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

[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 sounds Astarion here?

[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.

[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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© all rights reserved to MADWOMANSAPOLOGIST

[leoivys]

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 ♡

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

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".

[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

[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

[aidomor]

✦A Child's Dream✦

Consists :Melancholy,Vulnerability,Sadness, healing through love, Tenderness, Love and affection.

✦.── ✦.⋆⭒˚.⋆𓆟 ⋆⭒˚.⋆.✦ ── .✦

Our eyes locked briefly before drifting to the vast black sky adorned with countless stars. It was a beautifully eerie night, the kind that felt like a quiet secret between us and the universe. Being here with him was a blessing I could never stop being grateful for.The cold air mixed with the warmth of our breath, creating faint clouds of mist that lingered for only a moment before dissolving. "It's like a dream" I whispered, my gaze fixed on the shimmering sky. "Looking at it like this feels mesmerizing. It's always been one of my dreams to explore the sky and all its wonders."

He turned his head to look at me, a small smile tugging at his lips. His ginger hair shifted lightly with the breeze, catching the starlight in a way that made my heart flutter. "How do you view dreams?" i asked "I think stars resemble dreams in some way." He blinked at my words, tilting his head slightly as he thought. "They’re countless and beautiful" I replied softly, my smile growing as I turned my gaze from the stars to meet his. "Each one is unique, yet they light up the darkness together."

He tilted his head, his expression touched by an admiring confusion, as if he were trying to unravel the threads of my thoughts. "What about you?" I asked, my voice quiet but warm.

At the question, he shifted uncomfortably, his gaze breaking away from mine. My heart sank, worry blooming in my chest. Had I said something wrong?

As I opened my mouth to ask, his voice cut through the stillness, soft and fragile. "I view dreams as artifacts, fragments of untold stories, sacred and irreplaceable. Especially the dreams of innocent young souls. Dreams are sacred treasures, worth guarding with everything we have. Without them, the dreamer is left hollow, stripped of purpose. Nothing more than an empty vessel adrift in the void."

His jaw twitched, a subtle betrayal of his carefully guarded composure. Yet his eyes, those voided wells of emptiness, betrayed him most of all. How could such desolate eyes still carry the weight of pain? It was as if they defied their owner’s will, daring to glisten with a liquid sheen of unshed tears."What was your dream, Ajax?" I asked, my voice trembling as though the question itself bore the weight of his unspoken sorrows.For a moment, his throat tightened, his silence heavy and raw. Then, a fleeting trace of a smile, faint and bitter, ghosted across his lips. "To be a hero."

I drew in a sharp breath, words poised on my tongue, but they froze as a biting cold swept over me. The chill wrapped itself around my body, making me shiver. He noticed and a soft chuckle escaped him, warm and low, and in one fluid motion, he unwrapped his scarf and bent down to wrap it gently around my neck."You could still be a hero if you wanted" I murmured, my voice quiet, a whisper caught in the icy air. "It's never too late, and I—"

His hands lingered as he adjusted the scarf, their roughness brushing my skin. I fidgeted, my fingers tracing absent patterns as if to memorize the sensation of his touch. "You're a hero in my eyes, Ajax." His movements stilled, his hands frozen mid-air. I summoned the courage to tilt my head up, searching for his gaze. His beautiful ocean eyes that had once seemed so empty are now shimmered, a faint twinkle like a distant star breaking through a storm.

Without hesitation, I reached for his hands, intertwining my fingers with his. They were calloused and scarred, marred by battles I could only imagine. Yet in my grasp, they felt impossibly soft, as if their strength had been tempered by a profound gentleness.I lifted his hand to my lips, pressing a kiss so light it was barely more than a breath, a whisper against his skin. In that moment, the cold faded, leaving only the fragile warmth of the moment between us.

I hoped he could see it, how deeply he weighed on my heart, how his pain carved into me with merciless precision, slicing through every fragile part of my being. Each scar on his hand felt like a story I wanted to rewrite, to heal with a kiss and watch transform into a constellation of stars. He deserved the universe, and yet the universe felt like such a small offering in comparison to him.

"Everything about you is perfect, Ajax" I said softly, my voice trembling with unfiltered honesty. "I love your whole existence. I love your smile, your laugh, your face, your heart. And most certainly, your ocean crystal eyes."For a moment, he seemed frozen, his expression unreadable. Then, he leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against mine. It was such a simple gesture, but the intimacy of it made my chest tighten, my soul whispering a silent plea for this moment to stretch into eternity.

"You don’t find them repulsive?" His voice was so quiet, so fragile, as if he was afraid of the answer.My heart twisted at his words, and I frowned deeply, gripping his hands tightly. "Nothing about you is repulsive, Ajax. Nothing." I paused, my voice steady with conviction as I looked him in the eye. "The only thing repulsive here is the sentence you just spoke. You’re my sun, Ajax. You light up every corner of my world. I love you."

He pulled away slightly, just enough to press his lips to my forehead. It was the gentlest of kisses, yet it carried the weight of unspoken emotions, of desperation and love so raw it made my heart weak. "I really love, love, love you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes shimmered, the desperation in them so palpable it ached. That faint twinkle, that fragile beauty, broke me in the most exquisite way.

He was beautiful. Utterly, achingly beautiful.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close, and he mirrored the gesture, holding me with an urgency that matched my own. We stayed like that, tangled together under the quiet night sky, our hearts beating in perfect rhythm.In that sacred stillness, amidst whispered promises of love and devotion, I knew. I knew that no matter what, we would remain bound to each other, hearts entwined in a bond as unyielding as the stars above.

✦.── ✦.⋆⭒˚.⋆𓆟 ⋆⭒˚.⋆.✦ ── .✦

[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!

[mamapyjama]

Thought I ought to bring this over here for the Tumblr crew since it’s making a little buzz in the other place and I want to gather all my thoughts in one place.

So, back in 2022 I was in my feelings about Izuku (when am I not?) and wrote the following little sad headcanon on twt:

Made myself sad thinking about how the original Japanese word for Quirk is ‘kosei’, which means ‘individuality’ or the unique part of a personality. It’s no wonder Deku thought he was plain and useless. Everyone has literally been telling him since he was 4. 😓 Like, there’s no way at that age he could separate people talking about his lack of meta-ability from his own unique value as a person when they’re using the same damn word. That’s the kind of stuff that’s going to stick with you. 🥺

Sad to imagine, eh?

Fast forward to 2024 and chapter 412, and as always, I was browsing the jp fandom tweets for reactions after the official release. They often pick up on things we miss like Katsuki’s childlike language, the NTR implications of the kudoichi plot etc.

As I scrolled, I realised there was a HUGE disconnect between what we in “The West” were experiencing (mostly rage at yet another translation ‘choice’) and the existential questioning that was occurring among Japanese readers.

This is just a tiny glimpse, but you should know that every single one I saw was doing the tweet equivalent of staring into the middle distance with a haunted look.

It’s all about the panel below, which was mentioned by the incomparable Pikahlua, as it is unusual in writing ‘mukosei’ without the speechmarks that signify ‘quirkless’ (to use the English term) rather than ‘lacking individuality’.

Horikoshi always uses speechmarks around “Kosei” when talking about quirks, so the implication here is that Izuku never believed he had actual individuality/personality.

Using this interpretation, Kudou observed that Izuku held the hope that even people who were detestable (Katsuki) and those who had no individuality (Izuku) still had human hearts.

Read that again. Izuku hoped that both he and Kacchan, despite their shortcomings, had human hearts. He thinks his only worth is as a vessel, a holder of OFA, and without that he’s barely human.

Ever noticed how some parts of the fandom complain that Deku is a boring MC, that he’s just ‘nice’, and we never get his opinions on things? Yeah.

Remember how hard he cried when All Might said he could be a hero? That was the first time in his life that someone acknowledged him as someone with potential, with worth. (In ch2 he also says “I have no reason to refuse!!” when offered OFA, which always struck me as slightly anticlimactic but makes way more sense now).

And remember how he cried in a similar way when Ochako told the world that he wasn’t special but that he had a special power? She couldn’t have known she was reinforcing his deepest held insecurity, and for a moment his mask slipped. Or maybe he was touched by her assertion that he was just a ‘regular high school kid’? We don’t know, but it’s worth taking a look at these moments in this new light.

You staring into the middle distance with a haunted look too yet? I know I am.

If you’re interested in the bright side (I needed this, I hope it helps):

Narratively speaking, this is the angst section that will lead to Midoriya Izuku: Rising and the happy ending they all deserve.

And the person most likely to disavow him of this sense of inherent worthlessness is the one person who added to it the most in their childhoods.

✨KACCHAN!!✨

No one else can reassure Izuku that he is special, that he’s worthwhile and—crucially—that he always has been, because he’s the only one who knew that all along.

If you need more reassurance, remember that their Origin and Rising chapters so far have all involved each other and have mirrored the emotional journey they’re both on.

Bakugou Katsuki: Origin: Katsuki struggles to accept Izuku and work as a team to battle All Might. Eventually does the bare minimum to cooperate by lending him his gauntlet.

Bakugou Katsuki: Rising: Katsuki coordinates the pro heroes and sacrifices himself to save Izuku. His body ‘moved on its own.’

Midoriya Izuku: Origin: Izuku is bullied by Katsuki, tries to save Katsuki from a villain—his body ‘moved on its own’, and is consequently told he can be a hero by All Might.

It isn’t a reach at all to pretty safely assume that Izuku’s Rising chapter will also be intrinsically linked to Katsuki, and it is his cooperation, faith and love (however you interpret it) that will finally save Izuku from his own sense of worthlessness. Closing the circle.

So yeah, this bit could be rough for the next few chapters, but I have faith that Horikoshi will wrap it up in a way that will be so rewarding and satisfying.

I’m gonna stop now because I’m ill and I need to rest my head, thanks for reading! 😮‍💨

[billybatsonbrainrot]

Can you do 4 or 9 please?

Part 2 of Goodbye Marvel: What does the Justice League think about this? (Part 1 is the post below this)

After Billy decides to quit being Captain Marvel, he realizes that means he's quitting the Justice League as well. No more monitor duty, meetings, patrol, and going on missions that lasts for days, sometimes weeks. He never realized how much time being Captain Marvel took from him. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't have much of a personal life before any of this; he spent more time as Cap then he did himself. Well, it was time to change that.

Billy doesn't outright quit the League. He knows it would be easier to tell them, but he doesn't want to confront them after lying to them all this time. They would probably be more understanding if he had told them about his identity in the first place. And he's still not turning into Captain Marvel because he's wary of what the gods would do.

Instead, Billy sneaks out one night and goes deep into the woods in Fawcett City with a shovel and a shoebox containing his JL communicator. He digs a hole that takes hours while he's having conflicting emotions, he feels sorrow and resentment at the same time. Is he really doing this? Yes, he is. He buries the shoebox several feet under the ground and leaves. But not before saying a few words, having a makeshift funeral for his dead alter ego.

Meanwhile, the Justice League start to wonder where Captain Marvel has gone. He has not been seen in weeks. When the weeks turn into months, they start to worry. His absence does not go unnoticed in the hero community nor the public.

Eventually, they got to a point where they have to go looking for him. They track down his comm and to their surprise it shows it's in Fawcett, Cap's city but no captain in sight. They all go down there to see what's going on. They're led deep into the depths of some woods close to the city and they find nothing.

Everyone spreads out to look for clues. It's not until Batman points out a patch on the ground that looks freshly dug up that Superman uses his x-ray vision to look down and finds the Captain's comm buried inside a shoebox. They're able to dig it up in no time and Batman is able to confirm that it is indeed his. But what is it doing there? Did Cap bury it? For what reason?

With Captain Marvel's comm in their hands, they realize that there is no way to have their questions answered if they have no way to find him. That's when they have the idea to call Zatanna. Maybe she has a spell that shows what events happened in this forest. And she does.

When she gets there, she points out that there was a strong magical aura left in the area and it will take her a while to do the spell. They wonder if it's Cap's, maybe he was the one who buried his comm. But when Zatanna performs the spell, they see a small, hooded figure instead. They see him dig the hole and placing the box there and burying it, but they are unable to see his face because of the hood and it being nighttime when it happened. It's obviously a child. The figure finally finishes and stays there for a moment in total silence. It's when he starts talking that they are left frozen in shock. They can't believe the words coming out of the kid's mouth.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, captain. You used to be the best part of my life" He started off.

"I looked forward to seeing you more than anyone else, even myself at one point. You really were a ray of light in the darkness. You were able to make everyone's day better, but not mine." The league stared at him confused.

"You ended up being more trouble than your worth. You only bring chaos with you" Some league members gave him a look of disapproval.

"I think... I'm glad I got rid of you" That got everyone's attention

"My life actually improved now that you're gone. And I think that's kind of funny. I would have said the opposite about a year ago." What the hell is this kid even saying?

"Your responsibilities only caused disturbance to my life" That caused more confusion. Why would Cap's hero duties cause a disturbance? Was the kid secretly a villain?

"The only thing that will be a nuisance now is the fact that everyone will probably be worrying about where you've gone. But they won't be able to find anything" Some members got a stern look on their face.

"I have no doubt that the Justice League would come looking for you. But I think I'll just give it a few months before they stop looking. Were you even that great of a hero?" Who did this kid think he is? The league members got angered on the captain's behalf.

"Well, you were my hero. Even if I was the one that made you disappear, I'm still going to miss you" How dare he? A ghost of smile can be seen on face when he turned towards the moonlight. But the upper half of his face was still not visible. Oh, how they wanted to smack that smile off his face.

The words that came out of his mouth was like a messed-up eulogy. The kid started off praising Captain Marvel to degrading him, calling him a nuisance.

"Goodbye Marvel" are the last words he says before he turned around and left. Zatanna's spell stops there, unable to track him any further.

The league has no idea who the kid is or what kind of relationship he had with Captain Marvel, but they are certain of one thing: the kid was responsible Cap's disappearance. He killed Captain Marvel.

Some of the heroes were still in denial. There's no way they couldn't save one of their own. No way Cap would lose to some kid. Maybe the kid just thinks he killed Captain Marvel. But he had magic strong enough that not even Zatanna can track him down. And he was right about them not being able to find anything. He made Captain Marvel disappear off the face of the earth without any of them knowing.

Most of them left in tears that day.

A day later, they're all in the meeting room discussing yesterday's events and their newfound piece of knowledge.

Zatanna says something that ignites hope in them. Captain Marvel can't be dead because he was the Champion of Magic, a title the league doesn't know much about, but Zatanna assures them that if Cap really dead, the world as they know it would be thrown in complete chaos and destruction. However, there were cases where the Champion would be sealed away in a magical prison by powerful magical beings.

So, the kid did not kill Cap. To be fair, he didn't say that he did, just that he got rid of him. Maybe he was referring to sealing the captain away. That still angered them. How dare he do such an awful thing to Cap. He did nothing to deserve this! He was the sweetest person anyone could ever meet!

They hoped they could find him soon. Zatanna said some champions were locked away for centuries.

If they are able to find the kid, Zatanna would be able to assess his magic level and see if he was a threat. They could get answers as to where he hid the captain and why he did it.

The Justice League had a new goal. Find the kid and get answers. Some of them weren't above kicking his ass.

[sluckythewizard]

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

 It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden   THUNK  of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a  gun shot  in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

 It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans,  offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more. 

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.  

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression. 

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face. 

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them. 

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now 

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda. 

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again… 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill. 

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again..  Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people.  All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

[spiriteddreams]

because my love for you / is higher than words. / i have decided to fall silent. (nizar qabbani) or, the unspoken question he asks to himself, is he truly worthy of your love? ft. xiao, cyno, gojo satoru, kaveh, okkotsu yuta, al-haitham, inumaki toge cw: just angst :D

xiao, who wakes to nightmares still dancing in his vision. he doesn’t jolt awake or fall into a visible panic. he’s had years of practice to neutralize his expressions even when he is far from calm. next to him, you rest peacefully, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you dream. you and him are opposites, he thinks to himself, and not in the way that would make for a blossoming relationship. no, you are good and warm and kind and xiao? xiao is dark and worn down and believes himself to be undeserving of all you have to offer. he has tried many nights before to get up and go, because should the night come when you wake to his nightmares, he would never forgive himself. he grimaces at the thought of you seeing him so weak. so he gathers himself and forces himself to slip out of bed. he tucks you back in and swallows hard. if he knew you were awake and watching him go, would he still have left?

cyno, who doesn't turn around to look back at your figure in the window when he leaves on missions. if he turned around, like every cliche, he wouldn't be able to go. so instead he keeps his head up and continues to push forward. he can hear your prayers to the wind, asking him to look back, to give you one last reassurance that he will be okay and will return safely to your arms. cyno thinks that's unfair to ask of because he cannot even promise that himself. so perhaps this will be the last time he walks away. he’ll return to sumeru city with a successful mission behind him. he’ll be hailed as a hero by others, just as he always has been and yet he doesn’t feel he deserves their kindness. because when he returns to sumeru, will you be okay if he doesn't return to you?

gojo satoru, who hates the way you look at him. he does not deserve the softness in your eyes, can't you see all the pain he has caused others, the pain he has caused you? he grapples with grief in the first degree, mourning for those long gone, and those who are still alive. his web of lies extends far beyond his reach and even he has begun to lost sight of where it ends. when he gets caught up in his own troubles will he meet his end too? so to him, to end things now would cause less pain in the future. the thought of breaking up is like grief, and while you are still here, holding onto his heart with such tenderness it makes his own heart ache. he can only wonder, how can you grieve something that is still there?

kaveh, whose emotions run high and wild and he worries about every little action and word that has gotten him thus far. he is an over-thinker, and when he retreats into the darkest pockets of his mind, he replays every conversation he has ever had and asks himself why he couldn’t have said something different. he feels the shattering weight of disappointment on his shoulders, squeezing his chest as he stares at the melting candle on the table. was being an architect worth his time? has he done enough to prove his worth or will he find himself caught up in this cycle of mistake after mistake until they nail him six feet under. what happens when the light of kshahrewar begins to dim?

okkotsu yuta, who is guilty that you are caught up in this game of push and pull. he doesn’t mean to lead you on, no, yuta is a good person and he is so desperately trying to prove this. and yet he can’t help but let his fears slip through, and he hates the way they tear into you. the events of the night parade of a hundred demons has come to a close. he and the others are working slowly to rebuild their home, rebuild relationships, rebuild themselves in the process. he grieves a girl, a childhood crush who has haunted him for nearly all his life and he feels guilty. because you are right there, with your hand outstretched and waiting, just as patient as you always have been. he wants to ask why you still try. he loves you, oh he is so utterly in love with you and your warmth and patience and kindness but he doesn’t think he’s ready for your love. please, would you wait for him?

alhaitham, who swallows down the blunt words that threaten to spill out. he bites his tongue when he catches sight of your reaction, tense and ready to deflect against what he was going to say. was this how you felt, always putting up your defensives when you spoke to him because of the fear that he would tear you down? he wants to curse himself because when did he let it get to this point, when did silly banter become actual hurt? he doesn’t think he wants to know, because you stare at him with such unnerving silence that it begins to eat at him from inside out. words are powerful tools, of course he would know that, he’s a researcher of linguistics and yet he can't even reflect upon the weight of his own. “i love you” feels heavy on his tongue. he means it, wants to hold you and whisper it in your ears forever, but why is it so hard to say right now?

inumaki toge, who values the beauty and comfort silence. there is peace in the lack of words, but there is also the looming feeling of dread that stirs in his chest. he doesn’t know what to say, or write, or sign. threats are closing in, the imminent disaster upon the horizon. he has a feeling that shibuya will be a blood bath of physical and emotional hurt and yet he doesn’t know how to comfort you. his hands are glued to his side as he sits with his head lowered, trying to ignore your uneven breaths that are riddled with anxiety. he wants to tell you he loves you, that no matter what happens you will in his heart forever. he wants to tell you that everything will be okay and that both of you will return in good condition. in this moment of quiet, he hates his cursed speech more then ever. he wants to know, can you hear him screaming out his declaration of love amidst the silence?

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 a/n: write angst or write finals? i think you've figured out which one i've chosen this has so many tags wtf oh the things i do for the characters i love

[artist-issues]

Hello! I am Catholic artist who is currently writing a story and reading your commentaries on other people’s work I’m starting to wonder if I am actually writing my story the best way that I can. I’m starting to wonder whether or not the story I am writing has a good moral message to begin with, or even one that would make sense. I’m really struggling with this, and I want to tell this story, but I don’t know if the message I’m trying to communicate is the right one anymore. I don’t know whether I should change it or not, and if I do change it, what to change it to. I don’t know how much experience you have with writing, but I wanted to ask you what is your opinion on what the best way is for a story to communicate its lessons, and also how to come up with good themes in general and be able to tell when the one you originally had planned was too weak for the story you wanted to tell.

What do you do when you want to (or you’re thinking about) changing the meaning of your story? Where do you go from there?

I think…sometimes you just have to pick the thing you want to say and make the necessary sacrifices.

There’s lots of ways to say a message like, “Faith Triumphs Over Fear.”

You could say it with a farm boy who chooses to stop running toward his own ability to protect what he fears to lose, and instead, lets a Higher Power do the protecting.

You could say it with a tragically powerful war hero who, despite all his strength, can’t save everyone, and instead of trusting a Higher Power with what he can’t do, he burns the world down trying to make up for what he can’t, out of fear.

You could say it with a princess who’s kingdom is burnt to the ground, and who could choose to give up and believe there’s nothing worth fighting for; but instead she finds ways to go on because she trusts in a Higher Power to win in the end, even if she can’t force it to happen.

You could say it with a ragged punk who’s only out for himself, but when he sees how hard better people are willing to fight for what they believe in, he starts to catch onto their faith instead of fearing for his own skin all the time, and finds out it’s a better way to live.

You could say it with a deposed government official who lost everything at the height of his influence, and has to learn patience in exile, patience to pass on what he knows of failure, and trust the Higher Power to do what he couldn’t do even at his most powerful.

I think you get it, I just described to you Star Wars.

Now, that’s all one franchise, but it’s actually lots of little or long stories interwoven together. And each one starts at a different place, with a character of a different age or walk-of-life, and they go through different turns of events and choose to respond to those events in all different ways. Lots of stories. But they’re all different ways to say “Faith Triumphs Over Fear.” One of them is even a cautionary tale about what happens if you don’t believe that.

Lots of ways to say one message.

So you can change the message if you want to. But my question to you would be, why do you think you have to? If Star Wars can come up with twenty different types of stories and characters to say one message, what is it about yours that doesn’t lend itself to your own message?

Find that out.

I think it’s okay to change a message if you find that it wasn’t Good, Beautiful, or most importantly, TRUE. If you say something that’s not true, it’s a waste.

But if your original message is good, beautiful, or true, why change it? I find myself wanting to change my messages for two reasons.

1. The message I thought I was saying wasn’t clear or accurate enough.

For example, I have a Wish Rewrite in my notes app and for the longest time the new message was ““Have Faith and Even More Than What You Wished For Will Come True.” But that’s not what I really meant to say, and so when I was writing the characters, they didn’t fit. I had an Asha who I envisioned as kind of glum and closed off—I was writing her as if she would go FROM “never trying too hard to make anything happen” TO “daring-to-dream.”

But that didn’t fit the original message, because the original message was too broad. Because it has that whole “and even more than what you wished for” part, which implies that the character is wishing for something. Which is not the Asha-version I was drawn to. Again, the version I was drawn to was “refuses to wish.”

For that message, a character like Tiana would’ve fit better—a character who does dream, but does so with no faith, just hard-work. And that’s not the rewritten-Asha that I was warming up to.

So I changed, or rather, honed down the message to “Wishes made in faith can come true.” Ah, now the story is about a character who doesn’t believe wishes can come true at all, and the ingredient she’s missing is faith. Well, then, all the other parts of the story I was struggling with fall into place. Because I honed it down in a way that I could re-focus on, it freed up the parts of my brain that couldn’t figure out what the story needed.

Now that it was about a clearer message, I could focus better and think, “okay, well if wishes made in faith can come true, we need to define what she’s not daring to wish for, that she should wish for.”

Into place clicks something that the main character wants and knows would be good, but won’t admit that she wants it, because she doesn’t believe wishes can come true. Into place clicks who the Star-Boy character should be in order to draw that out of her. Into place clicks what might’ve happened in Asha’s childhood to keep her from believing wishes can come true—and right after that, who her family is clicks easily into place.

So that’s one reason I might “change” the message—just re-phrasing it or eliminating some nuance in order to help myself, and by extension, the story, focus a bit more.

2. I let myself get too attached to the “Fun Stuff” of the story, until the “Fun Stuff” cluttered-up and crowded-out the message.

This one I actually don’t struggle with often because I’m a control-freak, so I’m constantly outlining how everything ties back into the message. My particular weakness is “having fun while storytelling,” I’m not good at that.

But sometimes it does happen! I’m in the middle of writing a sci-fi thing and the message is good, but I haven’t been able to figure out how to write one of the characters. I know it’s because I’m too attached to this version of her who’s like, sassy, but with a protective mom-heart. I like that characterization.

But what I need her to be in the story is actually pretty dark. And that dark-story-reason is why I added her character in the first place. The problem is, her compassionate-sassy-mom personality and motivations don’t match up with the dark thing I originally intended her to do.

So—AND HERE’S THE MEAT OF THE POST—I have a decision to make.

Am I going to sacrifice the thing that I like about this character and find something else that works and supports the message—

—or am I going to stall out and basically give up on writing it because I keep shying away from making the big change, because I don’t want to let the character go?

Because I can’t force the character I like into the role that the story needs. Not in this case. So I can either choose the message, or the Fun Stuff.

Obviously I believe you should choose the message. Because your tastes are wide-ranging, like the cast of Star Wars characters and their stories. I can find another characterization that I like—one that fits the story better. It just takes harder work, and a little sacrifice of the Fun-Thing that I was attached to. But honestly, is this about me, or the audience? That’s what it all boils down to.

I wish I could help more, but without knowing your story I’m not sure if this was answering your question at all. To sum up, I’d say:

Is your message good, beautiful, or true?

Do the characters, setting, and events in your story fit the message and help support it?

Figure out where the problem is and then stop-and-fix, or else you’ll start spinning your wheels and not finish. That’s been my experience!

Thank you for asking! I am not an expert.