#Subtle Intensity

[queercogito]

This scene leaves me breathless every time, almost like I’m there, feeling the tension in my own bones—an invisible ghost in the background. It’s as if the silence is doing most of the talking, lingering in a way that’s strangely hard to shake off.

Carol (2015) dir. Todd Haynes

[fonthoura]

Gotta love Kieran Culkin being typecasted as a charming and charismatic guy who shuts his own light out cause of his fucked up little brain, forever doomed by his circumstances and his warped vision of himself and what he needs to do to the world and to others.

It's very enjoyable, bring him his Oscar.

[starry-bi-sky]

more about og tue timeline twins danny and dan/jamie

very touchy with each other. you might even say. ccclingy. its to be expected, they're two halves of a whole after all and all they've got of each other. worryingly co-dependent. do not separate. ever.

Danny was really weak and sick after the initial separation, and was for a while after. Jamie knew internally that if Danny died, he'd take the whole world with it. He was the one sole caretaker for him while he got better -- not for lack of trying on Vlad's part, but without his ghost powers he was nothing more than a feeble (albeit handsomely rich) man, and James looked ready to bite his head off if he got within ten feet of either of them.

Vlad is intimately aware that James (or Danny, if he tried) could snap his spine in half like a twig, and is uncomfortably aware of his own lack of ghost half now. It makes him feel self-conscious and exposed, so he never fully returns back to "cocky and self-assured billionaire Vlad Masters". Making deals with other brands feels a lot harder now that he can no longer possess them anymore.

Speaking of, he very quickly has to come up with a cover story as to why there's now a James Daniel Fenton to the public, when no records whatsoever of him existing existed prior. Lots of forging false government documents on his end. James and Danny do not help because it's his fault this happened in the first place.

(Regardless of whether or not Danny actually willingly chose to rip out his ghost half/humanity in canon is true, or if that was Vlad Masters speaking out of his ass, a large part of the blame still falls on Masters.)

(As his primary caretaker and guardian, it's his responsibility to ensure the health and safety of his charge, and since Danny was in clear emotional duress at the time, it can be argued that he was not in the mental state to make such a decision. And, allegedly, couldn't do it on his own which is why he asked Vlad for help.)

I chose "James" as Dan's name since it's a popular fanon middle name for Danny, and since he's half of Danny, it felt like it just made sense lol. Also because of the ensuing comedy of the two of them introducing themselves as "James Daniel Fenton" and "Daniel James Fenton". It's got the same energy as "danny with a y" and "danny with an i" and it's the exact kind of name bullshit you expect parents to give their twins.

I don't have their exact personalities down, but something I am actively writing into this au's bible is that I think Danny should be the quiet and (ig technically) meaner one. There's a lot to go into about interpretations for ghosts, halfas, and the incident itself, but TL:DW; Danny is technically soulless, or at the very least missing half of his soul (altho Jamie is too just in a different direction).

Pair that with the trauma of losing his family in front of him + having his ghost half ripped out + all the trauma he would've sustained as a hero, and he's not doing too hot mentally! i think if the twins met good timeline!Danny, Danny would've mistaken Danny for Dan and Jamie for the original half.

He comes off to others as pretty apathetic and indifferent to a borderline terrifyingly calm degree. He doesn't go out of his way to insult people, but he also doesn't care enough to consider the other party's feelings so he doesn't filter himself, which makes him come off as rude. The only times he looks truly comfortable is when he's near Jamie or talking to him.

His standoffish, ice prince demeanor makes Jamie look like a saint in comparison. When really he's not all that much better? He's more outwardly emotional than Danny, whether that be positive or negative, but at the end of the day he doesn't trust or care about anyone else any more than Danny does, and he's got a bit of a sadistic streak. Danny reigns him in when he starts becoming too destructive.

(Which I think makes sense. Danny asked Vlad to rip out his ghost half specifically so he could stop feeling his human emotions. Dan, despite his monotone voice, does exhibit emotions. He's smug when he asks Valerie if he likes his ghostly wail, sardonic when he reunites with Sam and Tucker, annoyed, shocked at Danny's ghostly wail, etc. He enjoys wreaking destruction and chaos.)

(If Danny had survived his encounter with Dan and if Vlad was successful, then I imagine he'd be rather apathetic to his other half as a whole. That'd be interesting.)

Overall though they're both hurt, bitter, and distrustful of the world around them, with abandonment issues a mile wide. They can get better and they can heal, but it takes time and patience and proper support.

On the DPxDC side of things, they do genuinely hold some kind of respect or regard for Bruce. They also don't become vigilantes for a while. Neither of them are jumping at the bit to enter heroism again, not when it was heroism that killed their family in the first place.

In fact when they find out Bruce = Batman they think he's foolish for it. They think its a fool's errand, and they've been so spurned by their time as Phantom that for a few weeks, Jamie even refused to call Bruce anything but Sisyphus. Danny called him Tantalus, and the two of them had a faux-argument about which one was more accurate.

Bruce does, though, worm his way into both of their hearts, and that's like, the main reason they become vigilantes to join him. So that they could keep him safe and not because of any desire to return to the heroic life. Relearning to care and finding satisfaction in helping others was an unintentional side effect.

(Bruce is so very smug)

Essentially:

The Twins: this is our squishy and fragile adoptive father. If anything happened to him, we're becoming mass extinction events.

Bruce: Nnno.

[sixxxer]

can't be the only one who genuinely gets a pang of fear every time armand and louis start to question daniel and their whole demeanor shifts into a very dangerous zone

[amygdalae]

ypu see the baby bat in my new pfp is apt due to the fact I am as well a baby bat (have only been into goth music for 2-3ish years) and I'm so cute

[satoruxx]

the way i was staring at my screen when mc threw a whole ass cup at caleb and he just stood there after it shattered and said "did that help you calm down?" in the most relaxed voice ever..

[yanderejustforyou]

The Mark of a Stranger

Fandom:The Penguin (2024) Pairing: Sofia Falcone x Reader

You woke to a throbbing ache behind your eyes, a dull, persistent reminder of the previous night's festivities. The echo of laughter, the rhythmic pulse of bass, and the strobing kaleidoscope of club lights still swirled like phantom sensations in your head. It had been a typical Friday night - an escape orchestrated with familiar ease beside your friends. Good music, potent cocktails, and that ephemeral, dizzying freedom that always felt a little too short-lived. The city's energy had been a palpable force, a siren song pulling you deeper into its chaotic rhythm. You'd surrendered willingly, dissolving into the sea of bodies, the cacophony of sounds, and the intoxicating feeling of being momentarily untethered from reality.

But as you pushed yourself up from the tangled bedsheets, your fingertips grazed your neck, and a jolt of unease, cold and unfamiliar, shot through you. There was a strange sensation there, not quite pain, but a persistent, foreign pressure—an unfamiliar warmth that radiated from a specific point. It was subtle, at first, easily dismissed. But then your fingers explored, tracing the contours of your skin, and you realized: there was something there. Something raised, with a jagged, almost deliberate edge, chillingly unmistakable. A bite. The skin around it was angry red, inflamed and tender to the touch. The two puncture marks, small and sharp, seemed almost... intentional. Placed. Something cold and predatory, like the fangs of a wolf, had touched you.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the blood draining from your face as a whirlwind of panicked thoughts took hold. You were certain there was no bite from the previous night - no feral alley cat, no drunken stumble into a rosebush. You had left the club with your friends, the walk home a blur of shared jokes and tipsy laughter - none of them had noticed anything amiss. A quick memory check: no strange encounters, no unexpected contact. Nothing - but this. You stumbled to the bathroom, peering into the mirror, a growing sense of dread coiling in your stomach. The mark was small, concealed just beneath your hairline, at the nape of your neck. It looked… almost like a brand, a warning etched into your flesh. A possessive claim.

The mark itself was small, almost easily hidden under your hair, but it radiated a strange power, a claim, like something had carved itself beneath the skin, changing you in a way you couldn't understand. It felt alien, unnatural. You shook your head, trying to dispel the creeping unease, the primal fear blooming in your chest. You went through the motions of starting the day, a shower, coffee, but the normal routines felt… off. The air seemed to thicken around you, a suffocating blanket of awareness, and a prickling sensation of being watched from every corner. The usual city sounds, the distant rumble of trucks, the chatter of pedestrians, seemed to amplify, echoing much louder in your ears. The weight of the world felt heavier, pressing down on you from all sides, and the sense of being hunted grew with every passing moment. Every now and then, you’d catch a flicker in your peripheral vision – a shadow that darted too quickly, a figure obscured by the crowd, too illusive to pin down. Just a hint of darkness, a vague unease settling in with every glance.

The day passed in a state of anxious paralysis, a constant battle against the mounting feeling of wrongness. That night, after another restless day of unease, your phone buzzed. A message. Plain and to the point: “We need to talk.” The name at the top sent a jolt of cold dread through you: Sofia Falcone. Just the name alone felt like a weight on your chest. A wave of sickening unease washed over you, the dots of fear connecting. You tried to push back the feeling that this all must be a mistake, overthinking, a bad dream, but the fear, the bite, felt solid and real. You knew Sofia, or at least, you thought you did. She was an enigmatic woman, a captivating presence with long dark hair cascading down her shoulders, piercing grey eyes that always seemed to see through you, and an undeniably dangerous air that shimmered beneath the surface of her composed exterior. But this? This was something else, something you couldn't fathom, something terrifying in its unknown nature.

You tried to rationalize, to find a logical explanation, to convince yourself it was all a misunderstanding, but deep down you knew this feeling wasn't something that could be explained by rational thought. There was no escaping it, you were caught in this web. You had been marked, and the familiar world that surrounded you was about to shift into something completely alien.

When you arrived at her penthouse, the door opened before you even had the chance to knock, as if she had been expecting you. The cool, calculating gaze of Sofia Falcone met yours immediately, sending a shiver crawling up your spine. She was standing in the dimly lit entryway, the soft glow of candlelight casting long, unsettling shadows around her. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, lingered on your face, her expression unreadable.

“Come in,” she said, her voice smooth and inviting, but laced with an edge of something predatory that sent an icy chill down your bones. “We need to have a conversation.” The words were polite, almost casual, but there was a definitive authority in their tone, an unspoken command that brooked no refusal.

As you stepped inside, your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat a frantic drum against the silence. You tried to ignore the subtle burning sensation at the back of your neck, the insistent throb that was a constant reminder of what had happened. The atmosphere inside the penthouse was thick, a heady mix of expensive perfume, polished leather, and a faint, lingering smell of something old, almost like cigar smoke, a ghost of a previous life and history clinging to the air.

Sofia closed the door behind you with a soft, deliberate click, each movement graceful and controlled, like a panther stalking its prey. You felt small and vulnerable, insignificant in her presence, like you were in the presence of something far older and more powerful than yourself, something that could devour you whole without a moment's hesitation.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry with fear. “What’s happening to me?” Your voice was barely a whisper, the fear bubbling uncontrollably to the surface.

Sofia tilted her head slightly, her eyes scrutinizing you. Her gaze flickered to the bite mark on your neck, a spark of something knowing, something almost triumphant, flashing behind her eyes. “You’ve noticed it, then,” she said, her voice dangerously calm, like the stillness before a storm. “Good. I was starting to wonder if you’d be too oblivious to understand what happened.” Her words were a subtle taunt, a challenge to the fear that was clearly visible in your eyes.

You took a step back, shaking your head, trying desperately to piece together the words, the situation, but it was all blurring together into an incomprehensible nightmare. "What do you mean? What is this bite? Why is it—why is it hurting?" You ran a hand across your neck, the tenderness of the skin a sharp reminder of the violation.

Sofia moved closer, each step slow and deliberate, narrowing the distance between you. Her presence was suffocating, like a thick fog that robbed you of air. Before you could protest, she was close enough to touch, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin around the mark, her touch light, almost affectionate, but there was a chilling coldness in her eyes, the calm gaze of a hunter who has cornered its prey.

“I’ve marked you,” she said softly, her voice a hypnotic whisper, a silken thread that bound you to her word. “And it’s more than just a bite. It’s a symbol. You’re mine now.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, a wave of cold shock that paralyzed your body. You couldn't move, couldn't pull away from her gaze, the weight of her words sinking into your very core. The heat of the bite on your skin began to intensify, spreading across your neck and chest, filling you with a strange and unfamiliar warmth, but it wasn't the comforting warmth of a fire. It was a consuming heat, like you were being devoured from the inside out. Your heart pounded in your chest, hammering out a frantic rhythm against the silence.

“I’m… yours?” you managed, the words foreign and forced in your throat, tasting like ash. You couldn’t believe what she was saying, what was happening, yet the truth of it rang loud and undeniable.

She smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. It was full of something dark, something predatory, a flicker of malice that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. A wolf showing its teeth before the kill.

“You’re more than you think. More than you were. You’ll understand in time,” she murmured, her hand lifting and stroking your cheek, her touch a strange mix of fondness and malice. “This bite isn’t just a mark. It’s a bond, a promise that we’re connected now.” Her voice was soothing, but the undertone was unsettling, like the murmur of a predator lulling its prey into a false sense of security.

“No one else can take you from me now,” she continued, her eyes locking onto yours with a possessive intensity. “No one. The bite means you belong to me—body, soul, and every last breath you take. You are mine.” Each word was a claim, a chain forged in the depths of darkness, binding you to her.

A shudder ran through your body at her chilling declaration, your heart racing in panicked flight, trying to escape the truth that she was weaving before you. You opened your mouth to protest, to deny, but no words came out, your voice caught in the web of her carefully wrought words. The heat, the overwhelming sensation of being bound to her, of being claimed, choked you. You had to close your eyes, unable to meet her gaze any longer, the horror of what she was saying washing over you like a tidal wave.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Sofia said softly, her fingers trailing down your cheek as if offering a twisted comfort, the light touch almost a brand. “But you’re mine now. And this… this is your new reality.”

The pressure at the back of your neck grew stronger, the bite throbbing, your body trembling with an agony that wasn’t physical, but emotional, as the weight of her control settled deep into your bones. You were hers now—marked and bound in ways you couldn't yet comprehend, a puppet dancing in her hands. 

[mrsoharaa]

I feel like sparring with Suguru (especially with cult leader! suguru) he would be sooo intimate and mischievously coy with you. Like, it'll be the little fragile finger grazes slipping across your hips, agonizingly slowly. The hot, prodding whispers of encouragement and slight taunt bellowing directly into the depths of your ringing ears. And god, don't even get me started on the way this man swiftly and easily maneuvers manhandles your every abrasive attack, how easily he pins you to the nearest solid object. Hips solidly connected with yours, eyes leering ever so intently and strictly into your own — creates a massive swarm of unwarranted butterflies deep within your fluttering tummy.

[katiebell]

you know, I actually think the moment byleth steps in front of that blow meant for edelgard, an action that changes EVERYTHING about their fate, really is monumental, especially after warriors came out and added context

you have this mercenary who’s known for being stone cold, emotionless, and who can annihilate entire mercenary camps in minutes blank faced, as we saw with shez - by all means, they should never, WOULD never take a blow like that so carelessly for someone they don’t even know, much less with such an angry, determined expression - and yet.

the game draws some clear parallels between byleth and edelgard, and in all routes they have a connection that seems unbreakable - all of this starts at that very moment, when the merciless demon gets swept by a wave of emotion so strong that they throw rationality out of the window.

idk, one of my favourite fe3h analyses mentions the ‘literal divine intervention triggered by edelgard’ and that’s exactly what that moment is. not even because of sothis, but because that’s exactly when byleth takes their first step towards humanity and their freedom - i honestly think that byleth only fully regaining their humanity in crimson flower is the only outcome that makes sense, since that’s exactly what we see in one of the first scenes in fe3h. excellent foreshadowing, I’d say

[thebramblewood]

This book might as well be called So Your Deadbeat Vampire Dad Abandoned You: What Now?

Previous / Next

Helena, thinking: Well, if it’s just going to sit there, I might as well read the thing…

Introduction: Vampirism is no easy existence and will certainly not be long endured by the weak-willed, faint of heart, or squeamish. Fledglings who lack the knowledge or means to satisfy their all-consuming thirst and guard against their newfound weaknesses are far less likely to survive the initial stages of transformation, in which the craving for blood threatens to override all capacity for self-control. If they find themselves lucky enough to be under the tutelage of an intelligent and attentive sire, young vampires can not only mature but thrive for many centuries in their strange new forms. However, the presence of such a devoted mentor is not always guaranteed. Therefore, this book aims to serve as an instructional guide to attending to one’s needs and harnessing one’s abilities for those newly turned vampires who find themselves without a teacher.

Helena, thinking: Hmm, it's almost a little bit too on the nose.

Chapter 1: Dark Form Mastery

Helena, thinking: God, I feel ridiculous. Did it even work? It’d be nice if I could see my reflection right now.

Chapter 2: Bat Manifestation and Flight

Helena, thinking: Here goes nothing, I guess.

OW! OOF!

That’s going to take some practice.

[suosage]

i missed reading gosho boys fics, and steeplechase (+ riddle in reverse) by @ninthfeather was my first stop! thrilling as ever, so so so good. this breakfast scene is probably my favorite :DD

[meteor-moon]

there was a boy with stars in his eyes

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🩷 The Sniff 🩷

There is something so emotional about a character expressing themself purely through sniffling and it gets me every time. It fits in so many contexts. TW: sickness, drug use

A very sad little sniff as they're trying not to cry.

Crying devolving into sniffles as Caretaker rubs their back and gradually makes them feel better.

Sniffling used as fake crying because they're desperate for attention.

Someone walking in on the aftermath of crying and whumpee can't hide the fact that they're still sniffling.

A way of expressing disdain and disapproval, as if even words are beneath them and a sniff is enough. Could be whumper, or defiant whumpee.

Snorting drugs/cocaine. They may seem more composed, but that sniffle afterwards is the one outward sign of how it's hurting their body.

The sniffling is the first sign of whumpee coming down with a cold.

Wet, soaked whumpee sitting in the rain, possibly sick, shivering and sniffling.

Sniffing to try to hold back a sneeze in an environment where they need to appear strong.

[llitchilitchi]

the royal family of Ithaca has some incredible potential to messy and fucked up family dynamics and we don't talk about it enough

I mean, Odysseus was gone for 20 years. he is basically a stranger to everyone. his son never knew him, and he never knew his son. he spent more time away from Penelope than he did with her. they spent 20 years idealizing one another and building expectations, with Penelope needing to pull some strings back home to wait for Odysseus's return (or possibly do some political machinations to get Telemachus safely on the throne) and then Odysseus finally comes back. and twenty years of hopes and expectations come crashing down at them

[glowsticcc]

when i have the time and energy i'll draw it out, and this probably makes sense to me and only me,

but kremy being "fae-cursed" in love with gideon is hozier while gideon in love with kremy is sir mix-a-lot

[occasionalsnippets]

It is however known that you basically have the whole Wayne clan judging your every move if you even try making a move on mc

The thing is that you can date if you wanted to. It's just that any partners will be subject to all kinds of background checks and probably some interrogation disguised as shovel talks. But then again, everyone's partners have gone through that so it's not really anything different.