#a question that's worth wondering for these kind of heroes

[luna-azzurra]

Hi Luna🙂

Today I came across your account by chance and literally devoured many of your posts. Your tips are worth their weight in gold and are making me rethink my character (my OC).

One thing I've noticed... I think his lore is well developed, but I'm not sure how he's supposed to achieve his goal anymore.

Er ist der Sohn eines der berüchtigtsten Schurken dieser Welt und möchte nicht im Schatten seines Vaters stehen. Er möchte seinen eigenen Weg gehen, aber kein „Held“ werden, denn das würde eine Verpflichtung bedeuten, die er nicht eingehen möchte.

His problem, however, is that he looks very similar to his father and has almost the same quirk (ability).

This leads to everyone seeing him only as their father and not as the person he really is.

My question now is: Would it be better for such a character to give up and simply become evil over time, or would some kind of “anti-hero” be better?

Hey (◍•ᴗ•◍)

First of all, thank you for the kind words, seriously, that means a lot. And second? Holy hell, I love this character setup. You’ve built a character with some incredible tension at his core. He’s not just trying to break out of a legacy, he’s trying to break out of his own reflection. He looks like his father. Has the same quirk. People see him and immediately slap the “villain” label on him before he even gets a word in.

That does something to a person.

When you’re constantly treated like you already are something, especially something dark, something dangerous...it’s not just annoying. It’s exhausting. It's isolating. Eventually, even the strongest-willed people start to ask, “Is there any point in fighting this?” And that’s what makes your question so powerful:

Should he give up and just become evil? Or should he try to become an anti-hero?

Let’s unpack both...

╰ Going Full Villain – “If I’m gonna be hated anyway…”

On the surface, this path makes sense. People already expect the worst. They project his father onto him every time he walks into a room. They don’t see him, but just the shadow he casts. So at some point, yeah, it might feel easier to stop trying to prove he’s not his dad and just… lean into it.

But that wouldn’t be surrender, that would be self-erasure. It’s not a choice rooted in desire or ideology, it’s rooted in burnout. Bitterness. A kind of emotional collapse.

You can absolutely write this path if you want to explore what it means to become the mask others forced onto you. There’s beauty in tragedy. There’s pain in watching someone slip into the very shape they swore they’d never take, just because no one gave them the chance to be more.

But… is that really what he wants? Or is it what he thinks is left?

╰ Becoming an Anti-Hero – “I’ll make my own damn category”

This, to me, is where his heart probably lives.

Because from what you described, he doesn’t want to be a villain. But he also doesn’t want to be a hero, like not in the clean, performative, cape-wearing sense. Heroism, to him, feels like a cage made of expectations. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s symbol. Doesn’t want to be a PR-friendly redemption arc. He just wants to be free—to exist outside the script written for him.

That’s anti-hero territory.

And the beautiful thing about anti-heroes is, that they fight for things they care about, not things they’re told to care about. They help people, but they break rules doing it. They’re messy, unpredictable, and wildly human.

Let your character become someone who carves out his own moral compass. Someone who helps the helpless but refuses to smile for the cameras. Someone who uses his father’s powers but twists them into something new. Something meaningful. Something his own.

And let him struggle with it. Let him wonder if he’s becoming what everyone feared, and then have a moment, one small, honest moment, where he chooses not to.

╰  One more thought, What if the real story isn’t about what side he chooses…but about who he becomes when no one’s looking?

Not villain. Not hero. Not symbol. Just… him.

A kid born in someone else’s shadow, learning, slowly, painfully, that he can make his own light, even if it flickers. Even if people don’t see it. Even if it scares them. And maybe that light doesn’t look heroic. Maybe it’s sharp-edged. Maybe it hurts people sometimes. But it’s his. And that is more powerful than anything he could be labeled.

You’re already thinking so deeply about this character, which tells me you care. And that’s how stories get written with soul. Don’t rush the answer. Let him show you who he is over time...

[superfan44]

Are Mutants Ever Safe?

*Spoilers ahead for "X-Men '97" and "Deadpool & Wolverine"*

Over the years, we've seen the plight of the X-Men in the Marvel universe, how they deal with prejudice from the human race but still continue to fight for peace and acceptance. There's a line in "Deadpool & Wolverine" (which is said to be the start of mutants entering the MCU) that I've actually been thinking about quite a bit.

At one point, Wade Wilson (Deadpool) and a variant of Logan (Wolverine) are brought to a compound within the Void, led by Cassandra Nova, the sister of none other than Charles Xavier. She mentions how the TVA sent her into the void at a very young age, and that she didn't have someone like Charles to teach her restraint. She then asks Logan about his Charles, if the good professor protected him and kept him safe. To which Logan responds:

"We're mutants, we're never safe."

I'll admit, when I first heard that line, it struck a chord with me. I've known about the X-Men for a long time, and that single line sums up one of their biggest struggles, especially when looking at their history. Sure, mutants have been able to make homes for themselves. Whether it's Xavier's school, Genosha, Krakoa, and many other places where mutants could be "safe". Sooner or later though, dangerous threats will come knocking at their door, and mutants will end up getting hurt, or worse.

We've seen it before. In "X-2: X-Men United", government forces end up raiding the mansion. In Grant Morrison's X-Men comic series (and recently in X-Men '97) we saw the tri-sentinel attack Genosha, killing thousands of mutants. While Krakoa seemed like a promising home with a bright future for all mutants, things fell apart in the end. Even the Wolverine variant in the recent movie failed to stop his teammates from being massacred. Try as they might, and no matter where they go, mutants might never be safe from the various threats that target them.

And yet, despite all of that, these individuals and groups with extraordinary abilities continue to persevere and fight. Why? Because they have each other. The camaraderie they share with one another, the familial bonds they form, and the relationships they gain, makes wherever they go feel like a home. When whatever dangerous threat does come at them, win or lose they'll always stand and be ready to fight to protect that safe place. Through compassion, they can help those in need, and remind them that no matter what, they'll always have a place where they can at least feel safe.

Yes, this Logan variant did let down his entire world, but the adventure he goes on, and the oddball friendship he forms with Deadpool, teaches him to let go of his painful mistakes and be a true hero, an X-Man (no, scratch that, THE X-Man). By the end, out of generosity, Wade Wilson decides to invite Logan into his apartment, giving him a place to stay, and introducing him to his friends (and of course, having Laura Kinney, X-23, join in as well). In that moment, he's come to a place where he can feel safe.

So, are mutants ever safe? Maybe, maybe not. But when you think about it, the location doesn't really matter. When one is surrounded by a community of others like them, supporting one another through thick and thin, then they are about as safe as they'll ever be. That's what matters in the end.

[drchucktingle]

As an autistic person, did you struggle to make and keep friends? And have you found friends through the writing world? I ask because my mom always said i needed to find my people. I did finally find them (they are neurodiverse trans nerds, haha), but not until i was like 30. And i wonder if its true of other autistic people too. So i guess my question is: did you find your people, and when?

thank you this is good question. i have always had a LOT of CLOSE BUDS even from a very young age. i would actually say that i am unusually socially adept in my way and that it is partially BECAUSE of my autistic trot. LETS TALK ON THAT FOR A MOMENT

'BUT CHUCK YOU SAID YOU ARE ON THE SPECTRUM AND AUTISTIC BUCKAROOS CANNOT BE SOCIALLY ADEPT' some say. and sure it is UNUSUAL overall, technically speaking, but there is also an important reason we talk about this as a spectrum of buckaroos and not a monolith

when buckaroos ask me what it is like to be autistic i try to explain like this: there are certain cues and markers from the outside that serve as a sort of identification checklist but because of masking they are not always correct. instead i see it as question of WHAT IS IT LIKE INSIDE YOUR BRAIN?

internally my brain is different. its taking in way more information all the time, including the stuff that neurotypical buds block out, and that can become overwhelming. it is hard to navigate because i do not have that automatic neurotypical 'here is what is important here is what is not' function

so yes i can be easily distracted and zone out as i watch the patterns and fractals spin off. and yes i can miss certain things in social situations. in many autistic buckaroos this makes large groups overwhelming and the OUTPUT of behavior matches what we typically know as signs of autism

FOR ME however, same thing is going on inside, but i have managed to HARNESS that information. even from very young age i see that everyone is DOING THE HUMAN ACT but instead of rejecting that and shutting off i think 'well okay i am just going to do THIS because thats what they actually want'

in other words, most neurotypical buds say one thing that has a kind of spiraling social-cue-related OTHER MEETING (they do this ALL the time) and instead of rejecting that i have trained myself to be REALLY REALLY good at knowing the hidden meaning. it is EMPATHY but on a sort of LOGIC BASED level

and because i have always been pretty good at that, people like to trot around me and say 'wow this is a good friend they understand me'. now for ME that can be a little exhausting and there are things i need to do and stims and all that to release the effort, but overall it is worth it to me

OTHER THING is that i was a successful CREATOR AND ARTIST BUCKAROO from an early age which is socially seen as 'cool' especially when you are trotting around in your youth. it is not particularly FAIR but it is true that some level of fame makes buds treat you well even if you are 'weird'.

of course it can be a sort of FAKE 'treating you well' but as an autistic buckaroo it is still more of a chance than you might otherwise get. this timeline has sort of carved out a very special little sliver of social grace for the token odd artistic weirdo to have a seat at each cool kids table

ANYWAY that is the trot of my life. it is a unique trot that i dont get to talk on much but since you asked THERE YOU GO. every chance i get to say 'I LOVE BEING AUTISTIC' and talk on HOW MUCH IT HAS IMPROVED MY LIFE i try to take a moment and do that. when i was young i had few autistic heroes

and OF COURSE it can be difficult and overwhelming and we need to have space for those stories and voices, but i want young buckaroos who get this diagnosis to know there are ALL KINDS of stories and trots on the autism spectrum. MINE IS PRETTY DANG COOL and maybe yours will be too. LOVE IS REAL

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 1: 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑

title: poker face synopsis: luckily, mr. zero didn't knew you were a mugiwara. luckily, mr. zero fell for your bluffs. unfortunately, you never imagined it would be that hard to not fall for crocodile's charm. [3.1K] cw: mugiwara!fem!reader, strip poker, strip tease, public sex, cock crush, nipple stimulation, size difference, fingering (f!receiving), riding, biting, scratching, finger sucking, p in v, creampie, possessive behavior, mob boss meets a baddie, pussy so good he wonders about marriage.

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With a thick cigar between his teeth, Crocodile forced himself to smile. “Five of a kind”, he dropped his cards on the table. “Seems like the house won. Again.”

Crocodile’s presence in Rain Dinners works to reinforce his reputation as a hero in this wretched island. Unfortunately, it also means Crocodile is tormented by the most boring clientele.

To watch someone gambling everything they own out of delusional hope and losing it all because of sheer mischance is only interesting the first few hundreds of times. Now, all Crocodile feels is disdain.

He curses those vermin that stole the joy of victory.

Murmuring complaints, two bettors left the table. The croupier stretched his arm, reaching for the cards left far away from him. As the cards were shuffled, Crocodile took in the chance to observe the tables nearby. Searching for chaos to be dealt with, such a common occurrence in a casino, an unusual sight stole his attention.

A long, thick, light pelted fur coat. Crocodile inhaled the smoke, holding it in. Admiring you with that coat over your shoulders, no one would’ve imagined this is the middle of a desert. And still, you didn’t break a sweat.

One of the bettors decided it was the right moment to thank Crocodile for his protection over Alabasta. He did his best to sound modest, heroic. To embody the last hope of this dying island. The moment a white blur entered his peripheral vision, Crocodile simply ignored the man’s existence.

With a hand over the chair’s top rail, you stared directly at the croupier. “May I?”, you asked, voice sultry as the desert.

Crocodile took the cigar out of his mouth, releasing the smoke in the direction opposite from you. “Made just in time”, he moved his hand towards the croupier ready to start. “Do you know how to play, hon’?”

You took a sip from your glass, not bothering to answer him. Placing your coat over the chair’s rail, you reached inside its pocket and took the poker chip’s box. You left it open on the table, emerald dress moving on your body as you sat down and crossed your legs.

The box was filled to the brim.

Your lack of interest on him ignited something within Crocodile. Curiosity. Something far more interesting than gambling against weak bluffs. “New to poker?”, Crocodile smiled devilish. The sort of smile that make pretty women like you forget about decency.

If only you had looked at him.

“New to this island”, you answered, sounding as bored as Crocodile was before you got there. The way you danced around his question was enough for him to know you didn’t want the others to think of you as an easy target. Usually, Crocodile would simply profit on it. This time, with you staring straight into his eyes, he couldn’t care less about this game. “Is it worth?”

“It will be.”

A promise Crocodile intended to fulfill.

Feeling his gaze burning your skull, to not smile was never so difficult. If you were weaker, you would’ve laugh until your cheeks fell apart from your face. How funny. How alluring. Ah, Luffy really told you the truth.

Your life will be funnier around me, Luffy gave you the brightest smile you ever saw. Stroking your cheek, he cleaned the trace of tears. I will never let you get bored.

A Shichibukai stands before you, unable to see you as part of the threat he is so interest in dealing with. The man that sent thousands of bounty hunters after your crew, that forced Vivi to witness as unnecessary violence tore her nation in pieces, doesn’t even know that you’re part of the group he wants to exterminate.

Good. That means the plan of distracting Crocodile has a chance of working.

Each bettor made an initial contribution for the deal to start. At every round, you raised the amount of chips. It didn’t matter if others were dropping out of the deal or if Crocodile doubled the bet with no hesitance. You simply continued to bet more.

That was alluring. It told more about you than your pretty lips could. You’re not here to make money. You’re not here to waste it. You’re here for amusement. And that Crocodile can give you any time.

“Showdown”, the croupier called. “Please, bettors, show your hands.”

The woman sitting beside you sighed, showing two pairs. Two bettors had dropped out, choosing to wait until the next deal. You placed your cards on the table. 4, 3, K, 10, 10. One pair. “Does that mean anything?”

The first man to drop out chuckled. “Only that you lost.”

Lost in the way your smile spread across your face, the croupier had to remind Crocodile it was his time to show the cards. “Three of a kind”, he murmured. This time, he put no effort into acting as if he cared that he won. Crocodile just wanted to learn more about you. “Do you know the rules?”

“Does it really matter?”, your bright smile was enough to enlighten the whole place. As the croupier changed the card sets, you gave him your solely attention. “The best liar wins at the end.”

“No surprise you haven’t won yet”, Crocodile smirked. He spread his legs, cigar between his fingers. His golden hook glistened, reminding you of the threat he represented simply by breathing. “It’s so easy to see right through you.”

But not to see how I stole all those chips from you, was what you thought. “Seems like a failure of mine”, was what you said out loud.

With a movement of his hand, a waiter approached. Crocodile whispered into his ear; eyes still fixated on you. Intoxicated on his presence, you forgot to look away. What a tempting man. From then on, your glass never remained empty.

Deal after deal, you continued to lose just as Crocodile continued to win. Deal after deal, you continued to answer just as Crocodile continued to ask.

Until there were only you two left at the casino. You let go of your glass and closed the poker chip’s box, raising from the chair. “Should have expected a pirate to be a good gambler.” You took your coat, walking away from the table. “Have a good night, Crocodile.”

“One last deal?” Crocodile was quick to offer. Desperately, you would add. “And then we call it.”

You raised the empty box. “I have nothing left to bet.”

And at that, Crocodile saw his last chance of amusing you. “Then let’s bet everything we have.”

Sat down again, chin supported by your palm, you frowned. The wine had started to affect you both. “And by that you mean…”

“Everything”, Crocodile spread his legs, resting his hook on his thick thigh. You told yourself he was begging for you to stare, but you weren’t that sure of it. “Every chip on this table. Everything on our bodies.”

As he closed his mouth, a part of Crocodile feared his proposition would offend you. It doesn’t happen often, but there is a chance he misread your signals.

“I’ve been eyeing your rings since I sat here”, you wondered out loud. “Just as you been eyeing my dress.”

But to be so straight to the point… Crocodile wasn’t quite expecting that. It was what he wanted, but to see how you two were connected made harder for him to breath.

Then you sighed.

“As tempting as it is,” and you were standing again. Crocodile hated to see that. He would hate even more to see you leaving. “It is also getting late. Like I said, I’m new to this island.”

“You have nothing to fear”, Crocodile bargained. “Not when I’m around.”

“But you won’t be around on my way back to the hotel.”

“Then stay here”, he offered. You arched an eyebrow. “I don’t intent on letting you walk away that easily. I’m a pirate. I’m used to taking what I want for myself.”

For an eternity, you both stared into each other’s eyes. A silent negotiation. His final offering, your final chance of doing the right thing and walking away from danger. You could see his very soul. How it burned just beneath the surface. Crocodile felt the same heat coming from you.

The croupier forced a cough, remind you of his presence. It took much of his strength for Crocodile to not kill him right then and there.

“Shuffle the cards and leave”, you ordered.

He obeyed. Quickly. You both took a look at your cards sets. A smile died within you. A smirk grew on Crocodile’s face. The moment the croupier closed the exit door, Crocodile showed his hand.

Crocodile looked even bigger than he already was, filled with the confidence of a winner. “Four of a kind.”

Dropping your hand on the table, you were the winner he believed to be. “Royal flush”, you smiled. “Pretty sure that’s the highest since we’re not using any wild cards.”

Shock was a good look on Crocodile. After analyzing your cards, his gaze returned to you. “You said you didn’t know how to play.”

“Oh”, you drank the last sip from your glass. “Did I?”

And at your answer, all he could do was laugh. Crocodile ran his hand through his black hair. “You hustle me”, he whispered. Crocodile wasn’t able to get rid of this genuine smile.

Your laugh was real too. It made Crocodile breath in your scent, get drunk on the sweet sound coming from you. Not a bluff, not an act. It was real, and it only made you more beautiful. “And now you have a debt to pay.”

His face darkened, reminding you of who he is. You hustled Crocodile. You hustled Crocodile. You never thought of yourself as a stupid woman, but here you are. For fucks sake. Luffy really is rubbing on you.

Crocodile bended over the table, his broad shoulders creating a shadow over you. His hand grabbed your chair’s arm, his hook moving your chin upwards. A strand of hair fell in front of his orange eyes, and looking into them you felt like a powerless prey about to be ravished.

Face lurking inches above yours, Crocodile smiled devilish. A smile that made you forget about decency, focusing only on the promise of more of him. More of the man that wants to kill you. “Enjoy the show”, Crocodile whispered.

His blue scarf was the first to be throw away, and neither of you cared about where it would land. His long fingers worked on the buttons of the rumpled black-striped vest, so slowly you almost took it off of Crocodile by yourself.

The peach shirt beneath showed a portion of his wide chest and instead of finally getting rid of it, Crocodile held the leather belt around his waist.

He had so much fun teasing you, admiring how you couldn’t look away. A man as handsome must feel entitled to the silent praise. He really thought he was the one in charge, didn’t he? And for long enough, Crocodile was.

You’re a lot of things, but you’re not patient.

Leaning against the chair, you raised your leg. The silver heel brushed against his pants, from down on his ankle until the insides of his thigh. And when your painted nails shined right in front of his crotch, you forced your feet against it.

“Stop playing around.” Cocking your head, eyes explored his still covered up body. “Don’t make me wait.”

Crocodile grabbed your ankles, calloused hand stroking softly your skin. It wasn’t a rough touch, but not less possessive because of it. You put more pressure, making him groan. “You are insane.”

“And why is that?”

“Anyone else would fear me”, Crocodile’s voice reminded you of velvet and sharp knives. It lingered on your ears. “And here you are. Demanding more.”

You sighed, fingers brushing against your lips. That voice… it was your last straw. Fighting his hold, you put your foot down on the ground. You grabbed his shirt, pushing him back until Crocodile sat down on his chair again.

He opened his mouth as you sat down on his lap, but you gave him no time to do anything. “You talk too much.”

Holding the chair’s top rail as leverage, you dive into him. Tooth biting his lower lip, tongue forcing a passage into his warm mouth. Your free hand found a spot on his large neck, bringing Crocodile closer to you. Instead of waiting, you took what you wanted for yourself.

Just like a pirate would.

She isn’t fragile, Crocodile thought. She won’t break.

Sinking into you, Crocodile forgot about self-control. He simply ravished you, just like you demanded of him. A wild animal and nothing more. Exploring your mouth as if it was his to control, hand grabbing your soft skin without a care about finesse or decorum. Crocodile pressed his hook against your chest, enjoying how it didn’t stop you from moving as you wanted to.

You got him out of that stupidly tight shirt, hands scratching his chest as your hips moved on top of his crotch. He forced you down, putting your whole weight upon himself, and ripped your emerald dress into pieces with his hook.

“You’ll pay for this one.”

It was a complain, but your fingers working to unbutton his pants made clear you couldn’t care less. His kisses travelled to your neck, tongue leaving a trail of drool on your shoulder, mouth closing against your nipples. Your fingers intertwined with his hair, encouraging Crocodile to continue.

“I will get you anything you want”, he said, voice muffled. He couldn’t get away from your body to speak. “You burn hotter than the fuckin desert.”

No shame, no hesitation. Freed from his pants, you licked your palm before grabbing his cock. You pumped him with zero delicacy, thumb pressing against the dark, sensitive head. Just like everything in Crocodile, it was big enough to make you wonder.

As if he could read you mind, Crocodile slid his hand into your panties. Long fingers explored your lips, precise with every movement. Thumb pressing against your clit, two fingers against your wet slit. His hook brushed against your thigh, arm locking around you to press you down on his fingers.

Your loud moan embarrassed your very soul, but all Crocodile did was laugh. His teeth closed around your neck, biting hard enough to make you whimper. That’ll mark you for sure. “Ride me, hon’.”

With your nails deep into his back, you stretched yourself on Crocodile’s fingers. You bit his earlobe, brushing your face against his as you speed up your movements. In your hand, his cock throbbed. Crocodile was leaking, burning in the same way you do.

“Take what you want”, you whispered against his ear. “Fuck me already.”

It happened so quickly, you barely understood how he moved. A second before you were on his lap, two fingers deep into your hungry cunt, lips around his ear. Then you were sat on the table, poker chips falling on the floor, Crocodile standing between your legs.

A fucking monster.

Crocodile took his drenched fingers from you, and wasted no time before sucking them clean. He grabbed your thighs, exposing yourself from him. “She’s delicious”, Crocodile stared at your pussy. His fingers pulled your lips apart. “Will get me addicted to her.”

Using your legs, you got him even closer to you. Crocodile grabbed your hair, pulling you into a messy kiss. Fighting against your tongue, he fit the head of his cock into you. You moaned into his mouth.

Moving your heels against his thighs, you forced him inside of you. A stupid decision. Your head collapsed against his shoulder, the entirety of his length touching all the right places. So good, so right, so… much.

Crocodile wasn’t in that much of a better situation. Eyes closes tightly, lips hanging open as a deep cry escaped. So wet, so warm. Moving slowly, Crocodile chortled. He had no control over his mind anymore.

“Don’t you dare stopping”, you manage to say. “Just… fu-fuck, just like that.”

Deep thrusts as his fingers worked on your clit: Crocodile wouldn’t dream of doing anything other than you wanted. He could feel your drool gathering on his shoulder. How your fingers were deep into his forearms, or how the hold of your legs around his waist weakened.

All Crocodile wanted was to make you as addicted to him as he already was to you. To get you to scream his name, begging for more and more. He wanted you to take from him. To get what you wanted. And Crocodile wanted everything you could give him.

Feeling waves of pleasure washing over you, mind empty as a white canvas, you tilted your head back. Eyes half-open, you admired him. His raw lips, face covered in sweat. Marks of lipstick all over his chest, just as deep nail marks and surface scratched. You looked down, watching as he entered you.

“You are worth way more than eighty million.”

Crocodiled bended, tongue playing with your aching nipple. “After my head, hon’?”, he sucked on them. You stroked his hair, enjoying how primal Crocodile looked.

“Do I look insane?”, you moaned.

Crocodile looked into your eyes, face near yours. You placed your arms around his shoulders, but he held you in place. Crocodile simply looked at you. As if there was something new, something he never saw before.

“You do”, Crocodile whispered. It felt so intimate. For a moment, you weren’t being fucked in an empty casino. For a moment, you two were sharing a secret. “You’re perfect.”

You melted against him. Lost on your orgasm, you unlearned how to breath. The fact you couldn’t think didn’t stop Crocodile from kissing you. As you closed around him, Crocodile reached his limit. Tooth deep into your throat, he marked you again.

Tears formed behind your eyes, throat aching as you finally breathed again. You laid your head on his chest, feeling it rising with his unregulated breathes. A firm hand held your waist, his nose stopped in the union of your shoulder and neck. His biting hurt so good, just like your scratches on his skin.

When Crocodile opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his hand holding onto the table. He looked at the fours rings you said caught your attention. And he saw how there was only one finger lacking a ring.

Insane, Crocodile thought. She’s making me insane.

As his hips moved away, a cry left your throat as he emptied your pussy, your legs finally stopped working. Crocodile took his cigar from the ashtray, smoking it for a few seconds. When he released the smoke, you grabbed his chin and made him face you. Inhaling it, you closed your eyes.

Not a second after you let it go, his hand and hook slid beneath your thighs. Effortlessly, Crocodile took you from the table. Your shaken legs closed around his waist as he carried you. “What you doing?”

Crocodile finally looked into your eyes again. He smiled, and it was genuinely. “Taking what I want for myself.”

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[harmonysanreads]

Phainon and the artist who refuses to accept him as their muse.

You can paint the deeds of the Goldweaver on fine pottery, dress desserts in respect to the Undying Prince, weave tunes to unravel the Fool from his ineffable shell, dedicate verses to the untouchable Maiden — but you remain ever uninterested to grant the Deliverer the honor of being the reason your mind paces restless. The hero's soft spot for art, regardless of how niche, is common knowledge to any Chrysos Heir enthusiast. He just has mysterious ways of finding talent and celebrating it with his heart.

In the beginning, it was a wish he kept hidden beneath heartfelt praises and admiration. Your gaze charmed the man ; when you study any subject that you deem fit to feature in your art, you scrutinize, pick apart and reconstruct it from within before giving it new meaning. The prospect of having that gaze fixed on him alone for even a minute, studying him, had caused ripples in his daydreams. He so yearned for you to understand him, he believed you would be able to prove that he's not the titular blank canvas everyone says he is.

When his hints and nudges failed to inspire you, he opted for a formal approach. But you met him with a resolute rejection, unwilling to taint your ideals in exchange of fickle currency. That fearless response, the defiance you held so close to yourself made his heart ache. A hero's pride should've prompted him to abandon this chase for good, but he couldn't find it in himself to look away. He found himself pining for another glimpse of that light, the kernel of your soul.

“Go home, Deliverer. I've told you too many times by now, I won't accept you as my muse.”

There is that averted stare again, something in him stirs, whispering bitter revelations of how your eyes will deny him even if he cut himself to pieces and forfeited them to your feet.

He feels his fingers curl around themselves. Forcing a laugh, “And I have asked you too many times why. Even hatred can inspire people, but you... you're so utterly indifferent to me. You wound my heart. I wonder just what is my problem? Is there nothing special about me?”

You glance over your shoulder, your sudden bewilderment confuses him for a millisecond, “I don't know? Do you perhaps think there is nothing special about you?”

That stuns Phainon long enough for you to slip away.

And the question haunts him, chases him everywhere. The prophecy deems him as the perfect vessel that will save Amphoreus, but is he? Is the prophecy even true, just as how Anaxagoras has been saying? If there is indeed nothing within him worth earning him your recognition, then he should change — how will he change? What kind of person do you like? Is it the way he talks? Does he need to behave more refined? Or does he need to be cursed like Mydei and Castorice?

As he ponders about the possibilities and the ramifications of molding himself to your tastes, envy leers over him, replacing once tender affection with loathing for anything that monopolizes your interest from finding refuge in him. It wouldn't be too difficult to take upon a new identity, but what about the distractions that caused this situation to escalate in the first place? Wouldn't it be so much easier for you to... look at him, if he just makes it so that there will exist nothing else that will be capable of competing with him for your attention?

[janluxe]

𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑭𝑨𝑽𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑹 – 𝑱𝑨𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑫𝑫

– contents; angst with a sprinkle of fluff for good measures.

– summary; in their early stages of life, most humans tend to grow fond and form a kind of bond with their favorite color. It's always the same color that will either follow them or haunt them for the rest of their spent time on earth, constantly reminding them of their memories.

– word count; 1.3k

Every person has a favorite color, right?

Well, Jason didn't have a favorite color. Sure, when he was Robin, he had chosen green as his favorite of the entire color palette, one that represented his hopes for the future awaiting him.

However, after the physical and mental suffering he went through, he was just a kid trying to serve justice to the poor world under that hero mask that he once wore with pride; Joker's plans had something else in store for him. The association of the color green with the psychotic clown that haunted him and then the same situation with his resurrection in the Lazarus Pit. He no longer wanted anything to do with it.

The bitter truth is he never bothered to think about such a silly question. Yet here he was, discussing how humans have some sort of bond with their favorite color their whole life. And here you were, guessing his favorite color after you had explained to him all about yours.

Ever since he was brought back from the dead, Jason had found himself endlessly trying to understand why Bruce refused to avenge his death. Why someone who was legally considered family, who had raised him, trained him, and molded him into what he had become, refuse to overstep that stupid boundary? Maybe Jason wasn’t worth it. Not as much as Dick, who was always the golden child. Or maybe Bruce’s rule as Batman—his only rule—meant more than any bond they had ever shared. The thought of it made his chest tighten. Every time he allowed himself to drown in the idea, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that his thoughts were not true, it stung like an open wound. It was like a scar that refused to heal, a constant reminder of the life he’d lost and the man who refused to act on his behalf. It consumed him, more than he'd like to admit—this lingering doubt, this burning question that gnawed at his every thought. And the worst part was that he didn’t know how he’d ever be able to move past it.

He was overwhelmed by this trance of thoughts almost daily, especially when everything around him fell into an unsettling quiet. The silence only added to the weight of his frustration and self-doubt. He couldn’t stop wondering if Bruce had seen something in him, something different from the criminals he fought, then what made him so unworthy after his death? That day, when Bruce had found him committing a crime—a genuine crime—Jason had been desperate, angry, and broken. But hadn’t he been the same boy Bruce had taken in, trained, and called family? What had changed? Jason would search amongst any file in the Batcave to satisfy his curiosity and maybe ease his frustration. In Jason's mind, he was always the same. No matter what his title was, it never defined him as a personality – he was always rough around the edges, but he wasn't cold before.

So, matters such as favorite colors had become childish for him, and he – being the infamous Red Hood – definitely had other plans than to sit down with the only neighbor he could trust and bond within this whole building on a rooftop and discuss subjects for mere children who were just exploring their inner world.

But at least one of you found it entertaining and considered it a good way to get to know each other a little better without getting too personal or touching a sensitive subject on accident. Or so you thought. At first, you didn't quite catch the changes in his body language; how he sulked and tensed even more, making himself smaller in the space he was in every time you took a new guess.

Jason's mind spun with all these questions, and silence seemed to stretch endlessly around him. The weight of his thoughts pressed on his chest, but just as he began to slip further into his spiral of defeat, a familiar voice broke through the silence.

“Maybe... red?” Your voice snapped him out of his trance, his teal eyes finding yours while he readjusted his position to lean back on his hands in an attempt to gain time or avoid the question altogether. Soon, Jason let out a give-in sigh and subtly cocked his head to the side when he realized you wouldn't change the subject.

Jason smiled to himself, his gaze focusing on the dark night sky above the two of you for a second; the stars were barely visible tonight as anything other than his inner turmoil seemed peaceful before he looked back at you. He was processing your guess and taking his time to put his thoughts and feelings into words, which he always struggled with, and even when his sentences were formed, they couldn't leave his throat without it hurting.

The vigilante rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension that he didn't even realize was weighing down on him, his hands embracing the coldness of the concrete underneath his fingertips as he tapped a quiet melody against it and allowed the coolness of the material and the faint sounds of the City and the street below ground him.

“Sure, red.” His reply was plain, with uncertainty creeping into his voice without his notice. You noticed it no matter how much he tried to play it off, and the confusion etched on your face seemed to amuse him, if anything.

You took a second to gauze his expression before you muttered, “You don't sound very convinced.” The words in your admission hung in the air for a moment before they earned you a low, brief chuckle from the back of his throat.

Jason let out a long exhale. He earned himself some time to search his mess of a mind to find whatever he possibly could to justify the tension that stuck onto his skin with a pathetic excuse or a stupid lie that he could only hope that you'd buy without a second doubt. “I'm just not used to these kinds of conversations.” His voice remained steady, holding it together as his mind flooded with images of his past, the bright colors on the lining of his Robin suit, the greenish hue that gave his iris a sense of warmth – a time when he hadn't lost all of these things.

Of course, you noticed his hesitation once again. But pressuring people into keeping up with the conversation or the questions you throw at them isn't the best thing you can do to maintain a human relationship. “Is that the reason you chose your vigilante name? Or was it the little red riding hood?” You joked in a poor attempt to ease him with a slightly more light-hearted conversation.

Jason met your gaze for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching as he was briefly reminded of having his identity revealed to you. Then, he scoffed, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation, though the playful hint in his actions softened the edge of his response. “Please. I've got more layers to my personality than that.”

His response, though sharp, seemed to dissipate some of the tension that had settled between the two of you. The air felt a little less thick, a little less heavy. For a moment, it almost felt normal again, as if the weight of everything wasn’t pressing down on either of you.

If only he were to admit that green used to be his favorite color, of what remained of the old him anyway – but at this point, he reckoned it was time to move on from the past and let the color paint the walls of someone else's memories, someone who could still see it for the life and hope it once stood for.

– a/n; there might be some grammar and spelling mistakes. also, I wrote Jason based on the UTRH movie. either way, thank you for reading this & have a nice day ♡

[slayfics]

Kai comes to your house.

1.3k words

Kai watched as you quickly fumbled around your apartment, gathering items to stuff into a backpack for him.

He knew he didn’t deserve your kindness. He didn’t deserve anything you did for him. He risked your hero status by showing up at your apartment, yet you still took him in. He remembered his panicked state during another prison break that was orchestrated by some up-and-coming villain.

How far was he supposed to go with no arms? All the escaped villains took off, not caring about anyone else.

He had nowhere else to go. The only place that stood out in his mind as a beacon of hope was your apartment.

You were a popular hero now though, would you turn him in?

He decided it was worth the risk.

He’ll never forget the expression on your face when you opened the door to him. Wide eyes, those same flushed cheeks. You yanked him inside.

You didn’t turn him in.

“What the fuck are you doing here Kai?!” You yelled.

“Another prison break, I’m sure you heard,” he answered. Standing pathetically in your apartment. Unused sleeves dangling from his prison uniform.

“SO YOU CAME HERE?! To a fucking hero’s apartment!!” You scolded him. “I should turn you in!”

“Will you?” He asked.

You swallowed, expression of fury fading, you sighed. “You can’t stay here,” you decided.

“That’s fine I didn’t intend to for long,” he stated.

But looking him over once more, you felt your heart squeeze. Where else was he supposed to go? All his comrades were dead. All bridges burned. No arms to even feed himself or wipe his own ass.

“Let’s get you cleaned up at least,” you decided, noticing the dirt and grim he acquired from his journey.

“You’re an angel,” he cooed.

You cleaned him up. Bathed him, fed him, and helped him shave the stumble he had acquired in prison. Somehow you even persuaded your way into getting prosthetic arms for him. Making up some lie to one of the support manufacturers for heroes.

You stuffed face masks, and mini sanitizers into the backpack. Taking care of even his mysophobia, he found himself wishing he didn’t have to leave.

Those words you spoke to him so long ago haunt him now. “You’re a handsome man, if you had made different decisions, I wonder how different our lives would be.”

He had plenty of time to ponder it in Tartarus. If he had made different decisions, he would have been able to have a proper relationship with you. His boss wouldn't despise him, Eri would be untraumatized.

You spoke bringing him out of his daydreams, “Promise me you’ll do something good with your ambitions Kai. You’re smart. You could really make a difference in the world if you have pure intentions this time.”

“I don’t have any grand ambitions anymore,” he answered, the heaviness of his words seemed to weigh the whole room down. It was heartbreaking seeing him this way. Once so powerful and sure of his actions. Now just a hollow shell of what used to be a strong man.

“Just… don’t make me regret this. If you do I promise I’ll hunt you down,” you said again, trying to separate yourself from your growing feelings. The words “stay for just one more night,” daring to leave your lips.

Kai struggled to put one of the face masks you gave him on. His new prosthetic hands were clumsy and slow.

It was common for heroes to lose limbs in fights. So- making an excuse to get prosthetics to show your interns the severity of injuries they could get in fights had no one batting an eye. The downside is they weren’t perfectly made for Kai. Whereas a hero would have had personalized prosthetics, Kai got whatever was lying around the shop. Even still, he knew he’d never be able to repay you.

You stalked around the apartment for anything else he might need, unconsciously delaying the time before your final goodbye. "Do you- want gloves?" You asked, maybe a dumb question but with his heavy aversion to germs, you weren't sure.

Kai just gave a pitiful shrug. Highlighting again the fact that he was no longer the same man.

You decided to stuff disposable gloves in the bag just in case.

"Look everyone is going to be looking for you and- you aren't exactly hard to spot so... be careful. Get out of Japan if you can," You suggested to him, bringing the backpack over to him. "There's money and extra clothes in here too, I'm sure you can figure something out from here."

"I know a simple thank you is little to repay what you've done and risked for me. But it's all I have right now," he said grabbing the backpack from you and wrestling it on awkwardly.

The sight only further tugged on your sympathy. Fleeting thoughts of leaving with him ran across your mind. If only for a brief moment to imagine the fantasy.

Even through all the things he had done, it felt wrong sending him out on his own, as he gathered the shattered pieces of himself and re-learned how to navigate his new situation.

Yet that was the reality. You couldn't throw away all your hard work to become a hero just to vanish off with a washed-up villain. It was an alluring fantasy, but that's all it was.

The painful truth was this was going to be the last time you'd cross paths with Kai. That's what had to happen for you both to avoid any consequences.

Kai stood up and stalked to your door, knowing he had long overstayed his welcome. Every second spent in your apartment was a risk for you both. It would only take one unexpected visit from a neighbor or friend, to send him back to Tartus and who knows what punishments you'd face for harboring a fugitive.

"Repay me by doing good this time," you said following him to the door.

It was the dead of night, the perfect time for him to take off and make his next move. You wanted to ask where he was going, what was he going to do? But- it was better that you didn't know in the event that any heroes came questioning. Or any late-night fantasies of following after him got too strong.

Kai turned to you, back towards the door, "Guess this is goodbye then."

You nodded, the two of you standing in the awkward tension of the moment. It was an unnatural goodbye. How many people say goodbye with such an absolute of never seeing each other again. See you later, not even an option on this table. It was heavy. You knew you shouldn't be so saddened to watch the villain go, but logic put up a little fight against your heavy heart.

"Alright," Kai finally mumbled, breaking the tension, and turning around to open the apartment door.

"Wait!" you blurted out, pulling him back. Tearing the mask off his face you pressed your lips to his. A wince shot through him before he gave in allowing his longing emotions to outweigh his disdain for germs.

Cheeks flushed; eyes wide at your emotional goodbye.

"Sorry," you apologized placing the mask back on his face. "Just... thought we should have a proper goodbye."

Kai smiled, the first smile you'd seen since before he was arrested, "Don't apologize, if anyone could get away with that, it's you. Take care of yourself," he spoke before finally leaving your apartment.

Thinking it too risky to watch him go, you shut your door. Nerves buzzing with conflicting feelings. A symphony of screams going off in your head. Some telling you to run after him, some scolding you for even thinking about it.

In the end, you stood cationic at the door. Never deciding how to feel.

sinners: @mintsbubbletea @lalachanya @unofficialmuilover @starieq @that-one-fangirl69 @pinkpurpledreams

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Hi! This is my first ask so I'm a tad bit nervous. I was wondering if you could do something where a hero has a migraine but fights villain anyway because they're stubborn? Thank you!

Hi megreads22! Sorry it took forever to get to this, but I tried my best! Here you go!

Hero cursed the sunny day, trying to stay out of the light. It only made the stabbing pain behind their eyes that much worse. It felt like someone was taking an ice pick to their head right through their eye. Even so, they had a job to do, and they weren’t going home until they had finished it.

“Villain,” Hero called, “party's over, get down here before I make you!”

Villain turned from the electrical fire they had caused across the power grid. The crackle and fizz of sparks could be heard as they trotted over to Hero. They snapped their fingers, causing more little sparks to fly.

“Here to stop me? Did I interrupt your Netflix streaming, little Hero?” Villain cackled.

Hero was much less amused. They let the ice crystals form in their palms, a chill whipping through the otherwise hot power plant.

“Turn yourself in while I put out these fires, and then- agh!”

Hero stopped mid-demand, putting a hand to their head. The ice pick pain had increased with a vengeance. Now the other side of their head throbbed and pulsated.

“Hero?” Villain asked.

Hero held up a finger.

“One second,” they winced through gritted teeth.

“What is it?”

The flames whipped around the grid, but the only thing on Hero's mind was their head and how much it hurt. Orange and yellow licked up metal coils while wires frayed. Before they knew it, Villain was at Hero’s side.

Hero went to throw a defensive punch. Villain caught their hand gently.

“Hey, easy, easy,” they said, “why are you out here if you're having a migraine?”

“Because you're out here,” Hero said, fighting back another cry.

“Well we can remedy that right now,” Villain said.

Villain picked Hero up in a bridal carry and fled from the power plant. Sirens wailed as firefighters arrived on the scene to take care of the blaze. While a few of them questioned where Hero was, all of them got to work anyway.

…

Villain set Hero down on their couch, then rifled through their medicine cabinet for pain relievers.

“You really shouldn’t have come to fight me if you were feeling this bad,” Villain admonished.

Hero only groaned in response. Villain handed them the pain relievers and a glass of water. Hero chased the pills with their drink, then slowly lowered themselves down, letting their aching head rest on a pillow. Villain pulled the window shades so that it was dark inside the living space. They knelt down by Hero’s side.

“What else can I get for you?” they asked gently.

“I don’t know, nothing helps,” Hero whimpered, screwing their eyes shut.

“Can we try a hot compress? I know your powers kind of cancel heat out, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

Hero held out a thumbs-up, as nodding would only make things worse. Villain left and returned shortly with a hot washcloth. They held it up against Hero’s head, applying a little bit of pressure. Hero sighed, feeling the slightest bit of relief.

“Thank you.”

Villain nodded.

“You stay here and rest. As for me, I guess I’m putting my evil schemes on hold for now…”

Hero, despite the pain, let the ghost of a smirk cross their features.

“Don’t get used to it, Hero,” Villain huffed, “this is only because I like you so much.”

“I am very likeable,” Hero agreed weakly.

“No more talking,” Villain said, “rest.”

So Hero did rest, and a few days later, they were back to normal, thanks to Villain and their caretaking. The next time they got a migraine, Villain would make sure Hero rested properly.

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tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit @telltaletoad @bacillusinfection @noseyowes

[sir-phineas-lost]

Claudia Deserves Respect

One of the things I think the last(?) season of The Dragon Prince did right was giving Claudia her due as a character. For a long time now, I feel like both the show and the fandom has had the bad habit of either demonizing or infantalizing Claudia and her motives. Even the corners or the fandom who are sympathetic towards her tend to go on about how she is "emotionally immature" or naive and easily manipulated because she wants her dad back and listens to Aaravos when Viren is gone, but that has never been my read on her.

The big shift in Claudia and Aaravos' relationship this season happens when they are at the Moon-Nexus and Aaravos has a rare moment of introspection and vulnerability with her, confessing that he doesn't really believe that Viren is going to be there. This is obviously very surprising for Aaravos to admit because he has no reason to do so other than genuine guilt about manipulating Claudia after bonding with her and also breaking her and Terry up, but Claudia surprises us even more by admitting that she has already done the introspection to realize that her dad is not going to be waiting for her at the end of this. This is one of those moments that I have seen people argue makes Claudia a passive puppet because "she just wants Aaaravos to tell her what to do" but I disagree. It is important to know that until this point Aaravos has not given Claudia any reason for why inverting the Moon-Nexus would be a good idea other than the vague suggestion that Viren might be there, but she has already come to the conclusion that he isn't on her own. When she answers Aaravos with "Good question. Why don't you answer it?" she is not making Aaravos think for her, she is telling him: "I know you didn't suggest this for my benefit, I know you have an agenda, now spill it". In this moment, Claudia demands to hear exactly why Aaravos is doing this and she decides that his is a cause worth pursuing. Aaravos was open with her and she decided for herself that she is 100% on-board with tearing down the entire structure of the world and making the cosmic assholes suffer.

This is also not demonizing her in any way because it is perfectly in-line with her previously established good traits. Claudia has consistently been the most vocal about voicing the injustice of this world in how poorly the elves and dragons have treated humanity so tearing down the cosmic order is not framed as her just wanting the world to end but her usual way of standing up to injustice by breaking taboos.

Her last big scene of the arc is her confronting Soren and Corvus on top of the Storm Spire where they chased her down with the intent of killing her and she lets them go saying that she is still herself, still nice. This is also something I see a lot of people framing as negative because it is Claudia "holding on to a false image of herself" but I see it as her confirming something about herself. Claudia has changed a lot, but the one thing that remains true about her is that she is nice. She will prioritize her loved ones over all else, but when she has an opportunity to be good that doesn't conflict with her larger goals, she will take it. In this moment she is furious with Soren, who all but confirmed that he will kill her when he gets the chance and not even a sworn oath from his king will stop him. She has every reason to toss him off the edge to be broken the same way their father was, but she doesn't. When Claudia is in control, she chooses to be kind, even to people who are never kind to her.

So if this is the end of the show, I am glad with the position it left my favorite character, because it respects her in both her motives and her autonomy. She is still out there, still scheming to bring down the injustice that our heroes won't even acknowledge. And she is confirmed to not do this out of blind devotion or even blind love for Aaravos, but a genuine conviction in that goal. And above all, she is still the wonderful person who proves that you don't have to be a paragon or follow the arbitrary rules of "good" to be a good person. To just be "nice".

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for lottie behind the cut; “a pocketful of Kons”. Rewrote/added-to/edited the first few paragraphs of this scene, so including the adjusted intro in here too. content warnings: Cassie is a teenage girl with anxiety/self-worth issues who is not old enough to understand why her mom is so concerned about the idea of "Superman" being her soulmate and therefore has some, like, somewhat unhealthy/concerning thought processes about how she should BE Superman's soulmate. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Cassie’s never actually been to the Watchtower before, and it’s maybe a little embarrassing how cool she can’t help thinking it all is. Cas seems to think it’s pretty cool too–which makes sense, since it’s technically his first time here too and on top of that also a pretty important place to Superman–and keeps zipping ahead and around curiously and then back to her again and again. Sometimes he takes Odie with him, but mostly he gets excited and forgets to. 

He'd gotten really excited when Cassie'd changed into her costume before they'd come up here, but she's still kind of flustered about that particular experience so like, she's maybe just . . . not gonna think about it right now. 

He'd been really, really excited, though. She doesn't think anybody's ever been so happy to see her version of Wonder Girl, even people whose lives she was, like, actively saving at the time. 

Diana gives Cas a thoughtful look while he’s following the elevator buttons as they light up from floor to floor, but doesn’t say anything about it. 

“I spoke with Zatanna when I called in earlier,” she says instead as they step out of the elevator, and Cassie feels increasingly embarrassed about . . . literally everything, basically. How many people exactly did Diana tell about Cas? And how many of those people are gonna be here and want to ask her questions about him, possibly at the same time?

She’s not, like–Cas is her Pocket; she’s not ashamed of him. 

She is super, super embarrassed about the idea of Zatanna and Black Canary and Green Arrow and the Flash and every single Green Lantern and probably, like, Batman all asking her why Superman’s her soulmate. Like–definitely that sounds embarrassing. 

Or life-alteringly mortifying, at least. 

“Uh, did she . . . say anything?” Cassie asks awkwardly, not really sure why Diana mentioned that anyway. “Like, um–about . . . Superman, or whatever.” 

“She informed me of the fact that he appears to have returned to Metropolis, of course, but also that he has made no attempt to contact the League,” Diana says. “Nor anyone else he might've been expected to.” 

Cassie . . . blinks. Who else would he even . . . ? 

Well–probably Supergirl, she guesses. She doesn't think Supergirl's in the League or anything. But otherwise, well . . . it's not like there's all that many people running around with the “S” on or anything. Like, it's really just the two of them, right? 

And if his first soulmate isn't dead–like, he'd want to see her, obviously. 

Or maybe Diana means, like–her. 

Superman has to have a Pocket of her too, after all, and if hers showed up in costume like Cas did . . . well, it's not like she'd be that hard to find. Especially not for Superman. With how fast he is, he could've been in Gateway about five seconds after deciding he wanted to be in Gateway. So like, if he had wanted to . . . 

Cassie feels a little–weird about that, for some reason. Like . . . a little freaked-out, maybe. She doesn't know why; he's her soulmate. There's nothing to get freaked-out by. Even if he's probably the greatest hero of the sector after Diana and basically everyone not a supervillain idolizes and adores and trusts him and he’s, like–he's Superman, and she's . . . 

Well. She's definitely not Wonder Woman, if nothing else. Or Troia, either. She's just kind of . . . here, maybe. Like–by comparison and all, she means. 

Cassie thinks about how cold and empty Superman’s face had looked on the feed from Metropolis and feels a little weirder, and still doesn't know why. Which–she needs to, like–stop that, obviously. Needs to step up here. If Superman needs her, she can't be weird around him. Whether his other soulmate's dead or not, whatever's wrong with him is clearly really wrong. 

Just–his face. He’d looked so . . . 

She just needs to not get–weird, or anxious, or whatever about that. She just needs to be, like–just needs to figure out what he needs, and how to be that. That’s all. Like, what if he had come looking for her and she’d gotten freaked-out on him? How would that help him? He literally got beat to death in front of the whole world by a monster nobody else could take out, and his other soulmate might be dead, and his face looked like that, and . . . 

She just needs to figure out how to be what he needs. That’s just, like–that’s obviously what she has to do. She has to figure it out, and then she has to be it. 

She doesn’t understand why her mom’s so upset that someone actually needs her, for once. 

“Uh . . . so do they think that’s, like . . . a bad sign, then?” she asks, a little awkward. She’s heard a few million weird ways that people in the community “died” or un-died, and plenty of them weren’t really, like . . . necessarily benevolent ones, she guesses would be the best way to describe it. “Like do they think he’s got amnesia or something? Or like, did he not even actually die, or did he only just come back, or–I dunno, was he only gone so long because somebody just had his body locked up somewhere or–?” 

Cas makes a weird sound she’s never heard a Pocket make before, and she–blinks, and looks over towards him reflexively. He zips over and hovers over her shoulder, tugging insistently at the long ends of her wig and making the sound again. It’s sort of . . . 

It doesn’t sound like he’s singing, but it’s . . . musical, sort of. 

Diana tilts her head and gives Cas another thoughtful look. 

“Cas?” Cassie asks, frowning at him. “What’s . . . wrong?” 

She’s not actually sure something’s wrong, but the musical sound is–weird, kinda. Like, it’s sort of cute, but also she’s just never heard any Pocket make it before. Like, not even on TV or in a movie or anything. 

Is it a Kryptonian thing, maybe? Or is it because of whatever made Superman’s face look so–empty? 

“Wondy!” Cas protests. “Wondy Wondy!” 

“Um . . .” Cassie trails off, not sure what he’s upset about or if he actually is upset, or is just trying to tell her something. He looks kind of upset, now, but more in a frustrated way than anything else. 

Cas makes an indignant face, his cheeks puffing out in–frustration, maybe? annoyance?–and yanks at her wig again, this time hard enough to tug at the clips in her hair and nearly pull it crooked. Cassie reflexively grabs the other side to tug it back down, and Cas makes the musical sound again, louder. 

It actually doesn’t even really sound like a sound a person would make. More like something, like . . . maybe more like something an instrument would. 

Odie churrs inquisitively, and Cas lets go of her wig, scowls at her, and then zips over to Diana’s shoulder instead and throws himself at Odie, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and lets him burrow in against his side and very obviously sulk there like a grumpy little kid. 

. . . yeah, Cassie has literally zero clue what to take from that behavior.

[glitter-stained]

The thing about the Killing Joke as a comic, Barbara's disgusting fridging aside, isn't just that it's nasty because it's a comic centered around the Joker's character (which is always gonna be psychophobic since the moment they decided to make "madness" his defining trait) or that it establishes his backstory following a psychophobic trope (especially since that trope is questioned in the story). It's not even entirely about how it blatantly does the amalgam between madness, specifically psychosis, and being evil/doing villainous things.

No, The Killing Joke is vile because the whole fucking point of the book is blaming mentally ill people's weak/evil character for "succumbing" to mental illness.

Like seriously, what happens in TKJ? We learn about how the Joker was "made", and Joker decides to turn Gordon to the evil side by traumatizing him "that's what the One Bad Day" thing is about. So he does a bunch of bullshit, shoots Barbara, strips her naked, might or might not have raped her, and shoots a bunch of pictures of her in that situation, and then kidnaps Gordon, also strips him, and forces him to see huge projections of those pictures. Then Batman comes, and later there's a fight, where Batman tells the Joker that Gordon is fine actually and the Joker is wrong, it doesn't take one bad day to succumb to psychosis as a way to escape reality, there was just something inherently wrong with the Joker specifically that caused him to develop psychosis.

Behold:

"crawl under a rock with all the other slimy things when trouble hits..." (To be clear, this is in 100% response to Joker's statement that psychosis is the valid response to the random brutality of reality, an escape to it. It's not me over interpreting something about villainy, god I wish, the entire comic is about Joker arguing that psychosis is the correct adaptation to a fucked up reality.) Batman is directly calling anyone with schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder or any other form of psychosis "a slimy thing crawling under a rock when trouble hits." And that's the lesson we're supposed to learn from that! The Joker is wrong! We good people of strong hearts and good minds are normal and good and can pat ourselves on the back for being so much better and more resilient than those nasty little crazy freaks (and the circus freaks, oh my god the circus freaks) who are so cowardly and weak-minded; but look how magnanimous we are! We're still gonna extend a hand to help them crazy freaks once we've established our moral superiority! Because we're good, upstanding cops, and our habit of arresting criminals and putting them in the nastiest fucking asylum which doubles as a horrible prison works! Because we're so good!

Seriously, what is up with that? In what world is the wrongness of this comic not fucking obvious to everyone? Is this really your Batman? Your childhood hero? This is the guy the narrative (and dc in general) tells us we're supposed to be rooting for? How have we normalized psychophobia to the point I regularly see people praising this comic or saying it would have been good had Barbara's fridging not ruined it? No, what happened to Barbara didn't ruin shit! What happened to Barbara is nothing but one more indicator of the worth and respect Alan Moore holds for women in his writing, and I genuinely don't find him any better than Jim Starlin with the way he likes to write sexual assault on women, but the comic was already ruined because its message was already fundamentally disgusting.

And the worst part is it fucking gets worse if you know anything about how schizophrenia (or other schizophreniform disorders) develops. I can't imagine what it's like, picking up this comic as a person with schizophrenia. The suicide risk associated with schizophrenia is high as fuck, and with the way our society stigmatises that disorder, it's no fucking wonder. Reading that kind of book, it feels like some people are actively working to get those figures higher actually. I wonder if Moore is aware of the damage his comic does, if he even fucking cares. I wonder how many people have talked themselves out of getting help because they were afraid of acknowledging their mental health issues and "being like the Joker", or knew they weren't like the joker and concluded they weren't mentally ill. I wonder if people with schizophrenia have read this comic, thought back to the one bad day that lead to them developing psychosis, and wondered what was so wrong with them that they couldn't handle reality the way normal people can. People with schizophrenia are so much more at risk of being verbally or physically assaulted by someone else than of attacking someone else and so much more likely to be verbally or physically assaulted than your average joe. I wonder how many people feel justified in that kind of violence because they see a person struggling with delusions, visibly interacting with a hallucination or saying incoherent, absurd stuff and thought they were heroically intervening to stop a "dangerous psychotic individual" from doing harm. I wonder how much of this perception is influenced by the most famous mentally ill character of all times. Worst fucking comic I've ever read. That story is rotten to the core.

Seriously, fuck the Killing Joke.

[worfs-glorious-hair]

What Astarion had to say at Tav‘s and Gale‘s wedding…✨

Follow-up of this post about the utter BS that is the fact that the game heavily implies that Gale and Tav married without the tadpole crew. There’s just no way!

Gale x Druid!Tav (Unnamed, no pronouns); SFW; 1,9k words

The Wedding Speech

“You know it’s funny, a surprising majority of you people gathered here only know Tav as their hero in shining armor, who defeated every obstacle in their way, slain each and every one of your foes that you could not and rescued every stuck kitten from a tree that you asked them to.

You got a competent druid, fighting for the balance of life and nature and doing good for the sake of it and not for rewards, who was kind, generous and oh so selfless, you name it.

And the competent and patient druid had a wizard by their side, wherever they went, whenever you met them was he there, always suspiciously close to Tav — ‚the mighty wizard of Waterdeep’ who would still try to appear as the pompous archmage he once was, all powerful, very much full of himself and overall very wizard-y, all while he failed miserably at that as long as Tav was in any proximity to him.

Gale could try to pretend to be the stern academic as much as he liked, it could honestly be very entertaining, when it was not excruciatingly painful to watch, as if he would not incinerate anything at any given moment that dared to threaten Tav.

Which included me, once, to be honest, but this is not the matter of today.

The matter of today is that I know these two, who you call ‘heroes’, like you will never know them: I know them as pining idiots!

You should have seen them back during our days on the road what they were like when we made camp in the evenings after doing all of these good deeds and surviving all the fighting, when Tav’s diplomacy and reason had turned out to be eventually insufficient despite their noble and great efforts.

Our usual evening in camp went like that: We would find a spot to settle in, get rid of our armors and would try to find some peace of mind, eat whatever we could get our hands at for dinner and get some rest before the next day, wondering which new horrors would await us then. And if we were lucky we had found some wine on the road that did not taste like the cheapest vinegar. This is, at least, what it was like for us.

Now let me tell you what it was like for these two, the pining, love sick puppies whose company we got instead of the bubbly, confident druid and the powerful, effective wizard you lot had the privilege to experience.

Imagine the scene in our camps, how they danced around each other…

Tav would follow Gale around, offer him nearly every magical item we had ever found, no matter it’s worth, was practically glued to his side, offered to get water with him for our dinner and would stare at him with big, sparkling eyes when he just did – anything really. Be it as mundane for him as reading a book, cooking in the evenings or preparing and practicing new spells.

But Gale, poor oblivious and equally pining Gale, managed to miss all of it. Or most of it. He definitely missed what it meant.

His eyes were as equally big and sparkly as Tav’s whenever he looked at them.

He would ask them for their opinion on their favourite herbs and spices in our meals, which reminds me, Tav, how much peppermint and salt does one soup truly need?

He would go out of his way to cast mage hand every morning to help Tav put on their armor, would teach them shocking grasp and would carry ridiculous amounts of books around which all somehow were about druidic magic, druidic customs and probably covered questions like ‘what does it mean when my druid ‘friend’ and hero cuddles with me in their wolf shape by the fire under the stars and let me warm my hands and feet in their fur when they don’t do that with our fellow travelling companions?’

I am surprised that he managed to cook anything at that point and under these circumstances, which just proves my point further that this man is more than a decent chef.

I would trust no one more to create an actual edible meal out of old bread, some fish and some dried up cheese than Gale.

And then, at some point of our journey, did he began to ask us all very ‘hypothetical’ and poorly disguised questions about what his next best steps should be in pursuit of a ‘theoretical’ romance.

A romance that was as ‘theoretical’ as casting polymorph on a spectator and having it actually turn into a sheep.

Great move, by the way, Tav! Always an impressive spectacle when you do that.

Oh, and you certainly did not want to be near them when they flirted. And somehow they thought that the best place to do that was amidst the godsforsaken shadow-cursed lands!

It came to a point on which I wanted to break the curse even more than Halsin or Tav wanted it gone just so that we would not be attacked by the lurking shadows any longer, so that therefore we did not had to fight anymore, so that Tav and Gale could not exchange their after battle pleasantries anymore, which oddly included for some reason talking abut reading books and a terrifying look in their eyes that made me feel real fear for the first time in my life that they might get down and dirty right in front of me, right there on the battlefield.

Thankfully it never came to that. But I lived in fear of every shadow we’ve slain until they finally managed to resolve that tension.

Which was especially odd, since I believe that one of the Absolute’s disciples we met at Moonrise Towers was the one to thank for that turn of events. Or maybe not. It was probably just a matter of time anyways.

Because this insane druid here, who has this very annoying and very beautiful gift of seeing the best in people and believing in them before the people even consider doing that themselves and this odd, purple wizard with his eloquence, books and spells and his weirdly enticing charm belong together.

A match made in heaven – no – based on what we have seen from the gods, it is a so much mightier match made from nights under the stars, hands tangled in fur, forged by devotion and the willingness to sacrifice what could aid us in favor of your love not hurting anymore.

A bond stronger than Gale’s hubris and hunger for ambition and a delusional promise of unlimited power.

A love that flourished in a place of darkness and dread, amidst a curse that turned every living, breathing thing into a shadow made from despair and hopelessness – a love that bloomed when I wondered if we would ever see the sun again. When I was still asking myself if we would actually manage to get rid of the tadpoles and not die in the process.

But amidst it all, despite it all, were there the two of you and the kisses you shared, when you thought we couldn’t see you and the ones you didn’t care whether we saw them or not.

There were your giddy, stupid smiles and the light that returned to your eyes, Tav. Don’t think I didn’t notice how much you suffered from the curse, how much it affected you and how you put on your brave face to give us hope and strength to continue our journey.

I saw it but I was not able to help you, not like Gale could.

Your smile was finally real again when he was around and close to you. I saw how you reached for him, when we ventured into the darkest parts of the curse. And he was already there before you even turned around to him – and assured of his presence you strode forward, your steps powerful and bold. And your magic raged on like I had never seen it before, burning away the darkness and the shadows, cleansing everything on it’s way…

And Tav, you showed me kindness and patience when I did not deserve it throughout all of our journey, you put up with me and my antics and most importantly you accepted who I was, when I barely could do it for myself.

And you saved me, you saved my life more often than I can count, you even brought me back from death because you said that you would miss me and our friendship too much. You could have left me behind, but you didn’t.

And eventually you saved me from myself back in the city, when you faithfully, persistently and firm as rock stood by my side when I faced Cazador. When I dared to loose myself were you there to remind me that I was worthy of a life in the light of being so much more than what he tried to break me into.

And Gale, you showed me magic that I thought to be impossible for me to learn.

You showed me how to protect myself with magic.

And you were the one to pull me out of Cazador’s ritual bounds, you saved me just as much as your beloved did there deep down under the city.

Tav, Gale, I owe you my life!

Especially since the both of you came after me when I burned after the brain fell and the tadpoles were finally gone.

You led me to safety but not back into darkness and despair, no, how could it be ever be dark and lonely for me again, when you, Tav, wrapped me in their cloak while you, Gale, created a magical barrier that sunlight could not penetrate? When the two of you assured me that friends do not get left behind?

I could have, wanted to, succumb to shame that day but you would not let me…

Hey, you two, you better listen close because I may not manage to say it another time: Thank you for helping me all this time, it was very kind!

No, in all seriousness and my undying respect for you:

I am honoured to stand here today and tell the world that I have never before witnessed a love so true, so fated to be, than yours.

You two are here, we are here, today to celebrate that we are living. That we survived and won and most importantly that we are here today to stand witness to your bond…

A bond stronger than fate and darkness and and a tedious journey. A bond that connects you, holds you together, a bond that stretches across worlds, across lives. I am sure that you would find each other in every life. And I am convinced that the two of you are crazy enough and willing to do anything, even getting abducted by mind flayers again, just for a chance to find each other again and fall in love again in another life, if you had to.

So let us raise our glasses to the ones who I am very glad I haven’t killed. Instead I have the honour to call them friends. Family even.

To Tav and Gale, here’s to your love and everything you had to do to get to today…

The Gods know it was no small feat.

You’ve earned it, darlings, you’ve earned it all –and everything that is yet to come for you…”

Tell me honestly, how much in love with Tav and Gale sound Astarion here?

[saphronethaleph]

Wooden Ships and Obscure Disney Films

The RLS Warrior was three days out of Montressor, sails full of the solar wind, and her commander closed his eyes and felt the Etherium around him.

For a number of reasons – not least his old ties with Admiral Amelia – Jim had been heavily involved with the design of the ship, as well as the tradeoffs involved. For all that he wasn’t even twenty-five, yet, the ship was built as much to his ideas as to those of anyone else in the Navy, and after three days he was really starting to get a feel for her.

And he was proud of the work.

The yards had done right by them, and no mistake. She sailed the winds as sweetly as the old Legacy, and if that was partly due to her studdingsails to give her extra sail area – they’d calculated it out a dozen times, even getting Doppler involved, and every time it had come out that the sails were worth the hassle. And the engines sang a fine note, while the treated timbers making up her hull were finely seasoned and showed no sign of weakness or wear.

“Captain?” a nervous voice said, then the voice’s owner corrected herself. “I mean – Commander?”

“Captain is preferred,” Jim replied. “Can’t have more than one captain on a ship.”

Then he opened his eyes, and grinned at the young woman who was nervously clinging to the ropes around the mainmast crow’s nest. “But since there doesn’t seem to be anyone else up here, you can call me Jim if you want.”

“I couldn’t do that!” the woman said, astonished, and her ears flicked down. “You’re – you’re the Captain! And you’re a hero of the Second Procyon War…”

Jim chuckled.

“Midshipwoman Brooks, ten years ago I was a complete tearaway,” he said. “So, did our other midshipmen and women put you up to coming to ask the scary captain about his past? Or is this you personally with a question?”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind either way, I’m just curious. And come on, sit – it’s good you’re comfortable in the shrouds, but there’s no reason to hang there while we’re talking.”

“Right,” Brooks said, still sounding nervous, and clambered into the lookout spot.

For a long moment, there was silence.

“It was just me,” she said. “I was… I suppose I wondered about something, and – I wanted to ask, but it feels like a silly question now.”

“Take it from me, sometimes a silly question is just the question that needs asking,” Jim replied. “Or answering.”

The Warrior shivered a little as they came about, turning six degrees port and adjusting their vector four down as the helmsman pointed them at a different star.

“Well-” the midshipwoman said. “I… why are we on a ship like this?”

Jim raised an eyebrow, something he’d been practising, and Brooks flushed.

“I don’t mean that as a criticism,” she added. “It’s a good ship, of course! I’m just thinking of…”

“The ironclads?” Jim replied.

“The ironclads,” Brooks agreed. “I know they were important in the Procyon war. I also know the Procyons lost, but… the ironclads were so difficult to damage. It feels like even sailing ships like these is a strange choice, let alone building new ones.”

Jim nodded, doing a quick assessment of the girl.

She was… definitely less delinquent than he’d been. She sounded curious, and… realistically speaking, this wasn’t going to stay a secret for long anyway.

It was his decision, and… in this case, he was going to nurture the young officer.

“You’re not wondering anything that we didn’t,” he said. “I was heavily involved in the discussions, actually… perhaps we will end up building the same kind of ironclads as the Procyons were building – I wouldn’t be involved in those decisions, because they’re going on right now and I’m not exactly there.”

He stood, and looked out over the sails of the Warrior. They glowed with inner fire, both directly propelling the ship by catching the wind and also providing the power that let her engines burn at high power for long periods of time.

“I’ve already given you the answer,” he added, glancing at Brooks. “Your academy scores show you’re a bright young woman, midshipwoman – what do you think it is?”

Brooks frowned, and her tail twitched as she thought.

“I think…” she began. “You said… the same kind of ironclads. What other kinds of ironclads are there?”

Jim patted the royal mast, the highest of the four huge cylinders making up Warrior’s mainmast.

“You’re sailing on one,” he answered.

Brooks looked confused, then stood up herself to look down at the sails.

“...how?” she asked. “Ironclads – they don’t look like this!”

“What makes an ironclad?” Jim asked. “It’s the iron, that’s what… experiments showed that it’s actually helpful to have the iron backed by wood, that makes it more resistant to attack. So that’s what Warrior is. She’s a test ship, all right – an ironclad cruiser, with the masts and sails to travel long distances on patrol in a way the Procyon War ironclads never could, and with armour that’s almost as strong.”

He tilted his head, a little. “Midshipwoman, have you ever used a solar sailer?”

Brooks looked a little thrown by the sudden change of topic.

“...no,” she admitted. “I’ve sailed a cutter before, but those have a proper keel and mast… solar sailers seem too dangerous to me. They’re not much more than a board, an engine and a sail, aren’t they?”

“That’s right,” Jim agreed. “And they’re very able to manoeuvre, in ways you can’t even manage by just welding an engine directly to a board. The key is the sail – you’ve done vectors in your classes, the key point here is that you can combine the vectors from the sail and the engine, and the transverse resistance from the sail if you push it to go in a direction against the one it’s meant to go. You can pull some incredibly tight turns.”

Brooks was frowning, clearly processing that information.

“That sounds like it’s personal experience, Captain,” she said. “You’ve done that?”

“I’ve done both,” Jim agreed. “And I’ve captained wooden ships against ironclads… ironclads struggle to turn fast, because they only have differential thrust, and they struggle to move quickly as well. And the former is what let us run circles around them… and strategically, they were dependent on covert support ships carrying fuel. Do you think the Warrior is the same?”

Brooks shook her head.

“No,” she replied, then frowned. “So you’re saying that… the sails are an advantage?”

“They might not be forever,” Jim conceded. “Maybe some day all our line warships will have to be full ironclads, where even the risk of mast damage is too much. But I think even then there’ll be a place for cruisers to have sails, for some years longer.”

He clapped her on the shoulder. “And maybe we’ll both see that day – but right now, if we ran into an ironclad from the Procyon Wars, I’m sure we’d clean their clock. Because this is the finest ship and crew I’ve yet seen, and I’ve seen a few crews.”

Then he looked slightly awkward. “Admittedly, my first one had about ninety percent of it be pirates…”

“Pardon?” Brooks asked. “Was that during the war?”

“Before,” Jim replied. “During my misspent youth. Though… you may as well tell the others this, Miss Midshipwoman – I think I’m going to have all of you young officers, and perhaps the rest of the crew, have at least one go each on a solar sailer. I believe there’s four in one of the holds, and it’s a useful skill… once you’ve flown one, not much else can scare you.”

The feline midshipwoman looked at her captain, still not sure how to take the oddly informal conversation.

“Should I be worried?” she asked.

Jim shrugged.

“That’s more BEN’s department than mine,” he admitted. “He flat out refuses to come up to the crow’s nest, though, so I’ll have to ask him on deck…”

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number neighbors Pt.28

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

You wouldn’t describe yourself as someone who was regularly paranoid, but recently you've been more than a little on edge. You’d given the man at the market the benefit of the doubt, chalking his appearance up to going to the marketplace when the weather was the most reasonable- like you’d been doing, but that doesn’t explain the Suvs.

You don’t know how long they’ve been following you for, you’d been so stuck in your own world that you’d barely been paying attention to your surroundings but after Saturday you’ve been more cautious of your surroundings and that’s when you noticed the black Suv.

You don’t know if it’s the same one every time, they’ve always kept a far enough distance and you haven't been able to catch a license plate but they appear every so often when you go out. The windows are tinted far too dark to be legal so you can’t see inside but you occasionally find them parked outside of buildings you frequent and it’s starting to worry you.

You don’t want to worry your friends or your mom who would buy a ticket out there first thing though, so you keep to yourself and try to keep a distance from the cars and the marketplace (it’s a devastating loss to not have Gladys’ pastries on hand)

On top of that, everyone has been on edge because of the disappearance of most of the Avengers. As far as you know, Stark, Clint, Banner, and that Spider kid are the only ones still in New York which has civilians asking questions about where the others are and why they left. 

The anxiety from the lack of heroes has everyone grilling the government for answers, especially considering the fact that the crime rate has gone up just from petty criminals getting too cocky. Due to the constant heat The government has been under, they stated that they’ll issue a public service announcement in a week to explain the situation and you can practically feel the country buzzing with anticipation.

The situation makes you think of Nat and you wonder if her “not FBI job” has something to do with this and is the reason why she’s disappeared. You hope she knows wherever she is that you would’ve understood if she’d just explained the situation to you- but maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she was under some kind of NDA that could put her in danger.

Despite avoiding the marketplace you still get the feeling that you’re being watched and it makes you uneasy. You feel like you’re hallucinating with how often you see shadows moving somewhere nearby. You’re never able to catch a glimpse of anyone who might resemble the market man but the fear is enough to have you staying a few nights at your friend's house.

The Suv’s don’t appear for a while after the move and it allows you a small moment of reprieve. You push the lingering feeling of constant observance to the back of your mind despite your brain telling you to be on guard.

The stress of the situation is so tremendous you don’t even realize you’ve been forgetting to leave voicemails for Nat until your mom calls asking why you haven’t called her in a while. You don’t bring up the stalkers to avoid giving her a heart attack but you do tell her about the amount of stress you’ve been under and the toll it’s been taking on you. 

It feels so good to talk about it that you don’t even realize you’re crying until your mother's concerned voice is comforting you through the speaker. God, it was like the universe couldn’t give you a break lately. You hope whatever they’re putting you through all of this for is worth it. 

“Come home for a while, Y/n. it sounds like you need a break, I’ll take care of you.” The dismissal of her offer is on the tip of your tongue but the more you mull it over the more you think it might be a good idea. With the city on edge, the growing crime rate, and your new potential stalkers, getting away from the city is probably the best thing you could do right now.

Much to your mother's surprise, you agree and her excitement at having you come home has you smiling on your end of the receiver. The two of you spend the next hour looking for an affordable last minute and you find a plane that leaves in two days that the two of you agree on. It’s probably not nearly enough appropriate notice for time off but your boss agrees anyway and within the hour you’ve got plans to spend a week at your mother's out of town.

It’s the first vacation you’ve taken in a while and even if it was just going home you find yourself more excited than you’d been in at least a month. You hadn’t been this excited since-

Nat. You hadn’t been this excited since you were supposed to meet Nat. 

It probably didn’t matter to her that you were going out of town, it wasn’t like she was getting your voicemails anyway but- what if she showed up while you were gone? You shake your head, the possibility of that was slim to none and if she did come back while you were gone she’d just have to wait like she’d made you wait.

Still, she deserved to know about the kid on the skateboard you watched run into a pole earlier today, at least. You listen for the tale-tell sound of the beep after the long too-familiar ringing and you find yourself subconsciously smiling as you tell her random snippets from your week.

The breakfast your friend treated you to, the new show you started, the fair that got canceled due to raccoons breaking in to eat all the cotton candy. You avoid talking about the stalkers like you’d done with everyone else but you frown when the news channel starts covering another attempted bank robbery. 

Despite your own safety being in jeopardy you can’t help but worry for her wherever she may be, causing you to voice the thought, the humor in your tone replaced with a solemn resolve

“wherever you are… I hope you’re safe.” You shake your head, attempting to clear your mind from the restless thoughts in your mind “Anyway, sorry I know that was a lot- all that to say I miss you and I love you. Bye!”

You don’t even realize what you’ve said until 10 seconds later and you frantically press whichever number was supposed to delete the message. 

Shit.

It was such a force of habit to end your phone calls with an I love you. You can’t believe you almost confessed to Nat over the phone. Moreover, you’re freaked out by how much the words didn’t feel like a lie. If you were honest you’d been avoiding putting a label on your emotions because you were scared of how serious they were getting but apparently your brain had already decided for you. 

Love.

You loved Nat.

You Love Nat.

Fuck.

Your mind reels with the newfound discovery and you’re grateful you deleted the message before it would be stuck in her voicemail for her to one day hear. Your head's a mess as you set your phone down on the counter and go to pack up your stuff, you had a trip to get ready for and a relationship to overanalyze to try and pinpoint when you and Nat had gone from total strangers to you being in love with her.

 It all made sense now, the heartache, the worrying, the underlying tension between the two of you

It was just your luck that you’d discover you love her when you can’t even tell her. You’re so in your head with your emotions and figuring out what to pack that you don’t even register the sound of your phone’s female electronic voice as it declares

“Voicemail sent”

Pt.29

A/n: Classic mistake, Y/n, I’m sure everyone’s done that! Don’t worry it’s not like she can hear your voicemails or anything…or uhhh ~ Starry

---Taglist--

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish @natashaswife4125 @elenimoris @how-to-disappearrr @screechcat @toouncreativeforausername @ordelixx @autorasexy @blacklightsposts @vmpnano @jono723 @sylencr @saraaahsstuff @autorasexy @gay4hotmilfs @tofu9162 @dyslexic-dreamer @graniairish @colettehope @kosmichs1 @nmhlver @natblidaclexa @skittlebum @dorabledewdroop @nothanksbye07 @mrsrushman @midastouch013 @thalia-is-not-ok @tessalah @annab3113 @officialnighttime

[legalmente-loca]

Romantic Atmosphere

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: You met him in winter, where your story was just beginning. As you deal with your mother's death and Sam tries to get used to normal life, you both find yourself immersed in each other.

Romantic Atmosphere Masterlist

Word Count: 2,891

Tags/Warnings: none

Part 1: Winter, when we met

It took you a few seconds to look away, but when you finally did, you cleared your throat.

“Thank you.” You mumbled before grabbing the bouquet of flowers and heading towards the entrance.

You felt embarrassed, maybe a little curious about the one called Sam. But then again, you didn’t want to divert your attention from your goal. So when you left the flower shop, you took the right path, against the wind, to head to the cemetery, but you didn’t notice that your scarf was unraveling, and it was at that moment that it slipped from your neck to behind you.

You tried to grab it, but you failed, and you were about to run after it when you saw him.

Sam. Who didn’t have much trouble reaching out his hand and grabbing the scarf. His height was actually a huge advantage.

“I think this is yours.” He said as he walked over to you and looked at the scarf.

“Thank you… Again.” You gave a small nervous laugh.

Sam smiled. You had a cute laugh, even as you tried to hide your nervousness. He assumed you were embarrassed by everything that had happened, but he wasn’t going to blame you for your attitude. It was clear that there was something bothering you, and it wasn’t something small.

He handed you your scarf.

“I… I want to apologize for how I treated you in there. You just wanted to help.”

“It’s okay. I admit that maybe approaching you like I did was suspicious.”

You smiled and placed the scarf back around your neck.

“Anyway… I’m sorry.”

He stared at you and nodded.

“I forgive you.”

“First you help me with the flowers and then with my scarf. Are you some kind of hero?”

“I’m far from that, trust me.”

You sensed a story behind that. It seemed like a truth he truly believed.

“You know what? If you really want to apologize, let me buy you a coffee.”

“Shouldn’t I buy you one?” You asked.

“Just accepting the invitation is enough for me.”

You thought about it. You could refuse and go to the cemetery to pay respect to your mother, or you could accept and miss out on that.

God, it seemed like you only accepted to avoid her.

“Okay, I accept.”

You arrived at the nearest coffee shop and sat down at a table by the window a moderate distance from the other people. The aroma of coffee was strong in the place and because of the time there weren’t many people there. Sam was in front of you, his hands wrapped around his coffee cup to warm his hands. You did the same, putting your gloves in your coat pocket.

“So, since we’re here,” He started. “Maybe it’s good to say why we were at that flower shop today.”

“What makes you think I wasn’t there just to decorate my home?”

“Besides you just confirmed it to me,” He laughed softly. “You seemed a little stressed when choosing the flowers.”

You nodded and took a sip of your coffee.

“Well, there is a reason.”

“But?”

“But I’m not sure I trust you enough to tell you.” You smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“Confidential or personal?”

“Can’t it be both?”

Sam looked at you like you were a wonder. It seemed like you wanted to play with his mind just to avoid answering the question.

“For what it’s worth, you’ll probably never see me again in your life, so it won’t do me any good to know your secret.”

You noted that he was good with words, that he could probably get a criminal to confess with promises of a light sentence.

“Okay, um...” You took another sip of your coffee and cleared your throat. “My mother passed away a few weeks ago and today I was deciding what flowers to bring her.”

Sam’s face turned apologetic.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

You sighed.

“She and I… Let’s just say we didn’t end well. So… I didn’t really know what flowers to get her or if I should or even what kind of flowers to get her because I’ve never read about the different types of flowers and their meanings.” You spoke quickly and took a deep breath once you were done.

“Oh, wow, that’s…” He cleared his throat. “No wonder you looked stressed.”

You sighed and stared at your coffee cup. Sam looked at you with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. You were having a hard time and you were at your limit. And he was going to make sure you didn’t overstep it and push you away from him.

“You know, how about after this we go for a walk?” He asked after you took another sip of your coffee.

“Really? Why do you want to go for a walk with me?”

“We could get to know each other.”

“Why are you interested in getting to know me?”

“I just see that you have a lot of tension in you and I think it wouldn’t hurt to, uh, get it out.”

You nodded slowly, but you were unsure. You didn’t know him. You didn’t know anything about him. But maybe that was what you needed. To walk with a stranger, talk, and clearly hope that he wasn’t crazy.

“Okay.” You agreed.

He smiled and took the last of his coffee. When you both walked out, Sam held the door for you like a gentleman. You put your hands in your pockets as you walked out, looking around. Snow surrounded you and there were some kids playing on the other street.

“So,” Sam started as he adjusted his coat. “Could you tell me your name?” You gave him your name. “Huh…”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It just… Reminds me of something, but I don’t know what.”

You nodded.

“So… Uhm, Sam, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Study, actually. Law.”

You raised your eyebrows in interest.

“Law. That’s… Prestigious.”

He laughed lightly and looked up and down the street before crossing.

“Many would say it’s selling your soul to the devil.” He commented.

“There’s even a movie about it.”

It was a small laugh you gave, but it was there. And Sam couldn’t help but turn to look at you as soon as he heard you.

When you reached the other side of the street was when he looked away. But there was something magnetic about you that forced his eyes to look at you.

“And what do you do?” he asked you.

“Well, Sam, I work in a bookstore.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, and I can tell you that we have some good law books.”

He laughed and shook his head in amusement.

“I’ll go as soon as I can.”

You turned to look at him the same moment he looked away. But you obviously hadn’t realized that he had been watching you this whole time.

“Let’s play a game.” You said suddenly.

“A game?”

“Yeah, you know, a game to get to know each other.”

“What is it about?”

“I'll tell you three things, two of them will be true and the other will be a lie. You have to guess which one is which.”

“That's it? Okay, I understand. Sounds interesting.”

You continued walking and you cleared your throat.

“Okay, I’ll start.” You took your hands out of your pockets and stood there thinking for a while as you watched the snow fall. “Uhm, well, for starters, my mom was a teacher and my dad was a military man when they met. He came to introduce himself to the kids in her class and he mentioned that he couldn’t stop looking at her for a moment.”

“Okay…”

“Now, the second thing I have to tell you is that I have a brother and a sister, both older, and one day I was washing dishes and… Well, my sister came over to hug me, we’ve always gotten along.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “The thing is, she came over and a cup I was drying fell out of my hands. It shattered on the floor.” I nodded. “The point is, we never told anyone. It’s like our secret.”

Sam watched you intently the whole time, listening to every word that came out of your mouth. And when you smoothed that lock of hair out of your face, it only made another lock of hair obstruct his view of your face. His hand tickled and he tried to smooth it back out, but he realized it would look weird to touch your hair when you two barely knew each other, so he ran that same hand through his hair instead.

“Now, the last lie or truth;” You continued, unaware of the fight that had just occurred inside Sam’s mind. “When I was five, I stole a bottle of liquor that my dad kept stashed away. Of course, I didn’t know it was liquor, so I drank it.”

Sam laughed softly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. They even had to take me to the hospital. My mom was elated and my siblings had to come to the hospital because there was no one to take care of them.” I smiled. “It was a good night.”

You came to a corner and you stared at a dress that was behind a large window. Whenever you passed by there, you stared at that dress. It was one you liked, on sale because it was summer. It was red, above the knee. It reminded you of a dress your mother had bought you for your fourteenth birthday. Sam noticed your look, the way your eyes sparkled when you saw that dress.

“So…” You said, looking away from the window.

“So what?” You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, right, two truths, one lie.”

You crossed the street, Sam looking both ways for you. Snow was beginning to pile up around you. You made a mental note to light the fireplace when you got home.

“Well, I think the fact that you have a sister and a brother is true.”

“Oh, yeah? Explain.”

“You look like a little sister. And I know what I'm talking about, because I'm one too.”

“We were born to be the spoiled and the most oblivious of the family.”

“True.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And the other truth is the one about you stealing the liquor... I don't think that at five years old you could steal a bottle of alcohol. Surely your father kept it well guarded, especially being a soldier.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

He shrugged.

“He's a soldier, he should know those things.”

“Your father was a soldier too?”

“Marine.”

“Okay…”

You stopped and turned to look at him, smiling sideways.

“You lost.”

“What?” Sam frowned in confusion.

“You lost. My mother wasn't a teacher and my father wasn't a soldier. They both worked at the same supermarket, that's how they met.”

“No way.”

You smiled and continued walking. Sam watched you for a few seconds. You had tricked him and you were obviously proud of it.

“You’re enjoying it.” He said, coming up to you.

“Yep, a lot.”

He shook his head in amusement.

“Does that mean you really stole your dad’s liquor?”

“Like I said, it was a good night. Even though I don’t remember much about it.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “Now your turn.”

“Oh, no, I think I’ll pass.”

“What? No, the game was me first and then you.”

“I don’t think I want to play it.” He said with a dry laugh.

You looked at him curiously. This was probably a sign to get away from this complete stranger, but a part of you said that what he was hiding from you about his life wasn’t dangerous in a way, at least not saying that he was the dangerous one.

You continued walking for another few minutes in silence, just admiring the scenery and listening to the atmosphere that surrounded them when they passed in front of a chocolate shop.

Sam stopped walking, leaving you walking alone, not realizing that he had stopped. He turned to look at the store, which had a chocolate brown tone. On shelves were several boxes, some open and others closed.

“You know something?” He spoke, making you stop walking and turn to look at him. “Wait here.” He said before entering the store, the bell you even heard from where you were.

“But what the…?”

You stood in front of the window, looking in. There stood Sam, approaching the counter and talking to the salesman. You watched the interaction in confusion. Sam was buying a box of chocolates. You knew this because the salesman passed one over the counter to him as Sam pulled money out of his wallet. You cocked your head as you watched the interaction and swayed in place, the sun slowly leaving the sky and making the ground colder. After a few moments, Sam came out, happily holding a box of chocolates in his hands.

“What’s all this about?” You laughed lightly and he shrugged.

“I jus’ thought you could use some chocolates.”

He held the box out to you and you hesitated.

“I can’t accept them, you already bought me coffee.” He nodded in understanding. “Besides, it’s about time I went home.”

He smirked and walked over to the curb.

“Taxi!” A cab pulled up in front of him and he turned to look at you. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

You smiled and got into the cab. When Sam got in you gave the driver the address and turned to look at him.

“So… You want to spend more time with me or why are you doing all this?”

“I could never let a lady walk home alone,” He handed you the box of chocolates. “And no chocolate.”

“Well, then…” You grabbed the box. “The least I can do…” You started to open it. “Is share it with you.”

Sam looked into your eyes, wondering if you were real or if the reflection of the setting sun was just making you feel ethereal.

You started eating the chocolates. It was fun to guess the taste of each one before eating. Some were delicious, but others left a bad taste in your mouth.

“Oh, this one is really good.”

“Really? Let me try it.”

“This one’s definitely not my favorite. It’s coconut.”

“You’re exaggerating. Coconut isn’t that bad.”

The tour continued with chatter and laughter. They told anecdotes and shared a private moment (despite the taxi driver). At one point the corner of Sam’s lip got stained with chocolate and you almost raised your hand to wipe it away, but you shook your gaze away.

“You have...”

“What?”

“Chocolate... There.”

“Uh? Oh, yes... Thanks. Is that all?”

“Yep, all clean.”

The taxi driver looked at them out of the corner of his eye, curious.

“You must be newlyweds.” He thought.

When you arrived at your house, you stared at it for a few seconds in silence. You didn't want the moment to end. You fervently wanted to continue chatting with him. But returning home meant the end of this encounter.

They got out of the taxi and he walked you to the door of your house.

“You have a nice house.”

“Thank you.”

You stared at each other, each with different minds. Different points of view. Different ways of life with different habits. But both were thinking the same thing.

“Well... I think I'll leave you here.”

“Yeah... Yeah, I guess so.” You cleared your throat and extended your hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam...”

“Winchester.” He took your hand, his thumb caressing it.

“Sure... Winchester. You were a nice surprise.” You let go of his hand. “It really wasn’t one of my best days and you...” You shook your head. “I don’t know, you knew how to make it memorable.”

He nodded and placed a hand on his chest.

“I’m at your service.”

You turned around and, with the keys you kept in your purse, unlocked the door to your home and entered. Sam was just turning around when you turned back to look at him.

“Sorry, but... Do you think, maybe, I don’t know... You could give me your phone number? Just in case I have a bad day again.”

Sam was pleased to hear that.

“Yeah, of course.” He handed you his number. “Feel free to call.”

He turned around and started walking towards the cab.

“I will...” You mumbled before closing the door.

Sam got in the car and settled into the seat as the cabbie turned to look at him.

“Wait, she’s not your wife?”

“What? No, no, of course not.” He laughed softly as he shook his head. “I just met her today.”

“Tsk, too bad.” He looked back ahead. “Would have bet you were dating at the very least.” He started the car. “You two have a lot of chemistry and all.”

Sam smiled. Your house drifting away and he followed it with his eyes. The chemistry between the two of you was indescribable. Everyone around you seemed to notice it, even the two of you.

“Yeah, it seems that way.” He mumbled.

Sam Winchester Series/Mini Series

Sam Winchester Masterlist

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[innbetween]

Question more so for Hannah than Tessa but who knows, maybe podcasts exist in the dnd world.

wanted to know if you had any queer fantasy and/or sci-fi audio drama recommendations. I’ve listened to and loved Welcome To NightVale, Jar Of Rebuke, Absolutely No Adventures, Zoo, The Bright Sessions, and of course, Inn Between. Thanks regardless :]

DO I

Yeah I definitely do. I'm actually one of those cishets myself, so just to be absolutely clear, i'm going to include only shows with at least one main character who's not like. You know. One of me. I'm also looking at your selections and noting a sort of steady pacing, respect for exploration, and character focus, so I'll be leaning toward those.

FANTASY

Dragon's Rest is a sitcom in the vein of ANA and Inn Between--a fantasy inn, a grumpy owner, her hapless hero hopeful busboy, the local lush, a bard who, and I cannot stress this enough, is too dumb to read. It's delightful, honestly.

Eeler's Choice is a strange and beautiful oceanic adventure about magic, siblings, and giant eels. The music slaps also.

Electromancy: imagine if Harry Potter was a) not written by a freakin transphobe, and b) actually asked hard questions about imperialism. Like hey, should we be doing imperialism?

The Kingmaker Histories is hard to describe. I can say "steampunk," and "magic" and "magical politics" and "Collette's got a jewel stuck in her head that explodes people sometimes" but that's not even the half of it.

Sidequesting is like, best friends with ANA. Rion, a brave hero, is given a magic sword for an epic quest...and promptly goes and does literally everything else. It's so nice.

Starfall hey what's up Starfall I love you Starfall, Starfall's about a magic theater troupe and definitely not also about how imperialism is bad, actually. Fel and Leona own my whole heart. Friends.

Sci-Fi

Ask Your Father is one of those shows that hits you in the teeth. When an accident sends an astronaut and his AI bestie way off course, he finds himself lost in space, answering questions from his kids and husband that will absolutely break your heart. I cried. A lot.

Gastronaut is near-future sci-fi about a bougie foodie who goes on a journey to discover the food of the Asian diaspora throughout the solar system. And things go...very bad. This show loves food so much and it loves the characters even more.

Midnight Burger is...everything. How do you even describe it. It's hard sci-fi dressed up in a found family package and served with fries. Or maybe beans and rice, if Gloria's cooking. It is a deeply cynical show that nevertheless insists that the universe is worth fighting for, with everything you've got.

The Pasithea Powder is explicitly written for people who like a gritty, uncomfortable, messy romance. Like, did you like Stucky fanfic? So do the writers and it's amazing. The tagline is that a retired fighter pilot/war hero and a disgraced scientist/war criminal used to be best friends. They still might be, if the other one will pick up the phone.

Second Star to the Left is about colonization and xenobiology and the kinds of connections you can make light years away from each other. It's about rules and when it's okay to break them. It's beautiful.

Startripper!! is also very ANA and Inn Between--an accountant decides to ditch his day job, buy the far-future equivalent of a Millennium Falcon replica, and travel the universe for the rest of his life. It's so fun.

The Strange Case of the Starship Iris is like, if Firefly had real Asians in it. It's about a group of space smugglers turned galaxy heroes, and it's absolutely incredible.

Travelling Light is another travelogue, but this one features a person doing archival work for their community and meeting amazing people and hearing amazing stories while they do it. It's so gentle and wonderful.

World Gone Wrong is a chat podcast between two separated roommates who are trying to make sense of the end of the world. Like what do you do with that extra hour in the day now? Is my community going to lose its mind because some of the trees look like women? How can I throw a poetry jam that's inclusive for my werewolf friends? It's so well crafted and well acted. I think about it every day.

Wow this ended up long. There's a few to get you started!