out, waving dramatically. "You shine as brightly as the sun today!"

I couldn’t help but smile at his usual flair. "Hey, Aoyama. What’s up?"

He sauntered over, hands behind his back, clearly hiding something. His eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and nervousness, which was unusual for him. "I’ve been meaning to ask you something, something très important."

My curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

With a flourish, Aoyama revealed a small, beautifully wrapped box from behind his back. "For you, mon étoile," he said, presenting it to me with a dazzling grin.

I took the box, feeling a little flustered. "What’s this for?"

"Open it and see," he encouraged, his eyes never leaving mine.

I carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a delicate silver necklace with a tiny star charm. It was simple yet elegant, just like him. My breath caught as I looked up at him, trying to process what this meant.

"Aoyama… it’s beautiful. But why…?"

He took a step closer, his usual bravado softened by a sincerity I hadn’t seen before. "Because, my dear, I think you and I… we could make the most magnifique couple. You bring light into my life, and I wish to do the same for you. Would you do me the honor of going out with me?" Hitoshi Shinso

I tried to ignore the way my heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Shinsou and I had become closer over the past few months, sharing late-night study sessions and quiet conversations about everything and nothing. Still, I couldn't quite decipher the look in his eyes whenever he caught me staring. Was it curiosity? Or something more?

“Hey,” he said, pushing himself off the wall and walking toward me. His voice, low and smooth, sent a shiver down my spine. “Got a minute?”

“Of course,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady as I smiled up at him. “What’s up?”

Shinsou hesitated, his usual confident demeanor faltering for a moment as he scratched the back of his neck. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he began, his eyes locking onto mine. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually.”

I felt my breath catch, anticipation and nerves swirling in my chest. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving mine. “Would you… like to go out with me sometime? Just the two of us?” mirio togata

I couldn't help but notice how bright the day seemed when Mirio Togata approached me after training. His ever-present smile made the sun seem a little less important, and I couldn't help but smile back as he waved enthusiastically.

"Hey there!" Mirio greeted me, his voice full of energy as usual. "How’s training been for you?"

I laughed a little, brushing some sweat off my forehead. "Tough, but you know how it is. How about you? Still making it look easy?"

Mirio chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I try, but you know, it’s not always as easy as it looks." There was a brief pause before he continued, his tone softening just a bit. "Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something."

I blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. "Yeah? What is it?"

Mirio took a deep breath, his smile never fading but his eyes showing a hint of nervousness. "I was wondering… would you like to go out with me sometime? Like, on a date?"

For a moment, I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Mirio, the ever-positive, ever-smiling hero, was asking me out? My heart skipped a beat, and I could feel my face heating up. "A date?" I repeated, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

He nodded, still smiling but now with a bit of that famous Mirio determination. "Yeah, I really like spending time with you, and I thought… well, maybe you’d like to spend some more time together, outside of training." mineta my love <3333

I was walking through the halls of U.A., trying to shake off the exhaustion of the day's training. Just as I turned the corner, I nearly bumped into Minoru Mineta. His eyes widened when he saw me, and a mischievous grin crept onto his face. I knew that look all too well.

"Hey, Y/N~" he said, his voice laced with that familiar lisp. "I've been wanting to, uh, athk you thomething for a while now."

I raised an eyebrow, half-expecting whatever he had to say to be one of his usual pervy comments. "What is it, Mineta?"

He took a step closer, his small stature making him seem less threatening and more…well, awkward. "You know, you're, like, really hot," he started, his eyes shamelessly wandering up and down. "And I think we'd make a thuper cute couple. Tho, how about you go out with me, huh?" ew...

[sanellydicarmens]

For a true hero isn’t measured by the size of his strength, but by the strength of his heart.

[flowerynameslover]

“For a true hero isn't measured by the size of his strength, but by the strength of his heart.”

Hercules (1997)

Disney Meme: 10 Films (6/10)

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Hi, could u p please make a one-shot where the reader is tony Stark's wife and she is diagnosed with autism and people are so mean to her or the Avengers and tony goes over protective mode and comfort her like he is the fluffiest thing but still make them pay for hurting his reader ( please again I just really want to feel safe )

A/N: Hello dear anon! Here you go, I really hope you like it. sending you all my love ✨🤍

Pairing: Tony Stark x Autistic!Reader

Warning: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Tony

.

It starts small.

A shift in the tone of conversation. A few side-eyes during the gala. A well-meaning but absolutely patronizing “Oh, that explains a lot” from someone who clearly doesn’t understand anything at all.

You try to focus on the glass in your hand. It’s smooth, familiar. Grounding. You trace the rim with your finger, tuning out the buzzing voices that sting more than they should.

Tony is across the room, talking to Sam and Rhodey about something that sounds vaguely rocket-related. His smile is bright, but not the one he gives you. That one’s softer, quieter, like a safe house built in a glance.

You breathe, count. You survive the moment.

But then someone leans in.

“You know, it’s so brave of Tony. Being with someone like… you.”

You blink. Not exactly knowing how to react.

“Someone like me?” you ask, tone careful, flat.

“I mean—because of your diagnosis and everything. It’s just really noble, you know?”

You stare.

It’s not brave. It’s not noble. It’s not some charity case. It’s love. It’s you. And for Tony Stark, that’s more than enough.

Before you can respond, a voice cuts in—sharp as shattered glass and twice as dangerous.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tony says, appearing beside you like summoned lightning, arm slipping smoothly around your waist. “Did you really just say that to my wife? My incredibly brilliant, mind-like-a-damn-quantum-computer, immeasurably-patient-for-putting-up-with-all-of-you wife?

The room falls quiet. It always does when Tony turns down the charm and turns up the heat.

The person stammers. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Oh no, you meant it. That’s the problem.” Tony’s voice is even. Deadly. “You thought you were being kind, but really, you just reduced her entire personality to a diagnosis and called me the hero? That’s not kindness. That’s condescension with a cheap perfume.”

He turns to you, and the ice in his gaze melts instantly.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, voice dropping to that tone that’s just for you—warm, steady, and soft like starlight through curtains.

Your throat is tight. Your hands shake a little. But you nod.

Tony pulls you in closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s get out of here. You’ve tolerated enough human nonsense for one night.”

“But—”

“Nah. They can deal. You’re the most important person in the room.”

You leave together, his hand protectively on your back, shielding you from stares, whispers, and judgment with the casual strength of a man who’s built armor out of grief and love in equal measure.

⸻

Later, in the comfort of your shared bed, you sit under the weighted blanket he had custom-made for you, and he’s rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder.

“You’re not too much,” he whispers. “You’re never too much. They’re just not enough.”

Tears slip down your cheeks—not from pain, but from the overwhelming warmth of being understood.

“I hate that people see me like that,” you murmur.

Tony lifts your chin gently. “Then screw how they see you. I see you. I know you. You’re the most honest, vibrant, brilliant soul I’ve ever met. You don’t need to change a damn thing.”

You curl into his side, heart beating steadier. And Tony?

He holds you like you’re the center of his universe—because you are. And while the world might judge or misunderstand, he’ll always stand between you and the fire, wearing his heart on his sleeve and his love like armor.

And if anyone tries again?

Well. Iron Man doesn’t do warnings twice.

[satoshy12]

Invincible Crossover Grandpa Immortal = John Fentonightingale

The crisp, late-autumn air of Amity Park swirled around Cecil Stedman as he stood in the Fenton's living room.

Jack Fenton, his large frame somehow both imposing and jovial, leaned against the kitchen counter, a half-finished ecto-fudge resting beside him. His Wife Maddie, sat on the edge of the couch, her gaze fixed on Cecil.

Cecil cleared his throat, the sound unusually loud in the quiet room. "So… I have to relay some difficult news," he began, his voice carefully measured. "The Immortal and the other Guardians of the Globe, other then Omni-man… are Dead." He paused, letting the words settle.

Jack's eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face. He blinked, then chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Gone? You mean… like, gone-gone? Wow. That old man… he always did have a knack for getting himself disassembled. I swear, he's been put back together more times than our inventions." He scratched his head, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "But why are you telling us this? He lost an arm or a leg to Dani or Danny practically every other Tuesday, when they fight."

Maddie's lips tightened, a hint of worry on her face. "John… he was always so proud of them, when they beat him" she murmured, a soft, almost wistful tone in her voice.

Cecil adjusted his glasses, the thin metal frame cool against his skin. "Yes, we are in the process of… reassembling him at the moment. It's… complicated. However," he continued, his voice gaining a sharper edge, "I'm here with a specific request. We would like to ask if Phantom would consider joining the new Guardians of the Globe. Temporarily, at least, till he is back."

He pulled a small, folded piece of paper from his inner jacket pocket. "The Immortal left a directive. In the event of his… death, he specifically requested that Danny take his place as new Leader until he could return." He unfolded the paper, the delicate script shimmering in the dim light. "He wrote, and I quote, 'If I am ever dead for a longer time, Danny Fenton, my grandson, must take my mantle. He possesses the strength and the heart to guide the Heroes.' "

Jack's eyes flickered to Maddie, then back to Cecil. A rare, serious expression settled on his usually jovial face. "Danny… he's retired. He knew it, so why would… John asked him?"

Maddie rose, her movements precise. "We will ask Danny," she said, her voice firm. "He has a right to know. And if John asked… he will consider it. Till John is back, he would be part of the team. Till he leave it again to go to School again."

[theaawalker]

Why Spider-Man 3 is an Allegory for Toxic Masculinity 🕷

Who is Sam Raimi's Spider-Man?

Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man trilogy gave us one of the most groundbreaking, relatable character developments in superhero cinema. Tobey Maguire’s Peter Parker isn’t a rich genius or a literal god — he’s an awkward, dorky New Yorker who’s always five minutes late, struggles to pay rent, and stammers around the girl he loves. He’s not cool, not slick, not untouchable. He's earnest, kind-hearted, and painfully human. Peter is just trying his best, even when his best sometimes isn’t enough. At his core, Peter embodies the ideal of “your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” He’s a hero because he cares about the small things —about people, about community, about kindness. His powers don’t make him arrogant; they weigh heavily on him. And that's what makes his slow, subtle seduction by the black suit in Spider-Man 3 so devastating to watch. It’s not that Peter suddenly turns evil — it’s that he forgets who he is.

What is Toxic Masculinity?

Toxic masculinity is not the idea that masculinity itself is bad. It’s the specific, destructive brand of masculinity that says "being a man" means being ruthless, violent, dominant, emotionally dead inside. It punishes vulnerability and rewards cruelty. It’s the attitude we see pushed by influencers (hi, Andrew Tate and Myron Gaines) who teach boys that empathy is weakness, that real men “win” at the expense of others, that compassion is for losers. You see toxic masculinity in media where "strong male leads" are emotionally constipated, solve everything with violence, and never admit when they’re wrong. You see it when “strength” is measured by how much you can hurt others, not by how much you can heal. It tells boys and men that the only acceptable emotions are anger and pride — and it leaves everything else to rot in silence. It’s poison pretending to be power.

Peter Parker and the Black Spidey Suit

In Spider-Man 3, Peter Parker doesn’t find the symbiote. The symbiote finds him. It doesn’t demand much at first—just a little connection, a little enhancement. When Peter first wears the black suit, it feels thrilling. It’s sleek, powerful, intimidating. It makes him faster, stronger, sharper. For a moment, it feels like maybe this is who Spider-Man was meant to be all along. But the suit doesn’t just sit quietly. It weaves itself into Peter’s life — into his body, his mind, his instincts. It amplifies everything angry, selfish, and impulsive inside him. Peter doesn’t realize he’s changing until the people around him start backing away. And like many people first dipping into toxic behaviors, Peter initially thinks, “This is fine. This is better.” He mistakes cruelty for confidence. He thinks he’s leveling up — when really, he’s losing himself.

How Men Find Safety in Toxic Masculinity

When Peter’s life starts spiraling — losing his job, struggling in his relationship with MJ, getting publicly humiliated — he doesn’t double down on kindness or honesty. He leans into the black suit. He leans into anger. He starts using his power not to protect but to punish. His attack on Sandman isn’t about justice anymore — it’s about revenge. It’s about hurting someone to make himself feel strong. That’s what toxic masculinity offers: a false sense of safety when everything feels out of control. When Peter feels weak, the suit tells him, "You don’t have to feel weak — you just have to be crueler, meaner, tougher." Toxic masculinity says you can stomp out your pain by stomping on other people. It promises that dominance will erase vulnerability. And like Peter, many believe it... until they realize too late what they’ve become.

How Fans Responded to Toxic Masculinity

One of the weirdest reactions to Spider-Man 3 was how people loved “Bully Maguire.” Peter Parker, swaggering around with greasy hair, pointing finger guns, strutting like a jerk — became an instant meme. People thought it was hilarious. They thought this cocky, rude, arrogant version of Peter was somehow "emo" (clearly, these fans don't know that emo is not just black clothes and a side swoop). And they cheered for it, laughed with it, and celebrated it. In many ways, the fan reaction mirrored Peter’s own initial high from the black suit. Fans weren’t admiring Peter’s real strength — they were admiring his cruelty, mistaking it for coolness. It’s a symptom of a culture that loves toxic behavior when it’s wrapped up in humor or charisma. Instead of seeing this version of Peter as a warning, a lot of people saw him as a meme-worthy upgrade. Just like Peter, they fell for the trap.

Toxic Masculinity is a False Hero

Toxic masculinity makes you feel invincible — right up until the moment it destroys everything you love. Peter’s breaking point comes when he strikes Mary Jane at the jazz club. In a moment of blind rage and humiliation, he crosses a line he can’t uncross. And that's when Peter finally sees: this isn't strength. This isn’t Spider-Man. This isn’t him. Realizing the black suit’s influence, Peter literally tears it off, fighting against the suit's desperate clinging. But the damage is done. His actions ripple outward — hurting MJ, alienating Harry, pushing Eddie Brock to the edge. Peter's story shows that toxic masculinity doesn’t just hurt the person who wears it — it spreads pain outward to everyone around them. And even when you rip it off, you can’t undo all the harm it leaves behind. Or worse... you can negatively influence someone to embody that venomous, toxic behavior. For Andrew Tate, it is teenage boys. For Peter Parker, it was Eddie Brock.

Some Never Escape the Temptation

When Peter finally confronts Eddie — now Venom — he begs him to let go of the symbiote. He offers Eddie a chance at redemption. A chance to be free. Peter knows firsthand how intoxicating that dark power is, how hard it is to walk away. He tries to pull Eddie back from the edge. But Eddie refuses. Stating, "I like being bad. It makes me happy." Toxic men are aware they are toxic, but doing so pleases them. Hushes their insecurities. And when no accountability is forced nor taken, they continue to harm others and ultimately themselves. Eddie would rather burn with his hate than heal. That’s the final tragedy of Spider-Man 3: not everyone chooses to change.

With Great Power, Comes Great Responsibility

Spider-Man’s greatest lesson — with great power comes great responsibility — was never just about fighting bad guys. It was about the responsibility to yourself, to your community, to your own heart. Power without compassion leads only to corruption. Recall how Uncle Ben warned Peter about abusing one's power in Spider-Man 1, a lecture Peter initially rebuffed and later heeded repeatedly. Uncle Ben almost foreshadowed Peter’s run-in with the venom that is toxic masculinity. Peter had to remind him that strength without empathy isn’t heroism — it’s just cruelty with better PR. Spider-Man 3 is not just a throwaway superhero movie. It’s a warning about how easy it is to lose yourself to anger, pride, and the seductive lies of being toxically masculine. And it’s a call to all of us, especially to men: you are strongest when you choose love over dominance. You are most heroic when you reject the suit, even when it would be easier to wear it.

#ChooseTobeyNotTate 🕸

[dailyadventureprompts]

Scragglmop the Destroyer

Once feared throughout the land, a great and terrible dragon grew tired of being endlessly hunted for his hoard and faked his death with the aid of a glory-hungry gnomish bard. Living on for centuries in the guise of a street cat, the dragon is now a hair's breadth from resuming his rampaging ways after the bard's descendants have lost the fortune he gave over to them for safe keeping.

Adventure Hooks:

A series of unexplained fires has wracked the city in recent weeks, which has both the guard and the populace on edge. Rumours swirl blaming arsonists, saboteurs from a rival kingdom, even an illegal duelling society of mages, but none have yet put it together that all of the workshops and businesses were all patronized in one way or another by the famed Candlebright noble family.

Coincidentally, Hignatta Candlebright, young head of that same noble house has sent an invitation to the party to join her at a famed teahouse to discuss a delicate matter involving the retrieval of stolen property. Hignatta has all but taken over the teahouse and its guestrooms since her own family home burned down near the start of the panic, and the party might begin to draw a connection when half way through their meeting the teahouse begins to fill with smoke, panicking patrons, and a booming, sourceless voice that demands "WHERE IS MY GOLD, CANDLEBRIGHT?!"

If you really want to mess with the party, consider introducing them to the fluffy street cat completely independently of the arson plot, making a nuisance of himself in the market while they're trying to shop, or catching mice in their store-room should they have acquired a residence in town. Have them befriend the cat as they might any bad-tempered stray, only to realize after the adventure is half way through that the mice he catches are always somewhat charred. Also imagine the looks on their faces the moment the party's home is broken into by an enemy and their housecat incinnerates a wave of intruders for disturbing his nap.

Background: Everyone knows the story about how the legendary hero Gailen Candlebright saved the realm from the tyrannical dragon Slaggrath, a beast known to devour whole armies and raze kingdoms in search of treasure. It's the ubiquitous tale against which all adventurers are measured against, made all the more ubiquitous thanks to the fact that the deed is memorialized in drinking ballads, children rhymes, and even a few folk operas. Gailen was a troubadour of not insignificant skill before he became a legend, and he had little trouble using that skill and hardwon fame to ensure his deeds would never be forgotten.

As with many tales told by the bards, Gailen left out quite a bit of the truth when concocting his tale: It was a late night in a roadside tavern and the young Candlebright was approached by a sourfaced man with a tangled beard and clothes that might have once been quite fine. Gailen had sung for his supper and then some, his hat was overflowing with tips from a long night's work and a greatful crowd, and the old man wanted to know how it was exactly that the Gnome hadn't yet been robbed; The roads were full of all sorts of rough types who thought that their strength entitled them to others' wealth, bandits yes but worse yet kingsmen, who took what they wanted sure that that they were above any kind punishment.

Seeing that the old man had fallen on rough times, likely having been robbed himself, Gailen spoke from the heart: He'd been robbed a few times yes, but he got by looking like someone that no one would bother to steal from, dressing in his fine clothes only on days he'd perform, and keeping most of his riches in the safe keeping of others, such as the caravan masters he frequently traveled along with.

The old man considered Gailen's words and the two sat up drinking through the night debating the merits of the Troubador's duplicity. Was it not better, asked the old man, to defend what was yours with strength and reputation, That everyone might learn from the failure of those that had trifled with you before?

Gailen looked at the many scars the old man bore and countered that fools never learned their lesson, they just thought themselves better than the last fool who risked it and they'd keep risking it till luck won out or they went to join all the fools that had come before.

It was dawn when the two parted ways, Gailen tottering off to bed thinking he'd given council to a reformed bandit chief, the old man slipping out of the inn and taking to wing thinking he'd concocted a brilliant scheme with the help of his newest, and perhaps first, friend.

i was a week (and one pants-shitting revelation over the old man's true draconic nature) later that the legend of Slaggrath came to an end: Gailen walking into that very same tavern bloodied, burnt, and with the broken off horn of the great wyrm held above his head as a trophy. The news spread like wildfire, the name Candlebright ascended to the shortlist of the realm's great champions, and not a soul questioned when the newly knighted Gailen comissioned the construction of an elaborate series of vaults beneith the castle he'd just been awarded. The bard had everything he wanted, and in return he and his family would hold the dragon's horde in trust, not touching a single copper and adding a little to it each year out of respect for the wyrm's generosity.

Future Adventures:

Even before he charmed his way into unexpected riches, Gailen was an ardent follower of Garl Glittergold, god of ambition, wit, and wariness. Genresavvy bard that he was, he understood that this fabulous windfall wasn't just some gift from his god, it was a test, and that to keep his good fortune going he'd best abide by the exact deal he'd struck in that tavern. Gailen kept Slaggrath's treasure under lock and key all his life and made sure his children did the same despite never telling them where he got it, in accordance with his pact with the dragon . Feeling that the Candlebright family has sat on its laurels for far too long (especially since practical and buisness minded Hignatta has been increasingly questioning why her late grandfather insisted on keeping a giant pile of money in their basement and never spending it), the god has seen fit to shake things up, ensuring that some long lost blueprints for the vault have fallen into the hands of a group of thieves, who broke in and cleared the vault though the very same secret passages Slaggrath used to pop in every decade or so and make sure the count was up to date. The dragon is pissed, convinced Hignatta has reneged on her family's deal.. and all the while the thieves get closer and closer to escaping.

Depending on how the party handles it this situation could break bad in any number of ways: The dragon could give up on being Scragglmop and go on a rampage forcing the party to put him down, they could intercede on Hignatta's behalf and ensure the treasure is returned possibly earning themselves a cushy position as retainers of house Candlebright, perhaps most dangerously they could earn the attention of Garl Glittergold himself and end up being singled out for their own unstable blessing.

In addition to being motivated by the prerequisite desire to get rich, the thieves were hired by an ambitious mage who has long desired to get his hands on Gailen's Horn, the draconic trophy the bard thereafter used as the sigil for his house and hollowed out into a heavy instrument through which he channelled his most showy magic. The mage has designs on the horn as the centrepiece of a ritual drawing on the object's history of power and triumph. Given that the horn is in fact the centrepiece of a giant con it's going to bring some very unaccounted for variables into the mage's ritual which is liable to set off its own chain of problems down the line.

Art

[daleearnhardt]

But to look beyond the glory is the hardest part For a hero's strength is measured by his heart. for @argentinagp

[theladyofshalott1989]

Synopsis: Read the epic tale of Damien Evans, a young orphan (and former Squib), who, through numerous trials and tribulations, learns that a true wizard isn’t measured by the power of his magic, or the seeming lack thereof, but by the strength of his heart.

Featuring… the Keepers as the Muses, the Founders of Hogwarts as the Gods, Death as the Fates, Ranrok and Rookwood as Pain and Panic, Professor Fig as Philoctetes, and last, but certainly not least, Sebastian Sallow as Megara, everyone’s favorite damsel in distress.

COMPLETE

Word Count: 36,441

⚡ [ Wattpad Link ] ⚡ [ AO3 Link ] ⚡

A short excerpt from Ch. 5: "I Won’t Say I’m In Love (Or, Sebastian’s a Goner)" follows:

"So, this is what heroes do on their days off," Sebastian said, inching closer to Damien, each step enveloping him deeper in the fresh scent of the great outdoors, along with a subtle hint of something sweet---perhaps Damien had spent time in the many gardens that surrounded the castle today. Sebastian fought the urge to breathe in deeply, to immerse himself in the intoxicating scent of this young wizard, Damien, Sebastian's Goldenboy.

No, stop! Stop that, Sebastian! He chastised himself fiercely. Sebastian couldn't fall in love with this boy: not now, not ever. His freedom was more important. He could pretend---he had to pretend---but he'd already resolved not to get tangled in any more emotional connections. Look where that had led him before: expelled from Hogwarts, his twin sister and his best friend gone, Sebastian, shunned and exiled, working for Salazar Slytherin himself. Anyway, Damien deserved better.

"I'm no hero," Damien said, toeing the floor with his boot.

Sebastian blinked, suddenly aware of the heat rising in his chest. What was this feeling, so sudden and new?

"Sure you are," he said, mostly to tamp down his confusion, but also because it was true. "Everybody at Hogwarts, everybody in Scotland, I presume, thinks you're the greatest thing since wand holsters were invented---"

He would have gone on, but Damien cut in. "I know." He glanced back up shyly, fiddling with the clasp of his robe. Sebastian couldn't look away. "It's... it's crazy, you know. I can't go anywhere without being mobbed, I mean---"

Aha! Here was Sebastian's chance. He plowed forward before he could second-guess himself. "You sound like you could use a break." He brought his hand up, lifting it to Damien's shoulder and clasping it lightly. Damien's eyes widened at the touch, but he didn't pull away, so Sebastian kept his hand there, savoring the proximity between them.

Oh yes, the sweetness in Damien's scent was definitely flowers. Daffodils. Probably of the honking variety. They may be loud, but it couldn't be denied they had a heady, stimulating aroma.

"Think that professor of yours would lose his wand if you disappeared for a Butterbeer or two this afternoon?"

"A Butterbeer or two?" Damien repeated, his jaw visibly slackening.

"Yes, at the Three Broomsticks. Sirona's an old friend. I could get us a discount, although... your presence alone would probably guarantee us one regardless."

Damien chuckled nervously. "I don't know... Fig's got the rest of my day scheduled out."

Sebastian withdrew his hand and waved it around in the air. "Ah, Fig, Shmig. Just stick close to me. A simple Disillusionment Charm, and we'll be gone before anyone knows we were here."

For the briefest of moments, Sebastian thought his cavalier, devil-may-care attitude hadn't worked. But then, the apples of Damien's cheeks tinged pink. He took a breath, then nodded.

Perfect.

Sebastian grabbed Damien's hand before they both vanished from each other's sight. At least, that's what he told himself. He gave Damien's hand a quick squeeze, just to ensure Damien was ready---no other reason, of course---then Disillusioned himself and made his way toward the exit, Damien's fingers still laced through his.

Sebastian may not permit himself to believe it, but as smitten as he was with Goldenboy, he also couldn't shake the strangest feeling that Damien was going to be the death of him. But he was suddenly so warm and fuzzy inside that the thought fled his mind. Funny sensation, that.

"Should we tell them, Percival?"

Percival clicked his tongue. "Now, now, Niamh. That would be a spoiler. Mum's the word."

"Fine."

I guess we'll merely leave you with this: Sebastian may or may not have been correct.

[nylpad]

SHADOWS AND DREAMS

Warnings: none (I think)

In the shadowed alleys of Gotham, where secrets and dangers lurk in equal measure, there lived a young man named Damian Wayne. Heir to the Wayne legacy, Damian was more accustomed to the life of a vigilante than the trivialities of teenage romance. His nights were spent patrolling the streets, his mind focused on justice, not love.

Y/N was a newcomer to Gotham, her presence a mystery wrapped in an enigma. She moved through the city like a whisper, her origins unknown, her purpose concealed. To Damian, she was just another citizen of Gotham, perhaps in need of protection, but nothing more.

Their paths crossed during a rare moment of peace, atop the gargoyle-studded rooftops. Y/N, with her keen observation, had noticed the young Wayne and his nightly escapades. She approached him not with fear, but with curiosity, a trait that piqued Damian's interest despite himself.

As the son of Batman, Damian was trained to trust no one, yet there was something about Y/N that disarmed him. She didn't flinch at the sight of his combat gear, nor did she swoon over his family's wealth. Instead, she challenged him with her intellect, her laughter echoing against the backdrop of the city's chaos.

In the weeks that followed, Damian found himself drawn to Y/N's resilience and wit. She wasn't just another face in the crowd; she was a beacon of light in Gotham's perpetual darkness. Her strength reminded him of his own, yet her compassion opened doors he thought were forever closed.

One evening, as the city bathed in the glow of the Bat-Signal, Y/N shared a poem she had written. It spoke of finding beauty in the unexpected, of love blossoming in the midst of turmoil. Damian listened, his guarded heart resonating with every word.

He had been raised to be a warrior, a defender, not a lover. Yet, as he stood beside Y/N, the city sprawling beneath them, he realized that she had become his confidant, his ally, his unexpected solace.

"I didn't care for you when we first met," Damian confessed, his voice barely above the hum of the city. "But now, you've become someone I can't ignore. You've shown me that even in Gotham, there's room for something more."

Y/N smiled, her eyes reflecting the night sky, and in that moment, Damian Wayne, the boy trained to be a hero, understood the true power of connection. For in a city that never sleeps, he had found a reason to dream.

[doumadono]

hi i wanted to send an emergency request so if it makes you uncomfortable but ive been struggling with an eating disorder for 2 years now i was wondering if you could do katsuki comforting reader who cant get herself to eat.

Sanctuary of gentleness - Bakugo x Reader

A/N: I'm really sorry to hear about the struggles you’ve been facing. Healing is not linear and every small step you take towards recovery is a victory. It's important to be kind to yourself and recognize the strength it takes to face each day

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The day had stretched out long and weary, a tapestry of endless hours that found you curled up on the living room sofa, a book lying forgotten on your lap. Sunlight waned, slipping through the curtains in lazy, golden streaks, as the clock ticked towards the time Katsuki would come home.

You hadn’t eaten anything all day. The very thought tightened an invisible band around your chest, making it hard to breathe, to move, to think beyond the numbing fear that came with every mealtime.

The sound of the door slamming jolted you from your reverie, heralding Katsuki’s return. His heavy footsteps resonated against the hardwood floor. "Hey," he started, his voice rough around the edges after a day of shouting orders and battling foes. "I'm home."

He was ready for a night of quiet, hopefully punctuated by the comfort of a shared meal with you, his beloved fiancée, but the apartment was too quiet, the usual signs of life unsettlingly absent.

He appeared in the doorway, his hero costume replaced by an oversized, grey t-shirt and black sweatpants, his face drawn tight with exhaustion, hair disheveled. He found you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over your legs.

You glanced up, managing a weak smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Welcome back," you murmured.

Katsuki’s brow furrowed as he approached you, a twinge of concern tightening his chest.

The kitchen was untouched - the pots and pans in their places, the plates clean, the entire space too orderly. "Did you eat anything today?" he asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

Your silence was answer enough.

"Dammnit!" Katsuki exploded, his temper flaring as it often did when he felt helpless. "You need to eat, damn it! You can’t just -"

But he stopped, the anger draining from him as he took a closer look at you.

There were dark circles under your eyes, and your hands were clasped tightly in your lap. This wasn’t the stubbornness he often dealt with in the field; this was something deeper, something painful.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the spikes falling disorderly, a rare sign of his agitation. "I’m sorry," he muttered, sitting down beside you. He took a deep breath, his next words more measured. "Talk to me."

You shifted, leaning into him, your head resting against his strong shoulder. "I don’t know, Katsuki. It’s hard to explain," you whispered, the weight of your confession making your voice tremble. "Everything’s just too much. And I am not hungry... Even if I feel dizzy and unwell..."

Katsuki’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. His heart ached at your admission, his usual solutions of fighting through the problem useless here. "I know, babe, I know it’s hard," he said, his voice a low rumble coming from deep withing his chest. "But you gotta eat. We’ll figure this out, okay? Together."

You nodded against him, the fight draining out of you. "I want to get better," you admitted, "But I'm afraid I'm not strong enough. I'm so scared."

"Then we start small," he said decisively. "What about some green tea? And maybe some toast?" His proposal was gentle, a stark contrast to his usual bluntness.

"That sounds okay," you agreed.

Katsuki stood, extending his hand to you. "Let’s go then. I’ll make it." His words were a command, but his tone was soft, caring.

In the kitchen, Katsuki moved with a sureness. He heated the water, and soon tea was ready. He watched you out of the corner of his eye as he buttered the toast.

You sat at the counter, watching him, the normalcy of the situation making you feel calmer.

When he placed the cup and plate in front of you, his hand lingered over yours, warm and reassuring. "It’s okay to struggle," Katsuki said, meeting your gaze with an intensity that only he could muster. "But you’re not alone. Never."

Katsuki sat across from you, and started eating his portion.

As you nibbled on the toast and sipped the tea, Bakugo talked about trivial things - something funny Kirishima had said, a weird quirk a villain had used that day - his words light, but his presence a steadfast anchor in the storm of your thoughts. There was no impatience in his gaze, no biting remarks about the speed at which you ate. Instead, there was an unspoken encouragement.

When the plates were finally empty, Katsuki leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on you, but now there was a hint of pride in his eyes. "See? You can do this," he said, his voice low and reassuring.

You looked up from your plate, meeting his gaze. "It was good," you whispered softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But I'm full."

Finally, the dishes were cleared, and you both moved to the living room, the space familiar and comforting.

Katsuki, usually a bundle of restless energy, seemed more at ease, his demeanor gentle as he sat down beside you on the couch. He draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you leaned into the warmth of his body, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your side. He kissed the top of your head softly, a gesture so laden with affection and resolve. "We're a team, remember?" he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "No matter how tough it gets, we face it together."

You nodded, the simplicity of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. "Together," you agreed, the word a lifeline in the swirling sea of your thoughts.

Katsuki had always been a fortress of strength, but now he was also a sanctuary of gentleness.

[illuminatedquill]

Story Summary: Ezra Bridger is home at last . . .

*Author's Note: This was originally a sabezraweek2024 fanfic that did not get finished on time and was delayed due to . . . circumstances. I hope that this story gives you, dear reader, some small measure of joy. We will be needing it in the days, months, and years to come.

Prompt - Surprise(?)

@sabezraweek

Your name is Ezra Bridger, and you have finally returned home.

Standing in the doorway of the old comm-tower you lived in for seven long, dark, and lonely years. All the old feelings return in a rush: a heady surge of nostalgia, joy, and lingering sadness that not even your Jedi training can fight against.

It almost brings you to your knees in that moment, that wave of emotions. You fight it off, swaying in the doorway.

(But you do not fight the stream of tears falling down your face. You do not even try.)

The woman who is practically a second mother to you gives you a gentle squeeze on your arm. Hera Syndulla has barely aged a day since you last saw her. Her voice still carries the gravity of command that you had grown accustomed to since the day you first met - but now it sits more heavily, more pronounced. The title of General does not seem to weigh much on her, yet the wear and tear of years fighting a war for freedom do.

You can see it in her eyes. The sadness of those who were lost.

(You were not with her to mourn the passing of your mentor, Kanan Jarrus. That is something you will always regret, no matter how necessary the sacrifice was.)

But none of that diminishes the joy. In the Force, you see her truly: a gentle fountain of golden light, always pouring forth. No darkness will ever blight the person that is Hera Syndulla. Whatever evil the galaxy conjures up to throw at her, she will never falter in her truth.

(That is an immutable fact of the universe. And everyone who knows her understands that.}

Both of the Jedi who loved her were inspired by the light she represented. So much so, that one died to protect it.

Even now, you turn to her for strength. Not to stand against an incoming darkness, but a return to the light.

You have returned home.

Hera says some gentle words, joined with a tearful smile. She has never left your side since you came back. There is always a smile - and, sometimes, with it comes some tears.

She leaves you be, once assured that you will be okay, to wait outside and extend some privacy.

Taking a deep breath, you walk inside the place you once called home.

It does not surprise you to see the mess that greets you. You know who has been living here during your absence.

(She fought for this place to remain a home. Not to become a tomb.)

A loth cat - Murley, you were told was his name - watches you with bright, curious eyes. It loafs, in the way loth cats do when relaxing, on the edge of a work bench. Cautiously, you extend a hand.

Murley sniffs hesitantly, and then gives a tender boop of his nose on the edge of your finger.

Guess that means I'm welcome to stay, you think, a smile forming on your face.

With the loth cat's approval, you walk around the comm-tower's interior slowly, taking everything in.

You see the paintings on the walls; the paint, the symbols, the signs of life and light that were not present before. The notes, the data pads, the texts, the tools, the clothes all strewn about like they were caught in the grip of a vicious gale of wind - all of it, burning brightly with her presence.

She made this a home, just as you did. A part of you wonders why she came here, of all places. She was a war hero. Surely, they offered her anywhere to stay on Lothal.

You know why, whispers a voice from the corner of your heart. She had nowhere else to go.

No. That was not the reason.

There was nowhere else she wanted to go. Not after . . .

You close your eyes, extending your senses in the Force. It takes far longer than it should, as your heart threatens to hammer its way through your chest, fueled by the sudden resurgence of feelings long thought buried.

When the calm comes, and you reach out -

Ezra.

Her voice. Saying your name in a hushed whisper, a thousand - no, a million times over and over.

Like a prayer. Every utterance comes with a different inflection - sometimes sad, sometimes happy, and sometimes angry - but, as you delve deeper into the Force, you can sense the same emotion of where it all is born from.

It's the same emotion you felt when first seeing her again after so many years of dreaming of the moment when she would come for you, at last.

You felt it when your eyes locked with hers; an achingly familiar face that you imagined on your bleakest days. A beautiful face, full of fierce pride and devotion, that you tried clumsily to recreate with a crude pen and even cruder hand, on the days when loneliness threatened to take you.

You felt it when she spoke; her voice being like a melody whose tune you had almost forgotten in the long years abandoned. Hearing it was like seeing the sun break through a dark, gray morning. She teased and joked and bantered with you like no time had passed.

You felt it when she embraced you; the steady, sure strength of her arms, clad in the unbreakable beskar steel of her people - an unbreakable strength that paled next to her own will and determination. Once, when you were younger, you thought that strength could shake the stars.

(You are more right than you are willing to admit.)

You felt it when you inhaled her scent - a scent that reminded you of the fresh bloom of flowers, delicate and lovely - as she hugged you close enough to feel the beating of your heart. Although you both acted the part of dearly reunited friends, you know that something deeper had transpired in your reunion.

Because when you felt her heartbeat, you mistook it for your own at first - until you realized that both of yours were beating so profoundly in unison that it felt like one heart.

When you open your eyes again, you are not surprised to feel the tears falling from them again.

You think about the last time you saw her - fighting on the top of a dark tower, saving another friend. A flash of emerald, flaring bright against the bleak sky of a foreign world.

You, Ezra Bridger, suddenly feel more alone than when you were stranded in another galaxy.

Looking around now, the place you called home feels empty. Despite the familiar surroundings and scents, it does not feel right. Something is missing.

Someone is missing from it. The absence fills the silence inside the comm-tower, robbing you of breath and peace.

You wonder, briefly, if this is how she felt for all those years. You can scarcely stand it now, not being there with her.

How did she handle it? How did she survive?

(You know what she did. The question is what will you do?)

You, Ezra Bridger, are surprised to realize that you are not home.

Not yet. Home, you now know, was never a place.

Home was left behind.

There is shame now. A gentle, burning regret. Once, you think to yourself, you knew this to be true.

How easy it is to forget.

(She never did.)

(What will you do, with all your power?)

You take a deep breath - and listen to the Force.

Hera comes beside you, concerned. You turn to her and say three words - a truth, a reason, and a call to action.

She laughs gently. "You didn't know?"

You shake your head, ruefully.

A gentle rap on your forehead. "Guess there's still some things for the Jedi Knight to learn."

You nod, thinking fervently, I hope so.

Hera studies you closely. "You sure about this?"

You repeat the same three words. She snorts.

"You already said that."

It makes things simpler, you think. But you only answer with a smile.

"Alright, then. Let's go get her, Ezra."

Your voice comes out firm and steady with purpose - and you think about her again, an image vividly springing to life in the forefront of your mind: her, smiling up at a sea of stars far, far away, thinking of home.

But not a place. A person.

This time, you start to think, as you walk out of the comm-tower and into the lowered ramp of the waiting Ghost.

This time, I really am going home.