#and please stop sending death threats

[castielsprostate]

once again i ask of you to please stop looking towards celebrities and influencers for political commentary and their takes on catastrophic and inhumane world events and to instead focus your attention on experts, journalists and world leaders

[antimony-medusa]

btw if I see anyone being negative about baghera's lore choices I will look at you so so so sadly and wipe a tear from my eye. being weird and infantilizing about it gets you admission to my highly-curated block list. she gets to do whatever she wants forever.

[amr-shitposts]

Man I've been see a lot of antis complaining, guess i will just ship harder 💀🔥

[formulaford2022]

I want to preface this by saying I do not agree with the extent that people hate on drivers in general. I think there is a line between criticizing their driving ability and holding them accountable for what they do and say and just being gross and mean. I feel like it way to normalized to leave mean comments on their accounts and send death threats and really graphic threats and that is not okay at all. This post however is about Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris fans (I literally don't mind either of these drivers. I actually kind of like Charles) who act like their very popular drivers are like the most hated people of all time. This wouldn't really bother me if it were not for the extremely hateful and gross racist comments constantly made toward the POC drivers. Like the amount of stuff Lewis has had to deal with over his career is insane. Checo has had such disgusting things said about him these past few years and it makes me so sad. You can criticize a drivers ability without be racist. I have a really strong theory that the reason everyone still hates on Alex for his redbull stint and not Pierre is that he's not white. Don't even get me started on the horrible things said about Yuki and Guanyu that people disguise as just complaining about where they get their funding. Or even the stuff other drivers have said about Guanyu. (Also the fact that there are literally 20 drivers on the grid and like 90% of fans have not learned that Zhou is his last name when that is literally what they put on the leaderboard like come on).

[reesespenisbutercups]

lord i hate tiktok marauders fans learn what fandom is pleeeaaase😭😭😭😭

[micahs-chin-scar]

"haruta is jjk's worst character" all i know is my boy lives rent free inside the heads of nobara stans, nitta stans, nanami stans, megumi stans, sukuna stans and ijichi stans (?) alike and that alone makes him more powerful than gojo

[hanmegumi]

it must be hard being so stupid and being such a misogynist. get well soon

if this is about the anti jk rowling post or the fact that im transmasc i think you should be the one focusing on your recovery💀

[kazubabes]

i think johnzee as a ship is just not my cup of tea, but i love the characters so much as individuals and it sucks to see people arguing johnzee, anti-johnzee ( like. i wouldn’t consider myself an anti. i just think zatanna could be with. wonder woman. that’s what i think. ) on my feed even though i follow neither of the tags.

let people like what they want. i’ve seen johnzee antis and johnzee fans alike with death threats over a ship for a fictional character. who cares. “zatanna could do better” okay. “john killed her dad” there’s more technicalities there, but okay. “zatanna and john are meant to be” okay. but people cannot be sending death threats; it’s bizarre.

and shooting down one character in said ship in favor of another and that being the justification for the ship is insane to me. i get hating a character, but man. if someone else loves both characters and wants to see them together, then who fucking cares. i’d like to be able to look through zatanna posts and not have people being at each other’s throats about ships.

this goes for all shipping discourse, but i was looking through someone’s account ( who has. lovely zatanna posts. ) and i got really far down, as one does, and just saw some of the asks, and... it kind of sucked to see. no one deserves to see stuff like that because they have a comfort ship, or they disagree with a particular ship.

[jupitermelichios]

comics should place characterization first

me: people should stop openingly fantasising about jayroy shippers dying because they don't like roy's post-2011 characterisation, that's fucked up

you, apparently: actually it's fine to do that because sometimes the comics are bad

I say again, comics are an ongoing mediums and writers change. there are always going to be versions of your faves that you hate, and sometimes those are the ones that get carried forward into ongoing canon, and that's just the nature of the medium. it's not about good or bad characterisation, that's just a fact about all ongoing multi-author mediums.

if you can't handle that without wishing death on strangers, comics are not the hobby for you. watch movies, read novels, find fiction that has one author and one creative vision until you develope the emotional maturity to interact with people who like stuff you don't without slinging insults and ill wishing people!

[kraken17]

On account of the "Enid is the stalker" theory resurfacing in some corners of the fandom...

Wednesday: So, of all people, you are my stalker.

Enid: ...yes.

Wednesday: Just a minute after Xavier gave me that infernal phone object you threatened to sever his jugular if he didn't give you my number and the first thing you do after getting it is send me a death threat.

Enid: [nods].

Wednesday: And after that you have spent the last four months threatening me, manipulating images and videos and getting me to suspect everyone but you.

Enid: [nods again].

Wednesday: And you have only chosen to confess the truth to try to stop my attempt to eliminate Yoko, whom you had made suspect number 1.

Enid: Yep.

Wednesday: Enid, why? Why all this?

Enid: [very quietly] I thought you'd like it?

[beat]

Wednesday: Querida [takes Enid in her arms] ...I loved it.

Yoko: Okay, cool, but can you untie me from this pole and keep the gasoline away? Pretty please? Thank you.

[glitchingonthetimeline]

😭😭😭

[ellecdc]

If you are still taking finnick request, could you please write something with protective finnick !! Only if you want to of course :)

thanks for the prompt! & thanks to @unstablereader for talking this one out with me <3

Finnick Odair x district four!reader who doesn't swim anymore [1.2k words]

CW: fem!reader, 75th hunger games, quarter quell talk, pre-games, reader has some PTSD that revolves around being completely submerged in water/swimming, someone shoves her into a pool, Finnick threatens murder

It was gimmicky, you could admit that much. A District Four victor who survived her games due to her ability to swim no longer could. 

You supposed it was less that you couldn’t, seeing as the skill was still there. Rather, it was your brain that had decided the water was no longer the safe, fun, and brilliant escape that it used to be.

Sometimes you missed it; you missed it most when Finnick would return from a swim, pink in the cheeks with his eyes bright and smile wide as his curls dripped down into his eyes, and sometimes into yours if he leaned over for a kiss before passing a towel through it. 

Sometimes you missed it on the nights you couldn’t sleep; wishing for the relief of being able to tire your body out without it feeling like torture. 

The water used to feel familiar; like a warm embrace from an old friend welcoming you home after a long day. 

Right now it felt like white hot terror striking down your spine as your hands desperately grasped at nothing around you. 

Finnick had tried to pretend that the itchy feeling in the palms of his hands was simply due to being here again; not as a victor, not as a mentor, not even to see clients, but because he was once again at one of the galas as a tribute to the 75th annual Hunger Games for the 3rd Quarter Quell. 

The thought made him sick to his stomach, let alone the fact that he’d now be facing it once again with you.

It was hard enough back when he was simply your mentor; taking a liking to you yet not having done anything about it at the time since you were, at that point, just another tribute he was sending off to their potentially untimely death.

And then you came back to him.

And then he finally felt brave enough to give the two of you a shot, just to be thrown back into the ring five years later. 

Maybe the two of you still did; if he could just get the fucking Mockingjay to stop looking at him like a threat, he might still stand a chance of getting the two of you out of that arena alive. 

But then he feels his blood run cold at the sound of your scream followed by a crowd murmuring.

Mags - acting once again as District Four mentor - is on him in a second, frantically grabbing at his wrist and pulling him towards the pool along the grounds of the President’s manor where a crowd was quickly growing and one half of the Mockingjay duo was bending over to reach into the splashing water.

Mags shoves him at the same time Finnick’s lips form your name, sprinting into action and jumping into the pool without a second thought to grab for you. 

You hold onto Finnick’s shoulders near painfully as he surfaces the two of you and you let out great, heaving breaths that were broken up by sputtering and sobs.

“You’re okay, you’re alright. I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry; you’re okay.” Finnick chants as he holds you close to his chest, keeping as much of your body out of the water as he can while he shares a look with Peeta before his eyes fall on a furious looking Johanna being held back by two peacekeepers. 

“The fuck happened?” He shouts over the nonsense; watching Johanna let some of the fight leave her now that she knew she wasn’t on her own anymore. 

“Thought she was makin’ it up, you know?” The male tribute from District Five that Finnick was quite glad he’d never bothered to learn the name of offers with a flippant shrug of his shoulders. “Thought everyone from District Four could swim.”

“You could have killed her!” Johanna shouts, forcing another sob out of you that has Finnick quickly tucking your head further into his neck before he returns his attention back to your assailant. 

“I wasn’t trying to kill her.” He drawls with a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Besides, the knight in shining armour came to save her, yeah? A happy ending for everyone.” 

Finnick lets out a humourless laugh as he makes his way towards the steps of the pool, never breaking eye contact with the prick. 

“Oh yeah,” he decides aloud, “you’ll be the first to go.” 

And damn the Capitol, damn the games, damn Snow’s party, and damn the Mockingjay; Finnick kept you tucked against his chest the entire way up to the District Four floor of the tribute centre as he rubbed soothing stripes up and down your back. 

“I’m sorry, Finn.”

“Whoa, whoa, sweetheart.” He murmurs into your wet hair as he presses a kiss to your head, sitting you against the tub and rubbing your arms before he starts to fill it. “Why on earth would you be sorry?”

You sniffle as you tuck your shaking hands underneath your arms. “I hate this.”

“Honey-”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me.”

Finnick stops dead in his tracks as he turns his entire body towards you. “You are the smartest and loveliest person I have ever met in my life but that is without a doubt the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard come out of someone’s mouth.” 

Stunned, your mouth falls open as you look at your boyfriend as though he’d grown a second or even third head before a disbelieving breath leaves your lips. 

“What?”

“Sweetheart,” Finnick sighs in exasperation, moving towards you on his knees as he pulls your hands out from your sides and begins dotting kisses across your knuckles as you silently will them to stop trembling, “I am the luckiest bastard in all of Panem to get to protect you-”

“But-”

“Just like you protect me. That’s what partners do, yeah?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look that quickly turns forlorn. “How do I protect you?”

Finnick scoffs as if you had said something particularly ridiculous as he turns his attention back towards adding oils and bubbles to your running bath. “Please, sweetheart; give yourself some credit. If it hadn't been for you, I would have killed that guy right then and there with my bare hands." He admits with a smile. 

“You wouldn’t have had to kill him if I wasn’t there.” You sigh.

“Not true.” Finnick argues facetiously. “I hated his face, thought it could use some rearranging.”  

“You’re ridiculous.” You murmur, but Finnick is happy to see a smile - albeit a small one - returning to your face. 

“Yeah?” He asks, smile growing when your eyes meet his and threaten to crinkle at the corners. “Am I insane?”

“Crazy.” You agree, falling for his trap.

“Crazy about you.” 

You let out a disgusted groan as you hide your face in your hands. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.” Finnick chides as he pulls your hands from your face and encourages you to stand. “Now let's get you out of this dress and then get into the bath, hm? I’m exhausted from being the luckiest bastard in all of Panem.”

[danikamariewrites]

Punches & Apologies

Batboys x reader

Notes: this was a commission fic that I forgot to post lol. Buckle up bc she’s a long one with lots of Az angst

Warnings: angst, training accident

Heavy pants and the rush of your blood fill your ears. You are exhausted. Your body begging you to stop. The muscles in your arms and legs screaming and pulsing, never being pushed to this extent before.

Azriel is pushing you as punishment for your latest mission to the Continent. You made a mistake, a miscalculation. One that got an emissary killed and put you within death’s grasp.

But that does not give Azriel an excuse to push you like he has never made a mistake before.

Cauldron, your mates must be feeling your pain. At least Cassian is. You’ve been sending everything to him down the bond in the hopes he stops Azriel.

Slipping to take a knee on purpose, Azriel brings the practice sword to rest against your throat. His nostrils flared as his breathing turned heavy, angry that you would blatantly yield instead of fighting until the end like you were taught.

You just stare at each other for a moment that seems to go on for an eternity. Cassian clears his throat but you two just keep staring each other down. “I think that’s enough for today.” His voice is strained, telling you Cassian was certainly feeling the echoes of your pain.

“No,” Azriel said tensely. “We keep going.” He draws back the practice sword, stepping back to pace in front of your still kneeling form. You screw your eyes shut, putting all of your effort on slowing your heart rate.

“Azriel, I don't think it’s wise to continue. Take a break and cool off.” Cassian gives Azriel a glare reserved for his soldiers. “No.” Azriel replied shortly. His piercing gaze never leaving you. “Get up.” He commands.

“Az, please,” You beg. “Up now, or I’m suspending you from missions indefinitely.” Your eyes widen at his threat. Cassian opens his mouth to interject but you hold your hand out to him, rising from your spot on the mat.

If Azriel wanted your all, fine. You’re done pulling punches. Throwing your practice sword aside you ball your fists. A wave of anger rushing through you, motivating you to beat the ever-loving-shit out of your mate. “Let's go then.” You bite out. “No weapons? Fine.” Azriel says smugly.

The two of you square up, circling each other slowly as you assess the other’s weak spots. You were determined to land the first punch. Not wasting any more time you launch yourself at Azriel with your fist pulled back. Letting your fist fly straight for his nose, Azriel dodges you, dipping to your right.

You stumble, quickly regaining your balance, whipping around to face him. A nasty scowl contorting your features. Azriel throws a series of punches that you duck under. Your arms raised in front of your face for protection.

Between punches you pop up, landing two quick jabs to his ribs. There wasn’t much behind the punches, but enough that you could put some distance between you. Over Azriel’s shoulder you could see Cassian standing rigid, his hands behind his back. A torn look pulling at his rugged face.

Part of Cassian roars to put a stop to this before someone gets hurt. The other part of him whispers that this is between you and Azriel. That you two need to work this out so the anger doesn’t follow you around.

When Cassian focuses again the two of you are getting more and more violent. Punches getting faster and faster.

You can tell Azriel is getting even more frustrated with you. By continuously dodging him you aren’t truly facing off against him. His pace picks up so fast you can feel the wind from his punches. You go to step left, thinking Azriel was going to throw his right hand. It was too late for you to notice the change. Azriel throws a left hook, his fist connecting with your jaw. A loud crack stunning the three of you.

You let gravity pull you down to the mat. Laying flat on your back, tense and in shock waiting for the adrenaline rush to wear off so you would feel the pain. There was a slight ringing in your ears along with Azriel and Cassian’s screaming match that you tuned out.

Looking at the sky you focused on the clouds passing by. Their different shapes and how soft they seemed. Anything to get your mind off the pain that would be taking over any second.

“Rhys,” you whispered in your mind, “Rhys…the training ring…” Even in your mind your voice was weak. When you focused you saw soft violet eyes staring down at you. “Hi darling.” Rhys says softly. “Rhys?” Your voice cracks as pain has your mouth snapping shut. Tears sting your eyes as you try to breathe through your nose to stay calm.

“Hey, hey it’s ok.” Rhys coos. He softly runs the tips of his fingers against the blooming bruise on your face. You whimper at his touch. Rhys winces at your pain, feeling your distress through the bond. You can still hear Cassian and Azriel arguing. “QUIET!” Rhys’s voice booms through the training room. The pair immediately fall silent. The severity of what has happened settled over them.

Rhys carefully scoops you into his arms. As he heads for the entrance to the house he yells at Cassian and Azriel, “Do not disturb me or her for the rest of the day. I will deal with both of you later.” Rhys’s tone left no room for argument. The Illyrians bowed their heads murmuring “Yes High Lord” in unison.

Trying to focus on anything but the pain you look at the hallway Rhys is walking. The floor is lined with an ornate carpet. The walls are covered in old paintings you’re sure his father collected, along with vintage sconces giving off a soft glow of fae light.

That’s when you realize he’s taking you to his personal wing. Rooms Rhys has rarely used in the last few years since the bond snapped.

You make a small noise to get his attention. Unable to move your mouth in fear of something in your jaw popping. You push yourself further into his chest. Focusing on the feel of Rhys under you.

Gently laying you on the large four poster bed Rhys hesitantly lets you go. “I will be right back.” He says, disappearing in a wisp of black swirls.

You knew he would be back soon. That Rhys wouldn’t leave you to suffer alone. To ease your anxiety you use the technique Cass taught you. Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one you can taste.

There wasn’t much you could do for a few of the numbers, but what you could do caught your attention immediately. It’s been so long since you’ve visited Rhysand’s personal wing of the House of Wind. Longer since you’ve spent the night here.

Looking around the room you noticed the paintings – his favorites from his father’s collection – the curtains half drawn for the balcony doors, a blanket Rhys would always wrap you in hanging off the end of the bed. The canopy on the bed has changed from thick, velvet black fabric to a gauzy, airy white fabric you would see in the Summer Court. Lastly, you notice how brightly lit the room is.

You feel the softness of the comforter under your fingers. You had thought it would feel scratchy or dusty from not being used. But that wouldn’t be like Rhys to let anything in this massive house seem unused.

You can feel your training leathers clinging to your skin from sweat. Feel the heaviness of your boots pulling at your ankles.

Before you can move to unlace them Rhys reappears with Madja by his side. The old healer was fuming, her eyes going wide as she spotted the bruise on the side of your face. Rhys must have told her about training.

“I swear to the Cauldron,” Madja mutters. Striding over to you she plops her bag down on the bed, her gentle hands softly cup your jaw. Rhys stands behind her. Anxiously biting at his nails as he watches the glow from her hands.

Madja straightens, her lips pulled into a frown as she thinks. “It’s not broken or fractured, thank the Mother. But the bruising inside and out will cause you pain for a few days.” You nod at her assessment. Placing her hands on you again you hold back a new wave of tears as Madja healed what she could.

You didn’t pay attention to her when going over what tonics to take and when. Rhys was clinging to her every word for the both of you. You were too busy thinking about how Azriel pushed you so hard that you ended up hurt.

When Rhys came back from escorting Madja to the city he helped you out of your leathers and into a hot bath.

An hour later you were back in bed with Rhys holding you to his chest, an ice pack resting against your jaw to help with the swelling. Tears silently stream down your cheeks as Rhys smoothes down your hair to help calm you.

“Do you want to stay here or in your own room?” He asked, finally breaking the silence. Sniffling your answer, “Here.”

“Ok,” Rhys presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’ll stay with me, right?” You hold his shirt in a death grip. Praying Rhys won’t leave you alone. “Of course, darling.” You let out a shaky exhale in relief. You weren’t ready to face Cassian and Azriel. Staying in Rhys’s wing ensured that. They wouldn’t dare enter his personal wing for fear of being punished by their High Lord.

For a week you stayed curled up in Rhys’s old bed. He opted for working in his smaller study next to the bedroom while you recovered. Though the bruising went down and the pain went away you couldn’t bring yourself to do any of your daily activities. Your failed mission and fight with Azriel depressing you too much, along with the absence of two of your mates. That was your choice though.

You weren’t ready to face them. Still angry at both of them. Angry at Cassian for not stepping in. Angry at Azriel for thinking he could push until he gets his way.

Once you were able to actually chew your food, you thought maybe it was time to leave bed. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a few more days?” Rhys asked. He wrapped you tightly in his arms, resting his cheek on the top of your head.

“Yes, Rhys. I’ll go back to High Lady duties, but I’m not training for now. I don’t particularly want to be around Cass and Az.” You huff. Just thinking about them makes you angry. Rhys leans away from you, holding you by your shoulders. “I know darling. They do feel guilty and are beside themselves.” Rhys frowns.

You knew they were. You could feel them through the bond, Azriel the least. You knew he must have built a wall of steel around his heart. Cauldron, he must be a ghost of himself right now.

After a few days of being back in the usual parts of the house you seek out Cassian. Finding him in the dining room you sit across from him. Cass pauses eating, shocked to see you. You send him a reassuring smile along with a pulse of love down the bond.

“It’s good to see you sweetheart.” He breaks out into a wide grin, reaching across the table to hold your hands. “Hi Cass,” is all you can manage. Overwhelmed by the happiness you’re feeling through the bond to see him again. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Better,” you answer honestly. “The pain is gone but the bruising is still there a little.” You turn your head to give Cassian a better view of the yellowing skin. His fists clench and his face contorts in anger.

“I should’ve stopped him myself. Az was in his own head and I knew it,” Cassian says more to himself tha you. It seems like this is the first time he is truly admitting his thoughts outloud. “Cass,” you say gently, “It isn’t your fault. This is between me and Azriel.”

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, silver lining his eyes. You quickly round the table, placing yourself in his lap. You wipe away a stray tear, kissing his nose. “Cass, I’ve forgiven you.” Cassian pulls you into his chest, hugging you and sending all his love down the bond. It was almost too much. You felt like your chest was going to explode.

As the days pass and your temper cools, you find yourself craving to have all three of your mates by your side again. Rhys and Cass were keeping you company. You’re back to your old routine, but still sitting out of morning training. You felt like a piece of you was missing.

You had only seen Azriel in passing once. And the male couldn’t even look at you. Your heart clenched at the lack of recognition. You tried to reach out to his end of the bond but you were quickly met with an impenetrable wall of shadows.

Azriel had taken to spending his days in his office, throwing himself fully into his work, and sleeping in his own room.

Packing for your trip to the Winter Court you called Rhys and Cassian into your bedroom. You give them a sweet smile as you fold your clothes, putting them in your bag. “I have a request for while I’m gone.”

“What’s that, darling?” Rhys’s smooth voice sends a shiver down your spine. He presses his chest to your back, hooking a finger under your chin to tilt your head back to look at him. You give him a knowing smirk and swat his hand away. “I’m trying to be serious Rhys.” The High Lord holds his hands up in surrender. “What do you need from us?” Cassian asks earnestly.

You stand straighter, eyes hardening. “I want you two to bring Azriel out of this dark spot. He’s hurting and I don’t think he’ll talk to me until he knows you two have forgiven him.”

They suck in a breath, giving each other a look that tells you neither are sure Az will talk. A long moment of silence passes before they look back at you.

“We will.” Rhys hesitantly agrees. “Do you forgive him though?” Cassian asks with a sad expression. You nod slowly. “I do. And I need you two to forgive him.” They agree to your request, promising to make things better.

Azriel watched from his balcony as you and Mor winnow away. It had pained him to stay away from you. He couldn’t bring himself to face you.

His stomach has been in constant knots. Azriel hasn’t eaten a proper meal in a week thanks to the incident with you. If he didn’t talk to you soon the guilt was going to kill him.

Azriel hadn’t slept properly either. The purple bags under his eyes were painful proof. Every time Azriel closes his eyes he sees the shock set in from the punch. He feels your jaw bone cracking under his fist. He sees you laying on your back, stunned from what your mate had done.

Azriel is your mate. One of three males that is supposed to protect you. Not cause you harm.

A knock at the door pulls him from his morbid thoughts. Opening the door Rhys stands there giving him a tentative smile. Azriel bows his head slightly before looking back at him.

Rhys clears his throat. “I know the last week has been tough, so I thought we could have a night, just the three of us.”

Azriel tenses at the thought of being around Cassian. His murderous eyes flash in his mind along with calloused hands grabbing him, wanting to throttle him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rhys.”

Rhys holds in a sigh, annoyed that Azriel doesn’t see the peace offering he’s trying to make. “Az, look at me,” he hooks a finger under the taller Illyrians chin, “You can’t avoid us, or y/n for that matter, forever. Please, come have dinner with us. We miss you.”

Azriel gives in, nodding in defeat. Rhys grabs the Shadowsinger’s hand, pulling him to the dinning room. Az tenses when he sees Cassian in his usual seat. Taking his place across from the General, Azriel keeps his gaze glued to him. His shadows ready to protect Azriel at any sign of a threat.

Cassian gives him a reassuring smile, “It’s good to see you, Az.” All Azriel can do is nod. A lump growing in his throat. He reigns in his emotion, keeping them behind the wall he’s built up.

Rhys flicks his wrist, making platters of food appear. “Eat up. I made sure the cooks made everyones favorite.”

The trio falls into an awkward silence. Only the clatter of cutlery against porcelain filling the cavernous room. Cassian breaks the silence, trying to naturally clear his throat. “So…” he drawls, “How was everyone’s day?”

He and Rhys fall into easy conversation with Azriel following along to avoid being consumed by his emotions. When Azriel eventually gets roped into the conversation he’s his typical quiet self.

Moving to the sitting room after the meal Azriel opens up more. Becoming his usual self around Rhys and Cass. Once the whiskey comes out the trio are back to their usual banter. Like there hasn’t been a huge rift keeping them isolated from one another.

Rhys sets his crystal glass down on the side tabel. Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, he levels Azriel with an interogative look. “Not to ruin the evening, but we do need to talk.” Azriel freezes, that lump returning to his throat making it harder to breathe.

He knew this was coming. They needed to discuss it at some point. Az nods, urging Rhys to continue. “We know what happened, but we want to know what was going on with you.” Rhys says gently, not wanting to drill Azriel.

Azriel swallows hard, screwing his eyes shut to keep tears at bay. All calming techniques from years of training leaving his mind, losing all control on his emotions. Something Azriel isn’t known for. Grappling for words he finally finds his voice.

“What happened on the Continent stuck with me. It wasn’t a typical slip up, you didn’t see her. I thought we were going to lose her. And I wouldn’t have been able to come home and face the two of you if that happened. I thought when we got home things would be better and everything would fine.”

Tears escaped his tightly closed eyes.

A heavy, comforting hand rests on the middle of Azriel’s back. Opening his eyes he finds Cassian giving him a pained, sympathetic look. Something in Cassian’s soft hazel eyes broke Azriel. His tears started falling faster as he attempted to blink them away. Rhys rested a hand on his knee, telling him to let it out.

“Stepping back into training with her I knew I had to teach her how to avoid an accident like that again. I needed to know she could keep up if push came to shove. So I pushed and Gods do I regret it. I got so mad that she wasn’t taking it seriously and Cass you should’ve stopped me.” Azriel anguished. “I got mad and I punched, hard. I hear it all the time. I see her laying there when I close my eyes. I can’t…just,” Azriel breaks down, dropping his face into his scarred hands. Heartbreaking sobs rip from his lips as he leans into Cassians side.

The males cry with him. Feeling Azriel’s guilt and turmoil through the bond.

When Az calms down he looks to the males for guidance. Rhys moves to the couch from his usual armchair, pressing a long kiss to Azriel’s forehead. “Talk to her. Y/n desperately wants to see you too. Being away from you has pained her as much as it has you.” Rhys whispers.

Two days later, with a chill you can’t seem to shake, you return home from the Winter Court. You bid Mor goodnight in foyer and head to your bedroom. Pushing the door open you find Azriel sitting on the edge of your bed, his head down as he nervously pulls at his finger nails.

“Azzie,” you say, hopeful that he truly is here and not an image your very tired mind made up. Leaving your bag on the bench at the end of your bed, you rush over to your mate, holding his face in your still cold hands. “I’ve missed you,” you whisper.

Az leans into your touch, covering your hands with his own. You’ve missed his touch. Those rough, loving hands holding you tight to his chest. “I’m sorry,” his voice breaks, silver lining his eyes. The wall keeping his emotions from you fianlly breaks. Letting you feel everything he’s kept to himself.

“I’m so sorry. I should have stopped when you and Cass told me to. I shouldn’t have let my anger and fear get the best of me. I am so sorry, my love. So sorry.”Azriel’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you to stand between his thighs. You let him hold you, wrapping your arms around his neck.

The two of you cried and clung to each other for what felt like an eternity.

Azriel pulls away, holding you by your waist. You wipe away his lingering tears. “I forgive you, Azriel. Promise me that if something like this happens again you won’t let it build. We’ll talk first before we let our feelings get the better of us. Because I don’t know what will happen is there’s another incident like this.”

“I will, I swear it. And i’m going to make this up to you for the rest of our lives.” Azriel’s tone is a strict promise to you. “As long as you don’t push me in training anymore we’re ok.” You joke with him. Azriel’s face stays serious, not a smirk in sight. “Never again.”

He stands from the bed pulling you into sweet embrace, tucking your head under his chin. “If you’re up for it I want to take you to dinner tomorrow night. Just me and you,” he asks, hopeful. You squeeze Azriel tighter, “I’d love that Azzie.”

Unwrapping yourself from Azriel you look up at him with big, tear filled eyes. Batting your lashes at him. Azriel looked at you with hazel eyes full of nothing but love. He cups your jaw, running his fingers over the spot where the bruise from his punch once was. “How are you feeling? I dove right into my apology I didn’t even ask.”

“I’m good. The pain is gone, so is the bruise on the inside.” Azriel’s eyes widened. He didn’t get a full update from Rhys when Madja had healed you. “But it’s ok,” you assure him quickly. Azriel pulls you against his chest again, kissing the top of your head. You giggle lightly at his action.

You pull away again, going to your closet to change for bed. It’s been a long day and you could leave unpacking until tomorrow. Right now you wanted to sleep with Azriel by your side. It had been two long weeks without him.

Coming back to your room you find Az sitting back on your bed awkwardly. You climb onto the mattress, crawling up behind him. You rest your chin on his shoulder, “Will you stay in here tonight? I don’t want to be without you.”

Without a word Azriel shoots up, stripping his leathers from his body. He pulls the covers back waiting for you to settle in next to him.

You quickly snuggle into his side, resting your head on his bare chest. Azriel pulls the covers up around your shoulders tight to keep you warm. You gently pull his face down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. “Goodnight Azzy. I love you, so much baby.”

Azriel cradles your head, letting out a small hum. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than you know.”

[dreamingaboutsakuratrees]

Honestly I think Tim Drake deserves way more recognition as Robin not only for figuring out Bruce and Dick's indetities at age 9 or for being canonically the best bo staff user in the dcu, but for giving Robin fucking pants. Can you imagine demon spawn Damian running around Gotham with a katana in his hand, murder in his eyes and fucking booty shorts.

Everyone say thank you Tim Drake.

edit: edited again to stop people from sending me death threats and calling me a liar for getting a fact wrong and apologizing for it like four times. Ra's al Ghul has called everyone detective, young detective or similar. Ok. I get it. Please forgive me for this outrageous offense /s

also deleted all the detective-related comments.

[watcherintheweyr]

I can't believe I'm writing this

To open up with: IT IS ABSOLUTELY OKAY AND VALID TO BE DISAPPOINTED BY THE LACK OF WORLDSTATE CUSTOMIZATION IN DRAGON AGE THE VEILGUARD. I have my own disappointments about it!

Ok? We have that covered? We good?

Cool, moving on.

To people who are genuinely, hatefully angry, saying we will now be 'forced into Bioware's worldstate' (when this year alone they've stated there is no 'canon' worldstate more than once), or saying that none of our prior dragon age choices matter, I need you to take a step back and walk with me for a second, okay?

For starters: John Epler stated that one of the reasons they narrowed the choices is because they DO NOT want to invalidate the worldstates of their longtime players. However they also don't want to alienate newer players who don't have the history and lore of the past choices. It's a narrow line to walk.

Secondly, I want you to really look at the choices made by your Hero, Champion, and Inquisitor. Which of those choices genuinely affected NORTHERN Thedas, not Southern Thedas, to the point it would linger for years afterwards? Which of those choices weren't things that specifically affected or altered the sociopolitical Southern Thedas climate and landscape in lasting ways?

The Well? Kieran?

That only leaves that if your Inquisitor drank, they now have knowledge from ages long past... that Rook doesn't need. Rook has a direct line into Solas' history and a possible Veiljumper background, unlocking those very secrets on their own.

It's entirely likely and probable that the Well's fears and threats were a red herring. Think about it. We as a gandom have spent TEN YEARS worrying about the Well, about Solas, about Mythal.

Come June 2024, we're slapped in the face by the big bads of Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan.

Morrigan likely isn't going to be close and friendly with Rook- so there's likely not much reason for her to tell us about her child or husband if she has them.

The rulers of Southern Thedas aren't going to affect us. We aren't tackling the current world ending crisis from the position of a leader of armies like the Warden and Inquisitor, but as leader of a small task force. The Southern Divine doesn't much affect us either- nor do Southern mage politics or templar politics.

Because Rook is an entirely new perspective.

Because Rook is in an ENTIRELY different sociopolitical climate/landscape.

I DO think there should've been ways implemented to specify your Inquisitor's bonds and personality. I'm HOPING maybe there still are that we haven't seen. But otherwise?

My Warden is free. I can say she's cured her Calling and is wandering the world with Zevran.

My Champion can retire into total obscurity with his husband or be quietly helping said husband destroy the slave trade. Either way.

Your history and choices in Thedas still matter. Your heroes still matter.

They just aren't Rook's focus.

Take a breath please. And stop sending death threats to the devs bc what the **fuck.**

EDIT:

further context from the devs on Bluesky

[cupcakeslushie]

I’ve been debating on saying something because I have a lot of thoughts about this, but I just want to say a quick (maybe not so quick) thought…

“Comfort Character” is not a declaration of ownership. Just because you relate to a character deeply, and see yourself in them, does not mean you get to go around policing the stories that get told regarding them, or the how they’re depicted in said stories.

I wanna be clear. Im not saying you can’t pose genuine questions and have perfectly reasonable discussions about the intricacies of hard topics. In fact, fiction can even help make those discussions easier to digest by lowering the stakes, because there are not any actual stakes when none of it is real.

Unfortunately, I’ve been seeing the entire opposite. People taking stories that may make them “uncomfy”, and declaring that they’ve now decided they are taking it personally, to near obsessive levels. You are not the only one allowed to play with these characters. It is a huge sandbox, and these toys are mass produced enough for everyone to have their own doll to do with whatever they’d like.

I get you might see yourself in a character, but that doesn’t give you the right to go around sending death threats just because someone wrote, or drew your current blorbo in an unfavorable light. Prioritizing some cluster of lines and colors over the mental health and safety of actual real human beings, is worse than whatever fictional, moral “atrocity” that you think you’re championing against. You only end up sounding just like the people calling for book banning in schools.

You are not the character. You are not being hurt. The character is not even being hurt, because they do not in fact, exist to actually experience any of the pain creators are putting them through. And most importantly, you have no claim on how other people entertain themselves with said character. Because that is what these characters are. Entertainment. They can be used in good or bad stories. If you don’t like how a creator is using them. Move on. Don’t send death threats or attacks.

Block and filter your tags.

I have triggers, but that is my issue to control and maintain. It is appreciated when steps are taken by creators to help me avoid the things that trigger me, but I don’t wish death and pain on anyone who doesn’t view the world through the same lens as myself, and might not have considered my own personal feelings on the matter. My feelings of unease or anxiety from coming into contact with my own triggers, might be valid, but initiating an attack on a creator, because I took a personal offense to their story, is not. I do not outright assume that something was created with me and my tastes in mind.

Also, this is not aimed at any one person. This is a rampant issue that I have seen first hand, going back all the way to more than a year ago. I’ve seen it happen in multiple fandoms, but as I spend most of my time in the Rise fandom, that’s where I see the worst of it. I’ve received attacks, I know other creators have received attacks, and if this keeps up, creators will just stop wanting to share anything at all.

I also need to emphasize, I’m not mad. This is not a lashing out. This is just a frustrating and hurtful trend to constantly witness, when creators are putting their own heart, time, and energy into creating intriguing and complex works of all kinds in order to broaden the beauty of this fandom, and they’re getting anonymous messages to kill themselves.

Please think about the real life person behind the art and stories you are consuming, instead of prioritizing the fictional comfort of made up characters inside the story, that will in actuality, never have any opinions on what’s being done to them. Because they do not exist.