#This was supposed to be short

[o-blivia]

AI isn't a threat to creative professions because it can actually make passable art that humans enjoy (it can't). It's a threat because in a capitalist system, employers would do literally anything to not have to pay humans living wages (or any wages, let's be real).

We've been in a productivity boom for the past 60 years, but the one area where production cannot become more efficient is the arts. It takes the same amount of time to write a novel or compose a symphony now as it did a hundred years ago. That's just the creative process.

AI represents a shortcut to making art that has had executives salivating since LLMs and AI art generators hit the internet. It means more content faster with the benefit of not having to provide salaries, sick days, parental leave, time off, or healthcare. It means not having to deal with unions and labour laws. It means cutting humans out of the most fundamentally human activity we do – making art.

All those headlines and clickbait articles about AI annihilating the human race are a hyperbolic distraction from the actual problem we may soon be facing where people won't have the possibility of supporting themselves making art (not that it's particularly easy to do as it stands).

If making art becomes a luxury only for the affluent, we will stop hearing the voices, stories, and perspectives of marginalized people. And our cultural tapestry will stop being so vibrant, diverse, and vital.

[allurilove]

Yandere Manager x singer you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: yandere male manager x gender neutral singer reader, he’s secretly pining after you, your own little stalker, forbidden romance ig, male masturbation, takes pics of you sleeping, non con touching.

You met your yandere manager at the bar. You had been a part of a small band that never really made it big, but you always had shone brighter than the rest. You were magnetic, already having that star potential, and happened to sit right next to the man who worked for one of the best record companies. He just got off work, his sleeves pushed up above his elbow, and his glasses folded neatly next to him. He never really liked to drink, he was a different person when he did, but today was a special occasion. You were here. He already knew who you were, and he used a second low-key instagram account to see your stuff. He glanced at you. Your get-up was cute. He assumed that you came back from a concert or party, as there was a bit of confetti in your hair. You wore minimal and possibly sweat-proof makeup, and your eyes were striking with the black eyeliner.

Your manager sort of fell for you the first time he met you. It wasn’t easy to catch his attention, but you managed to do it. He had slid you his business card, paid for the rest of your drinks, and put on his best speech to convince you to sign with him. You became a solo artist in the blink of an eye, your singles and albums making it to the top forty, and you had the fame you wanted for so long. It just came with the price of having a stalker. As a manager, he had your location at all times. For safety purposes… of course. He threw a cap on, tiptoeing around the city to spy on you and your friends.

Your manager was responsible for your fan club. He would never tell you this, because it was simply embarrassing to admit, but he made a blog to gush about you. ‘A hundred reasons why you should stan y/n’ was the beginning of his secret outlet. He was the one that started the #manager and y/n would be cute hashtag on twitter, uploading a bunch of pictures of you and him having a ‘sweet’ moment. He spent hours scouring the internet to watch countless of edits of you, and he even made some himself. His cold and methodical demeanor would disappear the moment he was in the comfort of his home. He would lay in his bed, giggling and kicking his feet, twirling a piece of his hair as his eyes lit up at the sight of you on his screen.

Your manager acts like a helicopter parent. He’s always on your ass. He never texts you paragraphs or long sentences, so he could spam you and make sure you had definitely seen his messages.

“Where are you?”

“Out drinking again?”

“What happened to being responsible?”

“You have a show in two days.”

“I’ll be disappointed in you if you are drunk.”

“You better be at my house in two seconds.”

“Two seconds or I’m coming to get your ass.”

He liked you being drunk (only when you were around him). You would mumble and whine, his name on your lips constantly as you complained. And he got to be your hero for a while. He also forbids you from having any groupies. If you and him can’t fuck, then you can’t see anyone else. It was as simple as that. He couldn’t stomach the idea of you being with other people, and that’s why he had you at his apartment 24/7. When you were traveling for your shows, you best believe it that he was with you too. To him, it felt like you guys were practically married. Living together on the same bus, cooking together, sleeping near each other in close quarters. He would never cross the line when you were conscious; but when you were sleeping… it was free game.

The yandere manager took pictures of you. You were so worn out after your concerts, that you didn’t feel him moving your body. You trusted him because he gave you zero reasons not to. You trusted him enough that you didn’t expect him to start peeling off your clothes. He wanted his camera roll to be filled with your body. He gently put his hand on your thighs, squeezing the fat as he snapped a picture of you in your underwear. His fingers would sometimes find its way inside your mouth, subtly testing out your gag relax, and filming it for his pleasure. He flipped you onto your stomach, pushing your legs apart with his knee, and had his camera working hard to catch up with his thumb. He rapidly pressed against the button, trying to catch all the angles of your ass and sex.

Your manager touches his dick when you send him raw recordings of your voice. You were a night owl, your brain never shutting down until three a.m. and you sent him new songs you were working on. He plugged in his earbuds, lying back onto his bed, and hit play. He hummed the newest lyrics, his eyes closing as his hand slowly traveled down towards his crotch. He palmed himself, feeling his dick hardening in his grey sweatpants. He wanted you badly.

Your manager thought you were perfect, drop dead gorgeous and fucking hot. You have this sex appeal that makes his knees weak. He imagined you whispering the words to him: the heat of your voice warming the side of his face, your hand feeling up this tip, and wrapping around his long cock. Would you think that his dick was impressive? Would you be happy with how much cum that shoots out? Would you love it so much to gulp all of it down?

“Fuckin’ hell. Take it down your throat.”

“You love this don’t you? My big star.”

Your yandere manager wanted to sleep with you so badly. But he swore to himself to not get involved with another one of his clients. He groaned, his eyes opening to stare at his blank white ceiling, and his desperate cock softened in his hand. He hadn’t gotten any action lately, and he was oh so waiting to find the perfect moment to be with you.

Allure: extra stuff! idk i feel iffy about this fic

this is definitely reader and yandere managers text messages.

[matchstique]

Part 1 of 2

Part 2

[senipsenipsenip]

Once the Pines family realizes Stan’s memory lapses are just going to be a thing after Weirdmageddon, they buy him a flip phone.

The lapses don’t happen often, only every couple of months, moreso if Stan’s been stressed, but the family wants a way Stan can reach them if he’s alone or not at home when it happens. After all, they don’t want to smother him, and Stan doesn’t want the kids to feel like they have to be his caretaker when they should be enjoying their summers.

The wallpaper is a family picture, Stan, Ford, and the kids. The pinned contact is CALL THIS NUMBER ASAP. It goes to Ford’s phone. It used to say Ford’s name as well, but they realized quickly that if Stan thought Ford was in the portal he wouldn’t bother calling. It used to say CALL FOR HELP, but had to be changed after a lapse where Stan thought he was back in Columbia, and really didn’t want to risk it in case it was a police number. Stan suggested the ASAP. That way if he thought he was still on the streets, he’d probably assume he left that note himself because it was a “business partner” that he better contact before they “contacted” him. Ford was still haunted by the day he answered the phone and, before he could state his name, heard Stanley babbling excuses and promises about money and cargo and look you can’t off me yet please just another week

He was also a little haunted by whatever it meant when Stan called and, with more venom than he’d ever heard in his brother’s voice before, said “You’re the llama guy, aren’t you?”

But usually when Ford answers the phone, Stanley is surprised it’s him. Sometimes he’s angry, sometimes he’s frantic, but Stan always listens when Ford asks him to stay where he is and wait for him to pick him up. Ford always feels a mix of emotions, realizing how hurt Stanley had been in the past yet how he would always want to see Ford again. How often he would arrive at the diner or the grocery store or, on a bad day, the lake where Stan sat confused and lost in his old fishing boat, and give his brother the greeting he should have when he came out of the portal, when Stan arrived on his doorstep thirty years ago. He wraps his arms around his brother and says it’s okay. I’m glad you called. You did the right thing. I’m here.

And together they find their way back home.

[woodlaflababab]

Iroh says Aang gives Zuko hope and like, 10/10, love that

But I feel like the mirror of this is overlooked alot, or at least I don't see a lot of talk abt it.

Zuko is Aang's hope.

Zuko is the representation of the enemy, but Aang knows he's also just a kid, or teenager, like Aang, and he's someone who reminds Aang of Kuzon, one of his best friends. To Aang, Zuko is everything the fire nation is to him, something familiar and dear to his heart that's been twisted almost beyond recognition.

If Aang can see good in Zuko, if Aang can bring the good out from Zuko, then there is hope for the rest of the firenation. In his day, the fire nation people were friends, and in the modern day, they are enemies. If he can be friends with Zuko, that means there's hope that he can have just a piece of his old world back, even if it looks a little different.

Aang can never go back. He can never get his old family back, he can't truely revive what was lost, only preserve it with hopes it can be revived in the future. He can't undo geological changes, he can't rewrite history, but there's one thing of his old world he hopes he can still have, and that is friendship that trancends borders and cultures.

Nobody represents that more than Zuko, the person who Aang wants to be friends with like the old days, but cannot because of the war. Being friends with Zuko, a blatent act of defiance against the war and all it has changed and damaged, is the biggest connection Aang gets to the world he once knew since he got frozen in the iceberg.

Aang gives Zuko hope, but Zuko is Aang's hope.

[hunnidmilly]

why can i imagine zilla doing a sex tape.😭

18+

“yea, baby lemme see…” he sighed as he moved the old VHS camera over your face, urging you to stick your tongue out to the lens and show tonight’s events.

his un-swallowed cum laid in a pool on your tongue as his dick rested on your chin—you cheeks stained with tears. “y’doin so good fa me tonight, ma. took it all in that pretty mouth. i knew you could do it.”

zilla eased his dick back onto your tongue rolling his cum around, pushing all the way towards the back of your throat. you let out gagging noises as he held his dick there—tears forming once again in your eyes.

although the didn’t intend on overusing your throat, he moved in and out of your mouth for a few strokes before pulling out with a pop. you close your mouth and take a large gulp as he moved from sitting on your chest, to between your thighs.

“open them legs, baby. yea, wet ass fuck, bae. open her up for me.”

you moved your hands to your pussy spreading it open, as he zoomed in on the camera towards your hole leaking it’s arousal onto the bed. he moved a thumb to your clit, rubbing in circles causing squelching noises to bounce off the wall.

“pretty ass pussy. you want daddy fuck you? hm?”

you nodded and let out a small “yes.” which was more of a plea for him to stick his fat dick into you and take away the ache that was now forming, “speak up,” zilla’s voice hardened as the camera was once again in your face—his thumb still moving on your clit.

“yes!” you make eye contact with the camera “I want you to fuck me, z. please, fuck me, baby.”

“I always take care of my, baby. give her what she want.” you widened your legs making space for him to move between. sitting on his heels, he slapped his thick angry red mushroom tip onto your clit before pushing into your pussy whole. it beginning to stretch to accommodate his size and thickness. “play with that clit fa’ me. she want some attention.”

you rubbed slow circles on your clit. his dick lodged tightly into your pussy. the flashlight pointing directly at the connection, his attention completely focused on the small rectangular part; making sure every moment was captured.

he let a glob of spit fall before speeding up. your broken moans being captured at the stimulation from your clit, him fucking you, and brushing against that spongy spot inside of you. each thrust causing your pussy to futter and jump around him. you let out a string of whines; spreading your legs towards your chest. the new position creating a more snug fit.

“ohhh fuckk. gonna cum in you, baby. fill this pretty pussy with my cum. you want that, mama? have you leaking wit’ me?”

your pants growing louder as zilla stopped thrusting and swiveled his hips in a sensual motion making your eyes roll in the back of your head. prolonging yourself from releasing, so sweetly.

“let go, ma. cum on your dick.” zilla zoomed in to watch your pussy spasm on his dick. the sight of it jumping having him bite his lip. your orgasm triggering his own release, his cum spraying inside of you. he waited a minute before pulling out and zoomin in further. he spread your lips, watching his cum dribble out of you.

“we ain’t done yet, turn over baby. put that pussy in the air. y’know the drill.”

[matchingbatbites]

Wiggly 🧠🪱 Wednesday Thursday!

I was tagged by the ever so kind @runninriot, thank you!! I haven't been tagged in one of these yet

This is something that's been spinning in my brain for a lil bit, and I had to throw it under a readmore because at some point it shifted from thought to ficlet, so.

TW: Stalking, romanticization of stalking

Steve has always been unlucky in love. He's dated around a good bit but hasn't found anyone willing to settle down and start a life with. It's disappointing and disheartening, and he's ready to give up on dating for a while when he meets Eddie.

The guy is a new member at Steve's gym; he asks for some help on his first day there and tells Steve that he's trying to bulk up a little. Steve helps him out, because he's nice like that, and he and Eddie get to talking.

Eddie is super nice, and a huge nerd, but he's always willing to explain the stuff he talks about because Steve is so patient with Eddie during their workouts - because that becomes a thing, having a regular workout buddy.

After a few weeks Eddie asks him out, and though it catches Steve off guard, he agrees. He's pleasantly surprised when it's great, actually, and when Eddie asks him to be his boyfriend after a couple of weeks, he happily accepts.

Eddie is the perfect boyfriend, and he may be the best partner Steve has ever had. He's attentive, he's always bringing lunch and treats to Steve at work, and he never seems to hold back his affection for any reason. It's refreshing, and Steve finds himself falling fast for the man.

So it's surprising when, a few months into their relationship, a woman approaches him at work, claiming to be one of Eddie's friends. He does recognize her name, but when she tells him what she found, he isn't sure what to think.

Chrissy explains that Eddie's been stalking him for months, long before they actually met; tells him about the folders of photos and screenshots and videos she found hidden away on Eddie's phone and computer. Says that Eddie is like a brother to her, but she's worried about his behavior and concerned for Steve's safety.

Steve listens, of course, to everything Chrissy says. He thanks her once she's done, and spends the next day thinking about it all, how he feels about the fact that the man he's been dating is an absolute creep.

Even so, Eddie's only ever been kind to Steve, hasn't given him any reason to not trust him. Fuck, he's been the best partner Steve's ever had, and the thought of losing him is more upsetting than what Chrissy told him.

It should be worrying that the whole situation doesn't scare him the way it probably should.

When he goes over to Eddie's place the next night, he brings it up. Eddie goes pale when Steve tells him about Chrissy's visit, about what she relayed to him. He's trembling by the time Steve recounts it all.

"I'm sorry. It's- You're so beautiful, and I wasn't planning on ever talking to you, I didn't think you'd ever go for someone like me. I was gonna keep my distance, I swear, but even when you were dating someone, you seemed so lonely. I couldn't just stand by, not when I could maybe do something about it. I just wanted to give you a friend- another friend, someone other than Robin you could rely on. I should have known I wouldn't be able to keep my feelings in check."

That falls in line with the man Steve has come to know, Eddie's heart on his sleeve and his care for others at the forefront of his mind. The fact that he was stalking Steve for months seems like an afterthought in the face of knowing that he was more worried about Steve being lonely than he was about staying in the shadows.

"Do you love me?"

"What?"

"Do you love me?" Steve asks again, insistent as he leans in, shrinking the space between them. "Or is this just a temporary obsession? Now that you have me, are you going to lose interest and leave?"

"No!" Eddie's hands snap out like he wants to grab hold of Steve, but stops himself at the last second. "No, I don't- I'm so obsessed with you, sweetheart. I've never felt like this before, and if you want me to fuck off out of your life then I will, but- if you let me, I'll spend the rest of my life being devoted to you."

There's a pause of silence before Steve gives a sharp nod.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Eddie, all I've wanted in life is a partner who loves me. I know I should probably be running for the hills, fuck, I should probably be calling the police."

The color that had returned to Eddie's face drains again, and Steve reaches out to take his hand. "I want you to be obsessed with me, Eds. The whole stalking thing doesn't bother me because it's me. I want someone who's crazy about me enough to stay."

"I don't think you were banking on literally crazy, though."

"Mm, not really. But I think it works for us. Now come on," he says and stands, tugging Eddie up with a grin. "I want you to show me just how obsessed you are with me."

[niko-sasaki-dbd]

Can we just stop for a second and think about Charles attending his own funeral?

I can’t stop picturing him—still not used to being dead—playing a sickening version of hide and seek, just him and his fears. He’s still a kid, hidden in a dark corner, watching his mother’s tears shed over a casket that will shortly be buried six feet under. Rotting.

He is the uninvited guest, observing her from the shadows. He doesn’t find a trace of the silent tears in her eyes—the ones he had seen a thousand times before—but there’s desperation instead. A violent tremble shakes her shoulders, her sobs are stealing the air from her lungs. There’s pain running down her cheeks, the sort of torturing agony that can only be driven by guilt, and loss, and grief.

He sees people around, unknown voices trying to calm her down. He sees blurred faces, question marks, beating hearts but blind eyes. They don’t know anything about her, and they will never know anything about him.

He wants to get closer, but he doesn’t know how. He wants to never see her again. He wants to scream; he wants to tell her that he would have never chosen to leave her if he had been granted the choice. He wants her to look at him; he wants her to hold him as she’s holding onto that inert wooden box.

But she never will.

Just one more time, he looks at her intently.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart.”

Just one more time, he takes one step closer.

“I promise…”

Just one more—

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Rowland.”

It's cold again. He retreats to the shadows and looks ahead. There's no one, not a single person, who shows less kindness than his own father.

He stays three steps away from his mother, with a hardened expression that never changes. They may think he's stoic, but Charles knows better; he is looking at him—at the lifeless body that once was him—with so much contained rage. It looks like home, the unwelcoming preamble to another beating, and Charles believes he is selfish for feeling relieved, for finding solace in his own death.

There is no one around to judge him for it, yet he still worries so much; he's safe, but somehow, he's still crying on the floor inside his mind, and the bruises keep blooming, and the pain feels so real.

"Charles?"

How can he explain that he wants to be alive, but he doesn't want his life back? It's just a plight he would rather avoid because he fears that if he keeps thinking about it, the water would come back, and this time, he wouldn't be able to find a way out. He would be trapped forever, fighting senselessly against the freezing cold, suffocating within the walls of his own nightmare.

Alone.

"Are you alright?"

He doesn't want to stay and haunt this place; he doesn't want to be remembered like this. He would rather pray for his mother to let him go, and for the violence to let go of her.

"Would you prefer me to wait for you outside?"

He doesn't want to feel fragile, he doesn't want to be useless, he doesn't want to be angry. He would rather bury his own aching body along with all his losses, but he would remember his father's eyes, just in case.

For now, he needs to put himself together because there's someone looking for him—hide and seek, but it's not scary anymore—maybe he will have to leave his hideout soon, but is it losing when you want to be found?

"No,"

Cold colors seem warmer when the light comes in.

Don't leave me.

"I'll go with you."

[noturlondonboy]

Or 40 kisses on the tummy like you prefer :) I like both of this prompt and I am curious to read what you will write!

I am SUCH a whore for tummy kisses so I will ABSOLUTELY be doing both

YALL THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE AND NOW ITS LIKE- so many words

Kisses #40- tummy kisses

Nsfw warning: starts spicy but goes soft like literally right away, Yelena has a slight oral fixation if you squint real hard

Angst warning: Red Room, mention of the forced hysterectomy

——

“Kate, Kate, wait, please- wait-”

Kate freezes the moment her girlfriend utters her name with that tone, her eyes wide as she looks up at the blonde. She has her hands on Yelena’s hips, her body slotted between the woman’s legs. She takes her mouth from where she had been pressing featherlight kisses down her hip and meets Yelena’s panicked gaze, slipping her fingers out from under her waistband.

“Hey, baby, hey, you’re alright,” Kate coos gently, carefully taking her hands from Yelena’s hips. The blonde lets out a distressed whine and quickly slaps them back into place over her waist, her fingers digging into Kate’s knuckles.

“No, no, please…”

“Yelena, my darling.” Kate frowns softly, her brow furrowed as Yelena’s pupils go from blown with arousal to fear-induced, shrunken pin pricks. “Yelena. Sweetheart. Can you breathe with me?”

Yelena doesn’t respond immediately, tears slipping down her cheeks as her bottom lip trembles. Kate bites down against the anxiety brewing in her gut, forcing her hands to stay still underneath the assassin’s palms as Yelena’s keep them settled over her hips. This wasn’t a new occurrence- every time a small kiss or a long hug started to turn steamier, into something more, Yelena would panic, and was only recently learning how to properly articulate that to her girlfriend.

After a few long, frightful moments, Yelena’s breath starts to match Kate’s, and the two women slowly come back down together. Kate is careful and slow and oh-so patient, her eyes open and understanding.

“There you go, baby, you’re doing such a good job,” she murmurs gently, rubbing small circles into Yelena’s hips with her thumbs. The touch seems to bring the blonde back, because she blinks harshly, shoulders jerking and eyes refocusing to zero in on Kate.

“I’m sorry-”

Kate silences her with a gentle kiss, something they had talked about before as an option for grounding her. Yelena’s words fall away and she melts into the archer, her trembling hands pressing harder into those of her girlfriend on her waist. “You don’t ever need to apologize,” Kate whispers against her lips.

Yelena whimpers softly, her hands finally coming away from Kate’s and cradling her face to hold her closer and kiss her harder, her lips salty with tears. Kate holds her tightly and indulges, her mouth gentle.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Just breathe with me. Can you do that, sweet girl? Can you breathe with me?”

Yelena whines softly in response, her body pressing closer as desperation thickens her accent on her sluggish tongue. “Ekaterina.”

“I’m here, I’m here. You’ve got me. We’re safe. Not goin’ anywhere, baby.”

They end up fully back on the couch, Yelena clinging to Kate as the archer settles her weight comfortably over her. They murmur gently to each other, Yelena in low, nonsensical Russian, and Kate in the most soothing tone she can muster up.

“I’m sorry,” Yelena croaks again after some time, her lips dry and chapped when they brush over the skin of Kate’s neck. She has her arms wrapped tightly around her girlfriend’s shoulders, nose pressed into her jaw to inhale the steady scent of cinnamon and winter.

Kate coos gently to silence her again, running a gentle hand through the choppy length of her hair. “You’re alright, sweet girl. We’re okay.”

“I thought I was doing good,” the blonde whines softly, the tears returning to her eyes as she squeezes them shut. Kate frowns and leans back a little to better see her face.

“Darling, you are doing good, you’re doing so well,” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from Yelena’s face. “Getting scared or needing a break doesn’t ever take away from the beautiful progress you make every day.”

The blonde’s pout is in full force. “But I… I don’t want to keep this from you,” she whispers.

Kate feels her heart shatter, and it takes an effort to keep her own tears at bay. “My love. Yelena. Please look at me?” Yelena reluctantly does so, and her irises are a shade of hazel-green Kate could easily lose herself in. “You are not keeping anything from me, baby. All I ever, ever want, is for you to be happy, and safe, and comfortable.”

“But I-”

“You’re perfect.”

Yelena’s words fall away in a weak sob before she buries her head back into Kate’s neck, and the archer lets her, holding her tightly.

“It’s because of my scars. And my… body.”

The confession is seemingly out of nowhere, and so quiet that it takes Kate a moment to realize what was said. When she does, however, she gently scratches her short nails over the sweet spot on Yelena’s scalp. “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want baby-”

“But I do, Kate, I want to, please,” Yelena pleads, her body trembling underneath her.

Kate is silent for a moment before she nods and encourages her to continue.

“My- in… in the Red Room, when they sterilized me…” She stops for a moment, and Kate uses the silence to press her lips gently to her cheek. “It is done with very little care, very little precision. The damage left behind is… disgusting. My body is ruined.”

Kate’s arms tighten around her then, her chest squeezing painfully at the bitterness in Yelena’s tone. “You are not disgusting.”

“Kate-”

“You are not ruined.”

Yelena is silent, her throat tight as tears stain her cheeks. She stays where she is, tucked into Kate’s shoulder, until Kate leans away in order to look at her.

“Yelena, you are the singular most important thing in my life to me.”

The blonde’s responding sob is choked.

“Every day, when I wake up next to you, or with a text from you waiting on my phone, or with you downstairs making me breakfast, I am more and more grateful that I get to call you mine. You have no idea how much that means to me. How much you mean to me. Even though I know I say it a lot. I’ll never stop telling you, not till you get it. And even then I might not shut up. You just… you’re perfect.”

Kate’s words are soft but firm, with no room for argument. Yelena is grateful for it. She’s grateful for Kate. Everything that she is, everything that she stands for. When she finally meets the archer’s gaze again, she hopes that message shines through the tears in her eyes. It must, because Kate’s expression softens and morphs into something so tender Yelena could start crying again.

It’s a few moments before Kate speaks again. “Can I try something, baby?”

Yelena is nodding before she even really thinks about it. “Try what?”

“…Can I kiss your stomach?”

Something ugly wraps around Yelena’s spine, and she stiffens, but at the same time, there’s a heat in her cheeks and in her chest that makes her want to say yes to anything Kate Bishop ever says.

“You can say no, baby. Absolutely no pressure. Literally none,” Kate rushes, her eyes wide again when she sees the tenseness in her girlfriend’s shoulders.

Yelena shakes her head quickly and presses a rough kiss to Kate’s lips, the anxiety in her body making her a bit clumsy. Kate is gentle with her, she always is- kissing her back slowly and leading her to calm back down just a little. When they part after a moment, Yelena keeps her forehead pressed to Kate’s.

“Just my stomach?” Yelena murmurs, the trembling of her bottom lip betraying her nerves.

Kate is nothing if not attentive. She brings a hand up to brush her thumb over the blonde’s pout, breathe catching slightly when Yelena softly clamps her teeth down onto the digit in a sudden need for something else to ground her. Neither of them mention it, but Kate nods.

“Just your stomach, baby. Or more. Or less, whatever you want. Genuinely, I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I know, Kate Bishop.”

The brunette nods, adjusting them so that she’s laying between Yelena’s legs, her head resting on her diaphragm and arms wrapped under her waist. Yelena relaxes after a moment when she realizes that Kate intends to rest this way for a bit, letting both of them adjust and to give Yelena a chance to say no.

The assassin rests her hands on Kate’s head, threading her fingers into soft, dark hair and carding through it slowly. A purr rumbles in Kate’s chest, vibrating into Yelena’s skin and soothing the buzzing in her body. The archer lets her eyes close and smiles softly, nuzzling her nose into her girlfriend’s tummy. It warms Yelena even further, and there’s a soft, comfortable blush on her cheeks.

Kate starts slow, meeting Yelena’s eyes to check her reactions every couple of moments, her hands gentle as she pushes the hem of Yelena’s shirt up her midsection. This was nothing that she hadn’t seen before- Yelena had a habit of walking around in just sweatpants and a sports bra (which Kate would never complain about) but this setting was still new. Being so close to her body like this was new.

And dear lord, Yelena Belova had fucking abs.

Kate tampers down the heat in her spine before it can fully start when she presses her lips to her girlfriend’s skin, but she can’t help but love the way the assassin shivers under her touch. With her eyes trained carefully on Yelena’s face, she starts at her belly button and kisses up the line of muscle and soft tissue, hoping that the love and devotion and adoration burning in her gut is pouring into the action in a way that Yelena can perceive. Her girlfriend doesn’t stop trailing her hands through Kate’s hair, fingers tugging gently here and there and nails scratching softly at her scalp.

“I like this, Kate Bishop,” Yelena whispers softly, her eyes heavy-lidded as she lets out an awed breath through parted lips. Her pupils have darkened, taking in the way Kate seems almost reverent, her motions reminiscent of worship. Yelena supposed it may very well be exactly that.

“And I like you,” Kate murmurs, closing her eyes and pressing her nose into the center of Yelena’s stomach like she wants to inhale her very being.

Yelena’s heart is thundering in her chest, and she’s silently grateful that Kate isn’t closer to a pulse point where she could hear it from.

The assassin raises an eyebrow, the expression of self-assuredy on her face far from how she actually feels. “Only like, Kate Bishop?”

Kate’s eyes snap up to her quickly, the blue of her irises deep and stormy. The intensity catches Yelena off guard, and she can do nothing to protest when Kate kisses a little rougher up her entire stomach and chest, ending with her mouth on the dip between her clavicles. “I love you,” Kate whispers between kisses, her eyelashes brushing over Yelena’s skin. “I adore you. I revere you.”

Yelena is sure her entire body will explode when Kate brushes her lips over the pulsing in her throat.

“Yelena Belova, you are my item of worship. I would fall to my knees at your feet and paint your body in liquid gold if you let me. I would paint the ground you walk on with blood, should you ask me. You are perfection.” Kate’s face is unreadable, but her eyes hold so much to be perceived. “All of you- is perfection.”

Yelena is stunned into silence, her doe eyes wide and mouth parted as she stares with burning cheeks. There are tears on her face, but they don’t distress her. She shudders when Kate kisses them away.

“Ekaterina,” is all she’s able to whisper, and Kate has her in her arms again, their bodies pressed tightly together. “Ekaterina.”

“I love you so much,” the archer whispers. Her strength is warm and sure. “No scar could ever change that. Not in any lifetime. Not in any timeline.”

[itzrafee]

A thing on Uran and Helena in Pluto

Okay a short little thing on Pluto. Uran and Helena are my absolute favourite characters in Pluto. Urasawa has always had amazing side characters, from Mr. Rosso in Monster to Lee Harvey Oswald and Jackie in Billy Bat to God in 20th Century Boys, but very few have tied off the emotional ends of the story like Uran and Helena.

Maybe I'm projecting here but much like myself I feel like Urasawa is absolutely obsessed with Frankenstein. And he recognizes the influence Frankenstein has on Dr. Umataro Tenma. Or at the very least, the similarities between the two. And so when he made the protagonist of one of his most popular works Monster, Dr Kenzo Tenma, he solidified that connection. Kenzo Tenma calls back to Victor Frankenstein needing to end his creation while also calling back to Japan's other famous Tenma, thus making the connection explicit. Another throughline between the three of them is that all three are father figures to their creations and have obligations to their children, though all three have varying levels of success with them.

I've only read what I like to call Urasawa's "Core Four", conspiracy minded thrillers that are essentially road trips featuring usually two main protagonists that we see the world through, Monster, 20th Century Boys, Pluto and Billy Bat. Though I still haven't caught up to Asadora and that could still possibly fit this mold, Urasawa's Core Four share a lot of themes and ideas. One of the most important being the responsibility for one's creations, whether it was Kenji Endo and the Book of Prophecy or Kevin Yamagata and Billy Bat or Dr. Kenzo Tenma and Johan, all of his protagonists could arguably be seen as someone with the need to take up the responsibility of their creations. So where do the protagonists of Pluto fit in there? That's where Uran and Helena come in.

But first, we should take a look at Pluto's themes. While I could be wrong, at a cursory glance, I feel like the general consensus towards it's themes is that it's about hatred. I don't really think that's what it is as I feel like Urasawa is more trying to show us what it is to be human and what it is to be alive. And in that, he has a hidden protagonist in Pluto. Someone who's influence snakes through the plot and isn't seen much, but without who the story's themes would remain incomplete. Pluto tackles what it is to be alive through many things, such as memory, sadness, grief, hatred, love and parenthood. But none of that works without the realization by Tenma of his own mistakes. And Uran and Helena bookend these revelations and are absolutley key to understanding that.

In my favourite chapter of the series, Chapter 37, Uran goes from person to person as she finds a way to deal with her grief and eventually comes across Tobio's grave, Tenma having left recently. It's an absolutely beautiful chapter that shows Uran's humanity and Urasawa's love for sharing these kind and soft moments. But it also sheds a light on Tenma as Uran realizes someone who was grieving has just left. Without saying much at all we realize that Tenma has finally realized his mistakes. In the process of grieving one son, he lost the other. While remembering Tobio, he let Atom go. His grief towards Tobio is clear in the following chapter, Chapter 38. All of the things he wanted Atom to be; Tobio come back to life, Tobio's ghost punishing him, Atom rejected. And Tenma could only see that rejection, and not what he had, another son.

Uran shows us very clearly what Pluto, the story, is. It's a chapter in their lives. And we've come into a story nearing the end for Tenma. And it's through the humanity of two absolutely amazing characters in their own right, Uran and Helena, that we are able to so fully understand Tenma. Despite being robots, these two characters are the most alive of everyone. They love fully and freely and are catalysts of change. Uran's vibrant and full of life in a way that really sticks out. And Helena has such depth that it's evident in every scene she's in. She's not pointed out to be made by any famous scientist so all the life she has is her own. These two represent the life of robot's more than any other characters in the series.

So it's that much more poignant when Helena finally breaks down after putting on such a strong front of everybody. Grief intersects and she brings out Tenma's sadness as well. They've both been putting up such strong fronts that it's heartbreaking to see them collapse. It completes Tenma's growth and strikes a heartbreaking contrast between the two. Tenma became the way he is through the loss of his son whereas Helena doesn't even get to remember her own loss. It makes you wonder if the grief for her and Geischt's child compounds her sorrow too.

Without these two and their grief, a large part of Pluto becomes inaccessible. Pluto is largely about death so when two characters come in who've never had a hand in the grim work of taking life, you see the world through a lens that's absolutely crucial in order to fully connect with all of the character's and their situations. Death and Grief has scarred the characters in Pluto. Time and time again they've chosen the worst path. They've chosen revenge and hatred. But Uran and Helena are different. Without them, the story is incomplete. They provide an alternative. They provide the path towards healing.

im sorry for this one:

[actual-changeling]

diana wasn't what brought out all of scully's fears and insecurities, it had been slowly building for the entirety of season five. when diana showed up, she was just the last piece of evidence in a long line of previous events. the final straw.

because, for scully, she proved that mulder CAN still trust and need people, that he CAN work with someone as closely as they have before. that pushing her away, ditching her, going behind her back, wasn't just mulder being mulder.

diana cemented the belief that mulder is not the problem in their partnership—she is, and he doesn't need her anymore, if he ever did at all.

in this essay i will—

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

My favorite Hobie photos (also me being extremely sentimental about Him):

I'm feeling Hobie deficient. Enjoy.

He looks so calm and relaxed on the left, it makes me very happy. It's like I can hear him softly breathing and if you can't idk what to tell you. And right is like my ALL TIME favorite. Nose and lips and relaxed shoulders - the headtilt

He looks pretty on the left. Also I know the one on the right looks almost identical to the one above it but it's not identical I promise this one is slightly different look at the hair also this one is red

FULL BODY PIC also head spikes. I love photos that make him look smol cause it's funny

Smirk. He smirk. I pretend my OC Diane is telling him a long lengthy story and he's just humming along as she works herself up over something meaningless that happened two hours ago.

The one on the right is my all-time favorite photo of him. I didn't know anything about Spider-Punk or even that he existed (I don't watch trailers) so this character was entirely new to me. And that's the first time he took off his mask and we see the real Hobie so that moment means a lot to me my brain literally restructured itself at the sight of him. I'd never seen a character like him ever. Like of course there's black characters but Hobie has such striking explicit black features and hair that it genuinely took me VERY by surprise.

Like Miles and Gwen look very... Vague. In a good way. But they look like characters, there's lots of people who could look like Gwen or Miles. Hell, I could look like Miles if went for the cosplay but

Hobie looks so entirely specific. There's not many people that genuinely LOOK like Hobie. But I can imagine someone who does - he's realistic but so specific in design.

He's the most beautiful character I've ever seen. Not an exaggeration.

The dark lips, raised brow bone, his broad nose, defined neck, the lines they use to shade and shape his face

He's so distinct. Like not just in fashion and art style but like in genuine design of him as a person but he's not a person he's a character but he's giving person he's serving personhood and he's living in my head rent free telling me rent is theft anyway

Anywaysss I'm gonna go cry :))))))) I can't handle Him even saying his name brings me joy HOBIE

Here's my favorite gif of Hobie :)

Bye.

[teecupangel]

The assassin's including haytham and Shay as witches or warlocks?

Considering how I wrote about Desmond as his ancestors’ patron god a while back, I like the idea of making Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton warlocks under an unknown patron god.

This is doubly funny for Altaïr who actually believes that what people consider as gods are simply beings more powerful than them that can be surpassed once their full capability is studied.

So Altaïr would actually be more a wizard, using knowledge to further his magical research, with a healthy dose of alchemy at the side. (He would also be the one to further advance the development of magical forgery but his way is intricately connected to alchemy since magical forgery regularly need materials created via alchemy, making it easier to augment magical properties into the materials itself that will remain during the forging process).

Then he got the Apple and learned that he now has a Patron God.

He is absolutely not happy about this, especially as his Patron God is only known as “The Reader”. He grows fond of his patron though because his patron never demanded anything but kept giving him whatever he needed to further his research.

The Reader becomes well known as Altaïr’s patron god but no one knows his real identity.

The only time the Reader demanded something from Altaïr was when an eagle made of gold and white light (his patron’s preferred way to send him things) left him a rolled up piece of paper that could fit in his palm.

‘Investigate Abbas Sofian and deliver judgment.’

.

Ezio, on the other hand, never thought of becoming a warlock or a witch. The Auditores weren’t magic users. They weren’t even combatants. The most they had was the required swordsmanship for their own safety and defense.

And then…

They tried to arrest his family and…

He heard it.

A sound he could not describe. A sound he had never heard before.

An eagle made of light appeared before him and delivered him a box.

A change of clothes that was more durable than his current outfit. A sword with wings for a crossguard and an eagle head for a pommel. Some kind of gauntlet with a blade hidden on its underside.

And a letter.

From his patron.

The Reader.

It was thanks to his patron that he was able to save his family and that they were able to leave Firenze without being ambushed, the light of the eagle becoming their guide.

The Reader was known as Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad’s patron. An unknown god who was as capricious as Altaïr himself, only appearing at whim and acting more like a distant supporter than an actual deity demanding loyalty and worship.

But it was during Ezio Auditore’s time that the Reader became a patron god of the Brotherhood. The unknown god did not bless everyone. Only Ezio. But that was enough. Because Ezio worship him as both his god and his family’s savior. As Ezio became more legendary as time passes by, so too did his patron god.

The Reader.

The Patron God of Freewill and Choice.

.

The Kenways were complicated (as usual).

Edward Kenway was a swashbuckling rogue, there was no denying that.

He had always been a rogue and, as far as he knows, he will always be a rogue.

Even when he started getting in the middle of this Brotherhood versus Order mess, he was still a rogue.

And then…

When he died, he saw the golden eagle.

Just watching.

It was always watching.

And all Edward could think about was how he needed to save Jenny and make sure Haytham and Tessa were safe.

Haytham still becomes a Templar. He studies witchcraft and developed his skills to combat the stealthiness of the Assassins and any and every magical devices and spells they may have.

His witchcraft is one focused on canceling other magic. His main weapon is still the sword and the hidden blade he took off from one of the people he killed.

Ratonhnhaké:ton is born to be a warrior. His grandmother taught him a few spells and rituals here and there. A few concoction to strengthen and heal his body.

One day, he saw an eagle made of light and followed it.

His village burned that day.

But he was able to save his mother.

But his mother was captured by the men who burned his village and he tried to follow them until his legs gave out.

The eagle appeared before him once more and guide him.

To Achilles Davenport.

Ratonhnhaké:ton’s patron was the Reader. His eagle appeared with gifts and short letters of suggestions. Achilles calls him bless.

Ratonhnhaké:ton thinks of the Reader as someone with an agenda of his own.

Every time Ratonhnhaké:ton feels the desire to go out in the world to find his mother, the Reader would send him a letter that always says the same thing. It’s not yet time. You must grow stronger still. Patience.

And Ratonhnhaké:ton realized why when he first met Haytham Kenway and his many magical devices and potions to keep Assassins away.

The only thing that can combat him and take down Haytham’s Order was…

The blessings that his patron god had given him that he had nurtured all these years.

.

Shay was trained to be an Assassin. It was only when he studied under Haytham Kenway that he learned witchcraft. Shay had never really been interested in it. When he was still an Assassins, Hope had been the one to always push him into trying out witchcraft. Even giving him potions to heal him or to invigorate him. Which was funny because Hope was ‘hopeless’ in the arts of being a witch. Liam was the best witch in the Brotherhood and Hope’s potions had been made by Liam.

Liam had fun telling Shay about that.

When Shay became a Templar, he learned witchcraft because it was the best way to counter the Brotherhood.

Then he got his familiar.

It was a wolfhound with light gray fur.

Liam had a wolfhound familiar as well.

It looked exactly like Liam’s familiar. But that was impossible. Shay had been the one to throw the potion that burned Liam’s familiar to ashes.

.

Arno only knew a bit of witchcraft. Ones that Élise taught him. It’s only when he started training to be an Assassin that he learned he was taught the very same witchcraft that Haytham Kenway developed and modified to combat the Brotherhood. That Élise was teaching him the ways of the Templars. He makes it his own though and used what he knows to combat the Templars’ own witchcraft.

By this point, the Brotherhood makes use of both witchcraft and spells. Traditionalists focus on spells that are said to have been used by those blessed by the patron god. They’re not warlocks though since they were not graced by the patronage of their god. They’re more akin to wizards.

Arno, himself, combines both and learns a bit of alchemy to make his own tools which is a requirement to all Assassins since they would never always have the money or be safe enough to buy more tools out in the field.

.

Jacob and Evie are… complicated. Jacob was trained to be an Assassin so he’s like Evie, knowing both witchcraft and a few spells. He also doesn’t use them, pretending to be just a rogue as a way to get back to their dead father. People actually assume he’s like an Arcane Trickster or something similar. Evie, on the other hand, is a master of both. She prefers spells though. The pressed flowers she gives Jayadeep in canon? She used them to create potions for him instead that will help him. He never uses them though because he sees them as too precious to be used.

.

Ah, Desmond.

So…

Desmond knows a lot about witchcraft and spells but he has no patron of his own.

They actually thought he would be blessed by the same patron as Altaïr and Ezio but that god never even looked at him.

But he has access to the spells only a warlock has.

People believe it’s because of the Bleeding Effect.

But Desmond knows that’s not true.

The patron god of his ancestors never looked at him but his Bleeds were too… real. There was something divine about them.

Something that tells him that he has made a pact with them that goes beyond life and death.

.

Bayek and Aya have been warlocks before they founded the Brotherhood but their patron god had not been Amun at first. They both renounced their god after Kemu’s death and Amun took them in. Amun, however, is not the patron god of the Hidden Ones. The Hidden Ones though would sometimes have patrons because, during that time, the gods were much more fascinated by humans (or have plans). This would continue on until the Hidden Ones become the Brotherhood and the Brotherhood (especially the one under Al Mualim) would rather be Rogues than be spellcasters.

.

Basim knows a bit of witchcraft because of Nehal but he only started actually training for witchcraft and spells when he got to Alamut. It’s there that he shows he actually has access to the spells granted to him by a patron god but it’s not one of the gods that usually bless the Brotherhood. He only realizes it later on when he receives Loki’s memories but the spells he can use are the very same spells that his wife, Sigyn, uses. He never acknowledged it though and his patron never contacts him.

When he reunites with Aletheia though, his patron god gives her very first order.

“Destroy what remains of the woman you love”

[moominpopzz]

Thinking a lot ab this one post i saw a good while ago about a HC of Mrs Winters being Hispanic and I’ve been wondering if Ashe had her Quinceanera,, wondering if they had the money, the time. If Ashe begged Mark to let her have one despite the fact her mom was supposed to be the one to plan it with her. Wondering if she spent months planning it, spending all the time she could to get everything perfect only to realize she didn’t have anyone to invite. She’d have to dance with the picture of her mother held to her chest with only her dad there to watch. If even him.

I wonder if she never got to have one, in the end. If she even did anything for her 15th… was Mark even there? Or was he out on a job? I wonder if she sat in her room the entire day, looking through the collections of pictures of dresses and makeup and flowers and set ups. If she blared the music in her room and did her makeup with tears ruining it, put on the nicest dress she had, if she danced by herself in her room, picture of her mom against her chest. Picture of Mark set up to watch her, because he was away for work.

Do y’all think she spent the entire day alone? With nothing but a happy birthday text from Mark cause he couldn’t get back home?

[crow-aeris]

A Reverse-Robin Wingfic / To Brace Upon Benign Feathers

It starts kinda crack-ish, but then gets kinda emotional-y towards the end ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

===

"TIM!"

He jerked awake, blinking at the ceiling in confusion as his brain slowly registered where he was.

"Tim!" the voice came again, followed by a body slamming into his chest.

"Oomf!" Tim grunted as the air was violently knocked out of his chest. With a tight expression, he reached up and carded a hand through his brother's hair, "Morning, Dick."

"Hi!" the newest addition to the family chirped brightly, his sapphire eyes glowing as bright as a 200,000 lumens flashlight. Brighter than the sun, even. The blue reminds him of Kon and the alien's blue eyes that looked like a wolf-rayet star.

"What time is it?" Tim mumbled, wincing as the five-year-old crawled over him, digging his knee into Tim's kidney and accidentally stepping on his wing.

"It's time for you to get your a- butt in gear and move," Jason called from the door. “Damian’s making breakfast, so Duke asked us to come and wake you.”

Tim groaned, dropping his head back until it banged loudly against the headboard. Maybe if he hit his head hard enough, he could go back to sleep.

Dick cheered when he spotted Jason, the Ficher's Lovebird's bright red-yellow-green wings flaring out as he launched himself at the teen.

Jason grunted as Dick slammed into him but managed to keep his grip steady.

"Hurry up and get ready," Jason said. The cardinal shifted, folding his bright crimson wings against his back as Dick tucked his face into Jason's neck, "B said he's gonna take up to the zoo."

"Zoo! I wanna go to the zoo!" Dick's head shot up as he clutched Jason's shirt.

"I know, Dickie," Jason rolled his eyes fondly, "that's why we're going."

"Okay!" the fledgling chirped, "Tim!"

"Yes?" He lifted his head from the pillow with a slow and tired blink. What he'd give to have Kon here right now.

"Get! Up!" Dick demanded. Jason, the traitor, just laughed. "Or else I'll tell Dami to come get you!"

The falcon hummed, waiting until his brothers disappeared from the doorframe before flipping over and shoving his face back into the pillow.

Everything ached, his back especially, and it wasn't because of Kon, okay, Jason? Tim had been fighting Killer Croc last night, and that bastard got lucky and slammed Tim against a brick wall. His right arm was a huge-ass bruise, and he was not excited to get up.

Maybe if he pretended to be dead, Damian would leave him be...

Who is he kidding? If the harpy eagle was willing to drag a pit-crazed Tim from the brink of suicide, then he was more than willing to dunk Tim in the pits.

Just as he was about to doze off, there was a knock on the doorframe.

"What?" Tim -whined- groaned, not bothering to lift his head from the pillow.

"Hey, Ducky," an amused voice called.

He pouted, turning his head to glare balefully at Duke. The mourning dove smiles, lifting a brow in amusement. Traitor.

"Leave me alone, Duke," Tim grumbled, thankful that Alfred had all the pillows and sheets in Tim's room reinforced since the last time he had a Pit-episode... It had been a whole thing...

Duke raised another eyebrow, mimicking Alfred's patented Disappointed Stare™ quite successfully. Tim doesn't doubt that, at this point, Duke could get even Damian to bend to his will.

And just like Alfred's own stares, Tim, frustratingly, folded under pressure.

For fuck's sake- he was supposed to Wraith, the dead spirit of the Bat's second Shadow revived and out to hunt ne'er do wells as well as the Bats themselves- his goddamn reputation!

"What reputation, Tim?" Duke laughed before strolling over and yanking the covers off of him.

God, Tim hates it when he says things out loud. A side effect of being locked away by Ra's in an attempt to break his spirit or whatever.

He grumbled as Duke hauled him up and out of bed. Annoyingly, the Lazarus pits healed his shitty eyes, that one scar he got from following Shadow around, and the gash in his throat, but not his fucking height. Instead, Tim has to be stuck in this measly five-foot-seven-inch body, while Duke, Bruce, and Damian all got to be fucking six-foot-plus behemoths.

A shake snapped Tim out of his misery.

"Did you even hear what I said?" Duke asked incredulously.

"No," Tim huffed, "I was distracted and decided not to listen to your stupid voice saying stupid stuff."

"Says that one in air jail," Duke replied smugly. Shit, he's right. That fucker. "Tim, I can practically hear you cussing me out. Keep doing this, and I'll have Bruce and Damian hide your coffees and Red Bulls."

"W-"

"And your monsters."

Tim gasped, "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me. Now go get ready. We leave in an hour, and you don't even have a shirt on, Tim."

"It's a fashion choice," he hissed, "you wouldn't understand because you're stupid!"

Duke sighed, plopping Tim onto the floor. He wasn't even surprised when the falcon went boneless, turning into a limp pile of loose limbs and angry hissing, "You're such a child, Ducky."

"This is because I'm gay, isn't it!" Tim demanded, snapping to his feet and flaring out his wings, "This is homophobia!"

"Of course, it is," Duke drily responded before he turned and made for the door, "I'll send Damian up in ten minutes. If you haven't gotten ready by then, I'm allowing him to dress you however he likes."

Duke closed the door gently, but he might as well have slammed it from how ruffled it left him.

Honestly, the gall! How has he, Wraith, Ra's desired heir to the fucking Damon's Fang, fallen so far from his formidable glory?

Nevertheless, Tim forced himself to get ready. He brushed his teeth and washed his face- even "Serial Killers" need clear skin, but was killing fifteen of Black Mask's and the Joker's most trusted really considered killing? Bruce was just overreacting!- and then threw on a short-sleeved shirt, hoodie over that, washed-out ripped jeans, and called it a day.

Tim groaned, desperately craving coffee, caffeine, or something to stave off the complete and utter exhaustion pooling in his head. This was terrible, horrible, and a vile thing to do.

"Timothy," Damian said from where he stood at the table, a plate held in the eagle's hands. He was wearing a bright pink apron covered with flour, and Jason was behind him, wearing a matching pink apron and holding a plate, too. "You finally decided to show your face and detach yourself from that hovel."

"If you want, I could always go back to my so-called Hovel," Tim tilted his head in a challenge.

"Tt," Damian scoffed before sliding a plate to Tim's spot, "Seeing as you have already decided to show your face, and Richard somehow tolerates you, it would be more efficient if you remain here."

Dick was already seated with a glass of strawberry milk, and his pancakes were half-finished and absolutely drowning in maple syrup. Bruce was directly across from Dick, and his pancakes were far more respectable with butter, syrup, bacon, and a cup of coffee. Duke was beside Dick, and he had a plate with fresh fruit, powdered sugar, and a glass of orange juice. Alfred sat at the head of the table with his English breakfast, tea, and a proud smile. Cass was next to Bruce with a bowl of fruit, orange juice, toast, and multiple slices of stolen bacon.

Hesitantly, Tim sat down at the end of the table as Jason rushed over to fill the empty chair between Tim and Duke. Damian, the bull-headed son of a bitch -that bitch being Bruce, because Tim would never call Talia a bitch- decided the best seat wasn't going to be next to Cass, but instead the seat directly in front of Tim. Not in front of Jason, but in front of Tim.

Instead of confronting his feelings like a well-adjusted member of society should, Tim decided the best course of action was to examine his plate of pancakes.

It had fudge drizzled over the top, dusted lightly with powdered sugar, and freshly diced strawberries were placed like a crown with their leaves carefully removed and tossed in a barely noticeable syrup. There was a small bowl of strawberry-lemon zest jam on the edge of Tim's plate, and he could tell that whoever positioned it was diligent. Not a single speck of powdered sugar got onto the outside of the tiny bowl...

Every part of this plate looked like it had been prepared in a five-star restaurant. What more was that this was exactly the same kind of pancakes Damian would make for him as an apology back when Tim was Shadow...

Suddenly, his eyes were beginning to sting, and Tim could feel Damian's stare carve holes into the top of his head. And then, Damian slid over a cup of steaming coffee, and just by looking at it, he knew Damian had made it the way Tim loved.

It was a declaration, an apology, and a promise all wrapped in a simple breakfast…

He took a deep breath and cut into his pancakes, forcing himself to hold back tears as his family chattered around him.

Even after everything that has happened, his flock still accepted him.

Even after everything, Tim was still loved.

[firedragon1321]

Note- This post is edited. Reason is at the end. Please reblog the edited version as the original is unintentionally albiest.

I joke and laugh about Leon Pokemon being a dummy idiot (affectionate). He can't even find his way to the largest building in a city without assistance. But. Like. I started thinking about all the ways Chairman Rose took advantage of that over the years. Telling Leon what to say. How to act. Who to be. To say nothing of the sponsors on his cape. How much power do they have over Leon's persona? Where does he end and they begin?

And THEN I thought about how the League works in Galar. It's just...a much bigger thing than elsewhere in the Pokemon world. Simple gym battles take place in massive stadiums. How many of these battles occur per week, let alone per day? They are part of every person's life, even if they are just a spectator. And the sponsors/League controls the entire circus. Rose's intentions weren't fantastic. You expect me to trust the nameless corporations?

Also, how many Pokemon were scooped out of the Wild Area to train for glory, for a sponsor, for money, for power? How many were thrown away, unable to measure up to the standards of an extraordinarily complicated and demanding League? How many Trainers only care about being as strong as Leon, not caring about the well-being of their Pokemon?

We saw Hop do this. Admittedly, he is not malicious and Bede was crawling under his skin. But there are malicious Trainers out there. If not for the fact you need a sponsorship to participate in the League- this bottlenecking how many Trainers can participate- Galar's ecosystem would be in fucking shambles.

And speaking of Bede, his entire identity revolved around victory and power thanks to- surprise surprise- Chairman Rose. Only when he met Opal did he finally reach his potential...and even that involved shifting from Psychic types to Fairy types. Meaning his Duosion and Gothorita had to be either released or retired.

And I didn't forget about Piers the Rat Man and Spikemuth. Rose told Piers to move to a far away location with a Power Spot to enable flashy Dynamax battles. Piers told him to fuck off. Thus his gym is in backwater nowhere where few Trainers dare to dread and the whole town has been swallowed by crime and poverty. Did I mention Piers blames himself for Spikemuth's current state? Meanwhile, this is- once again- Rose and the League/sponsors having more power than anyone has the right to possess.

Combining these factors, you get a society in which the Trainer and Pokemon- provided they are strong enough- are a product. A commodity. Something to wow audiences and nothing more. Trainers like Hop are left in the shadows of the greats. But the greats are decaying giants, dangling from slowly snapping puppet strings.

This system doesn't go away because Rose is gone. In fact, Leon takes over as League Chairman. But how much of the new leadership is really Leon? Outside of battle, the man has his struggles. I can see the Battle Tower and Galarian Star Tournament being his ideas. But there's more to running the League than that. How many people- including his sponsors- are vying for power in the background?

If I didn't sell you on Galar being a dystopian nightmare yet, there is so much pollution the local Corsola are effectively zombies. Much of it probably comes from the stadiums- powering the screens, keeping the lights on at night, possibly energy from Dynamaxing. Electric-type Pokemon could debatably cut down on the pollution but like- how many Pikachu do you need?

It's a shame there was so much sleeping on SwSh because there's so much insidiously good shit bubbling just under the surface. I think if it was canonically explored people would like Gen 8 more (even if it ended with a reinforcement of status quo like Gen 5). But GameFreak had been afraid to make digs at its own formula since Black and White. The League does exist in other regions, albeit it's not as secretly dark as this. Addressing the Galar League could put a foot in the door to question the entire series.

EDIT- It has been brought to my attention that Leon is smarter than he looks, refusing to cooperate with the Darkest Day plot. More importantly to this edit, he may also be interpreted as disabled, making parts of this post unintentionally come off as albiest. As an autistic person, I apologize for this. However- as it's been reblogged a few times and Leon having a disability is not proved by canon- I chose to leave the text as-is- save for eliminating one joke that went too far- and attached a tw for albiesm. I am deeply sorry.