#He's being posted on his own just because of his alternative form

[puck-luck]

plz feed us a little quinn blurb i need him so bad

mattias anon and i were talking about quinn's hand after seeing this pic of the injury the other day:

and i said "how is he meant to finger you in these conditions" and she replied "good thing he has a mouth!" so here is a munch!quinn thought :)

Quinn's eyes are dark as they stare up at you, cataloguing each contortion of your expression. His eyes seem to glint with pride each time his tongue draws a moan from you, alternating between your clit and your entrance.

He'll tease you one minute, then overwhelm you the next. He'll trace his tongue along the rim of your hole before dipping inside, licking into you as far as he can before pulling away. He'll circle his lips around your clit and suck harshly until you're writhing beneath him, latching onto the bundle of nerves the same way he does with your nipples.

Quinn has never been one to complain about having something in his mouth– not when that something is as pretty and as tasty and as vocal as you.

"Does it feel good, baby?" Quinn will ask knowingly, pulling away to give you a moment of reprieve before diving back in.

"Mhm," you hum, high in the back of your throat. You're so pent up from his tongue that yours feels too twisted to form words.

"So sweet," Quinn murmurs, licking a stripe up your cunt with the flat of his tongue. Then, he peppers kisses all over your inner thighs, finally returning to your core to toy with your clit. The tip of his tongue flicks over it rapidly, sending shockwaves through your system.

Quinn's gaze seems to dance with laughter when you arch off the bed and moan, hands flying to his hair and fisting the strands. His eyelids flutter when you pull at the mess of dark waves atop his head, the vibrations from his own moan traveling up your spine.

"Gonna come from just my mouth, baby?" Quinn asks. Sounding extra pitiful, he adds, "It's too bad I can't fuck you with my fingers. I know how you love being full." His face breaks into a smile, smug as he dives back in and prods at your hole. He nudges your clit with his nose, making sure to catch your reaction.

You don't bring up that his other hand works just fine, and he could use that instead, because you're caught up in the way your stomach coils. His tongue pushes past your entrance and pets your walls, and his nose bumps your clit again, and again, and again. Your hips are moving mindlessly, grinding against his face as you chase your orgasm, and Quinn simply looks up at you though his eyelashes. He never enjoys himself quite as much as he does when you use him to find your own climax.

ps! i have a few beaquinn ideas and quinn x reader ideas that i've been playing with in my mind, but i'm trying to finish stg10 at the moment. so those will come one day. i want to be better about posting more often!! i feel like i am not... but that's allowed. just keep letting me know what y'all want to read and i'll add it to the list :)

[thatrandomartblog]

An old man, he can make a deal ortwo with you

[the-one-and-only-elita]

One thing that I absolutely love about TFOne's writing is that it manages to avoid a lot of the heavier criticism I've seen regarding MegOp's hero/villain dynamic over the years (trust me, the mid-2010s TF discourse was crazy)

*Spoilers Below*

First of all, the narrative benefits so much from the main 4 cast members all being a part of the same exploited mining class. So many takes on MegOp have Orion being of a higher status (an archivist, a cop, etc) while Megatron is much lower down on the social latter (a miner, a gladiator, often in the context of being a slave).

I've seen many people be put off by this, because it feels as if Megs is being villianized for being rightfully angry at the system that deeply harmed and exploited him, while Orion/Optimus is praised for taking a more pacifistic stance despite him not suffering as much from or in some ways even benefiting from the system he claims to oppose. I don't find their dynamic to be as simple as that, and I do find these takes to be a bit reductive, but I do very much see where they are coming from.

I am definitely one of those people who's very frustrated with the way pacifism is hailed as the one true path of morality, and the inherent implication that taking any sort of revenge on the people who abused/exploited you makes you just as bad as them. Also, Marvel's particular brand of demonizing any form of radical political action, despite the system clearly being broken and corrupt, but being completely unwilling to offer any other alternatives to meaningfully change things for the better.

When looking at what I described above its pretty easy to see how a lot of versions of MegOp's hero/villain dynamic unfortunately fits into that trope. Bringing it back to TFOne, you can see how Op and Meg coming from the same political/social status subverts this. The existence of Elita and Bee only further illustrates that out of the 4 people of the mining class who were all deceived, exploited, and literally mutilated in the same way it is only D-16 that completely loses himself to his rage, even to the point where he loses compassion for his own companions and disregarding the safety of the other miners (when he decides to "tears everything down" and Elita exclaims he's going to "kill everyone").

What I think I love most about the characterization in TFOne is that Orion is the radical one. Not only that, but he is praised by Elita and by extension the narrative for it. He is constantly challenging authority, and is the first to have the suspicion that their society is structured in an unjust way.

Meanwhile D-16, to be frank, is kind of a bootlicker. He fully believed in the system and that Sentinal Prime, as someone with power, had the right to decided "what was best" for those who are weaker/lesser (I wish I had the specific quote from D-16 to support this, but the movie's still in theaters). It illustrate that D-16 already held certain fascistic ideals, and that he and Orion already have fundamentally opposing moral/political values, it simply hasn't been of any consequence yet. It shows that their eventual falling out was inevitable, even if they had decided to rebuild Cybertron together.

It should also be noted that D-16's feelings of anger and betrayal do not necessarily have anything to do with the unjust system itself, but that said unjust system was predicated on a lie. Hence his fixation on deception in the post-credits scene and him naming his faction the Decepticons. Meanwhile, when Orion learns the truth he's just sort of like "yeah, I always kinda knew something was up" because again, he understood on some level that their system was predicated on injustice.

Even D-16's obsession with Megatronus Prime, while initially an endearing aspect of his character, is also an indicator of the questionably large amount of value he puts on one's strength. It foreshadows the "might makes right" ideology that the decepticons follow, and is a key part of their ideological characterization across continuities.

Instead of the narrative we often see in Transformers media were Optimus is idolized by the narrative for being more moderate and Megatron is villiainized for being radical (or so people often claim), it is instead Optimus who is rewarded and praised by the narrative for being radical, and Megatron who is villainized and punished by the narrative for holding potentially fascistic values.

I do agree with some criticism I've seen that the whole thing with killing Sentinel and D-16's final turn into villainy felt a bit rushed and more than a little cliche, but I also understand it both had a limited runtime and that it is ultimately a family film meant to be accessible to children. More importantly though, I think the movie set the groundwork early on that, no matter how this final act played out, D-16 was always going to turn to darkness, and Orion would not have been able to stop him.

Its perfectly tragic, the way all MegOp should be, while also feeling really well thought out from a thematic standpoint. I love it.

[charmac]

I wrote about Charlie and Dennis' paralleled childhood sexual abuse, and how their opposing trauma responses keep them from seeing themselves while they stay stuck in their own cycles of abuse.

// The content under the read more is an in-depth script analysis highlighting and discussing childhood sexual abuse and trauma response. Please read with caution or scroll past this post if these topics are known to affect and/or trigger you. //

Because Sunny walks an extremely fine line between sensitive, if not traumatic, character work and dark comedy, I've found that, in reading the scripts, the trauma being written is always much more blatant. You have to work a little harder to pick up on the underlying intent when watching the episodes (though the more and more we learn about the characters, the more the intent becomes clear), but the scripted versions of these scenes are solid evidence that the clear intent of these storylines is to reveal that these characters have extremely repressed childhood trauma, in-turn explaining to the audience why they have such fucked-up ideas of (and relationships with) love and sex. To put it more blatantly: the purpose of giving and revealing the childhood trauma these characters have is purposeful (if not needed), explaining why they are the predators that they are, and allows us to at least understand where their often psychopathic actions and rationales come from.

The fact that Charlie and Dennis were both sexually abused as children is all but obvious to the audience (and every other member of the Gang), but the extent to which these plots are intended to act as character work as opposed cheap-shot rape jokes is often lost on the casual viewer. In my opinion, the disconnect is not for lack of clear intention in the writing, but by the nature of the show being what it is.

It’s very clearly still there, easy enough to catch if you’re standing more than ankle-deep in the waters, but because Sunny is a dark comedy, it’s unfortunately easy to uncomfortably laugh past a rape joke if you don’t care to look deeper than the surface. Taking a look at the scripts helps paint a clearer picture, making it easier to point out, walk through and explore the CSA lore developed for both Charlie and Dennis, how they parallel and oppose each other, and how this trauma relates to their own predatory behaviours. 

An obvious starting point is Charlie Got Molested, which is, on the surface, an episode in which we learn that Charlie wasn't molested. What is changed from the script to the episode is this first line from Charlie, right at the very end of the episode, on his family’s response to his alleged molestation:

(Charlie's aired line is instead "Now everybody thinks that I've been molested. So, in a way, my life is ruined.")

Whether written with a specific intent at the time or not, this episode sets the stage (literally, lol) for a later building 'reveal' that (1) Charlie was molested as a child, and (2) his Uncle Jack is very much a pedophile, not just a perv (which is hinted at in the actual episode, both in dialogue and visuals), because the next time the show features a plot with Charlie and molestation (Sweet Dee's Dating notwithstanding, though important to mention, as it’s further evidence of the idea that there was clearly a thread being woven early on), it’s via the form of a play.

Charlie wrote The Nightman Cometh as a play about love, which was turned into a 'legible' play by Artemis, in which the Gang all "misinterpreted" his original intent and believed it to be about a child being raped. Charlie gets mad, because he doesn't see it, doesn't believe it, and instead believes everyone is destroying his artistic vision by refusing to let this idea go.

The script for The Nightman Cometh (which, I’d like to point out, RCG chose to make publicly available to everyone) has an alternate ending to the rehearsal of the bed scene between The Boy and The Nightman:

(The aired version shows Charlie more-comedically angry at Mac and Dennis by raising his level of frustration, physically with his hands. The mention of the Nightman taking The Boy face-to-face is never addressed in the aired episode, yet it does take place that way in the actual play scene following the rehearsal featuring doggy-style humping.)

What's heavily implied in the episode (and basically explicitly stated in the script), is that the Gang are not misinterpreting Charlie's art; the play is quite literally built around the idea that a child is attempting to communicate his rape, and Dennis is telling him that’s what it is. Charlie can't accept that, because this is a play about his life, he believes he’s created a play about love, and he is the boy and he was not raped so it can't be rape.

(And, following this, the audience can put the two and two together: Charlie’s clearly repressed CSA and the fact that his Uncle is a pedophile. In every.single.physical.interaction Charlie and Uncle Jack have, in every appearance he makes following Season 4, the fact that Uncle Jack is the Nightman is clear.)

Rolling back a little, it’s interesting that Dennis is the one to be audibly confused by (and frustrated with) the fact that Charlie can't understand his play is a rape play, because it's so very obvious to Dennis. Yet, 7 years later, he's in Charlie's exact shoes.

Because in Dee Makes a Smut Film, Dennis' plot almost directly parallels Charlie’s from The Nightman Cometh:

Dennis wrote his Erotic Memoirs as a tale of his sexual conquests, the first of his encounters turned into a 'film' by Dee, in which Dee "misinterpreted" what happened between Dennis and the Librarian as him being raped as a teen. Dennis gets mad, because he doesn't see how it could possibly be rape, doesn't believe a guy can be raped, and instead believes Dee and Grieco are destroying his artistic vision by refusing to let the idea go.

(In the aired episode, Dennis does not avoid using the word rape, and instead insists you cannot rape a guy, and that he was willing.)

Just like Charlie, Dennis refuses to accept that the people who are acting out his writing at face-value are telling him straight up that it looks like, and most-likey is, rape. Dennis can't accept that, because this is a film about his life, it's about his first sexual conquest, and he is the boy and he was not raped so it can't be rape.

This goes one-step further when Dee airs the 'film' for the rest of the Gang:

(The aired version of the video does not show anything from filming, and only shows a slideshow of photos from when Dennis was a teen, overlay text claiming he was raped, and a photo of Klinsky repeating 'hoser' over and over.)

Dennis goes on a spiel and reiterates that he was not raped. The rest of the Gang are not convinced.

And at this point, Charlie and Dennis probably should relate to each other, or at the very least intentionally give each other a pass/miss whenever the topic of childhood sexual abuse emerges, but instead they continue to have no issue believing and pointing out that the other was raped while continuing to deny their own trauma. 

In PTSDee, this paralleled-refusal is made clear. Very clear. In the script, it's even clearer:

(In the aired scene, Dennis' line is clearly cut after he mentions Charlie's mom, and it picks up with Charlie's line at "the father thing")

They see it so clearly in each other, but don't see themselves mirrored—and there's no doubt that's intentional. Because while they were both sexually abused as children, their current relationships with love and sex (as portrayed from basically episode one) are opposing, and the circumstances of their individual rape and immediate repression are extremely illustrative as to why they behave the way they do:

Charlie's trauma response is typical of pre-pubescent, forced rape. Not mature enough to even recognise what happened to him (as Uncle Jack's abuse was likely his first exposure to sexual acts), he regresses and represses, subsequently developing a repulsion toward sex into his adult life (in Season 5, Mac and Charlie Write a Movie, there's a deleted scene that makes it evident that he's disgusted by and avoidant of sex decades later), and, clearly by the depictions in The Nightman Cometh play and the lyrics of Nightman in Sweet Dee’s Dating, believing that the harassment he faced was love. 

For the run of the show, Charlie’s interest in love and sex is almost exclusively highlighted by his relentless pursuit of the Waitress. In so far as the idea that every member of the Gang is a sexual predator, Charlie is depicted as a sexual harasser, unable to recognize that disinterest, avoidance, the word "no," and stalking that leads to legal action to restrain him from the person he's pursuing is inappropriate and predatory.

While his CSA results in a repulsion toward sex (in most instances), Charlie clearly associates the concept of love with the early harassment he faced, brought on him in his own home by a "loved one," he truly believes that his own relentless pursuit will end up buying him love. Charlie is stuck in an abstinent cycle (at least, until Dennis’ Double Life) of his own abuse.

Dennis' trauma response is typical of coercive rape and grooming. He was old enough to believe that sex is something that should be seen as cool, and therefore obsesses and brags about his experience(s), resulting in his hypersexuality. In Season 5, The D.E.N.N.I.S. System, it's firmly established that Dennis' pursuit of women is something outside of genuine attraction; in fact, it's almost devoid of it. Clearly by the plot of PTSDee, he sees a woman’s sexuality as a weapon he needs to fight against. 

For the run of the show, Dennis' interest in sex is deeply entwined with the fact that he gets off on having power over his "sexual conquests". In so far as the idea that every member of the Gang is a sexual predator, Dennis is depicted as a date rapist, having an aversion to recognising (if not an inability to understand) consent, he pursues sex exclusively for his own physical pleasure, with little care for the other party, getting off on the knowledge that he’s orchestrated the situation he’s in.

While his CSA results in an obsession with sex, Dennis clearly does not associate the concept of love with the act, truly believing that sex is used to overpower someone, most enjoyable when obtained via coercion, exactly as his virginity was taken from him. Dennis is stuck in a loveless cycle of his own abuse.

Charlie and Dennis meet after their own traumas; their clearly disordered relationships with love and sex is how they've always known the other to be. When there are hints of the other's abuse, they're able to easy recognise what it is, for they sense the paralleled familiarity of their own CSA—yet their polar opposite trauma responses result in an inability to reflect:

To Dennis, Charlie was clearly raped, and Charlie fears sex and Dennis loves sex, so he can't have been raped; To Charlie, Dennis was clearly raped, and Dennis doesn't pursue love and Charlie loves the Waitress, so he can't have been raped.

Their reflections being mirrored causes them to harp on the other's trauma and keeps them from being able to truly recognise their own abuse. Call the other out and deny what’s shot back, stuff it down and continue spiralling in their own cycle of abuse.

[sabertoothwalrus]

I’ve seen you post some labru stuff and I’m curious what your thoughts on it are. personally I don’t see it? I can buy Kabru having feelings for Laios, but I think Laios wouldn’t be interested in Kabru, so it makes me wonder why so many people ship them. (Tbh I feel like Kabru has more chemistry with Mithrun anyway)

Sorry if this ask sounds rude, I just genuinely don’t understand the appeal of the ship, but I want to understand and I trust your analysis of characters very much :] maybe there’s something I’m missing

I really like both ships, actually!

For labru, there’s sooooo much I could talk about. The inherent homoeroticism of being narrative foils. The inherent homoeroticism of being the king’s advisor. All of chapter 76. The fact that Kabru has mask upon mask upon mask, and Laios is the first person that made his facade absolutely crumble.

Kabru struggles with being genuine!!! Everything he says and does is so perfectly calculated, even when he sort of means it. But since Laios doesn’t get social cues, Kabru gets thrown for a loop.

I get so frustrated when people act like Kabru still hates Laios by the end of the manga!!!!! He killed those corpse retrievers for being corrupt, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to kill Laios. He has such a strong sense of justice, and knew that killing Laios would be a mistake. Because, after meeting him, he could tell he wasn’t actually evil. He’s strange, sure, but not evil.

Kabru DEFINITELY wants to be friends with Laios!! He was not lying about this!!!

But this last comic shows how much Laios wants to be friends with Kabru, too. He’s so nervous after calling Kabru his friend 😭 he doesn’t want to be presumptuous and fuck it up again.

Laios does show an interest in Kabru, at least when Laios thinks he’s interested in eating monsters too. Like,, what was up with THIS

Laios’s gaze is LINGERING. Plus, (this is before that bit at Thistle’s house when he forgets his name) he brings up Kabru when they first form their plan to eat Falin.

And maybe this is just because of my own personal experiences, but Laios reminds me a lot of my own girlfriend. I think they have a similar flavor of gay/aspec & autism combo where, had I not asked her out first, she probably never would have considered being interested in me. But she was very down when I did.

The tricky part about labru is more the political aspect. Regardless of whether you see Laios as aroace or not, he’s in a situation where he will probably get married. He had a fiancée before he was age 13, likely betrothed since he was a baby. He’s already comfortable with the idea of getting married because He’s Supposed To.

However, Laios is king, and could make gay marriage legal if he wanted to (He would probably do this for his sister and Marcille before considering it for himself ). But at the same time, I think Kabru would object to Laios making whatever policies he wants without considering the repercussions of how other kingdoms might react, especially when they’re just getting Melini off the ground and need lots of support from other countries. Laios and Kabru getting gay married anyway and dealing with the aftermath could make for a really compelling story.

I do think Kabru would be a good ruler. He’s already fit for it. He speaks a dozen languages, he knows people and their motivations, and likes politics. The manga already joked about Chilchuck’s daughters trying to marry a king, so it seems like noble blood isn’t too important, but Kabru’s foster family IS nobility. When it comes to heirs, I do like trans Kabru headcanons, but at the same time, I think it’d be cute if they adopt anyway. Kabru seems like he’d have strong feelings about adoption given,,, yknow.

The alternative version of labru to this is Laios gets straight married out of obligation, and Kabru is his mistress hdhdhshsj. I don’t know if I could see Laios doing that? or if Kabru would risk the scandal of being outed as Royal Advisor and Regent trying to seduce the king. It could go SO downhill. but maybe that would be fun.

NOW FOR KABUMISU.

I knew people shipped them, and I could see the basis for it while reading, but I wasn’t really sold on it until the very end. There’s something about “I had no desires left. I decided to create new desires, and one of them is you” that’s really charming.

There’s also something funny about “the demon ate my heterosexuality so I’m gay now”

I think it’s interesting that Kabru hates elves. He was raised by them, and he hates them. He hates feeling patronized by them. He made absolutely sure that elves wouldn’t take control over Melini, not just for his sake, but for Rin’s.

But Mithrun’s interactions with Kabru are founded on more mutual respect. Though, that’s not to say that Mithrun doesn’t still have his biases towards short lived races..

Where Laios doesn’t understand social cues, Mithrun does but just doesn’t care. For that reason, I think Kabru would enjoy spending time with Mithrun. It’d give him a break from his compulsion to calculate all of his social interactions. But at the same time, Kabru is the KING at bottling his emotions. Mithrun is blunt, but also doesn’t care enough to pry. If Kabru had anything bothering him, I could imagine him seeking Mithrun’s company to avoid thinking about it. Could make for a fun dynamic.

I do think it’s funny that Milsiril 1) took care of Mithrun for potentially 20 years and 2) is only four years older than him. I imagine this could lead to funny situations.

I don’t ship things for no reason! I think both of these could work platonically, romantically, one-sided, or even “requited but they don’t do anything about it.” Their relationships compel me and I think it’s sort of bad faith to brush off either like they’re nothing more than baseless yaoi pair-the-spares. To me, I see just as much of a foundation in the source material as farcille.

After all, dungeon meshi isn’t a story about romance, but it IS a story about love. It’s a story about life and death and grief and the love that comes with it. Regardless of shipping, these characters love each other!!! And I love talking about it!!

[innerfare]

Eustass Kid Fluff // Angst Compilation

Summary: A compilation of Eustass Kid angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Brushing Your Teeth Together, Flowers, Type of Date, You See His Cabin, Fighting and Making Up, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, You're Jealous).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Lectures you on your fighting form, tears into you for taking any unnecessary risks, gets on your case about not seeking medical attention fast enough. Tells you to get some rest, sits at your bed side until you’re better, claims he’s not there for you and is just resting his own eyes. 

Brushing Your Teeth Together: 

Was always too ADHD to stand in front of the mirror for a full minute brushing his teeth, always ended up wandering around the ship while brushing and then forgetting to finish; only started staying put when you began joining him. 

Flowers: 

If it’s at the point where he’s buying flowers, this man is so far beyond pride he won’t flinch at purchasing a bundle of pink tulips, even if they clash with his outfit/aesthetic. He also presents you one night with a bouquet of metal flowers he made himself. He spent ages on it, but he really didn’t mean to. He intended to make one but got absorbed in his work and made an entire bundle of dainty little metal flowers. He’s oddly proud of himself for making something so delicate and would be crushed if you ever got rid of them. 

Type of Date: 

He’ll take you to a concert, best seats in the house. He would prefer rock, but he’ll go to any concert you want. Honestly has no qualms about pulling up to an Ariana Grande or Taylor Swift concert with you, won’t go so far as to learn the lyrics but will nod his head and dance with you because he doesn’t believe people should be ashamed of their music taste (that being said, he can’t help but be embarrassed by just how much he likes Olivia Rodrigo; Sour is punk rock and Brutal is his favorite song, no matter what Killer says). He’ll buy you two matching t-shirts, too. 

You See His Cabin For The First Time: 

It’s as messy and ostentatious as you’d expect, but he sheepishly tries to fold the leopard-print blanket crumpled on the bed and put some laundry in the hamper, though you quickly deduce he has no clue which clothes belong in the hamper and which go in his closet. It’s shocking to see him care what someone thinks. He has a pile of lipstick and nail polish on his desk and an impressive collection of weapons he’s stolen from various pirates; he could probably open a museum with all the weapons he has. Also has lots of tools he forgot were in there. TBH, he’s probably as shocked as you are by the state of his cabin because he spends most of his alone time in his workshop, anyway. 

Fighting and Making Up: 

Actually loves to fight, lives to butt heads. Has a notoriously bad temper, meaning the two of you often fight. Serious fights usually happen because his temper got him into trouble. The number of arguments you’ve had while you’re patching him up because he got in a nasty bar is unreal. Your argument always over something stupid, at least in his opinion. He usually ends up storming off and locking himself in his workshop because he doesn’t want to yell at you too much but he’s furious with you and still has a bunch of adrenaline flowering through his bloodstream from his last fight. Alternately, he’ll start fights with you when feels like you’re keeping something from him, even if it’s something small, because it drives him crazy and he thinks you should be an open book. He's not really the jealous type when it comes to physical stuff, but he does get upset when you seem to have an emotional or intellectual connection with someone else, and that can cause some arguments. Oh, and fights are most definitely foreplay, so you can conclude how the two of you make up. 

Paradise 1: 

Waking up to fresh powder blanketing the ground and jumping out of bed, barely getting your boots and one of his coats on before you’re outside, romping through the snow. Falling into a snow bank with your arms out, giggling as you make a snow angel, grinning even wider when he surprises you by laying down beside you and doing the same, letting his inner child show through for a brief moment. 

Paradise 2: 

Escaping the chaos of life and climbing a desolate hill, sharing a late afternoon snack as you stare up at the clouds and point out different shapes, saying, “that’s you,” when you see a funny one. Arguing over which one of you gets to be the dragon cloud, your argument turning into roughhousing and the two of you accidentally rolling down the hill, him laughing and kissing your cheek when he knows you’re okay and then starting the argument again. 

Nightmares: 

It’s never like it happened with his first love, Victoria. And it’s always some way new. You fall overboard during a storm and drown, Kid diving into the water to save you but sinking due to his devil fruit ability, Killer diving in to save him but leaving you to die. You get deathly ill and he enlists the help of his ally, Trafalgar Law, to save your life, but he betrays Kid and kills you. He gets captured by a crew of enemy pirates, and when the crew comes to save him, you get killed in the crossfire. The nightmares just keep coming like this, you dying because he couldn’t protect you or expected someone else to do it for him. And each time he wakes up, it is with a renewed certainty that the only way to keep you safe is to do it himself.  

I Love You: 

You say it first. You say it a couple of times, actually, before you ever hear it back. You’re sitting in his workshop watching him build something, and you just sort of blurt the words out. You swear Kid hesitates before picking up the next piece of metal, but he gives no real acknowledgment you uttered those three words. Knowing exactly the sort of man he is and not expecting to receive anything in return, just wanting him to know how you feel in the moment, you aren’t actually offended, but you are wondering if he didn’t hear you. So, the next day in his workshop, you say it again, once more receiving no response. The third time you say it to him, catching him while he’s painting his nails, you receive a grunt in response (Kid is a man of grunts, not a man of words). Only in the heat of battle do you hear it back. He catches you around the waist and picks you up, and you fight thinking it’s an enemy, only for him to say, “I love you,” in your ear before deflecting a canon ball headed straight for the two of you and then setting you on your feet like nothing happened. From that point forward, he’ll say it, but only at inopportune times.

You’re Jealous: 

He doesn’t ever talk about his first love, Victoria. In fact, you didn’t even know she existed until Killer got drunk one night and began speaking of his dearly departed. What he didn’t mention was that Kid, too, had been in love with her. It only comes up the next night when you mention it to Wire, who mentions it was the death of his first love, Victoria, that put Kid on the war path and united the first four members of the Kid Pirates. Realizing Wire messed up, Heat chimes in to say, “he’d do the same for you.” But you’re not convinced, mainly because Kid never told you any of this. It tears you apart, leaves you tossing and turning for nights on end, until you finally burst into Kid’s workshop one night ranting about how he doesn’t trust you and holds you at arm’s length. “Heat says you’d do the same for me, but-” Kid cuts you off and says, “I wouldn’t do the same, I’d do worse. Much, much worse.” And from the wicked gleam in his eye, you’re inclined to believe him. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[mononijikayu]

the dragon and the maiden fair — gojo satoru.

Kneeling before you, Satoru worshiped at the altar of your body with reverence, his mouth and tongue offering devotion. Your moans, sweet music to his ears, spurred him on. You gripped the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The sensation, whether painful or not, thrilled him to the core. He liked the pleasure of pain. He liked it rough, as you well know.

Genre: Alternate Universe — ASOIAF

Warning/s: Alternate Universe, R-18, Smut, Explicit Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Romance, Servant!Reader, Targaryen Prince! Satoru, Pet Names, Fluff, Praise, Breeding, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie Possessiveness, Mentions of Historical Notes, Mentions of Body Parts, Mention of Sexual Acts, Mention of Alcohol, Mention of Marriage;

Words: 5k words.

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 800;

note: im sorry i haven't posted this yet. it took a while because tumblr isn't working well. can anyone help me cause tumblr isn't letting me see images and gifs right now??? this is really a pain. but if you guys have tips, let me know! anyway, i love you all!!! <3

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SUCH A THING WAS UNEXPECTED TO PRINCE SATORU TARGARYEN. If one would have asked him what he wanted all these years ago — he would have said to do his duty to the realm. To ride his dragon off to battle, to enjoy the bounty of his position until he died. Yet, as he took in the moment between you and him, basking in the beam of moonlight — he found himself thinking that this was more than enough. Nothing else mattered in the world. Just the two of you making for a merry bunch, over spiced wine under the moonlight..

His bright blue gaze remarked each movement of your face as laughter echoed at each and every joke, every quip. There was true joy in the beams of your eyes. Satoru Targaryen must admit that he thinks no one has ever truly looked at him with such warmth. No one had ever been this joyful being by his side. No one but you. 

You were a common lady, one he shouldn’t even be associating with as a prince. But he found himself enthralled with you. It was as if the flame in him burns if you were there to cause the fury that keeps him alive. He thinks that he found it in the way your hands moved, rubbing itself together with each laughing fit. It was in the way a small bridge forming in your lips folding into a pout roused him with great joy. It was the way your tender hands held him as though he was the most fragile thing in the world. 

Every sight of you since he had met you was enough to rush his mood away from the bleak nature of his world spinning onto the void of oblivion. All had been forgotten. His pains of being the most powerful, lonely man in the world. His anger at his father’s debauchery. His grief at the curse of his power, of his position. Since then, in his world, there is only your warmth melting his cold heart little by little. 

Satoru was honest when he said that he had known many women and men. At times, he still meets them and knows he has the power to compel them to his bed. To warm his cold bed with the flames that equate his own. Yet none could match your vivacity, your grace or your intelligence. None of them were you. None of them were his maiden fair. None had pierced his heart deeper than the words you gave him each morrow, in his arms, with your warmest tone. 

Satoru thinks that you were made for him.

You were given shape to be the one for him.

To love him, to warm him, to bring him to life.

Nothing in the world can make him leave you.

Many had spoken of their concern to him, consorting with a common lady. It was unbecoming, unprecedented for a prince of Dragonstone to be so enthralled with a woman of unequal status. But Satoru thinks he dares not listen. What did these old men know about you? What did these fools know about love? What did they know about the truth of human life? None. No one did. Only he did. Because he had you. You were the truth of human life. You were his life. 

It was easy to feel alive when you were the most gentle of all the flowers in this garden. He remembers when he first met you. Eyes gleaming with morning dew, the way your fingers touched the small blossom of white roses springing across the most beautiful gardens. Your beauty was the wonder of humankind. He felt like he was struck by love at that moment. 

Your long glistening hair blossomed like a parting flower, beckoning a dance between the wind and your gentle touch. His eyes widened, lips flew apart. The heart thumped against his chest loudly, beat after beat, which made him latch onto his chest. It hurts to see you walk away. From that moment on, he was resolute to find you. He was resolute to have the woman he loved in his arms. 

Moon after moon was a disappointment, to be sure.  He had found himself unable to find you, even with his most trusted servants looking for you. And in that time, life of the royal court had become placid, cold with the loss of warmth, of reasons. Each day, the throne felt more like his prison than his birthright. He hated how it was. How lonely it was without you. 

When he had found you again, he was astounded. You were now working within the palace, as his sister’s maid. It was wonderful for him. Each day, he had invited his sister to join him to break their fast together. And each morning, he could not stop his eyes from wandering towards you. He was sure that all had noticed how enamored he was with you. And he was not shy to deny his fondness, his affections. 

You have been mortified that the prince of Dragonstone was willing to put himself in your way and bend to you — a common born lady, with nothing but the clothes on your back. You were a baseborn young maiden. You don't even know who your mother and father were. You felt unworthy of his affections. He was a prince. And you were nothing, you should be nothing. But that did not deter him.  And slowly but surely, his charm, his tenderness, his truthfulness, his love — it all won you over. 

“You have given me too much wine.” You say to him. 

He grins at you. “You are fond of it, are you not? To taste it from my mouth.”

“I am.” You say as your reddened cheeks grew redder yet. “It is late now, isn’t it, my prince?”

He nodded back to you, his thumb wiping the side of your cheek. There was a stain of the wine. “Yes, it is past midnight now.”

“Oh my!” You hiccuped in between. “I feel as though I am drunk now.”

“Yes, my maiden fair. You are drunk with a merry drink.” He cooes at you, bright cerulean eyes beaming at you. “You were so beautiful with each drink, my maiden fair.”

You laugh once more. “Well, I do not mind, my prince. It is merrier with you. Everything is.”

“I should say the same.” He smiles fondly, so warmly towards you.

Both had taken a step out of his chambers in days, enjoying each other’s company in the most intimate sensuality. His duties keep him away from you more often than he would have hoped. And with his taking of you under the nose of all these bothersome fools, he thought to keep you away from court and keep you in Dragonstone. At times, he knows you get lonely with him being summoned to do his duties at court. But he was thankful that you bear with him. You love him and it was enough. It was more than enough. 

His head rested upon your bare belly, as he watched his dragon fly among the smallest birds that fly within the keep most days. He ate at your womanhood like a starved man, over and over again. He enjoyed how you pulled at his silver hair over and over again, crying and weeping. When you were exhausted from pleasure, he would find himself cleaning you and caring for you. He asks the servants to send up some food for the two of you and he feeds you. He does not want you to move one single muscle, one single hand, or finger. He wanted to pamper you, pleasure you. Love you every single day.  

One of these days, he had heard that he had been once more summoned by his father at court. But he did not care.. Not when in his arms glowed a most beautiful marvel, laced in endless Tyroshi silk, your body as soft as a feather’s touch. He was happy to stay here in your arms. You did not mind if he worked on his scrolls in bed. He was enthralled watching you read missives for him too. It was too much work, to leave you again. That he was not much willing to do.

“I do not think the court likes me very much.” You whispered, resting your head against his warm body. “Nor your father the king.”

He laughs, his hands pushing away your long hair from your cheek. “My maiden fair, I do not care what anyone else thinks.”

“But it is a stain on your reputation, Satoru—”

“As if none of these bastards have mistresses of their own common lady as their second wives. Mayhaps even whores.” He scoffs, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Loyalty is not their strong suit, my love. But it is mine. I will not forsake you. You are and never will be my stain. You are my love. Only mine.”

You feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, a soothing balm against the doubts that cling to your heart. Satoru's touch is gentle, his fingers tracing patterns along your jawline, as if to erase the worries etched upon your face.

"I fear they will try to tear us apart, my prince." you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the court's judgment lingers in the air, a heavy presence that threatens to suffocate the fragile happiness you've found in his arms. 

Satoru's eyes meet yours, a fierce determination burning within their depths. "Let them try, my maiden fair." he replies, his voice a low rumble that resonates with unwavering confidence. "I have faced countless adversaries, and none have succeeded in separating me from what I hold dear. And you, you are the one I hold most dear.”

You marvel at his unwavering resolve, the strength that radiates from him like a beacon in the darkness. In his presence, the world feels a little less daunting, and your fears begin to dissipate, replaced by a flicker of hope. He was all you had, your beautiful, powerful prince. And he wanted you. For bitter or for worse, for good or for greater. He will want you, he will love you.

"Do you truly believe we can overcome this?" you ask, seeking reassurance in his steady gaze.

He cups your face in his hands, his touch tender yet firm. "I believe in us, my love." he declares, his words a promise woven into the fabric of your shared future. "No matter the trials we face, I will fight for you, for us. Together, we are unbreakable."

Your heart swells with a mixture of gratitude and love, a potent blend that binds you to him in ways words can scarcely capture. In this moment, beneath the weight of a disapproving court and a king who remains an enigma, you find solace in the unwavering devotion of the man who holds your heart.

“Will you fight for me too, hm?” His cerulean eyes search your own, expectantly. “Will you fight for your prince?”

"I will fight for you, my prince. My Satoru." you vow, your voice steady and resolute. "For us."

With a soft smile, Satoru leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that speaks of promises and dreams yet to be realized. All that was left was passion, bountiful love as you returned the kiss while shutting your eyes and letting yourself be completely removed from reality. 

They were turned over as he leaned over you without severing their kiss. His right hand was entangled in your fine long hair, while the other nuzzled your face as if he wanted to close his eyes and recall your beauty. Although he was certain that nothing about you would be easily forgotten.

You ended the kiss, taking in air.

His bright blue never leaves you.

He was hungry for more of you.

You breathed deeply and gazed at him with your wanton eyes. "I want you to take me. Make me your wife, even just tonight, my prince.”

You hitched a breath as he delicately caressed the firm line of your jaw with his thumb. You feel like you were on fire, whenever you were with him. "My maiden fair. I’ve wanted to make you my wife all this time. You do not need pretense.”

“I cannot—”

He moves forward, placing kisses on your neck. You moan. “I will not let you go because some fool says no. I am Satoru, prince of Dragonstone. The first of the name. The man who will be king. I have a dragon who’s seen many battles. Anyone who dares say no to me, say no to our marriage. They will face my love. Do not care for their worries. Love me instead. Make love to your husband, your prince. Your king.”

Your heart races at his words, a mix of desire and disbelief flooding your senses. Satoru’s confidence is intoxicating, a force that draws you closer to him, erasing the barriers that have kept you apart.

“Tonight, let there be no doubts, my maiden fair.” he murmurs against your skin, his lips tracing a path of fire down your neck. His hands cradle your face with a tenderness that contrasts the fervor of his words.

You close your eyes, surrendering to the sensation of his touch, the world around you fading into insignificance. In this moment, there is only Satoru, his presence enveloping you like a cloak of protection and love.

“But what of the court? The king?” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you cling to the last vestiges of reason.

Satoru pulls back slightly, his gaze capturing yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. “Let them watch and whisper,” he declares, his voice firm and unyielding. “I will not be swayed by their disapproval. My heart belongs to you, and nothing will change that.”

His words ignite a spark within you, a courage that had lain dormant now awakening with fervor. You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as you press your lips to his, pouring all your love and longing into the kiss.

Satoru responds with equal fervor, his hands roaming your body, claiming you as his own. The world outside ceases to exist, and in this private sanctuary, you find solace in the certainty of his love.

“I love you,” you whisper between kisses, the words a sacred vow.

He smiles against your lips, a warmth radiating from him that banishes all doubts. “And I you. my maiden fair, my little wife.” he replies, his voice a soft caress. “Tonight and forevermore, you are mine.”

Satoru leaned forward with intent, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. His hands traced every contour of your body, moving with purpose until they reached your thighs. You responded eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his silver hair, playing with the strands as he deepened the kiss. 

After a while, he shifted his attention, trailing kisses down your neck and leaving marks that drew soft moans from your lips. His focus moved lower, drawn to the beauty of your form even in the dim candlelight. Your full, enticing curves were a sight that made his heart race.

Taking his time, Satoru kissed his way down your thighs and legs, committing each inch to memory. He felt as if he had ascended to the heavens, feasting on the divine bounty laid before him. He takes and he takes — greedily as he can. Each sound from you egged him on. Faster and then harsher, then deeper.  

The reality of your shared intimacy was something he never dared to dream of, when he first met you. But now none will stop him.  Now he has had a taste of you, now that he has had plenty, he wants more of you. He wanted more and more. He was greedy when it came to you. His maiden fair.

He pulled back momentarily, observing your flushed face and the gentle pants escaping your lips. With renewed passion, he captured your mouth once more, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, eliciting a quiet whimper from you. As he broke the kiss, his gaze roamed your body, filled with longing and desire. He carefully lifted the hem of your nightgown, revealing the sacred beauty beneath. The beauty that can only truly belong to him.

Kneeling before you, Satoru worshiped at the altar of your body with reverence, his mouth and tongue offering devotion. Your moans, sweet music to his ears, spurred him on. You gripped the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The sensation, whether painful or not, thrilled him to the core. He liked the pleasure of pain. He liked it rough, as you well know. 

Lost in the moment, you cried out in pleasure, surrendering to the wave of bliss that overtook you. Satoru reveled in your cries, cherishing every moment as he savored the gift of your shared passion, holding nothing back in this sacred exchange. If there was such a thing as the Maiden, then you were her best creature. You were her best daughter. The daughter he wants to claim, to breed, to make his own. 

Satoru's kisses were fervent, igniting a fire that spread through your veins. His calloused, warm hands roamed your body with a confidence born from knowing every sensitive spot, every curve that made you sigh and arch toward him. He let a small laugh release from his mouth. You were getting too eager for your own good.

As he worshiped your skin with his lips, you felt the heat of his breath against your thighs, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. Your lover was generous, he always was. He cared more for your pleasure than his own, that was truly certain to you. But he has too much energy. He was relentless in making you find your pleasure as much as he had time and energy to spend. You really don’t want to complain. Your prince was too much of a good lover, he loved you.

Your hands tugged at his silver hair, urging him closer, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he drew closer to your core. With a reverent touch, he parted your legs, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of you, laid bare before him. His mouth descended, and you cried out, your back arching in response to the exquisite sensation of his tongue tracing intimate paths along your skin.

Your Satoru was relentless, his lips and tongue moving in a dance of worship that left you breathless, lost in a haze of pleasure. Every flick and caress was an echo of his devotion. Each layer broken, each layer conquered connected you deeper to him. He wanted more of you, wanted to discover depths of your cunt that he could make his.

Your small hands clutched at him desperately, nails grazing his scalp as he drove you closer to the edge. The room was filled with the symphony of your moans and gasps, eliciting that inflamed passion that burned between you. You could feel him laugh once more. He was pleased, you think. He discovered another depth of you. 

“Please, my love, my prince.” you murmured, a plea that was both a prayer and a command, and Satoru answered with renewed fervor, his touch becoming more insistent, more urgent. He wanted to claim you, to make you his in every sense of the word. “My Satoru!”

“Come, my maiden fair. Feel me whole, my wife. Feel my tongue in you, hm?”

With a final cry, you surrendered to the wave of ecstasy that swept over you, your body shuddering in release as Satoru held you close. His touch was both reassuring and possessive, his powerful presence enveloping you completely. As you reached the peak of pleasure, your body trembled uncontrollably, every nerve alight with the intensity of your climax.

Satoru’s lips were a gentle contrast to his earlier dominance, brushing against your skin as he whispered sweet promises in a voice that was both soothing and commanding. His words were a balm, a reminder of the connection that had brought you to this moment, and the promise of more to come.

His warm tongue traced along your skin, its path leaving a trail of sensation that enraptured you whole. The way he moved, the way his tongue explored every inch of you, was a testament to his unwavering attention and desire. It was as if he was savoring every moment, every taste, committing it to memory.

When he finally parted from you, his eyes met yours with a glint of satisfaction and pride. You could see the evidence of your shared pleasure, the way his chin was slick with your release, glistening in the dim light. The sight was both intimate and overwhelming, a reminder of the depth of your connection and the intensity of what you had just shared.

His expression was one of triumph, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he took in the sight of you, still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. “Messy, aren’t we?” he teased, his voice a low, teasing drawl. “But oh, so satisfying, isn’t it?”

As you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your ecstasy, Satoru shifted slightly, his movements deliberate and assured. His bright cerulean eyes, still locked on yours, held a promise of more to come, a flicker of desire reigniting as he positioned himself above you once again.

He leaned down, capturing your lips once more, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue. The kiss was both possessive and tender, full of lust and desire for you. Only you. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve with a reverent touch, as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. 

With a teasing smirk, Satoru broke the kiss, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Ready for more, maiden fair?” His voice was a deep, velvety growl, filled with anticipation and longing.

Before you could respond, he positioned himself at your entrance, you could feel it. You could feel his thick member pressing against you with an insistent pressure. The sensation sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, your body responding instinctively to the promise of what was to come.

Slowly, deliberately, your Satoru began to push inside you, his cock stretching you once more with an intoxicating mix of pleasure and fullness. The sensation was both familiar and overwhelming. You gasp aloud, as he stills. He was always too big. You feel that each time he claims you, it was a reminder of the power he held over you. A power you will always let him have.

He moved with a steady rhythm, his hips rolling with a controlled grace that left you breathless. Each thrust was a deliberate, measured stroke, filling you completely and driving you further into a haze of pleasure. The heat between you built once more, the friction of his movements reigniting the fire that had momentarily subsided. Your dragon burns you alive with his pleasure and you love it. You adore it.

Satoru’s gaze never left yours, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. The way your body responded to him, the way you opened up to receive him. With every thrust, he drove you closer to the edge, your body arching and writhing beneath him in a dance of passion and surrender. The pleasure was all-consuming, each wave crashing over you with a force that left you gasping and yearning for more.

As your prince continued to move inside you, his pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a renewed urgency. The room was filled with the sound of your burning passion, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. Over and over. You could feel his weight press even more against your body as he dived further inside your cunny.

You could feel yourself nearing the edge once more, the heat and pressure building to a crescendo that threatened to consume you completely. Satoru seemed to sense this, his thrusts becoming more urgent and more demanding as he drove you both toward the end. The rhythm of his movements was relentless, each stroke pushing you closer to that precipice of bliss.

Your fingers tightened around him instinctively, holding on as if he were the only anchor in a sea of overwhelming sensation. His name spilled from your lips in a breathless chant, a testament to the pleasure that coursed through you with every thrust. Satoru’s body was a solid, reassuring presence above you, his muscles flexing with each powerful movement.

The intensity of his speed left you gasping, the relentless pace driving you to the brink of ecstasy. Your body responded eagerly, hips rising to meet each of his forceful thrusts as you clung to him desperately. The room was filled with the sounds of your shared passion, a symphony of moans and gasps that underscored the intensity of the moment.

Satoru’s focus was absolute, his blue haze locked on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. There was a determination in his eyes, a promise that he would take you both to the heights of pleasure and beyond. Each movement was precise and calculated, his control and power evident in every thrust.

As you approached the peak, the flames of pleasure became all-consuming, it burned you. It drowned you in its tidal wave of sensation that threatened to sweep you both away. The heat and pressure reached a fever pitch, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge, ready to fall into the abyss of ecstasy.

With a final, powerful thrust, Satoru drove you both over the edge, the release crashing over you like a wave. Your body shuddered in his arms, the sensation so intense that it left you breathless and trembling. His own climax followed swiftly, his body tense and shaking as he joined you in the blissful release.

In the aftermath, you lay entwined, the world around you fading into insignificance. The pleasure had left you both utterly satisfied, your bodies still humming with the remnants of ecstasy. As your breaths slowly returned to normal, you found comfort in the warmth of his embrace. Satoru’s fingers gently caressed your skin, his touch a soothing balm in the wake of the storm. His presence was a comforting weight, your everything.

When he was finally relieved, your Satoru rose to meet your gaze, his eyes filled with a tender intensity that left you breathless. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, and you tasted the echoes of your own pleasure on his lips. With every touch, every whispered word, he made it clear that you were his world, his everything. 

“Will you wed me? On the morrow?”

Satoru’s question hung in the air, a whisper filled with promise and longing. His eyes searched yours, looking for the answer he already knew but needed to hear. The sincerity in his gaze, the way he held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, made your heart swell with emotion.

“On the morrow?” you repeated, your voice a mixture of surprise and joy. It was a bold proposition, defying the expectations of the court and the king himself. Of the realm and tradition itself. Yet in Satoru’s arms, those concerns seemed distant, inconsequential. 

“Yes, my love.” he replied, his voice steady and sure. “I want the world to know that you are mine, not just in heart but in name.  I want them to see you as my wife. Let them see the strength of our bond, the truth of our love.”

The thought of becoming his wife, of sharing a future together free from the shadows of secrecy, sent a thrill through you. You could imagine the look on the faces of those who doubted your place beside him, the satisfaction of proving them wrong with every step you took as his bride. You would become a princess, you would become his queen. 

Your mouth opened for a moment, as though ready to say something. But you close it once again. You turned to him, looking into his blue eyes. They were ever so certain, already decided. Ever so clear. His love, it was only for you. His maiden fair. He was only waiting for you. A moment of silence passes you both by.

“I will, my love.” you answered, your voice filled with unwavering certainty. “I will wed you, Satoru, my love, my prince.”

His smile was radiant, a reflection of the joy that filled him. Your chest swells at the happiness that you could see in his face. You don’t think you have ever seen him this happy. He pulled you into another kiss, this one filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. It was a promise sealed with the warmth of his lips, a vow that transcended words.

“We will stand together, my love.” Satoru murmured against your mouth, his hands cradling your face with infinite care. “Through whatever flames may come, we will face them as one. I swear to you. I will choose only you.”

The certainty in his words, the unyielding strength of his conviction, wrapped around you like a protective embrace. In this moment, there was no room for doubt or fear—only the promise of a future where love triumphed over all.

As you lay entwined in each other’s arms, you felt a profound sense of peace, knowing that the morrow would bring a new beginning. The path ahead might be fraught with challenges, but with Satoru by your side, you were ready to face them all together. The dragon and the maiden fair.

[delicatestones]

Various Parahuman Teen Couples Go To The Mall

Brian and Taylor: Going to the mall is a normal thing neither of them enjoy, which is precisely why they convince themselves that they should do it. Brian musters up hope that he will be able to carry Taylor's bags and wait for her on benches outside of clothes stores, which will affirm his value as a man. Taylor, who only wants to buy a single hoodie, anxiously refuses to let Brian carry her bag because she doesn't want to be a burden, which banishes Brian to the Masculine Insecurity Pocket Dimension in his own mind. They attempt to rally by going to the food court, where they try to have an awkward 'normal' conversation over greasy pizza slices.

Fortunately, a supervillain they have history with attacks the mall mid-pizza, and they rush off to change in the mall bathrooms and return to thoroughly beat the interloper's ass. Brian apologizes for the mall date going wrong (secretly relieved, also deeply compelled by watching Taylor break a guy's arm with a baton) while Taylor says it's no big deal (even more relieved, mesmerized by Brian's visible sweat on the back of his neck). They may or may not awkwardly touch hands at the fire exit before they flee the scene of the crime.

Krouse and Noelle (Pre-Simurgh): On a quest for limited edition Ransack merch at the Gamestop, which turns out to be all sold out or on reserve. Krouse tries to social engineer it out of the clerk anyway, but Noelle gets so visibly uncomfortable he desists. In the depths of excruciating failure he says something shitty about the guy's haircut after they leave the store and Noelle tells him he's being a dick, which he apologizes excessively for in a way that just makes it more awkward.

In a now desperate effort to turn things around, Krouse tries to lighten the mood by latching onto listing Alternative Mall Activities including one of those photo booth set ups. He makes fun of how cliche they are and how it would be completely lame if they went into one, which transitions into cajoling Noelle to join him in this extremely cringe activity for the bit. She says her hair looks dumb and she doesn't want to, so he gallantly offers her his over-sized hoodie so she can hide her face the entire time, a gesture he does not realize extends the shelf life of their relationship for a solid two weeks. His visible joy when she agrees to the idea adds another week to the tail end of that. They hold hands on the way to the parking lot.

His copy of their photos becomes an instantly precious memento he sticks on the wall above his bed; Noelle puts hers in her picture shoebox in her closet. He spends all night on E-bay overbidding for the merch.

Krouse and Noelle (Post-Simurgh): Twelve Injured One Dead In 'Food Court Nightmare'.

Dean and Victoria: It takes Victoria half an hour to get ready for a mall trip. Dean shows up too early to pick her up and engages Carol Dallon in small talk for twenty minutes, a time span in which Carol manages to list every single one of Victoria's deepest insecurities in the form of barely veiled criticism while Dean smiles like he's being held at gunpoint.

At the mall they get stopped outside the Gap by a gaggle of Glory Girl preteen fans. Dean holds Victoria's bags (many) while she goes through the New Wave Fan Experience Checklist. Victoria says something afterwards to him on the way to the next store that hints at the Dallon Torment Nexus. Dean continues smiling and offers the mildest possible effort at sympathy, which Victoria reacts to with virulent irritation, so he gives up and buys her a mall outlet jewelry store diamond tennis bracelet instead. Thus mollified, she proceeds to allow him to obtain Jamba Juice for the both of them. It's another normal (bad) day in Brockton Bay.

Aisha and Alec: There strictly to cause problems for the sake of causing problems. Alec 'distracts' the staff at Hot Topic by faking a fall into a rack of studded belts and loudly insisting he will sue them for emotional and psychic damages while Aisha shoplifts bracelets. They buy hot pretzels and perch on the edge of the mall fountain marked 'NO LOITERING' to conspicuously loiter while occasionally kicking each other in the ankle. When a security guard tries to get them to move they collaborate on roasting his bloodline back to medieval times, triggering rent-a-cop wrath and a threat to call the Real Cops.

Now officially Wronged By The System, they decamp to breaking into the mall's back corridors (going through an unlocked access door) to vandalize the security office while throwing gummy worms at each other's mouths and missing 70% of the time. In high spirits, they make their cunning exit (leaving through the same door) and sneak into a horror movie at the mall theater halfway through its run time. They heckle the on-screen slasher victims for being idiots until an usher shows up with the original security guard, and then book it for the outside world while laughing like small and charming hyenas.

They agree they should totally rob the mall for real later, preferably while Brian and Taylor are on their make-up mall date, because they are good and kind teammates who only want the best for them.

(This post inspired by the learned discourses of Wormblr character understanders, particularly users lakesbian and simurghed. Any mischaracterizations and errors are my own. These hypotheticals are a non-representative sample of Ways They Could Be At The Mall.)

[sunboki]

⎯ SUMMER SOLACE. (TEASER) a StrayKids fiction

Stray Kids x implied! fem. reader (no poly)

TROPE. friends to lovers (not really lovers, more just strangers to friends), summerschool! au, reader is in student council as class prez

WARNINGS. cursing, very troubled childhoods, han lacks parental figures, minho’s mother passed, bullies, mentions of depression & anxiety, just overall very angsty themes, healing, sadness, comfort comfort comfort — ALL OF THE ISSUES/TROUBLES OF CHARACTERS ARE 100% FICTION

AUG'S NOTES. and without further ado comes one of my favorite pieces i think i’ve ever written before! well, this is only the teaser, but hopefully you enjoy!! please stay tuned for posting :)

SYNOPSIS. It was never your intention to be the one in charge of a summer school class—a troubled summer school class, but here you were. Eight boys in this classroom, all with their individual stories and silenced opinions. And somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to give up on them.

or alternatively :

Eight kids, one purpose. Get them to be okay with one another — with themselves — by the end of the summer.

Eight kids, one purpose.

Get them to be okay with one another.

Although, you didn’t realize that yet. That your Class President position would throw you right into such a mess (or what you referred to it as the first time you got word).

We all have the things we hate. The things we say we “heavily dislike”. But in reality, we hate it. It incessantly grates our nerves, has our patience forming into a ticking pipe bomb, enough that sometimes, we explode. Say things we don’t mean, get angry, get mad. 

The thing that sets these boys apart, according to the acknowledgements paper you were given, is that they don’t even try to be sweet, they don’t ask for forgiveness. Not towards one another, and most certainly not towards anything else. 

Your job is just as you said. Get them to be okay with one another. 

Catch? There’s a time limit. 

Twelve weeks of summer school. 

Twelve weeks for eight boys to, no, not be nice to each other, not be best friends (not even friends), but just to be okay with being in the same room, be within six feet of each other without tearing someone’s throat — or their own — out.

Is it simple? Absolutely not. 

You want to try though, because up till now, everyone has given up on these boys. People that the school district have deemed always successful have pushed them aside, called them impossible. 

You won’t be the next to give up. 

Twenty chairs in the classroom, yet not two sit next to each other, spaced out by at least three chairs per person. 

Your roster sits upon your desk, listing their names by alphabetical order. 

(Sitting on the furthest end of the classroom) Bahng, Christopher - nickname: Chan

He’s a football player (god knows how), who, despite hardly showing up to practices and arriving to random games—is always responsible for their wins. In some way you’re sure that’s the only reason he hasn’t been kicked off. 

Christopher’s an interesting case. 

He’s got amazing grades and passes school without fail, but no one has any clue about his home situation or whether he even has a home or not. You’re told he’s extremely distant and closed off, sort of void to life. He was sent due to excessive absences.

(Planted dead front of the class) Han, Jisung 

His record states he’s been sent to the counselor eleven times in the first two weeks of school for disruptions and inappropriate behavior. Jisung has an older brother who’s valedictorian, but they never speak to one another and don’t seem to have the best relationship. He’s said to be obnoxiously straight-forward and senseless, you wonder if it’s true. 

(Nearest to the window on your right) Hwang, Hyunjin

Despite his popular facade, Hyunjin is regarded as the “troublesome face-card” by many deans and counselors alike. Students adore his looks, but he couldn’t butt heads more with Jisung, and they’re often sent out together. Hyunjin is believed to have a worrisome superiority complex according to the last counselor he’s been seen by.  

(Opposite of Hyunjin across the classroom) Kim, Seungmin

Not much has been recorded as far as Seungmin goes. He’s apparently a huge instigator in lots of illegal activity surrounding campus, but no one’s certain. His last counselor claimed he stayed silent throughout his consultation and answered suspiciously vague for almost every question. 

(A few seats behind Jisung) Lee, Felix

Both him and Christopher have been reported for vandalizing parts of the school in odd, incomprehensible words like “Miroh” and “Maze of Memories”. Some gossip that they’re secretly a part of an underground gang. But upon first glance, Felix looks harmle—

A hand raising grabs your attention. It’s Jisung, wearing a grin when you nod for him to speak. 

“How much for a tit-pic, Teach?”

Everyone is silent, and you hear Hyunjin stifle a snicker in the distance. 

So this is what they meant by inappropriate behavior.

The corner of your lips twitch slightly, but you successfully maintain an unnerved expression, instead, smiling back at him. 

“Let’s not ask questions like that, alright?”

Jisung amusedly huffs, still eyeing you incredulously. Although, he doesn’t say any more, and you continue down the roster’s descriptions.

Lee Minho whose info is conspicuously sparse , Seo Changbin who lashes out randomly without clear conscience (some claim he’s bipolar, you think different), and Yang Jeongin remain, bio’s dotted in unspecified theft attempts, assumed messy family situations and brief mentions of mental illness that seems to a follow a similar pattern to the rest. 

Stacking the papers upon your desk, you card eight sheets of notebook paper from the drawer, walking through rows of desks to pass each boy a slip. 

All eyes are on you now, and your breathing feels excessively loud in the stifling quietness. 

Lightly clapping your hands together in hopes of stirring some sort of sound in this stale air, you speak as fluidly and audibly as your voice will let you. 

“Today’s assignment is simple. I want you to write everything about yourself.”

Confused brows lift, primarily from Minho.

“Whether it’s what you like to do, what you don’t like to do, your favorite things, your favorite places, books, movies.”

Another hand raises. Changbin, you remember his name.

“Yes?”

“We’re not in fifth fuckin’ grade.” He growls, words booming. That was another complaint: Changbin’s explosively unprovoked opinions. 

Biting back the urge to snap back, you place both hands on the podium at the front of the class, essentially grounding yourself. 

“Yes, well this is—“ 

Somebody grumbles an incoherent sentence, and Changbin is immediately on his feet, chair squealing, eyes wild with fury. 

Second complaint: his flaming temper. 

Grabbing a fistful of Chan’s shirt (presumably the one who muttered), he sizes up the taller boy, spitting wild curses.

Inhaling deeply, you approach them, withholding the instinct to wince at Changbin’s yelling. 

“Changbin, please go back to your seat,” You usher, watching them never take their eyes off one another. Chan is eerily unmoved, though effortlessly intimidating nevertheless. 

The former spins around, shoving the other boy off to the side and resorting to sizing you up now, chin lifted, gaze belittling. 

One press and you’ll have assistance come in and help. You remind yourself, referring to the small red button residing in your pocket that sends a direct call to the other counselors. 

What good will that do? Your first step is getting them to be okay with you, not to mention each other.

No. You can do this, you’ll be fine. 

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” He spits, glaring as you back up the more he steps forward. That is till you stop and cause him to stop as well, leaving only a few centimeters separating your faces. 

“Because,” You ease, shoving a finger into the center of his chest sternly. “I’m your teacher now, and you’re stuck with me. So deal with it.” 

Tilting your head, you meet his eyes, hooded behind a veil of black hair. 

“I’m sure a fifth grader could understand that, right?”

And with that, you point to his seat and spin on your heel, taking a seat and watching the boys, one by one, lower their heads and begin writing. Well, excluding Changbin, who’s hands stick by his sides, staring at you. 

He chews his lip then turns around, shuffling back to his desk. 

By the time the dismissal bell echoes, you would like to say you see light in the distance, but the endless tunnel ahead tells you you’re far from even beginning.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[tomriddleslove]

Forgotten once again.

✩Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where Tom isn’t capable of love, but you thought you could change that. Alternatively: Possesiveness and Love become the same thing.

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this one because Tom’s character is sm fun to write. It’s interesting because despite my delusions I couldn’t ever imagine him being capable of loving someone, and if he did it would be like this. Also this is probably the last time i’ll post for the next three weeks!

Warnings: Toxic Relationships, mentions of manipulation, violence (towards others). Generally about a very toxic and unhealthy relationship so please do not read if you’re triggered by anything to do with this! My inbox is always open if you ever need someone to talk to 🫶🏼.

Songs: Leaving Tonight - The Neighbourhood

Spectre - Radiohead

Tom Riddle was many things.

For one, he was ambitious. He would achieve whatever he so desired. If he had the means to do it, it would be done immediately. If he did not, well...

He would find the means to do so. Because Tom Riddle achieved whatever he so desired.

He was also charismatic.

Tom had a natural charisma that drew people to him. Whether through his charm, intelligence, or a combination of both, he had a magnetic presence that captivated those around him. This charisma played a significant role in his ability to influence and manipulate others to further his ambitions.

Tom Riddle was brilliant. Gifted with a sharp mind and a keen understanding of magic, he excelled in his studies. His intelligence, coupled with his ambition, allowed him to delve into dark magic and ancient mysteries, seeking knowledge and power that others might shy away from.

Tom Riddle was many things, but there was only one thing he lacked.

Perhaps it was karma, some form of divine intervention, his hamartia, that it was this very thing that would be his downfall in the years to come.

Tom was many things, but loving was not one of them.

Tom Riddle was not loving. No - he was not capable of love.

Tom Riddle, was incapable of experiencing genuine love due to being conceived under the influence of a love potion, not true love. The circumstances of Tom’s conception were marked by coercion and manipulation, as his mother, Merope Gaunt, used a love potion to attract and bind Tom Riddle Sr. to her. It was artificial and devoid of true affection. This was a concrete and inexplicably tragic detail that meant Tom Riddle simply was not physically capable of reciprocating love.

Key word, reciprocating. For, it was very much possible for someone to fall in love with Tom. A cruel thing it would be, for one cannot simply love Lucifer himself and expect to be loved in return. Tom Riddle's incapacity for reciprocating love stemmed from a profound emotional void rather than an inability to elicit affection from others.

This fact was a cruel truth that you only chose to accept once it was too late. One does not simply get involved with Tom Riddle, and come out unscathed.

Tom never cared for love, really. To him, it was just some sort of transaction or tool, something to be manipulated for his own benefit. Love, in Tom Riddle's eyes, was a means to an end rather than an intrinsic value. It was a sentiment that he observed in others but never truly felt himself.

Love, however, seemed to be the most raw, human thing in existence. It was everything we hated, yet also everything we loved. It unravelled our deepest insecurities, it brought things to the surface that we had long pushed to the side. It required us to lay ourselves, bare, for the other to see. Love made us tolerate the very worst of things, love made us hate the very best of things.

Many things can be complementary in life. Love was not one of them. It was overpowering, consuming. It changed who you were.

Love was the beginning of life and the end of it. Love was part of being human.

Tom lacking this fundamentally crucial aspect of the human experience may have been the very thing that led him to despise his humanity.

When Tom had met you, it was slightly different. A puzzle piece that didn't quite fit but intrigued him nonetheless.

You were undeniably talented, a mind that had its worth. You had this air of arrogance, and whilst Tom hated unbacked arrogance, you had the means to justify it. You were self-assured, and he found it to be somewhat refreshing compared to the other people he knew (who unashamedly sucked up to him.) You didn’t fall for his tricks immediately, which made him all the more agitated, and intrigued. Rather, you seemed to enjoy being with Tom most when he’d drop the ‘perfect and polite’ facade he had. You valued honesty and bluntness, two things Tom did not do (After all, how would he gain the trust of others if he truthfully told them he planned on using every single one of them?)

However, the more time he spent with you, the more he found that he fed into what you liked. And somehow, to his dismay, he found some sort of sick satisfaction in it. He enjoyed seeing you actively seek out his presence, and as much as it went against what Tom believed, he liked the validation of having people want to be associated with him. It was a testament to how he longed to be known, to be admired. He observed, learned, and dissected your intricacies, seeing you not as an individual but as a canvas upon which he could project his desires.

He soon grew very used to you, and he didn't absolutely loathe you. As the days unfolded into months, and the months unfolded into years, a semblance of tolerance took root. He played the part, masking his true intentions beneath a veneer of charm. Tolerance morphed into a twisted form of acknowledgement — an acknowledgement that you held a role in his future ambitions, his ultimate goal.

After all, that's all he ever did anything for, right? His goals, His desires. His needs.

The evolution was subtle but insidious. What began as a detached fascination transformed into a possessive need. Tom, driven by an insatiable hunger for control, found satisfaction in manipulating the threads of your existence. Obsession seeped into every crevice of his thoughts. Your every action became a challenge to him, something for him to understand, something he wanted to have control over. His infatuation stemmed from a desire to have control, to claim your very being, to possess you like some sort of artefact in his prized possessions.

Whilst you may have been immune to Tom’s charm when you first met, you certainly weren't without your weakness. After all, Tom always got what he wanted, and if he didn't have the means to do so, he'd find it.

He became fluent in his ways of understanding you, observing every little thing you did. He dissected the very core of your being till he was sure there was nothing he wouldn't know. Casual conversations about schoolwork in the depths of the library turned to confessions about your life as the hours passed. Tom preyed on your vulnerability, sowing seeds of doubt into your mind.

He agreed with you when you expressed your frustrations at your friends, he encouraged your rash actions. He told you what you wanted to hear, and made it seem as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

As everything he did, each word he spoke was carefully calculated, a thread sewn in the fabric of your fucked up relationship, binding him inexplicably closer to you without even realising.

He pointed out things, seemingly from a place of concern, making you distance yourself from your friends. He highlighted instances where your friends might have let you down, carefully framing himself as the only steadfast pillar in your life. Tom was everything you could have needed; he understood you, and he made you feel seen.

He was selective about what he let you know. He let you know he had grown up in a children’s home, and that his mother had died. Trust was a two-way thing, and you were smart enough to detect when it wasn’t being reciprocated. He let you see what he wanted to see, for no human was perfect, and he needed you to see he had his imperfections if he wanted you to trust him.

He needed to make it seem as though you made him feel seen too.

Tom had been sitting in your room, working with you on a transfiguration assignment you both had been set. Cross-legged on your bed, he still remembers how you had sat down next to him, visibly frustrated.

Tom, ever attuned to you, asked whether you were ok because that's what someone who cared for you did. He didn't care greatly though, not in a selfless way. Rather, he needed you to know that he was the only person who knew you, the only person you needed.

You opened up about what had happened, explaining how your friends had betrayed your trust, and how they seemed to misunderstand you, leaving you feeling isolated and vulnerable. Tom, feigning empathy with expert precision, listened intently, absorbing every detail like a sponge. You began crying because it all became too much.

You never thought Tom would comfort you. You believed he'd perhaps pat your back, or assure you it was all fine. What you didn't expect, was for Tom to draw you in, to wrap his arms around you, and pull you into his chest. You didn't expect him to soothe you, and rub your back as he uttered words of comfort into your ear, seemingly shielding you from the emotions that had been weighing you down.

You didn't expect to feel safe, to feel protected. If only you knew the only thing you needed protection from, was Tom himself.

You felt special. You knew it was not in Tom's nature to do so. You had no idea how vile of a person he truly was, but you understood he was avoidant of sentiment or affection. For him to have been so tender, made you feel loved.

It was only ever bound to go downhill from there.

It was only natural that you had fallen in love with him. From there it all somewhat became a blur. In between the lines, the illusion of love was beginning to waver. Graduating from Hogwarts, you no longer held those ambitions you once had. Your plans seemed now to be a distant memory, a past life. You had Tom, and that was all that mattered.

Tom had gotten his job at Borgin and Burkes. You moved in with him. You ignored the pleas of concern from those who were near and dear to you, who Tom hadn’t managed to isolate you from.

Tom convinced you that they did not have your best interest in mind, that they didn’t like him because he was a poor orphan, working a salesperson job. He had earlier convinced you he had his insecurities about his past, and he used that to make you believe the people around you were prejudiced, that they didn't care for your happiness but rather their status being affected by who they associated with. No one would want to be acquainted with the girl who loved the charity case.

You believed him. You couldn't fathom why they didn’t like Tom. You shut them out.

It was rather terrifying seeing how quickly Tom could snuff out your fiery flame, and reduce you down to someone who became dependent on him. You rarely left the house, your life revolved around what Tom wanted, and how Tom felt.

He left you teetering on the precipe of unhappiness, fulfilling your needs to the point where you couldn’t complain for fear of seeming ungrateful, unloving.

He would neglect you, coming back from work to lock himself in your bedroom, pouring over books and writings. He wasn’t who he used to be, caring, affectionate, loving.

Shame on you for assuming you could make Tom capable of love.

His neglect pierced your soul, and when you mustered the courage to voice your needs, he snapped at you for bothering him. Tom's transformation into an emotionally distant stranger left you in a state of perpetual uncertainty.

At times, you resolved to leave him, but Tom had a knack for sensing your unrest. As though he could read your mind, he returned with offerings and apologies, painting himself as the troubled victim and casting you as the ungrateful perpetrator. Guilt became the shackle that bound you, and his apologies only deepened the wounds.

Tom, in those fleeting moments of remorse, would momentarily embody the man you had fallen in love with. You cooked dinner together. He’ d play with your hair as you read, and he fucked you as if he truly did love you. Yet, the morning after, the bed would be empty, and the reality of your entangled existence with Tom would once again sink in.

He began leaving for work earlier and coming back later. You began to doubt whether it was because of work, the day he came back reeking of dark magic.

You were undeniably clever, after all, that was what had sparked Tom’s obsession with you in the first place, and so it didn’t take long for you to connect the dots. Tom’s friends back in Hogwarts seemed more like devotees than anything else. This, coupled with him spending countless hours reading through books he wouldn't let you see, and his sudden late hours suggested to you he was dappling in dark things.

You weren't wrong, per se, but Tom was far beyond dappling in dark things. He had become the image of corruption itself.

The cycle persisted, a disheartening repetition of highs and lows that left you questioning your worth and the authenticity of the connection you had with Tom. His intermittent displays of affection, punctuated by periods of neglect and manipulation, became the norm. The more you yearned for stability, the deeper you sank into the quicksand of your toxic relationship.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly where neglect turned into heated words. Arguments turning more and more intense. Slammed doors became broken porcelain, yet the remorseful embraces remained the same.

The outside world, once filled with friends and dreams, now seemed like a distant echo. Tom had successfully eroded the foundations of your past life, isolating you from the support systems that could have provided a lifeline. His poisonous whispers had convinced you that only he truly cared for you, painting the rest of the world as indifferent or antagonistic.

The empty mornings and hollow apologies continued, and you slowly began to realise the love you once believed in had become a warped caricature, and the person you had fallen for had let his obsession manifest into your relationship, seeping through the feeble foundations.

The crisp air of Hogsmeade offered a welcome escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the shared home with Tom. As you strolled through the quaint village, a familiar face caught your eye – Elizabeth, your closest friend from Hogwarts. A twinge of nostalgia mixed with apprehension as you approached her.

"Hey, Elizabeth," you greeted, attempting a smile.

Her response was guarded, her eyes revealing a mixture of concern and wariness. "Hello. Long time no see."

You sensed a tension in the air as you tried to engage in small talk, but Elizabeth's words soon cut through the facade. "Look, What happened? You dropped off the face of the earth, and it's like you vanished after graduation. In our last year, you completely ignored all of us."

A knot tightened in your stomach as you fumbled for an explanation. "I... things have been complicated. I've been busy."

Elizabeth's expression softened, and she sighed. "Busy? More like completely consumed. We all missed you, you know? But you acted like we don't even exist. What happened to the person we used to know?"

You frown, crossing your arms. “Missed me? I only stopped talking to you because you all acted weird around me.” You respond, defensively.

“No, we didn't. You got angry at us when we told you we were worried for you. You rarely went out with us, you were always too busy elsewhere.” She corrected, and you felt a frustration bubble within you.

“No, it didn’t really seem like that. You all isolated me and the only person I had left was Tom. It was only natural that I wouldn't want to go back to being friends with you after that.” You snap.

Elizabeth's eyes widened, sympathy replacing her earlier frustration. "Tom? Are you serious? He's the one who isolated you, not us. We've been worried sick about you. You're not the same person anymore."

Who did she think she was? She knew nothing about the two of you, let alone what your relationship was like. Tom was right, these people had it out for you. They didn't care for you, not at all.

“You don't know what our relationship is like Elizabeth, so I suggest you stop making assumptions.” You hiss, glaring at her.

"We cared, but you pushed us away," Elizabeth explained gently. "You were so wrapped up in whatever was going on with Tom that you stopped caring about anyone else. It's not healthy, and we were genuinely concerned."

Elizabeth reached out to comfort you. "Listen, I know it's tough, but you need to reevaluate your situation. Staying with Tom isn't healthy, and you're not alone. My door is always open if you need somewhere to stay or someone to talk to.” She says, fumbling around in her pockets. She pulls out a receipt and hastily scribbles down an address, thrusting it into your hand. She gives you one last look of pity, and you feel enraged. You immediately apparate back home, you didn't have time for this foolishness.

You apparate back home, the confrontation with Elizabeth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. The hastily scribbled address clutched in your hand feels like an unwanted invitation, an intrusion into the carefully constructed reality that Tom has woven around you.

As you step into the shared home, the atmosphere is unsettling. Tom is hunched over a dark tome, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as you enter.

"Where have you been?" he questions, the softness of his tone belying the underlying intensity.

You toss your coat aside, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "Out. I needed a break from all this," you retort, the words laced with the anger that has been building up.

A dangerous glint enters Tom's eyes, his composure slipping. "A break? Is that how you see it? Is it a burden to you?"

"Yes, Tom! I don’t know what’s gone wrong? One day you’re fin and the next you’re acting as though i’m a nuisance to your being," you snap, the resentment in your voice cutting through the room.

His posture stiffens, and a quiet threat laces his words. "Oh really?"

Your anger flares, a defiant fire pushing back against his dominance. "Guess who I saw today, hmm?" You seethe, venom lingering in your tone.

A momentary confusion flickers in Tom's eyes. "Who?" he questions, wondering how this could be relevant to the conversation.

"Elizabeth," you declare, watching his reaction closely.

Tom's expression darkens, and a cold tension settles in the room. "What does she have to do with anything?" He retorts, stepping closer to you.

"She told me a few things, Tom. About how I've distanced myself from everyone, how they were worried, and you know what struck me?" you press on, your anger finding a new target.

His eyes narrow, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "What?"

"That I believed it was my friends who had abandoned me, but in reality, it's been you isolating me all along," you accuse, the realization fueling your rage. You jab your finger into his chest as you speak.

Tom's composure wavers, but he quickly recovers. "I've been protecting you. You can't trust them. They're trying to pull you away from me."

"Stop. Stop it, Tom. Have the decency to acknowledge I'm not that fucking stupid. I know what you're trying to do,” You say, voice cracking. You resist the urge to shield your ears, his words burrowing their way into you as he attempts to trivialise your worries, making you out to be the irrational one.

Tom frowns, and the sight of you beginning to doubt him had bile riding in the back of his throat. H reaches out, hands holding onto your shoulders as he urges you to look at him.

“They’re lying to you. They’re trying to pull you away from me again! Can't you see this? Why do you believe them over me?” He says, voice pleading with you in fake desperation, the lengths he was willing to go to to ensure he could continue to possess you were unthinkable.

“Enough. Im fucking done. You’re so fucked up, Tom. You never loved me, did you? You only ever wanted to own me, to control me. Tell me, was it worth it? Was it ever fucking worth it, spending 5 years of your life weaving this tapestry of bullshit just so you could keep me locked up in here?” You snap, grabbing your coat.

Tom's pleading expression transforms into a cold mask, and a sinister calm settles over him. "You think you can just leave? You're mine, and you'll stay. I won't let you go." He utters.

The realization of his true nature, the toxicity of the relationship, fuels your determination. "Watch me,” You hiss.

As you move toward the door, his grip on control slips further, and an unsettling mix of rage and desperation flashes in his eyes. "You'll regret this. You'll come crawling back. You always come back." He says. You take a single look at him before slamming the door and walking off.

One cannot simply dance with the devil, and change him. He always changes you.

Tom Riddle was far beyond the devil.

You wondered if for once in your life God had been on your side when you had that chance encounter with Elizabeth. Despite your harsh words, she had accepted you into her home with open arms. The weight of the past five years settles heavily on your shoulders, and the enormity of what you've lost becomes painfully clear. You were young, so damn young, and you’d been living as a glorified prisoner, trapped by the very thing that was meant to liberate you.

But love was ugly, wasn't it? It made you tolerate the bad, it made you irrational. Love could bare its teeth into your neck, and you'd let it, for love was ugly.

It was ugly, but it was not macabre.

Tom knew where you were. Tom always did. It was already established that Tom always got what he wanted. He wanted you, and he found a way to ensure that.

At first, he did not bother you.

He believed you would come back to him, as you so often did. But when a week had passed and you had not reappeared as you always did, beautiful face flushed red, eyes glossy with tears as you wordlessly stepped in and fell back into normality, he began to worry.

If it came to any relief to you, which it might have, Tom believed he loved you. What you had was a far cry from love, an echo of what it should have been. But in the mind of he who cannot love, this is what he believed it to be. One could only wonder whether everything would have been different if he actually knew what love was. But he didn't, and he never would, so he was left with some sort of fucked up obsession that he believed was love.

Tom felt a gnawing emptiness that only intensified with your departure.

Again, he loved you, if one could call it love. It was a sick, twisted version of affection that demanded ownership. In his distorted reality, your existence became an extension of his own, a possession he couldn't bear to lose. The mere thought of you breaking free ignited a desperate panic within him.

He needed you like a drowning man gasping for air, clinging to the last vestiges of sanity.

Schopenhauer believed that the will, a blind and irrational force, dominated human behaviour. Love, according to Schopenhauer, was an expression of the will's desire.

Tom felt this indescribable gap in his life without you there, as though he simply wasn’t complete without you. The old him would have hated to admit it, but he needed you, and his need for you grew from a sickly infatuation to a desperate yearning. Love, in his distorted reality, meant ownership, and he was losing his grip.

It was a rather bleak evening, and you had a horrible feeling in your stomach as you sat on the sofa of Elizabeth’s living room, where you had been presiding for the past week.

How cruel it was, that you and Tom were so attuned to one another.

You somehow knew it was Tom without needing to see them.

As Tom had resonated with the words of Schopenhauer, you had resonated with the words of Plato. For you, love could not be controlled. Instead, it was a divine madness that took hold of individuals, transcending rational thought and choice.

You had often thought that was a beautiful thing. However, when it was love that was causing your demise, it no longer felt beautiful.

Elizabeth comes down the stairs and raises a brow when she sees you perched on the edge of the sofa, staring blankly off into the distance. She eyes you apprehensively as she opens the door.

That voice. It simultaneously sent dread coursing through you, and butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“Come back now. It's been far too long.” Tom says, his voice oh so tempting.

“Seriously? You think you can get her back with that bullshit?” Elizabeth snaps, standing at the door.

Tom, however, remains fixated on you, as if Elizabeth's words were mere background noise. Ignoring her comments, he continues, his eyes piercing into your conflicted gaze.

"Stop this. Come back. It's where you belong," he urges, the words carrying a persuasive weight that had once held you captive.

Elizabeth's frustration peaked as she turned to face you, pleading in her eyes. "Don't listen to him. He's toxic, and you don't need that in your life. You deserve so much more."

Tom's eyes bore into yours, his tone silky but insistent. "You don't belong in our business, Elizabeth. You’re as meddlesome as you were in school. She knows where she belongs."

You remain silent.

"He's killing you. Can't you see that?" Elizabeth's voice held a mixture of concern and frustration.

But Tom's voice slithered through the air once more, persuasive and relentless. "Come to me.” His words echoed a twisted sense of possessiveness, yet held such allure, spoken tenderly, enough to convince you it would be fine.

You clench your fists, nails digging into your skin. You stand up, letting out a shuddery breath. You walk towards the door.

“Fuck, stop! You don't need to go! Don't act like you have nowhere to go! I've given you my home, I’ve let you stay. Stop going back!” Elizabeth says, frustration laced in her voice.

How easy it is to claim you simply need to just “stop”, and it would all be fine.

It was never that simple. Tom's presence was poison, yet it was also the air you breathed. You had only known Tom for what felt like aeons, and you had shut everyone who questioned you out. All you had was Tom, all you ever would have is Tom.

He was home, a twisted kind that keeps you warm while slowly suffocating the life out of you.

As you walked back into his outstretched arms, a sense of numb acceptance settled over you. The outside world ceased to matter; the only reality was the one with Tom.

It wasn't love as the poets wrote or the philosophers pondered. Yet, in its ugliness, it was the only reality you knew.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around. Like a serpent, his embrace constricts around you, possessive and suffocating. You lean into him, feeling the coldness of his touch seep into your skin. It's oddly warming though, as paradoxical as it seemed.

"Where else would you go, my love?" he whispers, the sweetness of the endearment masking the toxicity beneath.

The serpent and its prey, bound in a perverse waltz of dependence and decay, disappear into the shadows, and the world outside is forgotten once again.

[sammys-magical-au]

Night Furies & aging - a theory on the changes in Toothless’ design and behaviours

[I definitely didn’t accidentally delete this post the first time I tried making it and scream silently for five minutes]

Ok so strap in y’all, cuz this’ll probably be a long one, but I have some ideas as to why Toothless looks and acts so differently between the first and third films, since it’s something I’ve noticed a lot of people in the fandom talking about (especially recently with the announcement of the unnecessary live-action remake), and while a lot of the criticisms are totally valid (and this post is not meant to argue against those criticisms), I do have an alternate theory/headcanon about the changes we see in Toothless’ design and personality that I like a lot better than just thinking it’s the design team purposely fucking up a really good character to make him more appealing to children (even though that’s definitely what it is, again, I’m not saying that interpretation is wrong, this one is just more fun bc I get to ramble about biology and such 👌)

Y’all with me so far? Good. Let’s dive in, shall we?

Basically, my theory revolves around the fact that Toothless is a lot younger in the first movie than we may have thought. This is even kinda backed up in the second movie, because Valka points out that Hiccup and Toothless are the same age - so, that being considered, it’s likely that humans and dragons age similarly and have similar lifespans, and therefore in the first movie, considering how young Hiccup was, it’s not far out of the realm of possibility that Toothless was a juvenile dragon at this point in the timeline. He was practically a baby.

If that’s true, then that could be a very good explanation for the changes in both his physical appearance and his behaviours. His looks changed simply because he was still growing and developing at the time of the first movie, and his physical appearance changed along with Hiccup’s, meaning they quite literally grew up together between the first and third films. His habits and behaviours on the other hand would have changed due to social influences, and growing up surrounded by humans rather than his own kind.

I’ll expand more on both of these throughout the post, but I’m gonna start with comparisons of his design changes, specifically the ones I’ve seen pointed out the most often.

___

Physical design aspects:

1 - head shape

One of the biggest talking points when it comes to Toothless’ design changes, and also one of the most notable differences, is the shape of his face - specifically from the profile view.

The shape of his head differs a lot between the first and third movies, with his brow becoming much more prominent and the slope of his nose becoming steeper. When images of his profile from the first, second, and third movies are put side by side, however, it becomes a bit more clear how this progression could indicate aging and change in skull shape/structure

For a real-world example, here’s a comparison between a tiger cub and an adult tiger from the same angle:

As you can see, there are a lot of similarities here. An adult tiger’s brow also becomes more prominent, while the head becomes a bit bulkier and more square-shaped rather than thin and rectangular. The angles of the face are also much sharper.

When put side by side, the similarities are a bit more clear, and the changes in Toothless’ design start to look a lot more like the development of a big cat from cub to adult.

2 - scale pattern

Another change that gets brought up a lot is the fact that Toothless’ scale patterns disappear soon after the first movie.

In reality, if you look closely, the patterns are still there, but they’ve faded. You can see it better on his wings:

He definitely still has spots, but they’re much less visible.

This could possibly be a form of camouflage for young night furies - similarly to how a black jaguar’s spots become less visible as they grow

With the adult jaguar, the spots are still visible, but you have to look a little harder to see them - same with adult vs juvenile Toothless

Again, the similarities to big cats are pretty noticeable when compared side-by-side.

Additionally, although we sadly don’t get a really good look at the glowy effect the Hidden World has on Toothless’ scales in the movie, from what I can see, it definitely looks like the glow makes his scale patterns a lot more visible

3 - bulkiness

The third main difference I see pointed out is the fact that Toothless bulked up a lot between the first and third movies, and that one also has a simple possibile explanation - lots of young animals bulk up as they grow, because of muscle growth!

It’s very reasonable to assume that Toothless got bulkier bc he was young in the first movie, and over time (especially considering the amount of flying and fighting he did) he developed more muscle.

Compared to a lot of large mammals, the similarities in development are once again pretty evident. And I hear what you’re saying - Toothless is a dragon, a reptile, not a mammal, but the truth of the matter is, Toothless’ design *was* heavily based on large mammals, specifically cats, so comparing him to large cats and other mammals isn’t that much of a stretch, especially when you bring into consideration that an animal of this size might develop a little differently than real-life, modern reptiles.

Now, the night lights do sort of put a wrench in this theory, specifically the scale pattern part, and especially Dart and Ruffrunner, since they have more resemblance to Toothless but don’t share his scale pattern from the first movie - and I’m willing to admit that. That being said, it would be interesting to see a night light design with similar looks to Toothless in the first movie, specifically with the scale patterns. I’ll definitely chuck that in the to-draw folder for now, bc it’s fun to explore dragon biology through my own personal takes.

___

Behavioural changes:

Now onto the second part of this already-too-long post, the changes in Toothless’ behaviour throughout the films.

In the first movie, Toothless tends to act very catlike, whereas in the second and third movies, he acts more like a dog or even a person at times. I think this could be because, if he was a juvenile when he and Hiccup met, he learned more human behaviours than the behaviours of his own kind, almost being hand-raised in a sense, since he was so young.

The light fury’s (or “Ivory”, as I tend to call her just for funsies) behaviours also showcase this, since she grew up in the wild and surrounded by her own kind (as we see at least three other light furies besides her in the Hidden World), and behaves a lot like Toothless did in the first movie, before being trained. If Toothless hadn’t had any human interaction, it’s very likely that he’d act similarly to Ivory and the way he did in the first movie.

Additionally, the reason behind his awkward behaviour around Ivory is because he doesn’t know how to act or what body language to use around another fury, as he didn’t learn. Everything he’s learned about social interactions came more from humans - which can often be seen with wild animals raised by people, their behaviour is often different from that of animals that grew up in their natural environments. This isn’t to say that I think Toothless being raised by humans is wrong - it was his only way of survival, and the relationship he has with humans is much closer to that of an animal with a wildlife conservationist rather than that of an exotic “pet” influencer on tik tok. However, having to grow up without other night furies definitely affected his social development with other furies, since he didn’t have the chance to interact with another dragon like him until he was a full-grown adult.

(This also connects to my headcanon that night/light furies live in familial groups similar to lion prides, and young dragons often stay with this group until they’re ready to find a mate and start a pride of their own. Toothless likely got separated from his pride too early, either by getting lost somehow or, since he’s said to be the last of his kind, they were all killed - either way, he wasn’t ready to leave them yet, which might also explain his heightened aggression at the beginning of the first movie, since he’s not only a wild animal but he’s also terrified and too young to be on his own.)

If you made it this far, congratulations! You’re more patient than me!! And thanks for letting me ramble about this!!!

TL:DR - Toothless was a juvenile/very young dragon in the first movie, and the changes in his appearance and behaviour stem from both his natural aging process and the fact that he was separated from his kind at a very young age and grew up with humans.

[spoilers-ahead]

okay!! now that it’s not 2am for me, i’m going to post my selkie!jason todd hc’s straight up au apparently! 

(uh. this was supposed to just be a list of hc’s but i got slightly,,,, carried away)

his selkie skin looks like an oversized red hoodie in his human form, and is just warm enough to help him survive new england winters.

when the summer heat becomes unbearable, he slings the hoodie around his waist

alternatively, he just coasts it out underwater. perks of living in a coastal city!

willis todd was a selkie. he used to tell jason stories of what it was like to swim through the big, wide ocean. of how freeing it felt. how different it is, from the smoggy, heavy air of gotham --- different, but both theirs, in their own right.

but to be honest, jason doesn’t remember much about the stories he was told, or really, anything about willis --- he had been in and out of blackgate for most of jason’s life, working for two-face to try and make ends meet, before dying. 

what jason mostly remembers, are the warnings. don’t let anybody know you’re a selkie. don’t let anybody find your skin. they will find it, and they will use it to control you. even decades later, jason would still remember those warnings. 

catherine is the one who teaches him how to swim, who helps him trial-and-error his way into putting his skin on, and learn how to make the transition seamless. 

after she dies, jason spends three months as a seal, to just... exist. forget.   

although jason technically lives on the streets, whenever he can;t find food, whenever he can’t find somewhere warm to sleep, whenever just being human becomes too unbearable, he spends the night as a seal. he ends up spending more time in the ocean, than on land.

that’s not to say he’s very good at being a seal --- he barely knows how to swim, has to learn how to fish the hard way. 

when bruce finds jason stealing his car tires, he marvels over how nice jason’s hoodie is, soft and fluffy even after all of jason’s time on the streets, especially given the condition jason is in, ribs showing from malnutrition, and the worn and raggedy shape of the rest of his stuff.

jason is skittish when he goes to live in the manor, even after a few weeks. he always adopts an expression particularly similar to a cornered wild animal around alfred in particular, alfred, who keeps on trying to take his hoodie away, purportedly to wash it.

alfred eventually gives up on trying to force jason to wash it --- he figures that as jason becomes more comfortable living at the manor, he’ll wind up telling them why he’s so protective over that hoodie, and they can work something out then. 

whenever wayne manor overwhelms jason with how big and how decadently expensive all the decor is, jason runs away, run to the ocean. 

jason doesn’t actually end up telling alfred and bruce that he’s a selkie --- bruce just has a ridiculous amount of motion alarms, which are triggered every time jason ran off. he had followed jason the third night, and saw him transform. 

bruce doesn’t tell jason that he knows, assuming that jason kept this a secret because he didn’t fully trust either of them. he would later learn that he was right in this assumption (a rare win for bruce in terms of emotional awareness)

except jason doesn’t fully trust either of them, even after a few months. bruce impulsively decides to do a few things --- a) tell jason about batman and robin and his crime-fighting secret identity, and b) tell jason he already knows about him being a selkie. 

jason is absolutely bamboozled by the fact that bruce knows, and yet hasn’t tried to take his hoodie to control him, or to stop him from playing in the ocean for a few hours. 

in fact, (under alfred’s encouragement) bruce offers to take him to the ocean during the day, so he can get “a proper night’s rest that a growing young boy such as himself would need”

jason remembers what his father told him, to never trust anyone, never let his guard down. but bruce has known about jason being a selkie for so long, and he didn’t take his hoodie or try anything. of course he can trust bruce. 

and when he tries on the robin costume for the first time, it fits perfectly. just like his hoodie, his second skin. it fits just like magic. 

oh, it’s a little loose in some places, the legacy of dick fucking grayson a little heavy sometimes, but he’ll grow into it. he’ll make himself, if he has to. 

also, jason finds the fact that even though he’s a friggin’ selkie, his callsign is a bird (a robin, no less) incredibly ironic and funny 

being a selkie is actually so useful for vigilantehood. the amount of people who talk freely, openly, and loudly about their drug smuggling plans near the ports is quite frankly, ridiculous.

honestly, towards the end of his robin years, jason remains genuinely surprised nobody catches on to him or his tactics yet. bruce is very proud.  

even though jason is safe, has been safe for three years, and trusts bruce with his life, his skin, and everything, old habits are hard to break. so he has his hoodie on when he goes to find sheila. 

and anyways, he wants to see if sheila is a selkie too. he’s taking biology right now, and they’re learning about punnett squares. jason’s never met another selkie before, other than willis who he barely remembers. there’s a possibility that sheila knows something, anything, so he has to try. 

sheila gets a glint in her eyes when jason mentions that he’s a selkie, tells him that while she’s not one herself, she’s familiar with the myth. she has long suspected that willis was a selkie, she tells him, and she’s glad to have confirmation. 

jason positively vibrates with excitement, can’t wait to ask, to pester his mother (mother!) with questions upon questions until. 

until. 

sheila doesn’t do anything after she gives him to the joker. she just smokes and smokes. and she doesn’t tell the joker about his hoodie, despite how it would have been much easier for the joker to destroy him that way. much more painful too.  

small mercies, he supposes, in between hacking coughs that brings blood bubbling up his lips. 

after he dies, his hoodie is ripped and in tatters from the crowbar, with burns along the edges from the bomb. bruce has to carefully peel it off his body. 

when jason was alive, his magic kept the hoodie in perfect condition, always. even when the rest of him was covered head-to-toe in mud, or dripping sludge from the nasty gotham sewers. 

bruce stares at the same hoodie, blood-soaked and mangled, so incredibly dissonant from how he remembered it on jason, when he was bright, whole, and alive. 

he can’t stand it. the hoodie that was so precious to jason, that was jason, at the core of him, in this state. dirty and ripped and devoid of the magic jason had exuded. 

in a moment of desperation, late at night, bruce asks alfred to teach him how to sew. he doesn’t dare to practice on jason’s beloved hoodie --- instead, he starts with the suits in his closet, grabbing the first one he sees, regardless of price. rips a hole and sews it back together over and over until he perfects his technique. 

and then he washes the fabric gently, using baby fabric cleanser and scrubbing for hours upon hours until the last traces of the deep-set brown stain from jason’s blood washes down the drain.

he painstakingly sews the scraps of fabric back together with a red thread, carefully sourced to match the hoodie to try and make it flow seamlessly like it used to. 

it doesn’t work, not exactly. despite his best efforts, the creases bruce had carefully sewn together are prominent and thick like scars, littering the  soft fabric.

so he gives up. he hangs it over the grandfather clock entrance to the cave in his study. brings it with him every time he visits jason’s grave, because he doesn’t ever want to keep jason’s hoodie away from him, but he also can’t bear for it to get ruined. 

dick visits him. a rare occurrence, these days. 

dick yells at him, as he is wont to do. 

these days, it feels like they spend more time angry at each other than not. dick says that this isn’t right. isn’t fair to anybody, not to alfred, not to himself, definitely not to jason. he rants, jason deserves to be remembered as he was in life, not frozen in death. 

perhaps he is right. bruce is not unaware of the state of violent, cutting stasis he is in, this putrefaction of his life. and he is certainly not unaware of how it is affecting the people around him. dick. alfred. the neighbor’s kid, the one who wants to be robin.   

bruce tries. not for himself, but for tim. for alfred, for dick. even for stephanie brown, who sometimes, when she smirks just right, or says something with just the right twang, he swears he can see jason in her. 

he still can’t bear to put the hoodie away, because jason deserved better than to be forgotten, so he folds it gently and places it in his closet instead. 

he also can’t bear to look at it for very long, so he forces himself to every single day. 

it’s different from the glass case that houses robin’s tattered suit in the cave --- that, is a reminder of how he failed robin. this, this is salt in a constant, stabbing, festering would, reminding him of how he failed his son. 

it was stephanie, that eventually helped him figure out what to do with the hoodie. when she was young, young enough to cry at ripped pants and skinned knees, young enough that her mother hadn’t touched the drugs yet, her mother would dry up her tears, give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, before patching her pants up. 

what not many people know, is that before crystal brown set her mind on becoming a nurse, she wanted to be an artist, first. and so she grabs her old set of embroidery needles, and stitched little designs. dogs and cats. stars and planets. tools and gadgets. 

bruce doesn’t react, doesn’t even move, even as stephanie finishes her story. she hangs there awkwardly for a second, stares up at jason’s suit, waiting for him to respond, before shuffling towards the exit of the cave. 

thank you, spoiler, bruce manages to croak out. 

ah, yeah, she says, shrugging lightly while slouching in on herself, any time, boss. she walks out, and bruce watches her go from the reflection on the darkened computer. 

that night, he takes out jason’s hoodie, smooths it out, grabs his threads, and stitches. 

he stitches on constellations, argo navis, for jason’s namesake in the greek myths he had loved so much. a tiny seal, playing with beach balls. little books, with quotes on the sides. a robin, big and bold. 

he tries to make it as true to jason as possible, not just in death and in bruce’s memories, but as he was in life.

jason wakes up abruptly.  

he wakes up in a coffin, cold, alone, and with a gaping hole in his chest. getting dipped in the lazarus pit only made it worse, only made him all the more aware of what he was missing, all the more conscious of it. 

he doesn’t bother trying to learn how to swim with two arms and two legs, instead of two fins and a tail. it doesn’t feel the same. it only reminds him of what he’s lost. 

sometimes, on sleepless nights that happen more often than not, he wonders what would have happened if he still had a hoodie, still could swim. 

if he still was robin. 

and he doesn’t have access to the cave anymore, or to the titan’s tower, or the watchtower, and his memory of the past is still patchy and shitty in some places. 

so in a burst of impulsivity fueled by the person he no longer is, he prints out photos of robin’s costume from the internet and recreates it on his own. 

if his skin is gone, then fine. fine! he’s perfectly perfunctorily aware that nothing about this resurrection of his is natural. if he doesn’t think too much about it, he’ll be alright. his hoodie, his skin, that was something he was born with, a birthright that died with him. 

but robin, robin was something that he helped shape. robin was something that he worked for, changed himself for. 

and the makeshift robin suit --- it doesn’t fit him, not anymore. no, it feels wrong, like a child playing with their parent’s suit. or --- he realizes, perhaps more accurately, like an adult realizing they no longer fit in their favorite clothes. 

and --- and --- what was the point of it all? what was the point, of trying to make bruce proud of him, of getting dick’s approval, of trying to futilely save people over and over again from the same gallery of supervillains who keep on escaping from prison?!

and what was the point of carving out a space for himself if the joker was just going to beat him out of it, and if tim drake was going to insert himself in the hole he left behind?

and then the next thing he knows he’s in titan’s tower hitting tim drake over and over again because who let him? who let him take jason’s role as a son, as a brother, as a hero? how dare he?

but when he’s slit tim’s throat and torn the ‘R’ off his chest, jason doesn’t feel any better. the robin suit still doesn’t fit. his hoodie’s still gone. 

he’s starting to think it never will, not again. 

sometimes, when he gets tired enough to let his mind wander, he wonders what happened to his suit. 

he’s pretty sure he died with it, so either the hoodie is with the joker, batman, or... gone entirely. (it’s not like they found willis’ skin after he died. maybe selkie skins just disappear in a cloud of sea foam once they die, or some little mermaid shit like that)

it’s a cold comfort, that nobody can manipulate him now. nobody can control him --- not even batman. 

(bruce had thought about it. when he first had his suspicious regarding who the red hood was, before he knew there was any trace of the son he once had left. he thought about using the hoodie, using jason’s selkie skin to coerce him, at least to stop murdering people, to stop hurting their family.) 

(he would never go that far, in retrospect, or at least, he doesn’t think he could ever. to do that to jason, betray his trust so thoroughly and completely... but it would be a lie to say that he didn’t consider it.)

bruce reflects on this as jason reveals himself, the joker tied up at his feet with a gun pressed to his head, and venom spitting from his son’s mouth.  

but when he lifts the batarang to hit jason’s gun, or wrist, or anything that’ll force him to drop the gun, he realizes that his hands are shaking. 

and when he throws the batarang, he knows a millisecond after he’s let go, that he’s miscalculated the ricochet. 

so when jason escapes that night, bruce knows he’s fucked up. 

jason goes off the maps, completely. bruce doesn’t know where he is, if he’s safe, if he even made it out of the explosion that night. 

it takes weeks. weeks for bruce to track jason down, from meticulously documenting the dropped threads of where the red hood was pulling strings in the gotham underworld behind the scenes, to tracking security cameras with facial recognition. 

once bruce manages find where he’s staying, make sure he’s safe, he knows what he wants to do. and, he knows what he needs to do. 

jason gets a package in the mail, five weeks after his disasterous meeting with batman and the joker. unmarked, unsigned, no return address. 

when jason opens the box gingerly and carefully, he holds on to his skin for the first time in years. and then, and then, and then --- something right slots into place. his fingers brushed gently over the tiny spotted seal he knows he used to look like, the books he remembered ranting to bruce about for hours on end. 

the robin, on the top left, over his heart, big enough to have changed him, yet small enough to not define him. 

it’s not perfect. it doesn’t even fix anything, not entirely. he still fights with bruce most times he sees him, tries to punch dick in the face, steadfastly ignores tim and steph the entire time. 

but it’s something. it’s something, and the next time nightwing, batman, spoiler, and robin fight a gang on the docks, the red hood gives them a helping hand before jumping back into the ocean and swimming away.

fin!

wow this got long

[sleepymim]

Ok so this is going to be my attempt to put all of my thoughts about Silco and Vander and their relationship and how they might achieve reconciliation into one coherent post because I cannot! stop! thinking about them!

As we see in s2e7, reconciliation between them is definitely possible. However, I think it definitely wasn't easy, and it wasn't motivated by a single event like Silco finding Vander's letter or Vi dying. I think a million little things needed to perfectly align for them to find back to one another. As others have already said, and I agree with this, I think the "happy" timeline is a statistical anomaly for them.

So what was needed for them to find back to each other? And like, disclaimer that this is obviously only my own interpretation of events.

First of all, I think one of the prerequisites for reconciliation is that Silco doesn't start working with Singed and doesn't get into Shimmer, which is supported by his eye having healed normally in the alternate timeline.

I also think that Vander's letter could only ever be a starting point for their reconciliation, something that would get them in the same room to talk again. After that, I think they'd still need a long, long time to get back to how things were.

Vi's death imo has absolutely nothing to do with whether they reconcile or not, because in the alternate timeline she dies during what would be Act 1. Silco is already past the point of no retunr here, he doesn't give a shit about Vi or the other kids, he's deep into his Shimmer business. He's literally planning to kill all the kids in episode 3. He would not give a fuck if Vi died in that explosion. If Silco and Vander are to reconcile, it needs to happen pretty soon after the betrayal.

But I think the most important aspects for their reconciliation are violence and ideology.

Obviously the actual betrayal is horrifically violent and traumatizing. Vander actively chose to drown Silco which is just like, such a brutal way to die. He does this because he puts the blame for the bridge fight escalating on Silco. This is unjustified, and the show wants us to know that Vander was in the wrong here. Vander himself admits in s1e3 that he has regretted what he did to Silco since it happened. In general episode 3 in my opinion very clearly communicates that Vander overreacted and that what Siclo did (throwing the first molotov) does not justify Vander's reaction (violent murder).

However! Vander also clearly still thinks Silco is dangerous and despite regretting how he reacted still puts some form of blame on Silco.

In the apology letter, he says the blood is on both their hands. The letter in general is shit considering the weight of what Vander did, and what it shows is that even though Vander feels bad about what he did, he does still put the blame for the bridge fight on Silco.

In act 1, Vander also says there are worse things than enforcers in the Undercity while looking at his brace that covers the scar Silco gave him while escaping. This is, presumably, before he knows Siloc has been funding Shimmer development and getting into human experimentation. He thinks Silco is worse than enforcers based on whatever happened between them in past. With s2, this is explicitly Silco's escalation on the bridge.

So obviously despite the time that has passed and the fact that Vander can admit what he did was unjustified, he does still believe Silco is dangerous based on their differing ideology. Benzo, too, obviously still holds a grudge against Silco for what happened.

So really the crux is that even though Vander feels sorry, he does not change his stance on non-violence being the right way forward for the people of Zaun, and thus he can never truly forgive Silco for what he did on the bridge - he still believes that Silco is responsible and that his own way is the right way.

I think as long as Vander keeps his ideological stance, reconciliation between them isn't possible. From both sides, because Vander thinks Silco's ideals are dangerous, and from Silco's side because he thinks Vander is a coward and a sellout.

Then let's look at Silco's side of things a little bit.

I think there's two aspects to his forgiveness/reconciliation with Vander: the violence and the ideology.

Canon pretty much tells us that Silco is willing and able to forgive the violence Vander inflicted on him. We see this not only in the alternate timeline, where they're obviously close again, but I think s1e3 tells us the same. Silco kidnaps Vander, but still offers him the chance to join him in the fight against Piltover again. I don't want to talk here about Silco's methods at this point in time, but he's obviously willing to put the murder attempt behind them IF Vander is willing to switch to his side again. He even says that his hatred for Vander passed with time. I think this implies that, somehow, eventually, with time, in a nicer timeline Silco could really forgive Vander for trying to kill him.

However, and I think this is the much bigger issue for them, there's still the matter of ideology. Vander betraying their shared goals, turning towards a pacifist, more passive approach to revolution and ultimately striking a deal with Grayson is what really drives the wedge between them.

This is what Silco despises Vander for: For turning his back on violence. Silco encourages Vander's violent tendencies, he wants him to become the person he used to be again, wants him to embrace that part of himself again. I think this supports the assumption that Silco would forgive the violence inflicted against him much easier than Vander abandoning their shared dream. Until the end, he wants Vander to embrace that violence again.

And a Vander who is committed to non-violence is a Vander who stands in the way of Silco's goal of a free Zaun. So as long as Vander stays firm on his ideological stance, Silco is always eventually going to get rid of him. There is no way for them to find back to one another if they remain on opposite sides of the struggle they used to fight together.

This is, I think, the crux of my interpretation of them:

Reconciliation doesn't only depend on Silco coming back to Vander and forgiving him for the violence Vander inflicted upon him. It also depends on Vander coming back to Silco, internalizing that the bridge figth was not Silco's fault, and being willing to compromise his non-violent ideology and take action again for their shared dream.

It's about the two of them coming back to each other.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

hi!! if you dont mind me asking, whats your opinion on the theory that trey's dream will reveal him to be a manipulative person thats using riddle? i cant help but harbour some form of dislike towards it, but im interested in hearing your opinion!!

I think I've already expressed my thoughts on that in this post, which covers Leona's theory (from book 7 chapter 12 part 2) that Cater and Trey are both puppeteering Riddle for their own benefit. There's also this post, where I reply to someone wondering if Trey actually despises Riddle and baking. To summarize, I don't see Trey as the highly manipulative person Leona's making him out to be; Leona even comments that he was wrong by the end of Cater's dream.

If I'm being honest, I don't understand where these ideas that Trey is an evil mastermind are coming from?? I-Is it Trey stans wanting More for him??? Yes, it has been hinted at multiple times in-universe that Trey isn't as much of a kind big brother type as many of his peers (and especially underclassmen) see him as. However, the alternative doesn't mean he's actually a Big Bad. More likely the truth is that he has more of a mean streak (not genuinely malicious, but more like he's capable of bullying others or holding a grudge) than people suspect he does. Even the people within his own dorm are thrown off when Trey adopts this "darker" attitude and teases them--but that's where it stops. There are genuinely little to no instances of Trey expressing a desire for power, control, etc. no matter how much I try to read into his lines. The times when he does think one step ahead, it’s for very mundane reasons like getting peers to brush their teeth or securing a strawberry tart from a fancy bakery so he doesn’t have to make one himself.

“Maybe that's the point! He's such a brilliant mastermind that we can't even detect him!!" But this isn't the case for other characters deemed to be intelligent and manipulative. Am I supposed to believe that Trey Clover trumps the likes of Rook, Azul, Jamil, Leona, Jade, and more???? In all other cases, the writing makes it pretty blatant what's running through their heads, whether explicitly stated in the dialogue or expressed through changing facial expressions and extended silences ("............"). This doesn't really happen with Trey.

Just because a character is nice at a glance doesn't mean their "real" personality is Absolute Asshole. In the early days of the fandom, people were suspecting Kalim of harboring this kind of a personality reveal, but now it seems to have entirely shifted over to Trey when honestly that claim isn't true for either of them. I’d genuinely be surprised (although not necessarily in a good way, depending on the execution) if they went with this twist for Trey.

[ryker-writes]

To add more angst to your Sibling Vil headcanons, what's if the reader is the one who overblots instead of Vil, after he basically ruins their confidence and realizes Vil has some resentment toward them? Revealing in their overblot form that they never even wanted to be famous and only did it for Vil's approval

yesss the angst I live for it!

For those who didn't see the original post you can fine it here. (Let me know if link doesn't work)

Vil's broken sibling relationship (alternate ending)

when Vil did hang out with you, he would always point out some small thing about you that was out of place

even if you had everything together, he would find something to criticize

afterwards he would always make a comment about how you should be careful because your actions reflect on him and your father

sometimes he would even give you a backhanded compliment or when he was especially angry, he would straight up insult you and claim he's trying to help you

it became very clear that Vil hated you

hated how you acted and how you looked

you two used to get along

he even helped you become who you were today

when you were young, he would always help you with how to act or how to look right for all the cameras

he carefully help you and taught you back then

but now he was openly insulting you and hating you

according to Vil, you were many things

you were an idiot for not being able to understand or see the simplest things

you were naïve and stupid for not realizing that your friends only liked you because of your fame

you were annoying

you were lazy

you were ugly

your own brother said all this to you

the only person you thought you could truly rely on, hated you

maybe he was right about you

maybe all those things were true

everyone else probably say you like that

now it was so much easier to pay attention to all the negative publicity you got

Vil was right

you wish it wasn't him that said it, but he was right

it's safe to say that your confidence wasn't doing too great lately

and as you walked through the school halls, it felt like everyone was watching you with criticizing eyes

like they were just waiting for you to embarrass yourself

and when you did, they would be watching, recording, and laughing

so lost in your own thoughts, you weren't paying much attention to where you were going

and you ran into him

your dear brother who hated everything about you

of course, he started criticizing you again

and in front of everyone

"Looks like you're even worse than I thought if you can't even pay attention to where you're walking. You look more unsightly today than usual. You really can't get anything right can you?"

the students around you two started whispering, some even snickered

they were talking about you

you could just tell

it was too much

everything they were saying was too much

you couldn't be here

not with them, not with Vil

you backed away from Vil with tears in your eyes

and you looked directly at him

the cold and uncaring expression clear on his face

thinking back on it, did he ever even care?

was he only ever helping you because your father was forcing you two to be in the spotlight

did he only help you because he couldn't be seen next to someone so hideous?

how horrible it all was

your life, your image, your thoughts, you

for just one moment you wished they would all stop talking, stop talking about you

without even thinking you sent one spell, a simple spell, in Vil's general direction

and that was enough

enough for the air to suddenly feel so thin and an overwhelming sense of dread flooded through you

the world seemed darker

like someone had dimmed everything down

but the whispers got louder and louder until it turned into shouting

they all hated you

it was clear

you just had to accept and give in

Vil was right

you could feel liquid running down your cheeks

reaching up, you went to wipe away the tears

but when you pulled your hand back, you saw black

those weren't really tears

it was blot covering your hand

and it wouldn't stop running down your cheeks like a river that never ends

it ran down your hands and even covered your arms

you could feel it run along your skin and even drip down to the ground

but none of that even mattered right now

Vil stood in front of you now looking shocked

everyone else scrambled to get away from you

of course they did

"You should be proud, Vil. They all love you, and would never run away from you."

he pulled out his magical pen

"You're even incredibly stupid when you overblot. You can't even see how much they love you more than me. They've said that you're the most beautiful. You don't even work that hard and you get amazing opportunities. Meanwhile spend every hour of every day trying to be the best."

looking down at yourself, you could see that your clothes have even changed

beautifully designed clothes were in the place of your old ones

drops of blots swirled down your clothes, and somehow made them look nicer

Vil said they called you the most beautiful, but he's also told you how ugly you were in the past

how could he suddenly change his words like that

they obviously didn't like you that much

they constantly talk and even now avoid you

it made you angry

Vil has been nothing but cruel to you

you couldn't control it

and you lashed your magic at him

he was able to dodge some of your attacks and even started attacking you

your anger just kept building up

"Are you serious? You made me like this. You helped guide me when we were younger. I never even wanted any of those roles! I never wanted to live like this!"

you sent a particularly strong attack his way and he took it full force

Vil staggered back, disheveled and wounded from the fight so far

but your attacks just kept coming and only grew in intensity

"All I ever wanted was for you to just accept me, to like me. But ever since we started growing up you've done nothing but hate me."

it was getting harder to see and hear what was happening

ink plagued all your senses

and all you felt was anger

when you next opened your eyes, everything was blurry for a second

your body felt weak and it hurt to even move

but when your vision cleared, you could see that you were in the school infirmary

and sitting next to your bed was Vil

he seemed to notice you were awake

"How are you feeling?"

despite his calm tone, Vil looked rough

still beautiful as always, but a well trained eye could see the way his hair was slightly out of place and makeup ever so slightly smudged in the corners

he had been here a while

once again you could feel water run down your cheeks

you quickly reached up to wipe it away and looked at your hands

it was actual water this time, not blot

Vil sighed and grabbed your hand

"I'm sorry."

a heavy silence hung in the air afterwards

a million things that he wanted to say

things he needed to say

but right now, he couldn't find the words

so Vil promised himself that he would be able to tell you everything and that he'd do everything he can to try to fix what both he and his father had broken

[shizucheese]

Okay okay okay, I need everyone to listen to me about this.

I know I kinda talked about this before in a reblog to someone else's post, but the idea has been rotating in my brain ever since and I feel like it needs to be further explored. A lot of people have been talking about the differences between TMA and TMP, and memeing about how people can actually quit the OIAR (which btw, I'll believe when I actually see it, by which I mean if we're able to get through the entire series without Teddy either coming back or turning up dead or otherwise facing "You can quit but you can never leave" levels of repercussions) but like nobody, from what I've seen, has been talking about what imo is the pretty glaringly obvious element at play here. So let's talk about the spider in the room, shall we? What do we know about the Magnus Institute in TMA?

People came there to give statements regarding their spooky experiences, including people who had doubts about doing so (because they weren't sure if the Institute was reputable, because they weren't sure if they believed what they had experienced, because they served a different entity so what reason would they have to do something for The Eye, etc).

The head archivist would ultimately become the Archivist, an Avatar of the Eye.

The Archivist's abilities included enabling statement givers to give their statements without going off track or leaving out details (we even see what happens when it's not the Archivist taking the statement), and being able to compel people to tell them things against their will, from statements to their darkest secrets.

You couldn't quit, at least not without gouging your eyes out.

The Magnus Institute was a part of the Eye.

Or was it? Because the other thing we know about the Magnus Institute is that the Web was using it as part of its plan to break free from the TMA world and gain access to the other worlds out there. How much of the compulsion aspects of the Institute-- people being drawn to the Institute to give statements, the Archivist's ability to draw statements and secrets out of people, people's inability to quit the Institute--was actually because of the Web? Where does the Eye's "compulsion to seek out knowledge even if it could be bad/ harmful" end and the Web's "not being in control of your own actions" begin? Was the Archivist--at least in the form Gertrude and John took--really purely an Avatar of the Eye? Or were they an Avatar of a mix between The Eye and the Web, much like how Martin, if he were to ever become a full fledged Avatar, likely would have been a mix of the Eye and the Lonely, just like his domain in S5 was? After all, Jonah was an Eye Avatar, was he not? And as far as we saw, he never needed to compel information out of people. He just Knew it (and used it to torment people).

One of the themes I've been playing around with in my TMA fanfictions since I first finished the podcast for the first time last winter is how the course of history would be different in the alternate worlds, where the Web wasn't interfering--at least not on the same scale, or for the same reasons--since it had already gotten what it wanted at the end of TMA. And I think that's exactly what we're seeing a version of in Protocol. I think the OIAR is what it looks like when it's entirely the Eye at play, with 0 interference from the Web. The Eye is all about having your secrets exposed, being watched, being followed. The tape recorders--something that would need to be turned off and on (controlled) in order to record something--were a tool of the Web. Now we're "witnessing" the events of the podcast through the audio from security cameras and other things that are constantly running; constantly seeing and listening without needing to be turned on and off. The statements aren't being given by people who somehow found their way to the institute and were on some level or another compelled to tell their tales. They're journal entries detailing a person's private thoughts. They're letters meant only for the eyes of the recipient, sharing secrets not meant for anyone else. They're recorded therapy sessions.

And the statements that are related to the Eye? The ones read in John's voice? They're forum and blog posts, which not only makes them the only ones whose sources didn't have the same expectation of privacy as the others, also ties them to the Web, since computers and websites were previously established as being associated with it.