#and also just the ‘ill let you win’ line gets me every time like ill be doing so well so strong

[jackass-jones]

Lines from falsettos that fuck me up every time

Think of me around, sleeping soundly in our bed

I was sure growing up I would live the life my mother assumed I’d live: very Jewish, very middle class, and very straight

We can’t be sure when he’ll get better. When or if he’ll ever get better

“I’ll let you win Whizzer” “Don’t let me win” “….I’ll let you win!”

Do I love him? No

I love my dad. I love the things I never had

I’m staying here in this spot, whether you want me to or not, I’m staying

Once I was told that all men get what they deserve. Who the hell then threw this curve?

Do you know all I want is you? Anything you do is alright, yes it’s alright

We had fights and games. Marvin called us funny names

Don’t know why, but he looks like Marvin

You’ll be, kid, a man, kid. If nothing goes wrong

“Love is pretty often debris when you find what you find, then never, never, never, never, never do it over again” “I’d do it again. I’d like to believe I’d do it again and again and again”

You’re the only one. One, out of a thousand others. The only one my child would allow

All your life you wanted men, and when you got it up to have them, who knew it would end your life?

Homosexuals, women with children, short insomniacs, we’re a teeny tiny band

[brineoffire]

Next day of my schedule is a fic update! BTW I'll pin my posting schedule after my poll finishes!

Chapter 3 of Wings and Wires!

Previous chapter link

vvv

Around you many of his guests stare and you all but ignore all of them. You keep your chin up, staring at the rafters once again. Do exactly what you were trained to do. Grit and bare the looks you get and the hands of your owner that trail over your knee and thigh absentmindedly. You've dealt with this over and over again, and you'll continue to deal with it as long as you're here. As long as you belong to Alphonso.

The worst part of it all was still when he allowed his associates to touch you. When he let them line up to get their hands on you. Greedy hands brushing through the fur on your wings and tail. Those closer to him he allows more intimate touches. Those more important guests are able to see you as you strip off your fancy silks and satins. Left in nothing but your tight underwear, lacy tank top and short briefs that lay low on your waist.

He usually leads them, pulling you down to your knees by the chains on your muzzle or collar. Keeping you between his legs he allows them to run their hands over your exposed body. They rub over where scales meet flesh, too many fingers tangling in the streak of fur that follows your spine. A select few would slide eager fingers over and into the edges of your underwear. Those touches still sent a chill down your spine and the sting of bile up the back of your throat.

It's easy to recall the time you first fell into Alphonso's hands. The first few months he kept you all to himself, breaking you in as you fought back. Heavy chains and straps always kept him just out of reach of your claws. In those times he kept your mouth fully covered with muzzles made fully of steels and metals, your teeth would snap behind them uselessly. For two months you fought him, each time your punishments getting worse and worse.

Bindings tightened. Dark rooms where he kept you isolated and hungry. When your fits had been at their worst he'd have you pinned down, your limbs immovable. He knew the slowest and most painful way to remove scales, claws, and fangs. Always pulling from the same spot after they'd regrow, relishing in your extra pain from the fresh growth. It broke you down after the third month. Three months of blood and tears. Three months of sobbing and anger. Three months of being forced into a mold to become the perfect pet for the mafia head.

You had no one to get back to after all. Your family would be the first ones to pay the price if you ever actually escaped. There was no love lost there, but you understood what happened. Understood the bleakness of all of your futures if Alphonso didn't get exactly what he wanted. So you played the role he forced you into. Became his attack dog, his lap cat. Followed every order to the letter ro win his praise.

Now here you are, sitting in his lap like the pet you've become. Answering every one of his demands no matter how outrageous just to avoid his wrath. It's easier now to ignore the eyes, the hands, the cold voices talking about you like an animal. You've spent so long tuning it all out while he totted you around, just like you do now, staring up at the rafters as if they were bars to the cage your life has become.

When everything from your sleep to your exercise has been dictated it's easy to fall into an autopilot. You've gotten to a point where you can tune out all voices but his, can focus only on his scent, but today is different. Somewhere on the edge of your consciousness you feel a pull. A little tug that threatens to pull your focus back to your surroundings and onto something other than Alphonso’s call. More than a scent, or a voice, it's something that tugs on your mind itself, pulling you to look in the direction of the other dragon and his harpy.

Your vision comes back into focus and you can't help but slowly glance that way. When your eyes finally settle on them again it confuses you to see concern from the bigger man, his brow furrowed even more as he watches you carefully. The harpy conceals it well, no one else would notice, but you see anger, though it's not directed at you. Following the line of his vision you know he's looking past you, at Alphonso. You know that sense is somehow coming from both of them, and you're about to give into it, about to turn to look at them directly, when Alphonso clears his throat and has your full attention.

Your eyes shift back to his face as you watch him talk. He thanks the crowd for attending and rattles on about his plans. Letting them know a vague outline of his manufacturing, subtle details and hints mean those who know the plans are reassured and those who shouldn't are kept in the dark. He has your full attention as he talks yet you feel that same odd sense again. That same pulling desire to give your attention to the two men across the dining room. For now you keep yourself in line and focused on Alphonso.

His speech finishes and the crowd claps lightly. In your peripherals you catch a blur of movement, and you know exactly what it is. Snapping your head towards the source you react in a split second. Launching yourself off the seat, using your wings to lift your weight off Alphonso before springing into action. A gunman rushes forward, shotgun in hand as they sprint to get a good shot.

You’re used to these attempts by now, though what you’re not used to is a smaller blur of movement. The gunner stumbles forward, their speed broken as one of their knees buckles forward, a gasp of surprise leaving their mouth as you continue to bound towards them. Grabbing the gun’s barrel you knock it upwards, kicking at its wielder's chest with enough force to drop them backwards. They cling onto their weapon desperately but you slam the butt of their gun into their face hard enough for them to lose their grip.

As they fall you press a knee to their chest, your wings flaring backwards as you drive your weight into them. Your clawed hands dig into their shoulders and they cry out in pain as your thumbs dig into their neck hard enough to draw blood. You hear Alphonso laughing loudly and clapping as you glare down at the would-be assassin.

“Well now ladies and gentlemen! Isn't this nice? Dinner and a show!” You hear mummers mixed with a few chuckles around you as your focus stays on your quarry. They struggle in vain under you, calloused hands gripping at your wrists as they squirm fruitlessly. Out of the corner of your eye you catch something falling from behind the leg they stumbled on. Something thin and pointed, made up of several brown shades with a slight glint of red.

Behind you Alphonso's footfalls ring out as he gets closer to you, his hand falling on your head, patting you.

“Good boy.” He raises his arm, a signal for his regular guards to approach as he laughs again.

“You fucking idiots never learn do you?” Your grip only loosens once the guards have their shoulders, yanking them to their feet roughly. Your tail subtly slides over what you now see is a feather. While the attention is on the assassin you deftly slide it under a scale on your tail, hiding it just under your fur. You can almost feel its owners' eyes boring into you, but you keep your focus on the task at hand.

[natailiatulls07]

The golden trio Pt 5

Lando Norris x female!reader

Carlos Sainz x female!reader

Max Verstappen & Female!reader & Charles Leclerc

Summary - Being bestfriends with two famous formula one drivers is never easy, but what will happen when you get involved with yet another formula one driver??

Warning - a cringy pick up line, cheating, slight argument and swearing

A/n - I’ve been ill all weekend so I have just been getting some things done so you are getting loads this weekend

There is also kind of a time skip half way through, but you’ll know when 🤍

How is everyone feeling about todays Grand Prix?? 🥹

The golden trio

-

Text (White: Reader) (Orange: Lando)

Hey, are you lighting cause I make you McQueen 😉

Lando Norris are you trying to use a pick up line on me?? 😳

Of course darling, just trying to shoot my shot

Well in that case if you want to shoot your shot, take me on a date

Tomorrow 6pm I pick you up

Do I get to know where we’re going Mr Norris??

Nope. I’ll see you then 😘

See you tomorrow 6 pm 🤍

yourusername has posted a story

Gossip Groupchat (White: Reader) (Red: Charles) (Blue: Max)

Hey Bee, me and Charlie have found a new film wanna do a movie night tonight??

Yeah! It looks like a great film, we think you’ll like it 😁

Oh I’m sorry guys, I have a date tonight…

A date?!

With who!??

Um…Lando 🤭

Wait what?? Has finally come to his senses and remembered that night?!

Idk, he sent me a very cringy pick up line to shoot his shot

Yeah and then what??

I then said if he wanted to shoot his shot he should take me on a date so yeah he’s picking me up at 6

Ohhhh so that’s why you were busy all day

Yep, I was getting my nails done and doing some last minute pieces

Well we’ll probably see you just before you leave so I won’t give you the talk just yet 😇

Now I’m considering sneaking out 😅

Don’t you dare young lady!!

lando.jpg

Shooting my shot for her 😍

Tagged: yourusername

Liked by maxverstappen1 and 63,935 others

username I want dates like this 😩

username Lando taking photos of their date is just to make us jealous 😤

= username Well it worked 🫤

charles_leclerc Don’t forget about her curfew

= lando.jpg Of course, don’t want to get on the big brothers bad sides 😳

= username Overprotective brothers!!!

Texts (White: Reader) (Orange: Lando)

I had a great time last night, thank you 🥰

Of course, I had to win you over and I hope I’ve done that 🤞🏻

You were successful in winning me over

Yayyy!! Wanna do it again some time?

I’d be a fool to turn that down 😅

-

yourusername

Monthly dump 😚

Liked by carlossainz55 and 63,826 others

username Not Y/n posting Lando’s back like we don’t know who she’s dating like girl we know, it’s okay 😂

username The food is making me HUNGRY!!

username She’s just like us, posting the ‘worst’ photos of her bestfriends lol

landonorris Who’s that in the McLaren hoodie?? 😏

= yourusername Idk but he uses some cringy pick up lines 😃

username Not Max being an iPad kid 🫣

f1gossip

Spotted: Lando Norris sharing a kiss with another girl whilst Y/n L/n is seen shopping on the other side of Monte Carlo

Liked username and 2,383 others

username Isn’t Lando and Y/n a thing??

= username Yeah…

= username That means he’s cheating on her 🫢

= username Yeah…

username Why?? Lando why??!

username No I can’t, I just can’t today no!!

username He continues to fuck up my ship! FUCK!

Texts (White: Reader) (Orange: Lando)

Baby I’m so sorry!

No you can’t go ‘baby’ me. No not after you go and kiss another girl Lando.

It’s not what it looks like, please let me explain

Go on then explain why you were passionately kissing another girl in your car

Seen 4 mins ago

I can’t, I’m so sorry darling

Please it didn’t mean anything to me honestly

Baby? Y/n??

I love you sweetheart

Twitter

username Lando Norris you are gonna need to hide from Max and Charles once they see what you’ve done mate 😳

username He has fucked up so much!

username I bet she’s devastated, poor girl 🥺

username Every thing is okay, everything is okay, everything is okay… we’re fucked

Text (Blue: Max V) (Orange: Lando)

Look I’ve tried to talk to Y/n but I’ve just fucked it all up I’m sorry

Yeah you can say that again. Mate if you’ve come here trying to get cut of any slack you might want to think again

I know, I just wish I didn’t do it

Yk that girl LOVES you, she has been the happiest she has ever been since she started getting hate but you fucked that up

Yeah

Charlie and I have tried to get her out of her bedroom but nothing so you gotta think of something and fast

I will, I’m sorry

I know you’re sorry, please don’t think that me and Charlie hate you because we don’t

Thank you, she’s lucky to have you guys

We’re just abit annoyed that she has been hurt once again

-

Tag list: @eviethetheatrefreak @janeholt3 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @namelesssav @amalialeclerc @eugene-emt-roe @skepvids @ravisinghs-wife

[sinnabarmoth]

Worthy of Devotion (4/9)

Pairing: Sea God|Rafayel x Worshipper|Reader (fem)

Summary: Temperatures and feelings rise when Reader ends up ill and Rafayel has to take care of her.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 2k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

Read on AO3

~~~

The weeks began to pass as you remained on the island. The majority of your days were filled with cleaning and repairing the temple. Your first course of action was to clear out all the debris and then move onto fixing things like the cracks in the floor and holes in the wall. Fixing the broken windows and the holes in the ceiling were going to be harder, especially since you didn’t have a way to order new glass panes or any way to get to the roof.

Rafayel stopped by nearly every day. He usually came by to have you pen more of the history of the Sea Gods and keep you company so you didn’t go insane from isolation. Despite your protests that it was the work of his followers to repair his temple he helped you clean now and again too. Mainly he was a great help in moving larger chunks of debris you couldn’t have moved on your own. He also liked making suggestions for improvements to certain aspects about the temple when he found something.

One thing you learned quickly was that Rafayel had hobbies. He wasn’t just God of the Seas, ruler of the Lemurians, and part time helper to you. He apparently had a great love of art. One morning you had woken up and found Rafayel in a freshly replastered corridor painting the walls. He was good at it too. You’d go so far as to say amazing.

When you asked what he was painting he said it was Whalefall City in Lemuria. You sat there watching him paint as he told you all about Lemuria and where he grew up. He had even let you try your hand at painting too, guiding your hand along the wall.

“You don’t want to put too much pressure on the brush or else it’ll make the stroke too wide. Just keep it nice and easy, like you’re bobbing in the waves.” he said, his voice trickling directly into your ear as he pressed in close behind you.

“How did you come by your love of painting?” you asked, trying to keep your focus off of the way he touched you. You weren’t sure if he noticed it or not but the hand that wasn’t helping you guide the brush was resting on your hip, keeping you close.

“It started a lot like this. Painting on walls. Although, when I started I wasn’t supposed to be painting the walls. They gave me canvases to draw on and paint but I always ended up coming back to the walls, they had more space to work on. I also wanted people to see my work every time they walked down those halls.” he said. “What became a childish whim turned into a passion and a study of art in its many forms. I’ve dabbled in many but I always come back to paint over and over.”

“Good reason, you have a real gift.”

“God of the Seas and painter extraordinaire. Is there anything I cannot do?” he chuckled. You rolled your eyes and playfully elbowed him.

“You cannot win a single game of Jumping Shrimp.” you said.

“I keep telling you, I’m letting you win.” he grumbled.

“Uh huh, sure. That’s why you got all pouty the last time we played and nearly threw the board out the window when you lost for the 42nd time in a row.”

“I grew up playing that game! You learned it a few weeks ago! It makes no sense that you are somehow better at it than me already!”

“You just don’t have a good mind for strategy. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Well at least I don’t have paint on my face.”

“I don’t have paint on my--Rafayel no!” but it was too late, he had nabbed the brush out of your hands and smeared a line of blue across your cheek. “You ass!” you reached for the palette and scooped a dollop of green paint off it. “Get over here!”

“Too slow, clownfish.” he said, dodging out of reach of you.

“Oh one of us is going to look like a clown at the end of the day and it isn’t going to be me, fish boy.” you chased after him.

For as childish as he could be, the days he couldn’t come to the temple were the most lonely. Sometimes there were duties in Lemuria that needed his full attention or sometimes he needed to see to other parts of the ocean that kept him away. You didn’t blame him. He was a god after all. You just missed him and his sarcastic remarks and his quick quips. You made sure to pray twice on those days. You knew he could hear them after all.

That was another thing, every day before he had to leave to return to his home in the sea, he had you say your evening prayer to him. It was usually just thanking him for helping you clean or for telling you stories or for having fun with you. And they ended all the same, with a plea that he would continue to bless and protect you. And Rafayel would always respond the same way. “Your prayer has been heard. Good night, my little human.”

Yes, all was going well…until you started vomiting.

You didn’t know exactly what had brought it on but you had a feeling it may have been that fish you roasted for breakfast that morning. You thought it had smelled peculiar but figured it was just another fish smell. You should have known better. You grew up in a seaside city, you should have known bad fish when you saw it.

You were knelt outside, heaving into the weeds. Your skin was tingling like it was covered in ants, your face was burning, and whenever you looked up the world swayed around you. Everything was spinning…your throat burned…

Rafayel…he would be by soon…he could help…

It was hard to tell how long you were out there. You tried moving but each motion made you feel like you were going to crash back to the ground and not be able to get back up. The sun climbed higher in the sky, its rays beating down on you. Where was Rafayel? He was usually here by this time.

A terrible thought came to you as you laid in the brush. What if he wasn’t coming today? What if he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow or the day after? No. He had to come. He had to.

You dragged yourself across the sand back towards the temple. You needed water. You had made it to the well and threw down the bucket. Good. Now all you had to do was…was pull it back up. Your body fought against you as you tugged on the rope. Almost! Almost there!

Then your stomach constricted and a stabbing pain rocketed through your body and up your throat that had you doubled over, heaving again. The taste burned your mouth and tears ran hot down your already scorched face. The rope slipped from your hands and you heard the bucket fall and hit the water once again. Shit! No! Please!

You curled against the grown, pressing your burning face to the cool stone of the well. Everything was spinning again.

“Help…” you whispered to the cool wind of the sea, “Rafayel…help me…please…”

~~~

Your prayer came to Rafayel in a whisper yet it rang loud in his ears. He had been stuck in Lemuria tending to some legal matter regarding an upcoming event when he heard your voice. You sounded so weak and scared.

He had barely said a word of excuse to anyone as he shot out of the doors like a barracuda on the hunt. What had happened? Why did you sound like that? He left you for one day and something terrible may have happened.

He couldn’t get to the temple fast enough. He ran in scared to find you in a crumpled mess of broken bones or bleeding to death somewhere during your renovations. He checked the bedroom, the library, the kitchen but you were nowhere to be found. Where were you? He ran back outside and scanned the garden. Then he saw your feet sticking out from behind the well.

“Hey! What’s wrong?” he ran over to you and found you passed out, your breathing shallow and quick. Some rash was growing up your neck and you were sweating profusely. The smell of bile stung his nose and he started to put two and two together. “Oh no, my little human.” he pressed a hand to your head and found it scorching. “Shit.”

He carefully hefted you off the ground and carried you back into the temple. He laid you out on the long kitchen table then went back to pull up a bucket of water. He dunked a rag in and plastered it to your burning face before filling a cup and urging it to your lips. “Come on, clownfish.” he coaxed, “You need to wake up. You need to drink.”

You made the barest movements, a small hum of discomfort letting him know you heard him. “That’s it, take a few sips. Not too fast.” he kept talking gently urging you to swallow more and more water.

Once he had gotten some water in you his next course of action was to get your fever down and he had an idea on how to do it. “Bear with me for a little longer,” he scooped you off the table again. “I’m gonna take you upstairs. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

He carried you up to the bedroom and set you in the tub and began filling it with cold water. As the water started to rise he got in with you, cradling you back against him and keep your head up. You sunk back into his arms and the relieving cold of the water. “That’s it. It’s going to be alright.”

The rash on your neck was still concerning him and he also realized that he couldn’t leave you in these wet clothes. He really didn’t want to have to do this but he saw little other option. “Hey, if you can hear me squeeze my hand.”

He waited a beat but you gave a gentle squeeze to his fingers. “Good. Listen, you have a rash and I can’t leave you in your soaked clothes unless we want you getting even more sick. I know you humans have some reservations about nudity but I need to get these off of you. Squeeze my hand twice if it is alright for me to take them off.”

There was a long pause then one…two squeezes of your hand. “Alright. I’m going to start undressing you, there’s nothing to be worried about. I promise.”

He felt bad about having to do this when he knew being naked made you uncomfortable but it really was for your own health. He first peeled the shirt you had on off then reached to tug off your bottoms. He felt your body tense as his hands skimmed the wet material. He shushed and eased you back down. “I know. I know you don’t like it but we are going to need to get you changed anyway after we get out. I promise nothing bad is going to happen.”

He slid the bottoms down your legs and tossed them out of the bath. For the first time since he got there your eyes started to open again. “Hey clownfish,” he whispered, “It’s me. I’m taking care of you. Just rest. I got you.”

Your eyes closed again as you sunk into him. He let you soak in the cool water for another minute. You didn’t feel as worryingly hot anymore, that was good. He drained the tub and grabbed a towel, drying you off as quickly as he could. Without the clothes in the way he could see the rash had spread down your chest and along your back. He found a bottle of medicinal oil and wet a rag with it before wiping down the patches of raised irritated skin. There was no doubt in his mind that you must have eaten some bad fish. Once your body purged all the bacteria you would be fine again, but that would take some time. Hopefully you’d be right as rain in the morning.

He took you back to the bed and grabbed some clothes from the wardrobe, a light dress that was easy to put on. You nestled against the pillows and Rafayel sat by your side as afternoon turned to dusk and fell to night. Your fever had broke and you were breathing easier. He had even gotten a couple words out of you. Before you fell asleep again.

“Are all humans as troublesome as you?” he sighed, smoothing a finger along your cheek. “First you’re falling all over yourself and now you’re sick. What a fragile unbalanced body you have.”

Guilt twisted in his gut and he laid down next to you. “If you hadn’t prayed to me when you did I don’t like to think about what I may have found when I came back. Lucky for you your prayer was heard. Rest now, my little human. I’ll be right here if you need me. Always right here.”

~~~

Most of the previous day was a haze. After passing out by the well your memory was spotty. You remembered Rafayel coming to help you, you remembered finally being cold as you were put in the tub, and that was about it. Everything else was behind a fog of fever and dehydration.

You had expected to wake up in the morning alone but found Rafayel asleep next to you, his hand interlaced with yours. Your throat was scratchy and when you tried to talk it came out as a rasp. “Rafayel?”

“Hmm,” he hummed.

You cleared your throat, swallowing what little saliva you had to wet it. “Raf. Wake up.”

“Ten more minutes…” he grumbled. He pulled you closer, wrapping himself around you like an octopus.

Oh…oh no. You were locked against him. There was no easy way out of this and given how sore your body was you didn’t really want to put in the effort needed to get up. But you also had no idea how to react to your god cuddling you. This wasn’t supposed to be happening for numerous reasons, the first and foremost among them being that he was your god. You had gotten far more comfortable over the weeks but there were still boundaries you kept as god and follower. At least, you enforced them, Rafayel didn’t seem to care either way.

The other reason you were panicked was because…you didn’t want to leave. His embrace was comfortable and secure, like nothing could harm you so long as you were with him. He was warm and when you inhaled he smelled like the salt of the sea. Your head was pressed to his chest and you could hear the steady beats of his heart thumping against your cheek.

Your eyes closed of their own accord as you nestled deeper into him. The rational part of your brain told you that you needed to get up. You shouldn’t have been doing this. He was your god. You weren’t supposed to be in his room, in his bed, tangled together never wanting to leave. These feelings that blossomed in your chest were dangerous and foolish. So much that you didn’t dare even let them fully form in your mind lest he hear his name in your thoughts and think it a prayer. You couldn’t pray for that. You couldn’t want this.

But you could give it ten minutes.

You wouldn’t dare disobey your god after all.

[hiraya-rawr]

so i betrayed you, my love– (2/5)

Xiao Version || Childe Version || Thoma Version || Gorou Version || Ayato Version

synopsis !! Part 2 of “You Were The Enemy All Along” featuring the aftermath of betrayal and confrontation, with more depth to their stories! (Part 1 of each character was also included to make reading convenient.)

contains !! some character lore spoilers / a little violence / dialogue heavy in some scenes / reconciliation but also complicated relationships mending together / cameos of other characters! / might be easier to understand if you knew the lore of the characters 

notes !! This was commissioned by the wonderful @mh8 who allowed this to be posted in public for everyone to enjoy! and honestly childe scares me to write bc I've barely written anything for him but I tried to bring out his charm? idk 😭

CHILDE

wc !! 2.4k

The noisiest of them all. He doesn't understand at first, tries to deny it by making jokes. The prank is up, what are you still doing? It's only when your betrayal becomes painfully obvious does he allow himself to laugh. It's ironic to be surprised coming from his line of work. He should really be used to these things.

"If you're this desperate for a fight, you could have just said so," He laughs, "Though, I warn you comrade, I won't hold back this time." It's so easy to drown in the adrenaline of battle and if he doesn't think hard enough, it feels no different than any of your usual spars together. There's a battle crazed look in his eyes at the thought of not holding back with you, but it's odd how numb he feels as Foul Legacy takes over. 

Whether or not he wins the fight, the result remains the same; with him lying in the middle of the battlefield, mask still on, staring blankly upwards. He thinks of the abyss he fell into as a child, and briefly wonders when did it all go wrong.

— Before Him

You sighed in relief, a long day of training was finally coming to an end. Dottore was not an easy harbinger to be a rookie under; aside from the harsh training requirements of a Fatui Agent, you also had to deal with a lunatic scientist for a mentor. You were lucky enough to have the doctor more distracted on conducting his experiments rather than training fresh meat like you. 

You leaned against a wall. You were in an isolated, snowy village, a mile away from the nearest Fatui training ground. It existed quietly, the villagers were as cold as Snezhnaya in that barren wasteland. You knocked twice on the concrete behind you, then an additional four times, then once more.

“Agent (Name), report.” A voice muffles from behind the wall, a figure you can't see.

“Pulcinella adopted a strange boy. . . He's coded as Childe. They say he fell into the abyss. He's quite strong, we've only sparred once but I know there's something off with him.” 

“Hmm. A peculiar new recruit. I've heard from the other agents.” Muttered the figure of the shadows. He doesn't talk much. You know it's to keep identities hidden and to avoid letting you know too much lest you get caught and the information forced out of you (and believe me, the information will be forced out of you).

“You think he could rise in the ranks? Perhaps become a general or diplomat?” You question quietly.

“I think he could be the next Harbinger.”

A sharp intake of breath, surprised. A Harbinger. The next and possibly youngest one after so long.

“Continue your work. Do what you believe is best for our organization. Leave any files you found useful under the gap.” Were his last orders before hearing the footsteps walk away. Work was never easy; you dealt with loneliness most of the time. The only comfort was when an ill-reputed plan of the Fatui failed, knowing it was only possible through your contributions and warnings. For every plan you thwarted was a step closer to revealing your identity and getting killed for it.

Yes, you're prepared. You've been preparing for it ever since you joined the Fatui.

With a sigh, you went back to the training grounds. 

— With Him

There’s a reason why Diluc Ragnvindr survived the hunt by the Harbingers when he sought out revenge in Snezhnaya. That should have been the first red flag for Childe. You were transferred early under his platoon, just when he was solidifying his position as a Harbinger. You were the subordinate he sent out to represent the 11th and, having the approval of Dottore (The old geezer, what a wack. Should he really be trusting a mad scientist? Childe questions this everyday) he trusted you enough to do your job.

Yet, the winery-heir-slash-fatui-serial-murderer escaped Snezhnaya with the help of those damned underground pests they've been trying to get rid of. Honestly, Childe could care less about the guy— if anything, he was immensely excited to try and pick a fight with him! But it still hurt his pride that one of his early missions as a Harbinger didn't turn out well. He needed to prove himself to the Tsaritsa after all! If not to at least make Pulcinella proud.

Going back to you.

It was always him and you; you and him ever since you transferred; sparring blade against blade. It was easy to get along when you were one of the only trainees close to his age, even easier when you managed to keep up with him in everything, bloodlust and all. 

You were his match and he was yours, or so he believed.

“Say, why did Dottore transfer you anyway? Did you get kicked out, pissed him off somehow?” Childe once asked, boots scraping the ground as he dodges an attack from you flawlessly. Despite Dottore’s rather crazed way of managing his platoon, agents were given a handful of benefits for being under a high ranking Harbinger with a budget larger than the others (Experiments don't pay themselves, you know!).

You huff, a little tired from the onslaught of keeping him entertained in battle, “No, didn't he tell you? I requested for transfer.”

“Oh really? What, did the good looks of a new Harbinger catch your eye?” He teases, going on the offensive once more as he sprints to slash his blade. You block it with yours, trying to push him back with force. When he does pull back, getting pushed a few meters away as hir boots skid on snow, you scoff.

“Good looks? If that were the case, I would have transferred to–”

He immediately sprints ahead again, blade nearly catching you off guard as you block the attack.

“Aww come-” Slash. Block. “-on! Don't tell me you're not-” Kick. Jump. “-even a little bit enraptured by-” Hit. Block. “-me?” He huffs heavily, finally catching your eye as your blade stays on his, pushing each other back with all your strength.

“Hmp. Must you be so arrogant?” You strain out, matching his force before– “Maybe. . . maybe just a little bit.” You avert your gaze at the very moment he catches sunlight in your eyes. Childe pauses, his grip on the blade loosens momentarily at your admittance. You take the chance— kicking his stomach back with force as he skids across the training ground, the sword clattering on the ground.

“Does this mean I won?” You giggle, your weapon still in your hand as he looks at you from where he crouches, a smile on your face.

Maybe it's the butterflies that erupted in his stomach, but he laughs out loud. Childe wonders to himself; Is this the thrill of battle? Or something else? You tilt your head in confusion.

“As if! I haven't even gone all out yet!” He yells enthusiastically, “Agent (Ņ̸̛͕͔̏̓ͅa̶͍͊m̸̲̫̄͝ȩ̴̹̙̄̀ͅ.)”

Your smile tenses. Your heart beats. Pensively, you also wonder to yourself; Is this the success of a mission? Or . . . something else?

— After Him .

You should've known.

You should've known, you should've known, you should've known that the Fatui would never have let a betrayal such as yours go so easily. The past few months after him was spent laying low, hiding from daylight and any chance that you could be recognized. A large bounty was on your head and the Fatui weren't cheap by any means. The organization shielded you as much as they could but even you had missions you had to continue fulfilling. You’d gladly risk your life for the better good; after all, if you didn't, you wouldn't have went undercover in the Fatui anyway. 

But now, he was chasing you.

It's back to the snowy forests of Snezhnaya, sprinting and dodging all the tall pines in your way. You hear him gaining speed from behind you, hydro blades swishing as they cut through branches, unbothered to waste energy on dodging. Distantly, the sound of a Fatui gunner prepares his shot. You immediately switch directions, a pyro blast landing inches from where you once were. It’s followed by more blasts, each hitting a little closer to you until—

“Ah!”

It grazes your shoulder, blood escaping the wound and soaking your clothes. You don't stop running, adrenaline keeping you alive and conscious. Childe barks something out in Snezhnayan. You’re too distracted with running to understand what he said, but the Pyro Gunner stops shooting and soon enough you focus on escaping.

A clearing appears in your line of sight. A field of snow and endless white and—

Crash! You're knocked off your feet, landing on the snow. You feel him on your back as you quickly force him away, rolling to the side and kicking. It's a blur from there on— a flurry of kicks, punches, scratches, the snow around you forming the most unrecognizable snow angel.

Until his hydro blade was on your neck as he keeps you pinned underneath him. No amount of sparring could've prepared you for a battle to the death with a harbinger. Your breaths fog together with every exhale, the proximity feels bad for your heart but finally, you get a clear view of the face you haven't seen for months.

“I win,” He says, an ever-so-childish grin on his lips, “Any last words?”

It astounds you how casual he is, as if you weren't running for your life just moments ago. Sparring had always been his favorite game but this wasn't like the other times. You do as you were trained (by both the Fatui and your organization)— you keep your mouth shut. Last words are worthless in the face of the enemy, you’d rather bite your tongue off.

“Hmm. . . the (Ņ̸̛͕͔̏̓ͅa̶͍͊m̸̲̫̄͝ȩ̴̹̙̄̀ͅ) I know would have barked back some words. You would've scoffed.” Childe says, the blade pressing deeper onto your neck, drawing beads of blood to the surface. “Or was that some personality you made up? Was it fun for you?” 

Silence.

The smile falls off his face. Something darkens in his eyes. “Alright. You won't talk, that's okay. Anyone who would dedicate their lives living undercover naturally wouldn't respond. I can respect that.” He starts, the blade doesn't move an inch on your skin, the snow numbing more of your back, “But at least answer me this. Not for your organization, not for you. . . answer it for me; was I ever anything to you?”

Silence. Keep quiet.

Something unrecognizable crosses his face. There’s a smile on his lips, but his eyes are pained.

“You know,”  He whispers, leaning down closer to you. “Whenever we sparred, did you feel anything? Anything at all?” His face contorts to a mix of frustration, “Because I sure as hell knew I loved you. I can differentiate things, (Ņ̸̛͕͔̏̓ͅa̶͍͊m̸̲̫̄͝ȩ̴̹̙̄̀ͅ.)! I knew what was bloodlust, it wasn't just me being battle hungry. I’m not dumb! I knew— know I love you!”

As if wanting to hide from your gaze, he hides his face on the crook of your neck. Forehead to the snow, blade stilling on your skin. Despite how cold everything is, the warmth of him seems enough to coax you in.

“. . . At least tell me how much of it was real. Please.” He mumbles slowly. Did you mean to cause this much anguish? Did you have to go fall for someone like him? 

The words fall from your tongue before you could even catch them. The lack of hesitation, the urge to come clean; “Everything. . . everything was fake. Even my name. (Ņ̸̛͕͔̏̓ͅa̶͍͊m̸̲̫̄͝ȩ̴̹̙̄̀ͅ.). It's fake.”

He freezes over you, listening intently. Snow falls quietly into the ground, you wonder if you'll be buried in— caved to become timeless underneath the ice. Briefly, you think it would be fine if it happens if it's with Childe.

“I know it's hard to trust me, but please— loving you,” Pause. You feel tears well up in your eyes, blinding your vision of the descending snowflakes. “Loving you was real. Is real. It was the realest thing I had in that life under the Fatui. I’m so sorry, Childe, I’m really sorry. And I’m sorry we have to end like this.”

“You mean it?” He asks, hushed.

“Yes, yes, archons I mean it.”

“Then what's your real name?”

Your breath hitches, “(Name).”

“(Name).” He repeats.

The awareness of the metal on your throat becomes all too obvious. Breathing too hard would cause it to press more against your skin. You try to calm down, trying to accept the falling of the snow (the fall of you) as the end of your life nears and suddenly—

the blade is retrieved. You hear the shuffle of leather as it's placed back into its holder. Blinking, bewildered, you glanced up at him only to see his boyish grin.

“You honestly didn't think I'd kill you, right?”

Your mouth falls open. You want to hit him.

“You're going to let me go?”

“I mean, I did kind of let the traveler go back in Liyue.”

“The senior Harbingers reprimanded you for that!” You sit uo, hands flailing as you grab a handful of snow to throw at him. He lets it hit his stomach, laughing.

“It's fine, it's fine! The higher ups don't really care about me as much as they do the others anyway,” He shrugs nonchalantly, “It gives me a whole lot of leeway. If I say I don't want to kill you, they'll just nod along.”

You stare at him longer than you mean to, holding his cheery gaze as the snow continues to settle around you. How quiet and peaceful to exist with him in that space. 

“Is this really okay?” You ask and he falls silent with you.

He looks away to the white horizon, speaking in a softer voice, “Well, of course not. You still betrayed me, I still got hurt,” He inhales, “But you love me. I think that's all that really matters, no?”

Tears well up in your eyes. You can't bear to think how close you were to losing your life (losing him) and how easily he pushes your lifelong conflicts aside. So who cares if you played for the opposing organization? Who cares if you struggled with love and truth?

You've faked yourself for so long but Childe would still embrace you, lies and all.

“Come on, the snow must be cold.” He extends his hand, gesturing for you to take it, “Sooner or later the other scouts would be arriving. You should keep running east.”

“Ajax–” You start but he hushes you gently.

“We won't be seeing each other for a while. I don't know when we’d meet again but. . . you know, I’m sure it'll work out if it's us. So don't cry anymore, (Name).”

Stiffly, you nod. It was this moment that you tried to memorize everything about him— his eyes, his ginger hair, the way your name -your real name- falls off his tongue. You replay every sound he made to say such a name, just for the sake of remembering.

“Now go—” He pushes you to the direction, “Don't worry! I won't let them catch the love of my life!” He grins widely, hydro blades appearing in his hands once more as you nod towards him, tear stained smile in response. Your feet take you away, further and further away as you hear the familiar sounds of his blades against his own agents. Icy wind whipping against your face. You can't help the laugh that escapes you, surely the agents would think their blood-crazed superior is in another one of his impulsive moods. 

You pity them and envy them all the same.

~

notes !! thoma is up next, featuring some of our fav inazuma characters <3 ill edit it into a post once my finals settle down (currently cramming in a cafe) I hope you guys liked this one

childe // i really tried to fulfill that he's the more talkative of the bunch! and honestly with childe’s history of forgive and forget, i dont think it's a surprise that he’d easily forgive MC and brush everything under the rug. if anything, he kind of likes the complexity as far as i could tell! by the way, did you like the inclusion of “before him, with him, and after him”? i think it was a poem or a dedication in some book. I really like the thought of it since it's a good way to divide timelines. BY THE WAY do you like the parallels? In part 1, he was left on the snow looking up at the sky. Now in part 2, ur the one on the snow looking up at him :D

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Not much, being ill, talk of periods, Jake Seresin being too fucking perfect, fluff

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: The double whammy of being on your period and having a cold puts a wrench in your plans to go out with Jake.  He surprises you in the best  way in showing how caring he can be.

I needed some Jake fluff after having to deal with finally getting COVID this past week.

Part of the Jake and Elsa Universe 

Masterlist

Closed for Renovations

Jake: Hey doll. When can I pick up your fine ass tonight? 

You: This fine ass has got to bail.  Double whammy of lady parts closed for renovations and I've got a cold. You probably don't want to hang around this mess.

Jake: Is closed for renovations a clever way of telling me you're on your period?

You: Yes

Jake: Let me restate the question, what time do I show up on your doorstep with Mama Seresin's famous chicken noodle soup, chocolate, and other reinforcements?

You: You're serious?

Jake: As a heart attack or in this case a period cramp

You chuckle as you read Jake's latest message.  You're surprised that Jake is all in on spending time with you while you're both sick and on your period.  Most of your past boyfriends gave you a wide berth when Shark Week was upon you, some finding it "gross" or "weird".  As annoying as it was, it was also an easy way to gauge the maturity and long term potential of any guy.  Right now Jake was pulling into a very clear first place.  

It's still early on in your relationship, a few weeks after the craziness that brought you together. New enough that you're still encountering a lot of firsts and navigating the intimate details of a blooming relationship.  Your period being one of them.

You: I stayed home sick today, any time is good for me.

Jake: I'll swing by after work with ingredients.

You: Sounds great.

Jake: You're great

You: 🙄❤️☺️💋

With that settled you turn back to your cup of tea and trashy reality TV.  Somewhere along the line you must have fallen asleep because you awake to a gentle knocking on your door and the TV screen asking if you're still watching. You sit up abruptly, realizing Jake is here and your house looks like a NyQuil commercial with tissues and every kind of tea imaginable strewn out on the counter.  

Resigning yourself to the mess you peel yourself off the couch to answer the door and let Jake into the house. When you open the door, Jake is holding two large grocery bags filled with food and has his phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder.

He mouths,

"Sorry," just before he speaks into the phone.

"Yes, Mom, I got the fresh thyme, although I think Elsa has some growing on her patio. Speaking of which, I'm at her house…"

He nods agreeing with his mom on something,

"Yes, she is…someday, yes, love you too, Mom.  Thanks for the help."

A small smile creeps on your face as you listen to the exchange between Jake and his mom, his love apparent for her. You reach out and take one of the bags from Jake so he can hang up the phone to come inside.  

"Talk to you later, Mom," he says as he follows you into the kitchen.

Just as you place the bag of groceries down, Jake comes up behind you and gives you a hug and kiss on the cheek.

"How ya feeling, El?"

"Okay," you respond, obviously congested. 

"How about I get you another cup of tea, and you can keep me company while I make my Mom's literal county fair winning chicken soup," Jake offers putting the kettle back on the stove.  You sit at the bar and watch Jake as he unpacks ingredients from the bags.

"County fair winning? That's still a thing in Texas?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He laughs,

"Yes, it is and it's serious business. My grandma is still peeved at her neighbor for taking the 'good apples' from the tree that grew on both their ranches and winning in the apple pie category, 30 years ago." 

The kettle whistles and Jake holds up the box of lemon tea next to the stove in question.  You nod and he prepares a cup of tea and slides it across the counter.

"Thank you, so do I get to know the secret if you're making it in my kitchen?" you ask. 

He grins,

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you. But you can watch."

With all the soup ingredients on the counter Jake hauls two last items out of the bag.

"I didn't know if you were a milk chocolate or a dark chocolate fan, so I got some of each," he offers, holding up two giant chocolate bars.

"Oooh," you coo, "What if I said white chocolate was my favorite?" 

Jake grimaces slightly,

"Is it?"

"Haha, no. I don't consider it real chocolate and reserve it only for foofy lattes from Starbucks," you reply, his facial expressions easing.

"That's good, that could have been a deal breaker," he laughs.

"Gimme, please," you say, pointing to the dark chocolate bar.

"A woman of sophisticated tastes," he teases, handing you the bar. 

"Don't spoil your appetite," he admonishes, pulling a cutting board out of the cupboard.  He dons one of your aprons over his khakis. Jake prepares tidy rows of carrots, celery, and onion as he talks with you about his day.  

Soon, savory smells are wafting through your kitchen as Jake pours the rest of the chicken stock over the neatly chopped vegetables.  

"This is where it goes to the next level," Jake says, piquing your interest.

"Do you have flour, eggs, milk, salt, and a rolling pin?" he asks.

You nod and direct him around the kitchen.  

He takes the flour and scoops out some into a bowl following it with two eggs, a dash of salt, and some milk.  Using a fork, he stirs the ingredients into a shaggy dough. He sprinkles more flour on the counter and turns out the ball onto the counter. Flouring up his hands he kneads the ball for a few minutes. The way his strong hands and forearms push and pull at the dough sends your cold medicine addled, and apparently lust filled, mind in a different direction.  You've never wanted to be a ball of dough more in your life right now.

"That has to rest for a few minutes. More tea?" Jake asks, smirking, as he breaks you out of your naughty daydream.

"Yes,..umm, tea. Please," you stutter. 

"What are you making?" you finally ask as Jake heats up the kettle again.

"Homemade egg noodles for the soup," he answers, nonchalantly. 

"Homemade noodles? Wow."

"I said it was next level," he replies back.  

"That is next level. No one has ever gone to homemade pasta level for me before," you answer, in awe of this amazing man in your kitchen. Jake turns around from the stove and the kettle, a wistful look on his face. He walks across the kitchen and slides his hands around yours where they rest on the counter. He leans over to kiss your forehead sweetly.

"That is a travesty, because you are definitely worth the effort, you are homemade noodles worthy, El," he says, so earnestly it makes you tear up a little and laugh at the same time.  (Which you can only blame on the hormones of your period only partially.) 

"If I knew how to make homemade noodles I'd make them for you Jake Seresin," you say. 

"My nonna would be happy to teach you, but you'll just have to watch and learn for now," he breezily says, taking the rolling pin to the pile of dough. You tuck the mention of his Nonna and presumably meeting her and what all that means into the back of your brain to think about later. He pushes and pulls on the pin, flattening the dough out to a thin layer before he slices it up into skinny noodles. Jake grabs the mass and slides them into the boiling soup.

"Just a little bit longer," he says, working to clean up as you wait for the soup. You watch him contentedly as you sip your tea, enjoying his form and just how comfortable he is in your kitchen wearing a frilly floral apron.  A gift from Beth when one unremarkable boyfriend broke up with you because, 

"All he really wanted was a housewife, not someone more ambitious than him." Beth had written in the card, "Goodbye to the bastard, be your own trophy wife." You smile at the memory, a reminder of how much your relationship with Jake is better than anyone before him.

A few minutes later, Jake ladles out the steaming soup and slides a bowl over the counter to you. Inhaling the wonderful smelling steam in through your congested nose it almost feels magical the way it opens up your airways.

"This smells amazing," you gush, happy to be able to breathe again. He sits down on the stool next to you, his body turned towards yours so his legs can tangle with yours.  

You lift the spoon up, heaping with noodles, vegetables, and some chicken to gently blow on it, trying to cool it down.  Jake is watching you intently and hasn't taken a bite yet waiting for your reaction. Finally satisfied that you're not going to burn your tongue, you take the much anticipated first bite and it is perfect.

A fresh burst of herbs, the salty savory stock, and then the buttery smoothness of the noodles are all perfect. You close your eyes, it's that good.

"Wow, this is so good," you gush, enjoying the slight blush and sudden shyness on Jake's face.

"No wonder your mom won the county fair."

"I'm glad you like it, eat up. It's practically medicinal," he urges you.  You hum in agreement and savor the delicious soup, your appetite finally ignited for the day.  You and Jake sit in comfortable silence finishing your meal.  

You go to stand up to clear the bowls, trying to feel useful, when a familiar stab of pain shoots through your torso from back to front.

"Ahhh, shit," you groan, collapsing over your belly and crossing your arms. Jake stands up immediately, concern on his face,

"El, are you okay?"

You stand up, still grimacing, 

"Yeah, fine, just Aunt Flo being a bitch."

Jake smiles gently and rubs your back,

"You've got a lot of witticisms for being on your period. You need some painkillers or a heating pad?"

The mention of a heating pad makes you light up with hope and then immediately scowl when you remember that it broke last month and you haven't had a chance to replace it.

"I've got some ibuprofen in the bathroom, but I forgot to get a new heating pad," you inform Jake, glumly. Jake's face lights up,

"I've got just the thing then," he says, rubbing your back one last time before he steps away and grabs the last grocery bag. He holds up a box of heating pad patches.

"I wasn't sure you had a heating pad and I've used these for muscle strains before…," he trails off talking as he takes in your face.  You are definitely full-on crying, like maybe ugly crying, you can't believe this is your life.

"El, are you okay?" he asks, gently pulling you into his arms, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you sniffle into his uniform shirt, trying to avoid the ribbons, thinking those would be a bitch to clean snot out of, 

"You," you add.

Jake laughs, his sense of confidence unfazed by your comment,

"Me, I'm what's wrong? What are you thinking sweetheart?" he asks, tightening his arms around you as he starts to slightly sway in a comforting way. Another gentle kiss to your temple makes you sob a little.

"How are you so amazing? You cooked for me, brought me two kinds of chocolate, and brought back up heating pads. I bet there's both Tylenol and Advil in the bag, too."

He chuckles and you can feel him nodding in agreement.  You lean back and wipe your eyes,

"I'm just a little overwhelmed, no one's ever really taken care of me like this…wanted to more importantly. Like I don't deserve this. Oh my God, I'm so sorry for crying." Jake reads the panicked look on your face and pulls you back as you try to retreat, 

"Listen to me, El.  You are worth every bit of effort, every bit. You understand?" he asks, sincerely waiting for your response. You nod, not sure what to say.

"Not to disparage your past taste in men, but they sound like they fucking sucked. I can't complain that they didn't realize what a treasure you are, because I got the chance to show you." 

You sniff, taking a deep breath to get your emotions under control.  

"More importantly, you're the first woman that I've ever wanted to take care of, be there for you. Make you see your true worth. You make me want to be a better man, El. I love you," Jake says, earnestly his eyes imploring you to believe him. You meet his gaze and stare back into those intense green eyes for a few seconds before closing your own for a second to stem the tears. 

"Okay, Jake. I love you so much. So much it overwhelms me sometimes. God, I'm such a mess today, hormones and viruses are not being kind to me today," you say to Jake wiping away the tears.

"It's okay, El. You're my mess and that's what matters. I'll be here to take care of you when it gets messy, always," Jake reassures you, his arms still wrapped around you. You rest your head on his chest, letting his love envelop you. 

"How about this?" he asks as you look up, "Grab some Advil, wash your face, and I'll get one of those heating pads, some chocolate, and we can snuggle up on the couch and watch whatever cheesy rom com or trashy reality TV you want. I'm gonna change into some sweats, okay?"

"Sounds perfect, although you might regret giving me carte blanche over our viewing choices."

"Never."

The rest of the night is spent cuddled up on your couch with Jake watching Pride and Prejudice. Between the warmth of Jake's embrace, the Advil, and the cozy heating patches you fall asleep not too long into the movie. You're awoken by a quick succession of text notification sounds.  Jake puts his phone down when he sees you awake. 

"Let's head to bed, El," he whispers, kissing your temple.  You nod sleepily and he scoops you up bringing you to bed. The last thought you have before you fall asleep again with Jake wrapped around you is that for a day that started kind of terrible it has ended up kind of perfect. 

Bonus Content Jake's Text Convo with his Mom. 

@kmc1989

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mayhemmanaged  

@callmemana  

@dempy  

@hangmanscoming  

@lanie-k 

@callsign-viper  

@senjoritanana  

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

@memoriesat30

@midnightmagpiemama

@mygyn

[hubristicassholefight]

Swordswoman Showdown Round 2 Part 1

Malenia (Elden Ring) vs Olivier Mira Armstrong (Fullmetal Alchemist)

(Better here in a "preferred character" sense, not "who would win in a fight")

Propaganda below cut

Malenia

She is arguably the hardest boss in any Fromsoft game.; She is the favorited boss of Animal from the Muppets.

"Arguably" the hardest boss in any fromsoft game? You don't even know. She is OBJECTIVELY the hardest boss in any fromsoft game. On march 1st 2023, a bit more than a full year since the game's release, From Software released the stats on the amount of attempts each boss took for the players collectively. As of march 1st 2023 Malenia has killed the players 329.000.000 times. That's 10 Tarnished every second. That's almost the entire population of the United States. Malenia is also an optional boss in a secluded area hidden away from everyone. According to PlayStation trophy statistics, only 37.9% of people who ever bought the game managed to even REACH Malenia in the first place. Which means among those 329.000.000 people she has obliterated were only the most dedicated of Fromsoft fans. Only 33.3% of people even managed to beat her. That number also includes everyone who beat her with summons, which makes her significantly easier. This means out of all people who bought the game on PlayStation 4 or 5 and reached Malenia which is about 3 million people, 377.000 just fucking dropped her, they didn't even do it with summons. Difficulty aside. Malenia is also extremely pretty and has the softest lips, her Goddess form looks like a painting. She fights with elegance and style unrivalled by any boss in the game, dancing through the battlefield with deadly, fluid motions. Malenia is also 256cm or 8'4" tall. Huge woman.

post let me solo her

#malenia is 8'4“ flat chested and broad shouldered#she kills you with incredible grace and poise#trans icon#id let her Waterfowl Dance on me and Infect Me with her Scarlet Rot...

#malenia is so dedicated to the sword it mends her failing body. she lives by fighting#her strongest attack is a technique that halts the progress of her terminal illness#i can never stop thinking about that. by all means she couldve rotted into a mile of mush before the game started#but she persists!! she persists!!!

Olivier Mira Armstrong

Her sword is a family heirloom and she can hold up against or defeat very formidable opponents; She is so unbelievably cool

Extremely cool and intimidating military general with a signature heirloom sword.

She has a really fancy family heirloom sword. Stabs a man and throws him into liquid cement to suffocate alive after he tries to get her to abandon her men to be part of a nation-wide conspiracy, challenges a subordinate to a duel of life and death (with the sword), nervous tic is tapping on the hilt of the sword. She demanded that her father retire and make her the head of the family instead of her brother, and then fought against said brother (including with the sword)(won the fight), among other things stabbed a homunculus into the head; I loved this character because her personality was so refreshing. Really blunt and rational, but will show her love for her subordinates and family through actions rather than words. When the main characters first ask her for help, her motivations are entirely selfish (gaining knowledge to use for power). It is established several times that she really is scary, and isn't afraid to immediatly fight someone on the spot to prove a point. Literally pulls a "I'm getting so old, I'm afraid a women like me will never find a husband," to manipulate a superior. All in all, she could stab me and it would be the greatest accomplishment I had made in my life so far.

Her sword has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations. She is an expert in sword fighting and military strategy. She always holding it when commanding her troops.

She wields a saber passed down as a family heirloom; while she also sometimes uses guns and tanks, this is her primary weapon, which she used to kill the super-strong Homunculus Sloth the Indolent several times (she did, however, need help from others to kill him permanently, due to Sloth's ability to regenerate from death); As a Major General, Olivier is the highest-ranking woman in her country's military; she is also the moral highest-ranked military officer in her country, as she joins in a rebellion once she has confirmation as to how corrupt the military leaders are.

[lanternlightss]

Please infodump about the silly little bards please (only if you want to ofc)

TAKES A DEEP BREATH . OKAY !!!!

(apologies this got a little long so it’s going under the cut And i also. put a miniature train on a track and watched it race off, so the thoughts !! Might be !! a little scrambled, and jump around a lot ,,,)

okay sorry we are starting off a little bittersweetly because . god ghost bard makes me ill in so many ways. it is one of the more …. happier endings, for him, i feel he would kinda like being a ghost. at first. there is a certain freedom to it—he can go anywhere !!! he can explore the world like he had planned to do, and he can still do it with his dearest friend !!!!! there’s no time limit, like if he were a human, and he can Fly Now, on his own, for another. can slink into the shadows and have others take the shining light—he’s a bard, he is here to listen and tell tales of others! pay no attention to the light flickering.

but it’s.

not really. living (irony included.) he’s stagnant. the world changes around him, he watches everyone venture forward on their paths, do greater things, be greater people—and he’s. still. here, as he was, a perfectly still moment of the best and worst part of his life. every time his friend turns to look at him he can always see a flash of pain in their eyes. but (reusing what i said in tags) he doesn’t … want to leave, i feel. yes, he doesn’t age. yes, he mimes breathing even when his lungs have stopped. yes, he wishes he could truly feel what his friend’s palms feel under his own, when they try to interlace hands; that’s the reason, though. venti is an immortal. venti outlives nearly everyone he meets. venti has lost their friends, their once was life and thrust into a completely new one. he has to stay. he has to, he has to, because he can’t stand venti being on their lonesome, when all they knew before this was warmth.

so . my friend, if you will allow me, let me be by your side. let me be what you were for me, all those years.

when ragnvindr leaves. when gunnhildr dies. when venti deems this city okay to walk on their own. he follows his wisp and sits close enough that venti’s wings shiver from cold. i’ve got you. (there is also . so many ways you can take this au: angst, majorly, but they should be happy and smiling whenever the opportunity arrives so canon to me that venti knows the bard is there and whenever he can be leans over and knocks his shoulder against the bard’s. love you. love you too.)(also the idea of mondstadt having one (1) ghost but it’s just your friendly neighbor bard checking in. they’re co-parenting mondstadt.)(ALSO ALSO here’s how bard getting to know og gunnhildr even more and meeting vennessa can win—)(potentially also the og7……)

(also also also This Bard has more than likely seen everything that has happened to venti :3c if we’re doomed, my song, let’s be doomed together.)

OKAY . ANYWAYS

waves my hands high . THEIR LOVE !!!!!!!!

they are both so “in every life, i would search for you,” because there is NO WAY that they, whose relationship was so important To The Story As A WHOLE, where venti would be a completely different character had he not met the bard (case in point: His Entire Design), where mondstadt as it is now is still being affected by those dreams and hopes of the past !!!!!!!!!!—that could not have been a one off, one lifetime thing. venti is following bard in the next life and the bard is running around with hands cupped around his mouth and shouting “dearest beloved where are you :(” until they reunite and hug. i refuse to be convinced otherwise. no one can stop them from reaching out and hoping the other’s hand grazes, then latches on. they are a PACKAGE DEAL ‼️

like gestures to Several Lines from the game ???:

(sorry that’s fully the wiki for the windblume ode i don’t have it 😔) godbless 🙏 venti has a lot on his mind and i am full belief that the nameless bard is a good 45% at the forefront of it (the fact. that. it’s very very possible that venti looks through things through a lens of: what would be good for the people, and, would this have made him happy…. Makes Me want to start chewing at the walls.) (<- im so genuinely surprised there aren’t more people who go buckwild over the bard the two of them are so intricately interlinked ????? if you removed one the whole thing would fall apart ????)(tbh that could be said for the old mond crew as a whole.)

it’s about the devotion. it’s about the adoration. it’s about a god worshipping a mortal and refusing to miss even one singular prayer.

also wings of azure wind remind me both of the traveler and nameless bard. like be so genuine right now genshin, someone going on an adventure, a journey, and the breeze that follows turns into a person at the end ??? and accompanies that person across the lands ???????

ALSO HEY HI . HERES MY AGENDA TO CECILIAS BEING VENTI’S FAVORITE FLOWER EVER AND IT’S PARTLY BECAUSE OF THE NAMELESS BARD:

like ofc there’s the fact that cecilias seemed to have been the windblume for the rebellion, see: the flower is on the flag, the flower being pinned to nameless bard’s scarf.

but also.

because. it probably took a solid minute for the other flowers to bloom (the entire land was Ice Cold there had to have been repercussions from andrius lifting that all suddenly !!), i imagine that cecilias were one of the few flowers old mond saw on a regular, until what light breezes had them start to wilt. and. Well.

an “unbound soul” you say, huh, genshin ……

venti and nameless bard would’ve fully switched cecilias if the bard had lived that headcanon lives rent free in my brain.

anyways looks at this and squints. what in the world is going on with cecilias:

what else. what else. OH .

Venti . would trust the bard inexplicably with his wings source: trust me. venti would trust the bard inexplicably with so much. venti could hand the bard his heart on a silver platter and smile, because the bard would cherish it something precious. i await the day when it is ever . ever made canon that bard and wispti had a home together and slept cuddled or just by one another in general. there has to be a reason why venti says i haven’t seen this view in a while When He Is Sitting on his Statue’s HANDS. if the bard were to have ever have a social media account he 100% would’ve done “showing my wisp places they’ve never seen before” trend while holding wispti like a hamburger.

i. May be running out of steam. qpr bardven canon

[bryverros]

YAP MY LIEGE WHAT ARE THE HAPPENINGS IN THY KINGDOM

im going to be real immature on main so turn a blind eye guys

so. my beloved firefighter show. first, a brief introduction to the massive fandom drama. we have buck, eddie and tommy. buck and eddie are best friends since season 2 episode 1 (we are on season 8), tommy becomes an important(?) character in season 7.

- buck and tommy are canonically in a relationship. i want them broken up asap. its not even personal. i just dont think they work, even all the buckandeddie theories aside. and if they do break up, i will call it a win and clap my hands jollily. their fanbase is honestly making me feel stupid because theyre acting like bucktommy is this soulmates endgame couple and i tried seeing it. but i just dont.

exhibit 1. eddie appears in practically every single bucktommy scene. and when he didnt appear directly, he sure as hell was mentioned. a lot. which??? weird??? considering the fact that bucktommy are supposed to be in a relationship and very in love. like maybe i dont know shit about dating but im pretty sure that its objectively weird to include the best friend in all scenes the couple has. so far, in s8, buck and tommy had one (1) scene. and it had eddie in it.

then there’s the whole weird thing on how buck and tommy got together in the first place and one might argue that buck was trying to get eddie’s attention, not tommy’s. so like yeah eddie sure is haunting their narrative a lot and for seemingly no reason which kind of stops me from feeling attached to the ship. which i tried initially before i started praying on their breakup.

- in the scenes buck and tommy (+eddie. cant forget that he was there) did have. sigh. their dynamics is just weird. first of all, tommy is older than buck. like, he was in the flashbacks of the older coworkers (he was kind of racist and kind of homophobic and misogynistic in those too, but ok ill let that pass, people change blah blah). and he called buck kid before they got together. which. sigh. im generally against age gaps i dont fw that stuff and theyre not letting me forget that they do have an age gap. but fine, ill put the age gap aside. theyre both adults so yk. surely it wont be THAT bad. alas. it is. moving to the next exhibit

exhibit 2. the bachelor party. so buck is really excited to organise this themed party for their his brother in law (a dude tommy was kind of racist towards in the flashback btw). the theme is. 80s. buck and eddie do matching costumes (suggested by eddie. very enthusiastically)! matching each others freak! yay! what does tommy do. he arrives in a henley. and as a person who kind of relates to buck in a way that i get excited about things. tommy’s low effort uninterestingness wouldve kind of been hurtful to me? like the way he casually kind of discarded that excitement buck had about this party was giving “im not interested in your interests babe 🫶” and from personal experience! not nice! and buck already had like a shit ton of self esteem issues and like yeah im projecting but please please break up w tommy you deserve better buck please

- name. so evan buckley has been going by buck. everyone calls him buck except his parents (bad. he doesnt like that) and his sister. sometimes. tommy calls him evan all the fucking time. which feels. condescending. i do not like it in the slightest. break up bucktommy. for me. please.

now! onto the clowning part.

ok look. buck and eddie. theyre so special. their friendship is so special. and if they go canon. that would be absolutely historical. like a queer non established from the beginning romance? that has 6+ years of shared history? they were friends before they were lovers and they could be THE friends to lovers in my eyes. and look if they dont go romantic, i really wont be that sad? their friendship kind of remains regardless so like while i do think it would be bold and take some good writing to have them go down the romantic line. i also do really cherish their friendship. but i am strongly gaslit that they will go romantic. to the point where i fear that im clowning about it.

- the actor playing buck recently said that he wants some slowburn for buck. some will they wont they kind of relationship. that the audience will have to yearn for. like my man your character is in a relationship and that relationship came together in, let me check… 2 episodes? slowburn? bucktommy? i have a VERY hard time believing that. there were a whole bunch of other quotes that could be interpreted as bucktommy breakup (yay 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶). like you dont see any other member of the cast speaking about their love interest the same way this man does about tommy.

- the episodes 5 and 6 are centred on buck and eddie respectively. episode 5 will have tommy “weirded out by something about buck” (surprise surprise). episode 6 is called confessions. eddie has a lot of potential queer coding (eddie: “i just hate having to date. it feels like i have to perform”; someone else about eddies relationship: “just make sure youre following your heart. not christopher’s [his son]” ahh stuff). and episode 6 is centred on him. it also is coming out on nov 7th, 2 days after the infamous destiel election day. so having eddies coming out in that episode would be the funniest thing ever. and the marketing for these episodes is driving me insane. like. will they. wont they. will they. wont they. i feel like im clowning so hard but i also feel like i cant be wrong about this stuff yk? too many coincidences?

so yeah. episode 5 is coming out today. wish me luck (bucktommy breakup ⁉️)

[misty-groves]

Do you understand that we will never be the same again?

Fandom: DC, Batman specifically

Characters: Ivy Wayne (oc), Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Jason Todd's Memorial

Relationships: Ivy Wayne & Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne & Ivy Wayne, Damian Wayne & Ivy Wayne

Summary: Ivy comes home after everything that happened in the league of Assassins, and she sees the infamous 'Good Solider' plaque. It doesn't go very well. (Aka: I'm not telling you good job dad this memorial was shit!)

Rating: T

Warnings: cursing, Lazarus pit side effects, bad coping, Good Solider memorial, mental illness, violence, Bruce Wayne is Bad At Communication, Damian Wayne is Bad At communication

Other: If I missed anything, please let me Also I wrote one of my favorite lines ever in this fic so even if you don't read it please know that I wrote a banger line: "...Bruce Wayne puts his foot in his mouth for breakfast..."

-------

Ivy lets herself get lead into the bat-cave with a soft smile, watching as Damian sees it all for the first time. The boy looks around in reserved awe, unused to things such as a giant penny or a dinosaur in a cave.

She thinks it's adorable.

She's got an ache in her chest watching her brother too, but that's okay.

Going to the cave without her big brothers is weird. But that's what's happening and she's not going to let it ruin her day. (That would be letting The Assholes win. Ivy doesn't do that anymore.)

She glances to where Tim Drake hovers by the Bat computer in a modified Robin costume with darker colors. She feels a swell of green rushing up and immediately squashes it down.

Robin is magic. It's power.

And Her Robin wouldn't want her punishing the new Robin.

Besides, her problems are far more to do with the adults than the kid.

"Ivy?" Damian prods as he turns to her.

She turns her gaze to her baby brother, "Yes?"

"Where is your suit?" Damian asks.

"Oh, unless they moved it it should be up there." She smiles as she motions to the elevated walkway with a row of suits in tubes.

The suits are all retired or last choice back-ups there, from every hero to have used the Bat Cave as a base.

"Well let us go examine it." Damian declares as he marches them forwards.

The boy moves like a general, not waiting for confirmation simply trusting his will to be followed.

Ivy follows her brother in perfect step with the younger.

Bruce trails after his kids, as of unsure what to do. Which seems fair, he hasn't seen his daughter since she died and he met Damian yesterday.

Ivy snickers when they pass the original Batman suit. The blast from the past is both nostalgic and hilarious.

She'd forgotten her dad had that cowl for a bit. (Thank god he changed it.)

The keep walking past retired or last choice Batsuits before the move into the suits Dick has used.

"What is this monstrosity?" Damian gapes as he stops beside the original Robin Costume.

The original costume is a sigh to behold, bright traffic light colors doing nothing to aid stealth. The glorified leotard with a button up shirt and pixie boots is certainly memorable.

"Ah yeah, Dick said pants took away from his aerodynamics." Ivy says with a snort.

"Those-" Damian screeches in abject horror- " are scaly underwear!"

"I don't know why Dick is like that." She shrugs. "He added pants later. He got cold."

Damian just gives her a dubious look before turning beck to the fashion crime that he just witnessed and pursing his lips.

They keep walking, passing several retired costumes.

Ivy stops to mourn the disco-wing suit, losing the respect of her baby brother for her adoration of the travesty of a suit. (She thinks that's a little rude since it was a little bit of a memorium to other heroes and also Iconic.)

She then says a quick farewell to the slutty titans costumes from That Era. Saying something about 'everyday was a tits out kinda day back then'.

Bruce just makes a face, wondering if this is somehow karma.

They pass a few more costumes, including her own, before stopping at Jason's memorial.

Damian had some thoughts about her costume she designed at age nine, sighting it rather impractical in the bright red but at least it had pants.

The memorial draws the attention of both siblings.

Bruce watches the children, unsure what to expect. Damian has never gotten to meet Jason... Ivy had adored the boy though.

Bruce just- he just hopes his daughter like the memorial. That it brings her closure to see her big brother remembered.

"Jason Todd." Damian reads the name on the plaque, only to continue "Good Solider."

Ivy stiffens, gaze snapping from the ruined suit to the polished metal.

The bloody uniform in the case feels like a slap in the face to everything Jason- and Robin- ever was. A tragic shrine to a death that was unearned and needlessly cruel.

She reads the plaque, 'In memory of Jason Todd. Second Robin. A Good Solider.'

Oh.

She feels her blood start to boil.

"What. The. Fuck?!" Ivy snarls as she whirls around on her dad, fighting the urge to bare her teeth in outright threat.

"Was he not a good solider?" Damian frowns, eyeing the case and wondering why they would bestow such a high title on someone who didn't earn it.

"He was a child!" Ivy snaps sharply as her eyes narrow while staring her dad down.

"Ivy it's just a memorial." Bruce says weakly.

He knows as soon as he says it that it was the wrong thing to say.

Ivy tilts her head slowly, almost predatory. Her eyes almost look green despite them having been a different color her whole life as far as he knows.

She turns back to the memorial slowly, eyes flicking back and forth between the destroyed suit and the plaque.

It's a betrayal to the highest degree.

Ivy can handle a betrayal against her.

This is again Jason.

She has never handled disrespect towards her people well. The fire in her veins demands payment and she can feel the green starting to rise again.

Ivy knows she should probably fight the green but she doesn't think she's wrong to be so upset. In fact- she thinks Jason would understand.

Her vision is starting to blur.

"Ivy." Damian says as he steps closer. "You are blowing this out of proportion-"

Ivy is swinging a fist at the glass before she can decide if she wants to. Green swims fully in her vision.

Her fist connects and cracks the bulletproof glass with a satisfying crunch.

"Ivy!" Bruce gasps.

The horror he feels at both the strength required to crack the case first try and the action in general are rising rapidly.

She likes the sound of the cracking glass. A frenzied- blood thirsty grin pulls at her face.

Green only gets stronger. Her blood starts to boil.

Ivy revels in the sting of her knuckles as she swings alternating punches at the glass until it shatters.

Someone grabs her arm and that's all it takes.

Green overtakes her and she loses herself. She can't see anyone.

She fights whoever grabbed her arm mercilessly. Slamming fists, knees, elbows, and kicks into their form.

Nothing is okay.

And then-

Then she's somewhere else, axe being pressed into her hands.

She can do this.

She feels someone directing her in a task she can't identify. She doesn't know much but her body moves to comply.

Who ever it is calling the shots has to be one of three people, so it's probably no more dangerous for her than usual. No more dangerous than poison.

-------

Damian sits a few feet from his sister, watching her chop the wood he set her up with. He would usually have joined her fight, but it seems bad form to kill their father.

He also doesn’t exactly understand what set Ivy off. The little metal plate seemed a kind memorial. What better to he than a good soilder?

She's been slowing down on the wood chopping for a bit, probably coming back to herself.

He's been out here with her for a few hours now and he still couldn't place the source of her wrath.

"Ivy?" Damian asks.

She turns slowly, eyes still almost glowing. "Dami?"

He ignores the rush of warmth hearing the Arabic term of endearment, knowing he needs to focus on other things. His sister is always too free with affection anyways.

She's not all back, but she's a lot more in control.

She very likely knows who he is and where they are though.

"Are you feeling better?" He asks.

She stares at him, brows knitting. Her memories seem to he returning as her eyes take on the same stormy hue as usual when upset. "Less foggy."

"Good."

"What... did I do?"

"Attacked Father."

"Fuck." Ivy groans.

"What set you off?" He asks. Far less afraid of her Pit Rage than most.

She sighs slowly, looking up to the sky. "Jason's memorial. They put that stupid fucken- Good Solider!"

"I do not understand."

"Good Solider!" Ivy snaps sharply, eyes flickering a toxic green glow and back to green grey stormy seas. "GOOD FUCKEN SO'LD'AH?! MY BROTHA WAS NOBODY"S FUCKEN SO'LD'AH!"

Her accent thickens and morphs into the Crime alley accent she hides. She's got her arms moving with her words.

"That seems to be a high compliment." Damian acknowledges.

"JASON WASN'T A FUCKEN SO'LD'AH! JASE WAS A KID! A FUCKEN KID WHO WENT 'N DIED IN A BLOODY FUCK UP CAUSE BRUCE IS TOO STUPID TA KILL JOKAH!"

"Father's reluctance to killing hardly constitutes a reason to put down the memory of a talented fighter."

Ivy gives him a look that promises she's taking a pound of flesh from someone.

Damian isn't scared though, he is in no danger. Not from his sister.

Instead, Ivy takes several slow and deliberate breaths. She's crossing her arms as she tries to reign herself in

He just waits. He knows it will all come with time.

"Dami," She says, soft despite her anger. She looks to him again, eyes free of Lazarus glow for the moment. She's obviously struggling with her accent when she asks, "If I died, would ya want my memorial ta be like Jason's?"

"What?"

"If I died, would ya want me to have a memorial just like Jason's?" She asks as she tries to fight back the accent further.

She has never liked the looks the accent earns her even though she's not exactly ashamed it is easier to hide.

Damian can not help feeling like this is a simple question. But the way she asks it- careful to phrase it...

He is sure he is missing something.

He clicks his tongue, "Tt, I would never let your uniform be displayed in such dis-repair."

She snorts, "Glad I'm not the only one who thinks it was distasteful."

She's forced most of the crime alley out of her voice.

Damian watches her, trying to puzzle out her distaste of it all.

He agrees the ruined costume is tacky and maybe even disrespectful but the plaque seems respectful and of high praise.

"I can't believe dad." Ivy sighs heavily. "Reducing Jason to a solider. Oh that mother- Jason wasn't a good solider."

"Is the memorial a lie? Was he a bad fighter?"

Ivy gives a startled laugh, eyes falling to her brother. "No. No, Jase... Jase was good fighter, but he wasn't a solider."

Damian purses his lips again. He loathes to admit defeat but if he craves any chance at understanding he must. "If you want me to understand your upset, you must explain it better."

She just sighs. "I'm mad about the phrase good solider. It makes it sound like all Jason was. It's like that all Jase was to dad. A solider."

"So?"

Ivy grits her teeth for a moment.

Then she takes a slow shudders breath, reminding herself as firmly as possible that for every wrong she's feeling right now Damian isn't involved. Remembering that her brother isn't the one behind it and is in-fact just a kid looking for answers.

Damian doesn’t get it, but he does know she's beyond upset.

"If I died and my memorial only said "Ivy Wayne, good solider... how would you feel."

"Angry your name was messed up." Damian huffs. "You are an Al Ghul. Your name is Ivy Al Ghul- Wayne."

She huffs, "Thank you. But if all it said was my name and good solider... what then?"

He does not understand the sudden surge of protest in his mind. If he were with anyone else... He wouldn't even bother trying to untangle it but he's been working on trying to understand feelings with his sister.

So... Damian thinks.

Good Solider... that is high praise and if his sister was memorialized that way in the league it would be an honor.

His sister is a fierce Warrior, one of the only teachers he hasn't surpassed. She's their grandfather's beloved Hawk. She's the only person he's seen hold their own in fights against their mother and grandfather both.

Though, the softer- sentimental part of him that he ignores often disagrees.

His sister is a Warrior... but she is more.

She's the only person who has been truly and unfailingly loyal to Damian as a person and not as an Al Ghul. She sang him lullabies and held him through his most embarrassing nightmares.

Ivy may have taught Damian to throw knives with deadly precision, but she also soothes his tears.

"I would tell stories... You are a Warrior to behold, riati... but I would tell others about you outside fighting."

Ivy gives a bitter sweet smile, the kind she gives when he's said the right thing but it doesn’t help anything. "That's what's wrong, Damian. They've memorialized him as a fighter and stripped away everything else."

"Oh." He says as his brows knit.

"Yeah."

He looks up to her, trying to find the words to express the twisting feeling in his chest. "I am... sorry."

She shakes her head. "It's not your fault."

"I know." He agrees.

"So.... how badly did I attack dad? Is he hurt?"

"Of course he is. You rarely miss." Damian says with pride he doubts he will ever lose.

His sister is amazing like that

"How badly hurt?"

"Broken ribs. Broken wrist. Broken nose." He shrugs. "Not too bad."

"Oh god." She cokes off, blood draining from her face.

"What?"

"I- I am so mad at him but I- I didn't wanna break his nose or ribs or anything."

"He will heal and get over it."

"I don't know that he will... I guess I should go face the music."

"If he makes a fuss I can always seek retribution for you."

Ivy gives a soft smile, "Thank you, bit that's really not necessary. Things are different here."

"We will see. Perhaps you can tell me absolutely Jason later."

"Maybe. I should go see how it's gonna go."

-------

Bruce sits in the cave searching the data base for information on the Falcones with Tim at his side when he hears Ivy coming down the stairs.

Tim stiffens, glancing to Bruce.

He shakes his head to the boy. No reason to react before they know what's going on.

He tenses, though, unsure how this is about to go. He doesn’t want to fight his daughter, but he won't let her attack Tim.

Ivy comes down, arms crossed across her test and shoulders raised. She stares at the floor though, which is a point towards no more physical altercation.

"Ivy?" Bruce asks.

She looks over, face a mix of afraid and angry. "Dad."

"What are you doing down here?"

"I wanted to talk. Maybe explain." She shrugs halfheartedly.

"Oh?" Bruce grunts.

"First of all, that memorial is shit." She scoffs.

"You had no right to wreck it." Bruce says evenly.

She takes a slow breath. "I'm not here to argue."

"Good. Then you know what you did was wrong and you shouldn't have attacked me."

Ivy grits her teeth, eyes flashing the toxic green from before as she takes a slow breath again. "I apologize for attacking you, I thought I was over the pit rage episodes."

"What?" Bruce croaks.

He knows, logically, that his daughter was put in the Lazarus pit. He was unaware she had negative side effects but he should have expected it.

"I got too upset and Pit Madness took over. I know that's not an excuse and I am sorry. Even if that memorial is a blatant disrespect to Jason... I shouldn't have attacked you."

"Pit... madness."

"Yes. I know I fucked up-"

Damian is hurdling down the stairs, sword on his back and a challenge in his eyes. He looks ready for a fight when he sees the hitch of his sister's shoulders.

He's caught by his arm, Ivy moving quickly. "Damian what the hell?!"

Bruce just blinks.

"Father was about to do irreparable damage with his words." Damian scoffs.

"Oh, sweetheart, Bruce Wayne puts his foot in his mouth for breakfast. I'm sure I'll live." Ivy says fondly, reaching out to ruffle her brothers hair as if he wasn't ready to engage in combat with Batman.

Bruce just watches. It's almost reassuring to see his daughter still has a soft spot for children but this is all so weird.

"Go back... you suffer pit madness?" Bruce frowns.

"Sometimes." She shrugs. "I'm working on it."

"So... the attack was pit madness?"

"I know it doesn’t excuse anything. But yes." Ivy says stiffly.

Damian is glaring again, as if challenging Bruce. Even with his elbow in his sister's hand he looks ready to pounce.

Bruce is struck for a moment by a memory. He can almost see Jason holding Ivy by her elbow all those years ago in an attempt to stop the girl from attacking a bully.

"We can talk about the pit madness later. That explains lot. I would still appreciate if you refrained from destroying memorials."

"That memorial was shit." Ivy scoffs again.

"That memorial is for my son."

"That memorial is for a fucking child solider, not Jason." Ivy says shortly.

Bruce flinches a little. His son has never been a solider. His son-

Alfred put up the plaque.

But the looks his daughter gives him is scorching, the kind of look that screams she's not going to forget this. That she will remember this and it's going to be something that cuts a divide between her and the culprit forever.

Bruce is faced with a choice, like he so often is.

He can choose to take the blame, and face likely irreparable damage to his just found relationship with his daughter.... Or He can tell the truth,and turn that firey rage on Alfred, and watch his daughter lose faith in the man who's basically her grandfather.

Bruce makes a choice to save other people, just like always.

"Jason was a fighter." He says stiffly.

Damian clicks his tongue at that. "Tt, clearly you don't understand the concept of empathy."

Ivy has to take a breath at that one. She's been working on Empathy with Damian for- years. In the environment Ra's Al Ghul provided it was an uphill battle both ways and in the rain. But he's come further. He's closer.

Damian is a little better at identifying complex emotions in his mother and his sister.

Bruce is floored, getting that retort from a child who threatened his protege last night is surreal.

Tim chokes on a noise, "What?"

"Damian, go upstairs for me, please. If you want I'll tell you about Jason later."

Damian gives her a considering look, as if searching for answers to a question he hasn't asked. Whatever he finds though is enough.

"I expect as much." The boy says before going back upstairs.

Bruce watches the temperamental boy storm upstairs with a frown. "That was... efficient."

"What was?" Ivy frowns.

"You're good with Damian." Bruce says. Trying to find the words he wants. "He's so temperamental. He challenged me to combat last night."

Tim nods. "Yeah he threatened me too."

"I'll talk to him. But you should understand he was raised by Ra's and Talia."

"I do."

"I don't know that you do. Also, if you ever make another memorial say Good Solider I'm going to feed your balls to a pack of rabid dogs while I make you watch."

"Excuse me?" Bruce gapes at the colorful threat that he can't be sure is actually empty.

"That's a shit memorial dad. Jason was more than a solider and if he saw that it would break his heart."

"Ivy..."

She gives a sharp, predatory smile that screams Talia. Ivy just blinks serenely. "No more child soldiers, Dad. No more shitty memorials."

"Kid..."

"I'm going upstairs because I'm losing my grip. Try to be patient with Damian." Ivy says before she storms back upstairs.

Tim turns to Bruce, frowning. "What was that? Why didn't you tell her Alfred put up the memorial?"

"It'd hurt her worse."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry you had to see that. And I'm sorry Damian threatened you."

"It's not your fault." Tim says. "I just... Don't remember Cardinal being so volatile."

"Some of that is the pit madness. She's doing very well with it all things considered." Bruce muses.

He can recall the way pit madness rots the mind. He knows how easily the Lazarus Pit corrupts completely.

He wonders how much of her control stems from the obvious need to protect Damian?

"She's right... That memorial is shit." Tim mutters to himself.

Bruce huffs.

[f4y3w00d5]

And to finish up for the night here is my brief description of Every Song in Danger Days: True Lives Of The Fabulous Killjoys, by My Chemical Romance

Okay so basically  this is their most recent album, 2014, and it follows the Killjoys as they fight against BL.IND (Better Living Industries) who seek to ELIMINATE all  individuality. (Spoiler: They die saving The Girl in the music video for SING) 

Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na) - 

Upbeat!!! Dancing!!! Fast!!! You jump around screaming about doing crime and partying and sex!!! I love it!!! (you should listen to it after Look Alive Sunshine, which is the intro to the album and its just Dr D speaking, and at the start of Na Na Na, it goes ‘THE FUTURE IS BULLETPROOF! THE AFTERMATH IS SECONDARY!! TIME TO DO IT NOW AND DO IT LOUD! KILLJOYS, MAKE SOME NOISE!!!’) 

Bulletproof Heart 

Uh so this is sorta less fast and stuff but its SO cool and idk how to describe it but its sorta jaunty? First song I listened to by the band!!! (Fav part is ‘and tho, I know, how much you hate this. Are you gonna be the one to save us? From. The black. And hope-less feelin. Will you meet ‘em when the end comes reelin? Hold, your heart, into this darkness. Will it ever be the light to shine you out? Or fail. And leave you stranded? I aint gonna be the one left standin. You aint gonna be the one left standin, and we aint gonna be the ones left standin!!!’) 

SING 

Aaaaaaaaa this ones so cool, took a bit to grow on me, its mostly slow and repetitive but the BRIDGE ‘Cleaned up corporations PROGRESS! Dyin in the PROCESS! Children that can TALK ABOUT IT livin on the WEB-WAYS, people movin SIDEWAYS, sell it til your LAST DAYS, buy yourself the motivation GENERATION NOTHIN! Nothing but a DEAD SCENE! Product of a WHITE DREAM! I am not the SINGER THAT YOU WANTED BUT A DANCER! I REFUSE TO ANSWER! TALK ABOUT THE PAST SIR! WROTE IT FOR THE ONES WHO WANNA GET AWAY! ……. Keep runnin.’ 

Planetary (GO!)  

Okay so like omg. I love this one. Everythings amazin. Starts off slightly slow, and then starts movin faster around the verses? AND THE VIBES!!! Ive got a few favs and ill save them here (I love the way theyre said too-) ‘Ladies and gentleman, truth is now acceptable! Fame! Is now injectable, PROCESS THE PROGRESS, This core is critical, faith is un-a-vail-a-ble, Lives, become incredible-‘ and also ‘Youre unbelievable, ah, so unbelievable, ah, you ruin everything, oh, you better GO HOME! Im unbelievable yeah, im undefeatable yeah, LETS RUIN EVERYTHIN, BLAST IT TO THE BACK ROW- they sell presentable, young! And so ingestible! Sterile and collectable! SAFE, and I cant STAND THAT! This is a letter, by word, is the beretta, the sound, of my vendetta against, the ones that PLANNED IT!’ So uhhhhhhhhh yeah lol 

The Only Hope For Me Is You 

Likeeeeeeeee holy SHIT this one just sorta- idkkkk- ‘Where? Where were you when, all of the embers fell? I still remember them… covered in ash. Covered in glass. Covered in all my friends, I still… think of the bombs they built- IF THERES A PLACEEE THAT I COULD BE, THEN ID BE ANOTHERR MEMORY, CAN I BE THE ONLY HOPE FOR YOU? BECAUSE YOURE THE ONLY HOPE FOR ME! AND IF WE CAN FIND WHERE  WE BELONG, WE’ll Have To make It on our own!! Face all the painnn and takeee it on, because the only hope for me, is you alone…’ its one of the slower ones tho 

Party Poison 

This one starts in Japanese for some reason??? Its hard to explain… another fast and dancy type one ig, but sorta raw-er?  Its sooooooo weird- not one of my favs but its semi popular 

Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back 

Okay so idk how to describe this really- sorta gives Only Hope type thing but faster and sorta rockier? Idk. My fav parts tho!!! ‘Get offfff the ledge, and drop the knife… Not a victim of a victims life! Because… this aint a room fullla suicides- WE’RE BELIEVERSS I BELIEVE TONIGHT-‘  OH AND ONE OF THE MORE POPULAR LINES PEOPLE KNOW ‘Ill tell you well how the story ends, where the good guys die and the bad guys win… (WHO CARES?)- THIS AINT ABOUT ALL THE FRIENDS YOU MADE, BUT THE GRAFFITII THEY WRITE ON YOUR GRAVE-‘ then the last two ‘Im the only friend that makes you cry! Youre a heart attack in black hair dye! So just save yourself, and Ill hold them back tonight….’ And ‘We can live forever if you’ve got the time- YOU MOTHERFUCKER (OHHHWHOAAAA) Youre the broken glass in the mornin light! Be a burnin’ star if it takes all night!’ 

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W 

OHOHOH APPARENTLY THIS ONE IS TO SOOTHE THE KIDS WHEN THE NUCLEAR BOMBS HIT AND GET THEM INTO THE SHELTER!!! (yes there are nuclear bombs, its post apocalyptic lmao) I love the bridge- ‘Love, love, love wont stop this bomb, bomb, love wont stop this bomb, bomb, love wont stop this… bomb……. Run, run, bunny, run. Run, run, bunny ruuuuuuuuuuun’ One of the slowest in the album also 

Summertime 

Okay so this is prolly my fav? Idk how to describe it tbh….. I know what it describes for me buuuut you don’t wanna hear me be weird about people……. Ill just tell you my fav parts (that I relate to!!!) ‘Terrified of what I’d be, as a kid from what Ive seen… Every single day when people try and put the pieces back together, just to smash them down… turn my headphones up real loud…. I don’t think I need them now…. Cos you stop the noise!!!’ 

DESTROYA 

………………fucked up robot song where you scream and moan. What else is there to say? (the porn bots In the story worship a ‘god’ called Destroya who will supposedly come save them) 

The Kids From Yesterday 

I love this one too. Sorta slow ig. Nostalgic maybe? ‘Well now, this could be the last of all the rides we take…. So hold on tight and don’t look back……… we don’t care about the message or the rules they make…. Ill find you when the sun goes black…..’ 

Vampire Money 

Dance!!! Sex!! Upbeat!!! Fast!!! ‘Three two one, we came to FUCK-‘ and my other fav line ‘and get your finger on the trigger tap the barrel of the gun! Hair back, motherfucker, jet black, SO COOL-‘ 

@terrencetheshark14 you might be interested in my weird ass mcr related ramblings

[scattered-winter]

brother i have QUESTIONS (ao3) 3 12 19 27 29 30 and secret bonus question that was NOT included in the text post but as an additional special query , if someone (me) were trying to write an adashi fic for you for the past like two years but they were very fucking bad at committing to a fucking plot what would you want the circumstance to be

3: What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

DEFINITELY my voltron rewrite. its about the length of an entire novel and i've grown more as a writer during this project than . pretty much anythign else i've ever done lmao.

12: How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

uh. well. i tried to count all of my unfinished WIPs but i gave up somewhere around the 95 mark. i KNOW i'm well into triple digits however. and that number will only ever increase.

19: What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

i wanna do more stuff with danny phantom in general. romantic platonic familial etc etc etc all the things. i ALSO really want to finish my team STRQ manifesto sometime next year because i am always so fucking sick over them

27: What do you listen to while writing?

instrumental music usually!! it WIDELY varies but generally i avoid things with lyrics because its too distracting for me. problem is, im so mentally ill about instrumental music that 80% of the time THAT'S too distracting for me too bc i'll be paying so much attention to what i'm listening to that i forget i'm supposed to be writing. i literally can't win </3

29: Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

i was revisiting my STRQ manifesto today as i am likely to do and my god. i really really went off with this one here: _______

Summer sighed, and reached for Ruby. “I should put her down, too.” Qrow gently pulled his finger out of Ruby's mouth and reluctantly let Summer take her back. At the same time, he couldn't wait to get the baby away from him. He was all too aware of how small she was, how fragile. It would be so easy for something to happen to her, for his Semblance to hurt her. That all-too-familiar buzz of anxiety was climbing up his throat, making him have to resist the urge to tap his fingers against Harbinger at his side. He needed a drink. He needed to leave, before something bad happened. “I better debrief with Oz,” he said, half-turning toward the door. Summer's hand on his wrist stopped him in his tracks. She looked at him, silver eyes seeming to bore into him and peel his layers back, one by one. Her hand was rough against his skin, callused from years of battle. “You don't have to leave, you know,” she said softly. You know I do, Qrow wanted to say, but he gave her a crooked grin instead. “You know how Oz is. I'll try and swing by before I head out again, yeah?” Summer's brows drew together, her fingers tightening around Qrow's wrist like she didn't want to let him go. Her lips twitched, like she was trying to say any of the things she had to be thinking. “Would it really be so bad,” she said at last, “if you stayed? Just this once?”

Qrow looked at her, at the brightness of gathering tears in her eyes. She'd missed him, he realized, and it made his heart twist to think about how the months he's away on missions must be for her, for Tai. How they must wait, agonizing over every day he's gone and dreading that he'll never come back. It's strange, knowing that someone misses him when he's gone. Strange that he has somewhere to come home to, strange that there are people who will welcome him there when he arrives. Strange, and a little sad. He almost preferred knowing nobody would miss him when one of Salem's monsters finally did him in. Summer was still looking at him, expression pleading. Qrow sighed, and turned his wrist in her hand so his fingers were twining with hers. His other hand rose, to brush against the soft, plump curve of Ruby's cheek. “It's not worth the risk,” he said, so softly he could barely hear himself. Summer's eyes closed. Her fingers tightened around Qrow's. She nodded slowly. Qrow squeezed her hand back and carefully leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He gave Ruby's face one more gentle brush before turning to walk away again. This time, Summer let him go.

30: Biggest surprise while writing this year?

i have discovered that i am quite incapable of writing anything romantic and making it hit but if im doing some kind of platonic intimacy????? brother i will write the hell out of that shit. this probably should not have been surprising to me since i'm the most aromantic guy on planet earth but. well. i am also not a very smart man so jot that down

and in regards to your other question ,,,

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE PLS I WOULD BE SO HONORED ,,,,, you can do whatever your heart desires of course but i would love for it to be some kind of scenario in space in which one of them gets hurt and the other one yells so loud about it ,,

ao3 wrapped !!

[angel-fruitcake]

Hello just need to vent with someone else cause I feel like im stressing all the people around me irl feel free to not answer if you dont want to its ok really ill understand (im just writing this to you cause i saw you posting about it)

Im not american but ive spent the last months watching the campaign (mostly from misha but also in general on the internet) amd i was scared. Then biden stepped down and I felt relieved and hopefull that harris could actually win this cause "whos gonna vote HIM again? Right???" Then (or maybe before ive lost semse of time) the assassination attempt happend and I got scared again cause he had just gained if nothing at least the coolest picture he could ever wish for. But after that so many people, celebrities and not, started endorsing her and I thought there was still hope

I remember how anxious i got in 2020 and the exact moment of relief seeing Georgia going blue. And that was bad because of covid and all the stress of that slow counting but this felt worse

I spent yesterday rewatching destiel episodes to celebrate the anniversary but also to distract myself from the election but at night I just could sleep i was so scared. I talked about it with all my friends and family but they were not feeling it like me. Like tes they were scared a bit but not... not in the same way. Maybe its because its my first year out? Half out (family still doesnt know) like... i fear for the queer people (and in gemeral all the people who might be endangered) in the us cause now i feel more in the community maybe? Idk but I couldnt sleep at all

This morning I woke up and spent the morning on the destiel tag and on the AP map watchung it going redder and redder every hour and now... i dont even know what to feel

Im at loss of words thoughts and feelings. I DONT KNOW

Im scared like if I couldve done somethng for it or if it could directly affect me. It will sure but not today tomorrow or in january. It will be slow and scary and ill have to watch it happen without tje possibility of doing anything about it. Just like i have seen two wars start and my vote been wasted into nothing when my own country elected the far right just this june

Im hopeless and so fucking scared rn and my friends look at me amd dont get why I feel like a lone freak going crazy over somethung i shouldnt care about when I know I actually have to and they should care too and idk how to warn them i dont know what to do

And im not even american. I cant begin to imagine how it feels to know you have even done anythung you could and it changed nothing

So right now I wanna tell you all of you americans that you are not alone. That we are as scared as you are. Maybe it might be totally useless know this but... to me just seeing on line people going nuts makes me feel less crazy so yeah

sorry for the bad english my brain cant think straight rn (or ever lol)

omg anon i'm so sorry i didn't see this until just now !

it's perfectly ok for you to vent in my inbox. let all your fears and worries out, don't bottle them up. i'm glad you at least won't be directly affected in the immediate future, and i hope to god it stays that way.

i'm very scared as well, especially being a woman of reproductive age in america. i live in a red state too, so i already have less freedoms than my friends and family in blue states. i don't know what the future holds for america or the world, and that thought is terrifying. but all we can do right now is cling tight to our loved ones and take care of each other the best we can. i hope things will turn out okay for us all 🫂💕

ps. keep watching those destiel episodes if they bring you even a little bit of comfort. i know they definitely do for me when i feel like i'm being suffocated by the weight of everything around me

[raksha-the-demon]

Just curious what the difference between a roguelike and a soulslike actually is? - I see those descriptors a lot but it's hard to grasp as someone who doesn't play a variety of games

THANK YOU for giving me an excuse to talk about this. Also sorry for taking so long, it's just that every time I started writing this out I ended up getting way too lost in the weeds and having to backtrack so it didn’t just turn into a meandering essay of Raksha’s Opinions On Vidjagames. (Also shoutout to the spellchecker that thinks it should be “vidja games”. Perfect software, zero notes.)

So, first, a quick disclaimer that these terms, like all genre terms but particularly gaming genre terms, are fuzzy and ill-defined. Not everyone draws the line between them in exactly the same place, but the important thing is that there is a line, and some games are clearly on different sides of it. Like Hades and Elden Ring, which was the comparison that gave me psychic damage.

Roguelikes (named after the 1980s game Rogue) and soulslikes (named after Dark Souls et al) are both known for being difficult genres where you die a lot and it takes many, many, many attempts to actually win. The major design difference between them is that roguelikes use random generation that changes things up when you die, while soulslike games keep the world pretty much static. But I think a more useful distinction from a player perspective is that roguelikes emphasize strategy while soulslikes emphasize tactics. 

Strategy is about broader planning and overall intent, while tactics are about specific actions taken moment to moment. If you were cleaning a room part of your strategy might be “work top to bottom” while your tactics would be more like “clean this specific shelf first”. Both types of planning are used in each game (it's kind of impossible to have one without the other), but the emphasis changes. The randomized nature of roguelikes force the player to constantly adjust to new situations, whereas soulslike games encourage players to continually iterate on and perfect methods for dealing with very specific and known problems.

Let’s imagine two scenarios. Both start off the same way, with a player exploring a dungeon. They start in a room with three skeletons, which they kill. In the back of a room is a chest with a cool sword. It’s better than the player’s current weapon, so they equip it and continue to the next room, where the boss is waiting. The boss does a stomping attack that the player wasn’t expecting, and the player dies. They respawn back at the start of the dungeon.

In the soulslike scenario, the player still has the cool sword equipped, which they use to kill those first three skeletons even more easily than before. There’s no longer an item chest in the room because they already looted it, so the player continues to the boss fight. They know about the stomping attack now, so when the animation starts they’re able to dodge out of the way. This time they are killed when the boss throws a rock at them, so on the next iteration the player tries standing under the boss during the rock throw, so that they can’t be hit. This process continues with the player iterating on their battle tactics until they eventually win and can proceed further into the game. 

In the rougelike scenario the player no longer has the cool sword when they respawn, and the first room has a pair of wolves instead of skeletons, and no item chest. The next room doesn’t contain the boss this time, but five skeletons and a spike trap. The player does find an item chest here, this time containing a bow. They equip it, and then proceed through several more rooms of random monsters before coming to the boss room. The boss does exactly the same things it did the first time around, but this time the player is using a bow, so they decide to keep their distance and attack from range. They don’t have to dodge the stomp attack because they’re too far away for it to hit. The rock toss almost gets them, but they see it coming and are able to duck behind cover. The boss eventually kills them with an area attack, and the player goes back to the start, where they fight through a new version of the dungeon and find a new weapon, which opens up different strategies for how to tackle the boss. 

Personally I find the soulslike model frustrating, because it feels like I’m just running headfirst into a wall over and over again. Roguelikes don’t give me that same sensation despite being more punishing in a lot of ways, because each run keeps things fresh. Other people love soulslikes because they enjoy perfecting their skill, and find the randomness of roguelikes to be an impediment to that.

[randomfoggytiger]

How the Ghosts Stole Christmas In-Depth (Part V): Mulder Parries and Plays into Lyda's Parlor Tricks

Part V's here-- let's go!

Mulder is scrabbling up the staircase-less ledge, determined to get OUT since Maurice left him alone to go… do something somewhere else. He is not going to be limited by a stupid brick wall (discussed here and here), he determines... and he’s also not going to address it with a ten-foot pole.  

Lyda sweeps in, amused at his antics and herself; and sweeps back out to appear above her next victim, gloating at his ill success. 

“Are you Agent Mulder?”

Mulder, unfazed, answers a question with a question: “Who are you, now?” 

“What are you doing using my chair as a ladder,” Lyda chastises.

“I’m trying to get out of this room.” 

“Trying to get out?”

“Excuse me--”

“No, no!” threatens Lyda, blocking the door. “You can’t get out that way.” 

Mulder’ will not be deterred: with a swallow to brace against the enormity of his experiment, he reaches out to bop the ghost’s shoulder, testing its manipulability. She, fascinated with the oddities of his mind, lets him; and is amused (and annoyed) when he pokes so hard her head bobs back.

There is no Victorian tragedy to be had for Mulder in corporeality; and he sets about sorting this situation in a swift, investigative move. He sweeps her off her feet in the loosest terms-- shoving her, kindly, aside-- and Lyda plays into it (teetering the line between faux innocence and sharp admittance.)

“Masher,” she snipes. (According to… sources… this is a Victorian term meaning womanizer; which plays perfectly into Lyda’s game discussed below.) 

“Frump,” he retorts with a sarcastic head bob back and forth. Never let it be said Mulder is completely a gentleman: he weaponizes his petty side whenever he possibly can.

Mulder finds himself face to face with another door; and turns just as his hostess descends on a ladder that appeared out of thin air. 

“I don’t know who you’re calling a 'frump' but I don’t appreciate that,” she reprimands, a little quiver of actual hurt in her voice. Hitting on his insecurity-- Fe Inferior, Typing post here-- she subtly sneaks in another innuendo quip (her calling card): “--being manhandled or called names… certainly not at this hour.”  

Lyda is the brains of the operation, enjoying the game of someone understanding the chess board and having the intellectual brains to match her every move. Of course, she’s convinced she will win; but when she loses, this ghostess is content to have had a good time showing off her ingenious and insidious game-rigging abilities. 

“You’re a ghost,” Mulder asserts darkly. 

“Ha! More names.” Another manipulation tactic: Lyda called Mulder a name first, then he shot back; and now she’s twisting his truth seeking into name calling (as Phoebe Green did with Mulder’s pot shots in Fire.)  

Mulder goes down the stairs like a cryptid: Check Two.

“What happened to the star-crossed lovers?” Mulder questions, puzzled. Lyda hasn’t said a thing about her dissatisfactory relationship; but he’s one of the best profilers in the game, and her snide and dismissive frustrations invite curiosity. He sees her weakness and exploits it, just as she (and Maurice) see his and exploits it. Scully, meanwhile, is too straightforward and honest to bother with word games and double meanings. 

“Ho, let me tell you-- the romance is the first thing to go.” Exactly what Alfred Fellig tells Scully later this season (Tithonus.) 

“It’s you.”

Lyda responds immediately, turning promptly and staring intently at Mulder. She wants, still, to be recognized as the special person she believes herself to be: suicide was the means to escape boredom and poverty and destruction by locking Maurice down to be with her for all eternity; and she was even more pleased it brought her notoriety and attention in her afterlife. But as the years passed, Lyda found that no one cared enough to know her history or reenact the foolish choice she and Maurice made all those years ago in this haunted Christmas house. The romance is dead-- or so she believes-- and all she has left is spite. Mulder’s open-minded and earnest interest sparks that deadened side, setting her mind crackling with attention and diabolical possibilities. Here would be a victim worthy of a back pat, a prize to gloat over forever. 

“You’re Lyda-- and that’s Maurice!” Mulder is delighted; then disappointment as even the manifestation of his paranormal hopes are tainted by reality: “But… you’ve aged.” 

“I hope your partner finds you a lot more charming than I do,” she sniffs, miffed. She then glides away to the bookcase like a Victorian supermodel-- wavering about back and forth with her hands clasped primly in front of her-- for the express purpose of showing off her more of her powers.  

Mulder is amazed as she slides the books in and out of the shelves, childlike glee and wonder blooming across his face; but dodges quickly when Lyda pops a book out right by his head. It’s the biographical account (read: flowery memoir) of her and Maurice’s love and sacrifice (titled “The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas” written by R. Grimes. …That’s got to be a reference to something else.)  

“I was young and beautiful once just like your partner.” 

Lyda sweeps back to the chair and fireplace, giving an ecstatic “Whoop!” as she bundles down to read her own love story the way a washed-up actress will pull out the revered movies of her youth to relive the faded glory. And, while it is a ploy and a lure to her guest, there is truth to her actions-- one she is shameless to admit to inquiring minds (in this case, her victim.) 

Mulder is startled by the suddenly roaring fire; but snaps back to reality to take her proffered book (“Maurice was so handsome! He didn’t have a gut!”), his mind making quick leaps of logic while staring at the page Lyda left open for him.

“I hope you’re not expecting any great advantages to all this,” she says, slithering deeper into her chair.

“To all what?” he grills, not liking where this is going. 

“Well I assume you came here with similar misconceptions,” Lyda fishes.  

Mulder’s really not liking where this is going. “We came here looking for you.” 

“Mmm, yeah? You didn’t come here to… be together for eternity?“ she teases, prods, baits. 

An interesting note: I like the moments when paranormal or supernatural people prod Mulder with questions about his intentions, namely Lyda and Jenn (Je Souhaite), because it reveals how much Mulder autopilots his life and how little time he chooses to take for reflection. (It's also the most important aspect of his relationship withe the Dales' brothers-- both Arthurs-- serving as a tool to understand his father and his partner better... but also himself through unnatural amounts of self-discovery.)

The concept is ridiculous to Mulder (if his pulled-up-short head snap and uncomfortable laughter is anything to go by)… or so he’d have her (and himself) to believe. Mulder’s not suicidal to any degree; but to his agnostic beliefs, eternity with Scully means poking around as many haunted houses as possible before the years roll on and Death claims them. 

By the way, Lyda has handed Mulder her romantic tome because she’s telling him, to his face, that she’s reading him like a book. 

“Because you’re filled with despair and woeful Christmas melancholy?” Lyda is still teasing, prodding, and baiting.

Mulder doesn’t answer at first-- or directly at all: “...Why?” 

Time to switch tactics. Madame Ghostess sees that the denial rot is just as deeply ingrown in this man as in Scully; and puts into action what she learned in her previous interactions with that piece of work: in order to take down one, you must take down both. 

“Maybe it was your partner, then.”  

That strikes a nerve-- that old fear Mulder harbors about Scully and how many Christmases she will want to devote her life to him; and he crosses his arms protectively (while metaphorically tucking the book away out of sight and closer to his chest.) 

“What about her?” 

Lyda smiles, cat-who-caught-the-canary grin splattering over her face. “You knew this house was haunted.”

“Yeah.” Mulder relaxes slightly, the topic having swapped back to 'work'. 

“Maybe you two should have discussed your true feelings before you came out here,” she spits venomously, launching a full assault. “I’m speaking from experience.”  

In rejoinder, he deflects the topic away from his relationship with Scully, choosing to probe at his hostess’s thinly veiled warning. “What experiences?” 

“I’m not going to get into semantics,” she replies, to his immense annoyance. 

“A murder suicide is all about trust--” Lyda pivots. 

“--I thought you had a lover’s pact?” Mulder cuts in, her point simultaneously hitting too close to home (which he sniffs out, cutting off her intentions) and demanding clarity of her earlier, dangled point.

Lyda laughs at this. “Poetic allusions aside, the outcome, Mulder, is pretty much the same.” She quickly stands and flashes her ripped open torso at him to his stomach-roiling disgust (“Hoooooooh.”)

She doesn’t show her hole to just anyone. 

“Why are you showing it to me??” 

“Well, it isn’t like you’re going to be eating any Christmas ham, is it?” 

Ahhhhhh, Mulder thinks, the diabolical plot becomes clear.

“Are you trying to tell me that Scully’s going to shoot me?” he mocks, sticking out his neck to accent the ‘shoot’ part. 

“Scully is not going to shoot me.” 

“Suit yourself,” Lyda niggles, sarcastically nodding her head. “But if you shoot first--”

Mulder swiftly shakes his own head. That is not an option.

“--for her, the rest is an act of faith.” 

And Lyda is proved half-right here (and in Field Trip): Scully follows Mulder’s insanity based on acts of faith.  But Lyda is also proved half-wrong (in Field Trip as well): Scully never compromises what she believes to be sane rationality, even in the face of her partner's persuasive wheedling or self-doubt. She won’t kill herself even if Mulder were to do so; even when Mulder pulls a gun on her, she won't shoot him, either. Because that’s not what Scully does (which leads to a more thorough understanding of why killing Pfaster in Orison was such a crushing blow to her belief in herself and her faith.)  

“I wouldn’t shoot her,” Mulder insists gently. 

“Maybe she shoots herself.” 

“I wouldn’t let her.” The shadow of Kitsunegari stretches long; and the mistake of not being quick enough to prevent Scully’s (read: Linda Bowman’s) shot to the head will not be repeated. 

Lyda has been trying out variables to see what will stick: Mulder won’t shoot Scully, and he won’t let her shoot herself. Therefore, Scully must shoot him, the same method she knows must be used with the other woman. 

She shifts strategies. “The bodies under the floor… maybe that was some kind of Jungian symbolism. Or maybe… there’s some kind of secret lover’s pact.” 

(Chris Carter wrote this. He addressed the rumors of romance off-screen for Mulder and Scully. This is a script he wrote and had filmed. Amazing.)  

Mulder exhales, loudly and purposefully, defensively amused: “We’re not lovers.”  

An important note: the way David Duchovny delivers this line is key. Mulder is matter of fact, giving as little away as possible while sending Lyda a clear signal to back off… but the timber of his voice is weighed down and tinged slightly with resignation and regret. 

“This isn’t a pure science,” Lyda explains, angling Jung but really talking about his and Scully’s chemistry and partnership, “but you’re both so attractive.” She breathes out the end of her sentence, giving as much weight as possible to her statement. (CHRIS CARTER.) 

Mulder is nonplussed; which slowly melts into trepidation as she continues.  

“And there’ll be a lot of time to work that out. Go ahead--” she hands over his gun “--take it! …Take it,” reinforcing her offer with a pout. 

Mulder panics, grabbing nothing but air in his holster; and he barely registers catching his weapon mid-air after lightning strikes, thunder cracks, and Lyda doles out “Think of it as the last Christmas you’ll ever spend alone" before vanishing into thin air. 

Now all that's left for the ghosts to do is to set their destructive plan into action.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

[most-hated-blorbo-bracket]

hey, so. haiji submitter here: my issue with that man is that he is my Actual, Legitimate Blorbo. as in, i actually liked him enough during the game to fully consider him a blorbo. why, you may ask? BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME, HEAR ME OUT. because, well, i enjoy bastard characters, for one, and he was very much a "love to hate" type for me. his actions are fucking foul and with every thing i found out about this man i loved to hate him more, and i honestly laughed at how pathetic he is (also a pathetic men enjoyer), which just brought him further into blorbo areas of my shitty brain.

now, you may ask again, what about the pedo part? i fucking hate that part. i think it was unnecessary and i would actually, genuinely like this character BECAUSE he's a bastard if it weren't for him being literally, canonically, a pedophile. ...at the time he was implied to be a pedophile in game, however, i did not get the allusion.

FOR YOU SEE. i am both a bit tonally deaf, and a huge enjoyer of extremely weird, uncomfortable humour. and, well, danganronpa has had plenty of that so far! so, when the game hit me with the "i like them younger" line, i started laughing so fucking hard. i legitimately thought this was an extremely weird joke that he made, because i guess my brain said that since komaru is literally a minor he HAD to have been making a really ill timed, horrible fucking jest, and combined with the rest of his putrid character i could FULLY buy into him just having the worst, darkest sense of humour imaginable to man. it felt totally in character, and my thinking of it as a terrible joke actually solidified my blorbo feelings about him.

well so imagine my surprise when i tried to look up something else about udg a while later and saw that that was not, in fact, a joke. that he was serious. like you can imagine my face mod. you can imagine it. i was going "huh. what" for like half an hour and longer after that because my brain couldn't comprehend the sheer shock of it all.

i still kind of like him, like an aftereffect. maybe its because i actually really liked udg as a whole, kind of because of how fucked up it is, but that feeling of watching him dig his own fucking hole in the ground throughout the game and going "oh babygirl ur going to fucking kill yourself and its going to be a good thing for everyone else involved" has stuck with me and its still the weirdest thing thats ever happened to me. please let him win cosmic gods it would be so funny i hate him so much

he belongs in the blender, that is my only comment