#and sometimes i feel like she was someone else entirely

[girl4music]

“She’s not burning just one paper, she has an entire fire going.”

What an analogy!

A+ meta on Vi OP.

Girl hasn’t even had chance the catch up with herself.

Let alone anyone else.

And yet she constantly puts others before herself. You’d think someone that closed off would be a little selfish.

Nope. She’s the last person to “me” the narrative.

And we love her for it but at the same time…

We just want her to get a break.

And she does in the end.

“Anti-climatic” or not… this was appropriate for her.

And if people can’t deal with that, then they don’t care about the character and her wants and needs at all.

And do you know what’s upsetting but also admirable?

Vi would be fine with that. I think it’s nice seeing the badass warrior woman be the selfless one for once.

It subverts the trope that tormented warriors aren’t capable of feeling empathy or having compassion.

Because at the end of the day the reason why they fight so hard and so much is because they’re deeply experienced in and sensitive to loss and grief and pain.

That’s what makes them true warriors and heroes.

JINX: “Vi was strong because she was afraid. Her fear of losing us is what made her fight so hard.”

I find it fascinating all the different interpretations (some of them way off when it comes to characterization BUT nevertheless entertaining) on Arcane. Sometimes it seems like people aren’t actually SEEING what they’re watching. HEARING what they’re listening to. FEELING what they’re touched by.

It’s almost like they’re the actual closed off ones.

They’ve got the entire experience right in front of them and yet… it’s not reaching them. Not getting through.

It’s mad. Sometimes I have to ask myself: “Am I just unusually perceptive and receptive?”

I don’t think so. 🫤

I mean there’s no reason why I would be.

I think the problem is on their end because the creators did all they could to illustrate the complexity of Arcane.

If people aren’t picking that up, there’s a problem there.

And I think it’s the difference between driving the vehicle and riding shotgun. Entirely different intake.

When you’re not in it, you don’t easily understand it.

But if you’ve been there, you sort of filter it that way.

And the result is what is cultivating the divisiveness.

But hey, that’s the key to exceptional storytelling and representation if you can get so many different intakes.

I find it fascinating. I am as equally entertained and fulfilled in watching the reactions over Arcane as I am watching Arcane itself. I think it’s one hell of a show.

I don’t say much. I just sit in the backseat observing.

And what I’ve experienced from doing that has been enlightening to say the least. But that’s just how I roll.

Vi’s ending is so important to me actually

Her life isn’t better without Jinx. That misconception drives me insane. Losing her sister is just adding more grief to the mountain she already has. But it is better that shes been allowed to just sit for once. She was an object in motion for basically the entire show, she was losing people constantly, she grew up in jail for fucks sake- shes never been allowed to just rest.

Her ending up in a safe home with someone who loves her and the time to finally process all the grief she’s been holding onto? She hasn’t had the chance to deal with the loss of anyone since Felicia and Connel. Her parents were the last people she had the chance to grieve in a safe environment.

She’s not burning just one paper, she has an entire fire going. That’s significant. Her getting to just sit for once, with no urgency, and watch the fire is so significant. It would be better if she had her sister there, and since it’s been confirmed that Jinx is alive I hope they reconnect bc they both deserve it, but just. Fuck. Healing is so bittersweet and I’m glad they allowed her that.

[anomaliex]

Collection of headcanons not elaborate enough for own word vomit post:

- I don't think Kristen can swim. She has the vibes of someone who never learned as a kid and now it's too late to bring up without being embarrassed. (Also I thought about what would happen if she fell in water — mechanically she's wearing heavy armor, would Brennan just let her swim since she's in universe only in a tracksuit or would she sink without a sufficient strength check? Idk, but that's how I got to the no swimming conclusion.)

- insanely weird hc to have but i think Fabian shaves his arm hair. Also like legs and arm pits i guess but the way more unusual and therefore notable thing is arms. This guy kills any body and facial hair on sight. Like no one has ever seen him with as much as stubble outside of Cathilda or the Bad Kids when they were sleeping over. Why? Idk he just prefers that, no deeper reason. I do think elves generally have less body hair but here his human genes come through so he has to shave. Or get it lasered away I guess. You can do that right?? He's rich. Maybe he'd do it.

- also Fabian's depth perception is dog shit. Using his crossbow is less impressive because Fandrangor is simply a better weapon and his flourishes and manoeuvres rely on melee combat, I know, but to me it's also just that he's better at hitting things real close to him.

- Riz is the kinda guy to have chronic migraines and think it's fine. "Everyone has headaches sometimes and I do sleep a lot less than I should ahaha" (the amount of coffee he drinks is barely saving him from the horrors.)

- Adaine also gets a lot of migraines in what I think are more. Passive non specific visions? Like a gut feeling that's always correct and also makes her body hate her. The proper visions are comparable to absence seizures I think? Like I don't wanna say it's that because it's magic but the process is kind of the same in the sense that she's out for like ten to thirty seconds and it can really suck

- I also think Adaine has synaesthesia! I can't really put this into words well so I'm not even gonna try, but she perceives certain sounds and/or colours at times where there shouldn't be sounds and/or colours. I think those associations also to an extend help in drawing connections between less specific visions and real life.

- we know Gorgug has a drumset in his room I think it's electronic. But like not in a normal way like we have them irl it's some insane artificer shit that would justify so much more noise complaints than a regular one and also could probably have its own pyrotechnics idfk. It's fully a safety hazard but it doesn't even rank on the top 10 of worst things to have in your house that is a TREE that the Thistlesprings casually own.

- I think either Fig or Kristen would be the shortest medium creature type Bad Kid. Like obviously Riz is four feet tall max but he's in a whole different category lmao

- Fig sometimes puts little braids in Jawbone's fur and he happily lets her. He only properly adopted Adaine and Fig has more than enough dads, but he does still act as sort of a paternal figure to her (and every other kid ((which in this case includes Ragh but maybe not Aelwyn)) in mordred manor because he's just a caring guy and it's hard not to grow attached) so that's their pseudo daddy-daughter bonding

- Fabian doesn't like, hate Gilear as much as he used to? Like he still has his moments but overall he thinks he's a good guy and absolutely has the "well I can shit on him but I'm gonna kill this other guy who did. How dare you make fun of my Mama's beloved??" mindset. But uhm he tries to make Gilear work out with him so he can "stop being death fodder". Gilear is a commoner and everyone else in Seacaster Manor absolutely is not and like he likes it and he loves these people but he does kind of live in hell. His wife? Could kill him. His step son? Could kill him. The maid? Could kill him. The dog slash motor cycle?? Could kill him. One hit. Also the entire current Seacaster household are dexterity based fighters they're all so graceful and skilled he's fully just a guy that spills every drink ever on himself

- I think the Hangman loves Cathilda because she gives good chin scritchies (hound form obviously lol) Generally he tends to mirror Fabian's attitude towards people anyway so he's always liked her, but once he started being a hound more she started petting him and giving him treats and he is smitten

- Gorgug (and sometimes Ragh or Ayda) play extreme fetch with the Hangman. Like I need to stress that he's not just a big dog he's large enough to be a mount, which means he'd have to be the size of a horse. Maybe a small horse sure but that's still a horse-sized dog. I think his mini looks fairly big but in my heart he's bigger. So yeah fetch with him (which they mainly do because they want him to feel comfortable in both forms because he's so good) is really big sticks. Like not logs or anything but sticks the average person can't huck all that far. Fabian casts enhance ability on himself so he can also do it, lol. The wonders of multiclassing into bard.

- I think the only Bad Kids who never use makeup are Riz and Kristen. Gorgug doesn't do it every day and not that much but he uses eyeliner sometimes. Fig's makeup is the most noticeable and usually very fun.

- Gorgug has kissed Ragh at least twice. So at least one time after the prom thing. I don't mean this in a ship way I mean this in I look at Gorgug and then I look at Ragh and I go yeah these guys have shared at least one tender bro kiss. I mean I think Gorgug is the kinda guy that would kiss all of his friends if they wanted to because it's not that big of a deal to him and he loves them but not everyone is comfortable w/ that lol. He and Kristen kiss each other on the cheek though, I think (this does not mean he wants to see her naked in public please put your clothes back on Kristen??)

[uranometrias]

an ode to fake hatred — dean winchester

→ premise: the one where sam notices the exact moment dean starts to view you as someone more than just a third party on their mission to locate john winchester!

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: crack <3 , very short, mostly in sam's pov. takes place sometime during s1. reader is described to have lost a significant other <3

→ a/n: this is actually an excerpt from my dean x female! oc fic that i published on wattpad, but i thought it'd be cute to publish as a short little imagine too! <3

You had never felt like much more than a weapon to be wielded. Something to smite, to kill, and to be used. Never destined to be more than the thing forged to bring someone else to their destiny. Sitting in the Impala though, brought you a happy exception.

You never felt like anything outside of normal sitting inside that car.

You lets your toes wiggle as they sit up on the dashboard, knowing full well that the moment Dean catches you, he'll have your head. But, you'd filled a lot of your time with the Winchesters by getting under the skin of the eldest. He had not been happy about the fact that Sam had asked you to come along, but apparently some nightmare had him convinced you weren't safe if you were on your own.

Dean hadn't been as keen on the plan, but over time he'd warmed up to you in his own Dean-like way. You weren't sure exactly why Sam had even let you sit up front, you'd become quite accustomed to sitting in the back, familiar with every divot, every nook, cranny, and percy magazine Dean had hidden under the seats.

You'd even found having to lean in between driver and passenger seat to feel like part of the conversation between Sam and Dean, an expected part of your day-to-day schedule. Not today though, your muddied shoes had become decoration for the floor, and Sam's snorting as he takes in your polka-dotted socks.

A little childish, sure. But, they were also exceptionally comfy. Especially when she was forced to wear boots and sneakers most times of the day. You offer sam your middle finger in response to his snort, and that serves to make him chuckle. The sound helps to ease some of the tension you felt. Without meaning to, your eyes scan the outside of the car, and you hate the way your eyes light up of their at the sight of Dean finally coming out of the gas station.

His hands are full of all sorts of junk, and his smiling like the cat that ate the canary. You know nothing good could come out of it. You smack your teeth the second Dean's opening the passenger door, poking his head in, and chucking the entire pile right at you. Snacks smack your face, raining down like a junk-food shower. It makes you swing at him, just barely missing his face as he jerks away, shutting the car door behind him.

You find your lips curving up into a small fond smile when you hear the way your retaliatory actions make him chuckle. Sam is watching you closely, eyes jumping from you and then to his brother as Dean stands outside and pumps the gas. You're so caught up in watching Dean that you don't even notice the way Sam is reading you like a book.

He was no dummy, and he thanked his lucky stars that as the days began to roll together the arguments that used to fill up the time between you and Dean had started becoming far and few in between. It was precisely why he was sitting in the back, he had a bit of a hypothesis he was testing out. He'd never push a grieving person back into the dating fray, Lord knows he wasn't ever going to be over Jess.

But... there was something oddly poetic about the way you and Dean, two people who were a lot more alike than either dared to admit seemed to have found this new rhythm.

There was a quiet push and pull, both of you tiptoeing closer and closer to some massive fork in the road that would spin you down a different path forever.

Sam wasn't sure which way you two were headed though, not completely. Especially because tender looks when the other wasn't looking was not quite enough to prove anything. If it were all of Dean's taunts about you and Sam being in love would have a bit more merit.

Sam leans back, caught off guard when Dean returns, sliding into the car, and digging through the pile you'd let partially spill onto the floor, before finally offering him his own assortment of junk to quiet the grumbling of his stomach.

He hates the way you all live sometimes, but he knows your profession makes it hard to be too picky. As the impala comes back to life, Sam is looking between Dean and you again.

You're kicking your feet happily, mouth full of what looked like your favorite gas-station snacks, as well as something else that looked more like Dean's favorite. It was small things like that, that you did deliberately to garner a reaction from Dean.

The two Winchesters catch eyes in the mirror, and Sam is certain he looks smug as he stares down his obvious older brother. His eyebrow then quirks at the way Dean suddenly seems to take in the way you're eating his food, before his eyes jump to your feet perched up on the dashboard.

Sam chokes on a laugh the second Dean's hand flies out and swats at your feet. You let out a shocked gasp, glare pinned straight on the oldest. "What the hell's your problem?" you seethe as Dean's eyes roll.

"Get your damn feet down." he demands, swatting at your foot again.

It makes you smack your teeth, popping his hand as a small tussle ensues with Dean trying his hardest to remove your foot from off the dash. "You're lucky enough to be sitting in the front, and you wanna go 'head and mess it up." he scolds. Sam's stifling a snort, watching as you lean over the center console to flick his ear.

You don't move your feet, in fact you let your body slump until your feet were near touching the windshield, and Sam's eyes are back on Dean, almost wondering what he'll do next. "Oh, nice. That's real mature." Dean grumbles, but there's no real bite behind the words, and you seem to know as much. What with the way you smile up at him in a way that makes your eyes close, and exposes all your teeth.

"I don't get paid to be mature." you retort. "It's actually my life's mission to piss you off, Deano. Deal with it." you mutter with a shrug.

Sam notes the moment Dean's eyes seem to soften as he stares at your side profile. You're looking ahead though, no longer giving him your attention. "Well trust me, you're doing a damn good job." Dean's sarcasm makes Sam huff out a laugh, the quiet nose ignored by you and Dean once more. It was always like that with you two. Easy to get lost in the moment and forget who else could possibly be around.

"Good, I'll be here all week."

"Someone kill me now." Dean grumbles, and this makes you turn your head, jaw dropped as you gasp dramatically.

"Take that back." you demand as Dean's eyes roll at your dramatics. "You love me, and you know it." you accuse, finger pointing right at him as it jabs into his cheek, pushing his head away from the road. A nuisance, that's what you were, the kind that lingered under his skin, and all in his mind. He hated you most times, liked you a lot more than normal at other times. It was a nauseating experience.

It wasn't like you were unattractive, you were just annoyingly sweet towards Sam, oftentimes getting him in a way Dean didn't. If he was honest, it was the most annoying part of your whole arrangement, feeling like the stranger with his own brother.

You called him Sammy like it was the name he'd been birthed with, and he never had any quips or qualms about it. And you'd tug at his arm like a silent shadow, saying everything with your eyes when he'd look at her. No matter how tired, or exhausted he might have been, he always, always understood exactly what you were trying to convey.

And when he'd fall asleep in the front seat of the impala, you'd slip multi-colored scrunchies from off your wrists and make ponytails in the shaggy mop of hair he'd sported, and never once received more than a playful eye roll. He laughed at all your jokes, laughed until he couldn't breathe. He smiled, and let it reach his eyes.

He listened to every incessant ramble of yours. Never complaining, never telling you to shut up, only listening devotedly. And you talked, a lot. Talked about anything and nothing at all.

You were annoying, Dean knew that from the very first night you'd met. You grated on every single last nerve he had, and seemed so oblivious to just how unwanted your presence was. You laughed too loud, ate too slow, asked too many questions.

You forced yourself into conversations that didn't concern you, and made every motel room, every space they stepped into your own. Even now, your perfume filled the impala, making it smell much to sweet for the job you did, for the sort of life you lived. You were just wildly out of place, and Dean hated you for it.

Still, he turns his head back towards you, taking you in as you continued to gawk at him like he'd really wounded you, and he smirks. Mostly because he knew you were only playing up your dramatics to fill the empty spaces of the road trip. "Do I know that?" he queries, and it makes your eyes narrow. "Believe me, sweetheart. The only thing keeping you from becoming a hitchhiker is Sam's dumb little crush on you." he says firmly, and you snort.

Sam scoffs, because he doesn't have a crush on you. Not really.

"That was almost convincing." you reply. "But, your heart's just not in it." and with that, you're effectively shutting him up. You kick your feet some more, ultimately getting bored of the action, and deciding to sit up straight. Your feet though, don't touch the ground, instead you sit criss cross applesauce, and go back to eating your 'breakfast'

"Shut up." he gripes back, and you go through the motions of pretending to zip your lips. Your eyes wander, a devilish grin wiggling onto your face as you take in the radio. You're trying your best to get your hand on the dial, gasping when Dean's hand whips out and stops you. ''Would you just sit still?" he demands, and you want to scream. Mostly because road trips with the Winchesters could go on for hours, and what did you have if not your ability to piss him off?

"Would you just sit still!" you mock him, voice dropping a few octaves. "It won't kill you to listen to something outside of -" and you turn to look back at Sam. "What did you call it? Mullet Rock's greatest hits?" you call back to your very first hunt partnered up with the boys. "I happen to know that if you just flip your dumb cassette over, you'll like what you hear." you say, and Dean's shaking his head at you.

"My car, my rules, princess."

"You're the princess." you shoot back gruffly.

"You two are unbelievable." Sam comments, and that shuts you and Dean up instantly. Dean's grip on the wheel is tightening just slightly, all traces of humor escaping him for the moment, as you pivot your entire body, facing the window as you go back to quietly eating chips. Sam's not sure what's gotten into the both of you, if it had something to do with the fact that you weren't alone and were behaving as such, or if you both had just realized just how obvious you were being with your interest.

There's a brief moment where none of you are talking, only the quiet thrum of whatever was playing from the radio filling the space. That is until Dean's hands, quick as lightning are crossing the car to snatch the bag of chips from your grasp. You gasp exaggeratedly, and Sam's stifling another laugh, because Dean's pretending to be so unbothered. Grumbling something about spending extra money on snacks for you when you spent all your time eating his shit anyway.

Sam witnesses the second Dean sets the bag in a space that's perfectly accessible to the both of you. Cutting eyes at you, as you narrow your eyes at him, before slyly letting your hand move to the bag. Sam supposed this could serve as the answer he needed for his hypothesis, his eyes catching Dean's again in the mirror. Though, there's no smirk on his face this time, in fact, no smugness in his eyes at all instead... he finds that he's happy for his brother.

Even if the idiot didn't know why yet.

[pinkiemachine]

Hi- it's the anon who asked about potential Dami love interests. I'd LOVE to hear more!!!

*cracks knuckles*

Dear little Damian is a troubled soul, and sadly he takes after both his parents. A travesty, I know. When trying to root around the comics and surrounding media for that one perfect love interest that everyone agrees on, I didn’t find anything except maybe Flatline, but even that’s not unanimous, and I myself am part of the reason it’s not unanimous. When I thought about it reeeally hard, I realised why the idea of putting Damian in a relationship at all has felt so tricky up until now. In short: kid’s messed up and probably shouldn’t be dating at all. A travesty, I know.

But I didn’t let that stop me!

I’m just kidding, I did, BUT THEN I had a BETTER idea!

Ahem, ahem…

Chapter 1:

In my AU, the story goes like this: Damian had never given love a second thought. He was told that one day he would need to marry to continue the Al Ghul bloodline, but nothing more. Actually, it was entirely possible that he would wind up in an arranged marriage, so it was something he really, really hadn’t bothered to think about. Then, when he turned 14, he joined the Teen Titans as their leader and met Princess Amethyst. Heir to the throne of Gemworld, temporarily on Earth due to story shenanigans, but must go back home eventually to reclaim her kingdom.

Amethyst (or Amy) became a member of the TT shortly after arriving on Earth, and at first, Damian purely saw her as an underling, but Amethyst, oh, she didn’t stand for that. See, she was raised in the courts of the Gem Palace. She had received the best education money could buy, she had been personally tutored in magic since the age of four, and she was a well-bred young lady. Whenever Damian wanted to, he got lippy and snarky and smarter-than-you toward just about anyone, but when he did it to Amy, he got back what he served and then some. Amy didn’t shrink from his angry, snide tone, she didn’t hesitate when he got philosophical or witty, she could spit facts and wax poetically as fast as he could, and she didn’t take any of his insults lying down. The other Teen Titans would often stand on the sidelines in fear and morbid entertainment as they watched the two of them go back and forth, arguing for hours sometimes. Honestly, if you asked any of them if Damian and Amy got along, they’d probably tell you they were mortal enemies. And yet, both of them found themselves willingly plunging into each argument as if they had been eagerly awaiting it. As if this other person was the first person in a long time who could actually stand on their intellectual level and not bat en eye.

Well, a few missions go by and this remains the status quo. No major relationship changes of any kind, just lots of back and forth banter.

BUT THEN—

The TT were on one mission in particular and it involved a shapeshifter. It’s nighttime, the team is in this big old abandoned building, they know this shapeshifter character is around somewhere, then they get attacked, and the group is split. Damian and Amethyst wind up alone. Together. In a section of the building. Amy suddenly appears distraught. She turns to Damian, blinking her big eyes, and while no one else is around to hear her she asks if he’s ever… felt for another person before. Damian… stares blankly at her. “Uh…” (Internally, warning bells are blaring, and he doesn’t know what to do.) Amy comes closer to him, and asks him if he’s ever felt… like he wanted to kiss someone before. Damian continues to stare blankly. “Uh…” (Inwardly, there are no more thoughts, only panic and melt down! He was never trained for this!) Amy hesitates, feeling sure that he wouldn’t understand, and for a moment, Damian thinks he’s in the clear, but then Amy changes her mind, musters her courage, and kisses him! Goosebumps. Hair standing on end. Fireworks. The whole shebang! …And then Damian falls unconscious. Yeah, that wasn’t Amethyst. That was the shapeshifter! It’s Nobody, by the way 👇 Yeah, I wanted to give her shapeshifting, because I think it would be cool for her character and other plot related reasons… see previous.

Anyway, so Damian wakes up after the mission, having been totally blindsided by Nobody, tricking him into kissing who he thought was Amy, and now he doesn’t know what to do with all that! So he pretends it never happened. No one else needs to know. And yet, he can’t help but feel some type of way whenever Amy walks by. He can’t even argue with her anymore—it makes him feel too weird! So he starts avoiding her like the plague. He doesn’t talk to her, he doesn’t look at her, she might as well not exist to him! And this… was not the smartest idea.

Ever since joining the team and meeting Damian, Amy’s felt the full sting of his insults and attacks. She’d never admit it, of course, and she tries her best to not let him get to her, but after weeks and weeks and weeks of this, she’d be lying if she said his words didn’t chip away at her heart just a little bit, wearing down her self esteem. And now, with Damian ignoring her, it only made things worse. He hated her. She was sure of it. He hated her and he wished she had never joined the team, and maybe it would better if she’d never come at all. Again, she locked these feelings away, trying her best to ignore them, but they were still there, waiting for their opportunity to make a mess, and make a mess they did.

It all came to a head after the TT came back from a botched mission. Damian was in a particularly bad mood and was tearing into some of his teammates, lecturing them about what they did wrong, and then Amy stepped up to defend them. That was the first time in weeks Damian acknowledged her, and he was savage. He didn’t pull any punches—he said aloud every single thing Amy most dreaded to hear. “You’re a burden to this team! You don’t know what you’re doing! It would be better if you’d never come to Earth at all!” Everything short of saying “I hate you.” And Amy… usually so resilient and proud and strong… finally broke. Tears slipped out before she could stop them, and she ran from the room, embarrassed. The other Titans were furious with Damian, and went to go console Amy. Even Jon, who tried his best to be patient with his friend because he knew about his awful upbringing, couldn’t defend him this time. He’d gone too far and been unnecessarily mean to someone who had only ever tried to be his friend. Jon was going to go join the others consoling her.

Damian flew back to Gotham in a rage. He spent three hours on the training course, then went up to his room and slammed the door shut. Alfred could see what was wrong the moment he set foot in the house, so he called Nightwing, hoping that the two of them could have a little chat. And chat they did. They snuck out on patrol together and Dick prodded the truth out of Damian, but he insisted that he hadn’t done anything wrong! Amy overreacted! It wasn’t his fault! Dick had to have a very long talk with him that night, and what Damian took away from it was this: Amy was his teammate, but more than that she was his friend. He can’t go around insulting her and making her cry, and the only way to stop being mean to her is to learn how to care about her and her feelings. This is a difficult concept for Damian to grasp.

The next day, Damian goes to Jon and asks him about “caring.” How does one do it? Jon does his best to explain, though he doesn’t put it quite so eloquently, and then he asks why Damian wants to know. Is this about Amy? Hmm? Does he want to care about Amy? Does he secretly like Amy? HMMM???

Damian reacts with nothing but hostility at first, rejecting such an utterly ridiculous idea, but then… he remembers the night he thought he had kissed Amy… and then he started recalling so many other things about Amy… things he admired about her… and he had to take a step back. Holy cow. He did like her. He made Jon swear to never, ever tell anyone about this under any circumstances, ever. This was a secret he would take to his grave. Especially since… Amy would leave one day, anyway. She had her kingdom to go home to. Rule as queen…

So following that conversation, Damian then goes to find Amy and apologise to her, but it doesn’t go well. Amy wants the truth out of him. No more insults or arguments or beating around the bush, she wanted to know exactly what Damian really thought of her. The truth! But Damian couldn’t tell her. She asked again. And again, he just couldn’t tell her. She left him, saying “I’ll think about accepting your apology.”

For a while, nothing more was said about it. An uneasy peace had been negotiated between the two, and while their constant ignoring of one another left the rest of the team feeling uneasy, it was at least a small improvement from constant arguing.

Finally, something came along to help set things right. During one of the big season finales, Amethyst is in mortal danger. Damian, seeing no other alternative, dives headfirst into danger, taking a bullet for her and saving her life. Amethyst refused to leave his bedside while he recovered, but once he did wake up, she made herself scarce. She was beyond grateful to him, but she couldn’t tell him that. To his face, anyway. Damian knew she was just beyond the med room door, though. He understood how she felt, and he knew the flowers by his bed were from her. He’d never appreciated flowers more in his life. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not to her face, anyway.

From that day on, Damian and Amy were on continuously improving terms, and every once in a while it wasn’t unusual for one or the other to find a gift left for them in their room or their Titans locker. Small things, usually. Get-well-soon gifts after getting injured in battle for example. They argued less, but they still never spoke to one another. Casually, that is. During missions, it was a necessity, but now they found themselves agreeing on battle strategies instead of butting heads all the time. The rest of the team was speechless.

However, all good things must come to an end. By the end of the Ultimate Teen Titans run, Amethyst’s kingdom is saved, and it’s time for her to go home and become queen. She can no longer be a Teen Titan. As she stands by the portal, waiting to take her home, she says one final goodbye to all her friends she’s come to love over the course of her stay. Lorena and Jenny… Jon, Jaime, and Virigl… and then there’s Damian. Team Captain. She gave hugs to all the others, but when she gets to Damian, she falters. In the end, all she can muster is a handshake, and all Damian can think to do is accept it. She says goodbye. He says goodbye. Even though there’s much more they wanted to say… it almost felt too cruel to say it now, on the verge of her leaving. So, Amy turns and starts walking… but that’s when Damian felt his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he’d regret not saying something now while he could—he needed to say something quickly!

“Amy!”

She turned around at once, hoping desperately that he would say the words they had both left hanging in the air. She wanted him to tell her not to go… he wanted to beg her to stay… but…

“…I… take care of yourself…”

At once, Amy’s spirits fell so low, it was just unbearable. With a quivering lip, she gave him a smile, said, “You too,” and then vanished into the portal.

Damian was left standing there, still in shock.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Bruce would routinely go looking for Damian and find him in his room, curled up on the floor by his fireplace. Titus the Great Dane was usually close by. Damian would never admit it in a million years, but Bruce knew he had been crying, at least the first time, right after Amy had left. After that… he was in a deep depression and barely ate, barely slept, and barely went outside. He would get back into the swing of things eventually—he was the son of Batman and Talia Al Ghul for pity’s sake—but for those few weeks… while he was alone… he was just a 14-year-old boy who was beating himself up over missing his last shot to tell Amy… he loved her. And now she was gone forever.

End of Chapter 1.

[yesimwriting]

Phantom Lurking

A/n This is a story set in the bestie reader verse that I briefly mentioned in an ask, but there's no specific context needed outside of the fact that reader and louis are extremely close best friends

Warnings: nothing too crazy (especially when compared to the source material) but there's mentions/implications of someone putting something in reader's drink but, within the fic, reader is never actually in danger of being physically hurt, reader feeling sick/anxious, Armand being emotionally manipulative as a way of expressing affection

Summary: After an argument with Louis, you decide to go out with an old friend. Once you're home again, you're forced to deal with two realizations. The first is that you feel a lot worse than you should, and the second is that Armand isn't the worst at being helpful when he wants to be.

----

The world feels flat, like one of the three dimensions you're used to being able to perceive has slipped into nonexistence. You frown, letting the thought inch its way up your spine.

You blink. Once and then twice, as if the familiarity of the gesture will be enough to remind you of what you were doing--of the reason for the phone in your hand.

"Woah," the voice is sharp enough in its happiness to jab at your stomach. You lift your head, ignoring the rigidness of the movement as you look to the source of the sound. Grace--your friend, Grace. A part of you is almost complacent enough to be eased by the realization that she's here. "You look so sad."

You can feel your eyebrows draw together. Do you? And then, as your fingers tighten around your cell phone, a second thought latches itself onto the first: Are you?

"Don't worry," she says, voice so chipper it almost stings. "He'll be over it tomorrow."

Right. On instinct, you let your head fall downwards. You unlock your phone, eyes narrowing at the screen's brightness as you open your messages. No new ones. Just the last texts you managed to send to Louis before you started feeling too nauseous to type: Not feeling. Okkay.

The lack of response presses itself into your lungs, making it impossible to breathe right. Louis was upset , but you can't imagine him ever being mad enough to not text you back. "But Louis answers."

Grace watches you for a second, her head tilting curiously at your phrasing. "Maybe he's sleeping." When the suggestion doesn't seem to sway you, she places a hand on your bare shoulder. Your mind is aware enough to acknowledge the intentions behind the contact, but her skin is so warm and sweaty against yours it's nearly nauseating. "It's late."

Louis keeps different hours than the general population, but that's not something you can fault her for not knowing. Besides, maybe it is so late that the night is morphing into morning. It wouldn't be the first time you and Grace lost an entire night to partying, and it would explain why you feel so incredibly out of it.

And...if Louis was really upset, he might have gone to bed early. He mentioned once that sometimes vampires enclose themselves in their coffins to avoid dealing with discomfort. It sounds deeply dramatic to you, but it's possible he's doing something similar.

You exhale, nodding so slowly the motion feels like more of a caricature of a human response than anything else. She laughs, the sound full in its certainty. Your stomach doesn't know how to digest her easiness.

"You'll feel better tomorrow." Grace's hand pulls itself away from your arm. "Okay--keys." When all you do is stare at her, she sighs. "First, I have to stop you from going home with that weird guy you met while waiting for the bathroom..." She trails off as she reaches for your purse. "And now you don't even remember where you are."

Hm. Grace's chastising gives you something to focus on. You blink, lifting your gaze as you glance around the building. The pale walls and warm lighting are familiar...this is your apartment building. How did you get to your apartment building?

Grace rifles through your purse, the contents of your bag clinking together as she searches through it. After a second, she seems to find what she's looking for. She turns away from you and towards the door.

"Okay," she hums triumphantly, "We're in."

You take the words as a sign to step forward. Your thoughts don't align with your movements. The delay is enough to make you stumble, your foot missing the base of your heel.

Grace is next to you in a second, her hands latching onto your arms to keep you stable. "How much did you drink?" The question lacks her earlier amusement.

You're not sure you're meant to respond, but you think about it anyway. It didn't feel like that much...but you don't exactly remember every moment, every drink--and you were mad at Louis.

She watches you for a second, her eyes wide and much too focused. "Are you okay?" It's a question your mind refuses to dwell on. Of course you're okay. "Like--okay to be left alone."

"Mhm," the answer feels hollow, "Yeah." Grace continues to stare, her lips pressed together in a way that conveys her uncertainty. "I'm just gonna go to sleep."

She studies you for another beat, and then sighs, "Okay--but straight to bed. And no more texting." Easy enough to follow. Grace lets go of you slowly. "And maybe try to drink some water--and--and try to sleep on your side."

You nod blankly, your hands reaching for the door in front of you. "Water, side, no texting."

Grace sighs as she walks forward. "And call me in the morning, okay?"

You squeeze the side of the door in an attempt to feel more stable. Tomorrow morning feels so far...so impossible. "Okay. Yeah."

She turns her head to look at you one last time before continuing down the hall. You step into your apartment before shutting the door behind you.

The darkness of your apartment immediately pushes itself to the front of your mind, blending into your unease in a way that's dizzying. You exhale, letting your weight rest against the door. You shut your eyes, inhaling as you force yourself to focus on the concrete. The ground beneath your feet is steady, the wood against your back is stable.

"You turned off your location."

The tension that takes over your body is so sharp, so heavy it briefly leaves you paralyzed. You open your eyes, pushing yourself further against the door.

Wait. The voice. You know that voice. The recognition doesn't ease you until a familiar figure pulls itself away from the shadows enshrouding your living room in darkness.

"Oh my god," you manage a second too late, the words devoid of the necessary bite needed to turn the phrase into a warning. "I thought you were a serial killer."

Armand doesn't care about your reaction. He just continues walking towards you with slow, even steps. Your mind is too foggy for his theatrics. "What..." Your questions feel too inadequate for you to make them mean anything. "Is Louis--is he okay?"

He stills at that, but it doesn't really matter. He's close enough now that the darkness isn't obscuring his features. For a moment, you think the question might have softened his expression. "Now you can find it in yourself to worry about him? After the way you spoke to him?"

Of course Louis told him. The haziness clinging to your thoughts has turned everything into sludge. Your lips part, some barely coherent defense-apology hybrid attempting to crawl its way up your throat. All you can manage is a slurred, "He was--dramatic, and I--" You push a hand against the door in an attempt to make yourself stand on your own. "I'm sorry." You're not sure why you're apologizing. It's not like Louis can hear it.

Armand continues forward. You don't think about where he might be going until you feel his hand on your arm. He's a lot less careful than Grace was, but something about the feel of his skin against yours is also a lot less overwhelming. If anything, the coolness of his touch is almost alievating.

"I don't--" You're not sure there's much point in explaining anything. Not when the only thing tethering you to consciousness is your nausea. You can't remember ever feeling so separate from yourself. "I don't feel good. If you're gonna lecture me, do it tomorrow."

Tomorrow. It feels more like a concept than a date. Things would be so much better if you could just fade out of existence until then.

Armand pulls you away from the door. Your limbs are too stiff to protest. His eyebrows draw together, and something behind his expression shifts. "I'm not here to lecture you."

"Then why are you here?"

His thumb moves out of place, brushing against your skin soothingly. "After your argument--Louis came back to me, he told me about what you said, how you treated him, and then he went to bed. Hours later, you sent him a message saying you didn't feel well..." He squeezes your arm a little tighter. "And you turned off your location."

It had been an extremely petty move, but in the moment, a few drinks in, it had felt so reasonable. If Louis was going to see you as fragile, you'd have to show him that you felt no interest in being looked after. "I was mad."

"And now you're experiencing natural consequence." His hold on you morphs into something that borders on uncomfortable, his nails pressing into your skin. "Do you know what people see when they look at you?" You can't do anything but stare at him. "You refuse to acknowledge your vulnerability, and then you stumble home like this."

Okay--you're drunk, but not--not horrible. You’re standing (mostly), and you haven't said anything weird to him. "You're not clueless." The words almost feel like a compliment. "How much did you have to drink?" You don't have an answer. "You don't know? Because I've seen you with Louis, and even when alcohol makes you sick, it's never like this."

Your limbs seem to grow heavier at the implication of his words. Did someone drug you? There was that one guy that hung around you and Grace a little too long, but he never got you a drink.

"Maybe you'll learn to appreciate Louis's warnings instead of running off with the first girl that offers you something simple."

Louis--when he learns about what happened, when he learns that you tried to call him...and that he wasn't there. "Don't tell him."

He angles his head towards you. "You're asking me to keep a secret from my companion for you?"

Ugh. "No." You didn't mean it that way, or at the very least, you didn't want to mean it that way. You can't make sense of things for yourself let alone for another person. "I don't know." Your head is starting to ache. "I just don't--I don't want him to feel bad."

Armand lets go of you slowly, his fingertips brushing against your arm as he straightens. "We'll worry about him tomorrow." There's a certainty there that leaves no room for argument.

The thought of delaying your worry doesn't feel as simple as he's making it out to be, but you can't find the words or energy to disagree. You're not sure what you'd be arguing for, anyway.

He turns with no warning, walking down the hall like this is his apartment. His decisiveness might have bothered you if it didn't make things feel a little easier. Even with Armand serving as a guiding force, your mind seems to buffer. It takes you a second to think to act on the desire to follow him.

It shouldn't be surprising that Armand seems so comfortable moving through your apartment. He's nowhere near as familiar with this space as Louis, but you find it hard to imagine Armand uncomfortable anywhere.

He finds your room. A more coherent version of yourself would have had the energy to worry about the last minute outfits you rejected and didn't have time to put away sitting on your desk chair.

The familiarity of your bedroom is enough to get you to move forward. You approach your bed, half-sitting-half-stumbling onto the mattress. You're not given the chance to settle before your muscles slump out of place. It's an unraveling of tension that offers you no peace.

Dread pools in your stomach. You blink, screwing your eyes shut before forcing them open again in an attempt to fight against the drowsiness blurring your vision. It's too sudden, too heavy.

"You can't fall asleep like that." The words are gentle enough to reach you through your panic.

You want to tell him that you can't be falling asleep, that falling asleep doesn't hold this kind of weight. Instead of struggling to piece your thoughts into something intelligible, you lift your head slightly and mumble a flat, "I'm not."

Armand's back is to you, his attention focused on your dresser. When he turns to face you again, he's holding a familiar piece of fabric. One of the oversized T-shirts you sleep in.

It takes much more focus than it should for you to press your elbows into your bedding. The edges of your vision grow spotty as you stand. You're managing, but everything about your positioning feels circumstantial, like the slightest shift could push you into unconsciousness.

He hands you your shirt. You squeeze the fabric between your fingers. Before you can think to do anything else, Armand's hand finds your wrist. You still at the contact. He moves towards you with slow, deliberate steps.

Armand stops directly behind you. He sets his palm against your shoulder, his thumb smoothing patterns against your shoulder. His other hand settles against your upper back. Something about the contact makes it a little easier to breathe.

You're just getting used to his proximity making things feel easier when he pulls his palm away from you. Before you can overthink the shift, you realize what he's doing. The zipper of your dress has been tugged out of its place.

Armand's slow to release you, his fingertips dragging against your skin as he steps away from you. He walks forward until he's in front of you again, his attention firmly focused on the wall. It takes you a moment to realize that this is him offering you privacy.

You pull the T-shirt over your head with a tact that feels similar to that of a toddler dressing themselves for the first time. You adjust the shirt's hem before pulling the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and down your arms. The material pools at your feet. You step out of the puddle of sequined fabric.

You tilt your head downwards, frowning at the discarded dress. You need to pick it up.

"Sit." The instruction is presented with a directness that leaves no room for resistance, and yet all you can bring yourself to do is blink at him. He turns to face you again. "The last thing you need is proximity to the ground."

His voice is implying a level of irritation you can't handle right now, so you step away from the dress and move to sit on your bed. Armand walks forward. He bends down, picking up the dress before approaching your desk. He lays the dress over the back of your desk chair neatly.

He approaches your bed again, this time sitting down next to you. The return of his proximity is strangely easing. When he doesn't say anything else, you give in to the need to break the silence, "Thanks."

Armand nods once in acknowledgement of the sentiment. "Lie down." The thought immediately digs at you. If you lay down, if you lose consciousness, you'll be letting go of the little control you still have. Anything could happen to you, and--and you'd be so alone.

When you don't move, Armand straightens, his arm extending towards you. His hand finds your shoulder. "I can stay..." The offer feels fragile, like the slightest mistake on your end could force it to crumble into dust. "But only if you listen to me." He turns his hand over as you let his words sink in. He drags his knuckles against your arm patiently. "Are you going to listen to me?"

You nod, if for no other reason than to keep him here. If your acceptance means anything to him, his expression gives no indication of it. "Lie down."

You give in with a sigh, pushing your bedding back as best as you can from your position on the bed. You move beneath your sheets before relaxing against a pillow. After a second, Armand begins to shift. You're not sure what he's doing until he's lying down next to you. The return of his proximity is unexpected, but not unwelcome.

He adjusts your comforter just enough to expose your forearm. Before you can think about the change, he begins to trace patterns against your inner arm. The gesture is oddly grounding...and considerate...which, even in your current state, you can tell is odd.

"Can I ask you something?"

He continues to drag his fingertips against your skin. "A lack of permission has never stopped you before."

A fair point. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He tilts his head slightly as he considers the question. "Am I usually cruel to you?"

That's not exactly the difference. Armand is never particularly cruel to you. He's never made you feel like you're in physical danger, which means a lot when considering what he is. You've never even had much of a reason to fear arguing with him. However, you can't recall him ever being so understanding.

"No," you find yourself hoping he can feel how much you mean the answer. "But you're usually less patient."

His hand briefly stills against your arm. "I prefer a fair fight."

The sentiment roots itself in your chest, leaving your skin a little warmer than it was a moment again. "We can have one tomorrow."

"I don't doubt it," he says, voice much flatter than before.

Hm. The comment isn't exactly aggressive, but it implies an annoyance that doesn't suit his actions. Something uneasy wedges itself between your lungs and ribs. "Are you mad at me?"

You turn your head as best as you can, staring at him with an openness that a more sober version of yourself would have never allowed. "Mad at you, the darling sun?"

You sigh, letting your eyes fall shut. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," his defense, though already weak, is further softened by the easiness of his tone. "I'm only recognizing what you are."

Opening your eyes, you turn your head to face him again. "What am I?"

He's quiet for a moment before angling his head towards you. It's a subtle shift, but something about it seems to amplify his proximity. Armand's eyes look a little softer than you remember them being, his irises closer to a brown-tinged ember than their usual amber hue. Maybe it's the limited lighting.

"Worthwhile suffering."

The answer feels much too soft to be considered an insult. You're not sure what to think of it. "You're very dramatic."

His hand stills against your arm. "I'm dramatic, when you're the one that turned off your location."

You don't have a decent response. Even as a teenager, you knew better than to completely turn off your location without letting anyone know where you were going during a night out. You're lucky that Grace was there and aware enough to get you back home, but things could have gone so much worse.

The thought of how incredibly stupid you've been burrows itself into your stomach, adding a sharpness to the underlying nausea you've almost been able to forget. Knowing that you're wrong and Armand's right isn't helping things, either.

And Louis--your Louis. Who cares if sometimes he worries so much it makes you feel like burden? At least he cares about you.

"I was mean to Louis."

Armand's hand stills against your forearm, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that somehow feels both reassuring and resentful. "He'll let it pass."

You let out a self deprecating sigh. There's no reason to believe that Louis won't forgive you, but that doesn't make things okay. "He shouldn't."

"Don't be a martyr." His dismissal isn't enough to diminish your angst. You frown, shifting away from him so that you can lie flat on your back. He's quick to counter your resistance, adjusting his position so that he's sitting up a lot more than you are. He's practically leaning over you, and all you can think to do is stare.

"He loves you," Armand's voice is a lot quieter than you thought it'd be, "There isn't a single thing you could do that he wouldn't forgive."

His certainty is enough for both of you. After a second of blankness, you find it in yourself to nod. The gesture is stiff and uneasy, but it seems to be enough for him. He relaxes slowly, moving to rest his head against your ribs.

His closeness is more of a surprise than it should be. You and Louis have fallen asleep like this more times than you can count. The shock takes a moment to subside, but once it does, you realize that you're... not uncomfortable.

Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, you move a hand to rest against his upper back. Neither of you move.

"You should go to sleep," he whispers after what could be a long or short stretch of silence, "You'll be yourself in the morning."

The suggestion is a lot less overwhelming now. Maybe it's because you feel a lot more concrete now. You shut your eyes, but before you can try to find rest, you remember where you are and who you're with.

"Wait," you mumble, "The window--" You're not managing the urgency you feel. While your room isn't exactly flooded with light in the morning, the sun does reach your bed in the mornings if you don't remember to fully shut your curtains.

"The curtains are fine." Armand shifts slightly, his hand settling against the arm not bent against his back. "Rest."

You close your eyes again, this time finding it in yourself to relax fully.

----

@joong-of-gold this is the fic i mentioned having in my drafts a little while ago!!

[ju-berry]

FANFICTION Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Fly, Eagles, Fly

The scent of pizza and beer filled the air as Melissa Schemmenti’s house was packed with friends and family, all gathered to watch the Super Bowl. You, Abbott Elementary’s new Brazilian teacher, were the only one who didn’t fully understand American football, but honestly? That didn’t matter.

Your focus was elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone.

Melissa.

The redhead sat on the couch, wearing a vintage Eagles jersey, her hair down, her expression fierce and determined as she watched the game. You had gotten used to her passionate nature in everyday life, but seeing her like this—so completely immersed—was a new, mesmerizing experience.

Ever since you started this secret relationship, moments like these were your favorite. Small windows where you could exchange subtle touches, lingering glances, and teasing smiles without raising suspicion.

And tonight would be no different.

You adjusted yourself on the couch, sitting beside her, your leg brushing against hers. Melissa didn’t take her eyes off the screen, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

— “Having fun, Brazilian?” she asked, still focused on the game.

— “More than I expected,” you replied with a grin.

She chuckled, taking a sip of her beer.

— “Bet it’s more because of me than the game.”

You didn’t confirm, but you didn’t deny it either.

As the game went on, Melissa became more and more invested. Every time the Eagles made a play, she gestured, cursed, and cheered. Sometimes, she’d clutch her own face, looking ready to have a breakdown right there.

At one point, you decided to tease her. Leaning in close, you whispered into her ear:

— “You look really sexy when you’re this into it.”

She turned to you for a brief second, green eyes flickering between amusement and something deeper.

— “Don’t distract me now, babe, or I’ll kick you out,” she joked, though the twitch of her lips betrayed her smile.

— “Oh, really?” you challenged, letting your hand rest lightly on her thigh.

She swallowed, but quickly refocused on the game. You bit your lip to keep from laughing. In the end, her love for the Eagles truly outweighed any distraction.

The Final Play

The game was in its final moments, and the Eagles were just inches away from victory. The tension in the room was suffocating, everyone completely glued to the screen. Melissa was at the edge of the couch, nails digging into her knee.

Even without understanding all the rules, you could feel how much this moment meant.

And then it happened.

The whistle blew. The game was over.

The Philadelphia Eagles were Super Bowl champions.

For a second, there was silence.

Then the entire house erupted.

Melissa jumped up from the couch, arms in the air, practically glowing with excitement.

— “OH MY GOD, YES!” she screamed, spinning in place, her face lit up with pure joy.

You smiled, ready to celebrate discreetly, but before you could react, Melissa turned, and without a second thought, ran straight to you, pulling you into a tight hug.

You barely had time to process it before her arms wrapped around you, her body warm and pressed against yours.

— “You’re my lucky charm, you know that?” Melissa murmured against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. — “Now every Eagles game, we’re watching together.”

Your heart pounded at the unexpected confession.

— “So, does this mean I’m officially part of the Schemmenti family tradition?” you teased, trying to mask how much those words meant to you.

— “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve been part of it for a while,” Melissa replied before capturing your lips in a quick kiss.

It was brief, stolen in the middle of all the chaos, but it still made your stomach flip.

You only pulled apart when someone shouted:

— “HEY! You two, come celebrate with us!”

Melissa laughed and grabbed your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, no longer caring about hiding anything.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the curious looks, not the fact that your relationship had been a secret until now.

What mattered was that you were here, together, celebrating.

And that you would never miss an Eagles game again.

[applestorms]

i don’t think people give ciel nearly enough credit when it comes to his emotional intelligence/how self-aware he is.

like, yeah— ciel is a brat, he’s a stuck up little privileged rich kid, he’s pampered and spoiled and struggles massively when he’s forced to live without the luxuries he’s always grown up with. but he also recognizes that, in a way that is actually quite mature for someone of his age and class. he’s cynical, he’s pessimistic, he has incredible little (if any) respect or hope for humanity left— but this is something he applies to himself and the others at his same social standing just as much as anyone else, if not more. he clearly connects and empathizes with finny (and honestly all of his servants) because he sees himself within him, trusting him like a (his) brother during the emerald witch arc. he understands where joker is coming from with regards to his desperation to take care of his family and doesn’t pass judgement on him, to the point of even planning to take care of the very family he thought he’d left behind after joker dies. he even seems to have some degree of genuine respect for lizzie, assuaging her insecurities by trying to see her for who she is and not who she wants to be or feels like she must be.

honestly, i think that in most of the cases where ciel is being a full on Brat™ it all goes back to one thing— ciel trying to asset his Power, and take back control over the situation.

ciel is a character who is very very very easily underestimated at first glance by most people who have just met him, and even a few people who know him longer than that. he’s literally a sickly victorian child with asthma and CPTSD-motivated panic attacks, the kid is frail as fuck, not to mention— a kid. the fact that ciel might have something of an inferiority complex is obvious enough even if you don’t bring the whole lesser-twin thing into it, his minute stature is something literally every fucking character brings up upon first meeting him.

sometimes, ciel can use this to his advantage, so he does. he puts on the cute little boy face and flutters his eyelashes and uses other peoples’ empathy against them to achieve his own goals (see: arthur, and also like the entire public school arc, etc.).

most of the time though, ciel doesn’t really want to do this, not only because it’s somewhat demeaning but also because he Does have a reputation to uphold. ciel needs to constantly be both on guard and on the attack for his job as the queen’s watchdog, he is basically obligated to constantly stand as the biggest threat in the underworld. much of ciel’s Brat behavior to other people comes down to this— him asserting his status, not really out of any pride for the title, but because he is a Threat and other people need to fucking know it. sometimes, this means shoving his (and sebastian’s) power in their face until they get the fucking picture and/or die trying to understand it, particularly in the case of more asshole-ish characters like all the random evil businessmen with criminal agendas that ciel puts through the evil haunted demon house schtick. other times, this manifests more in the form of a kind of genuine empathy— you Should get the fuck away if you actually care about the things you claim to care about cuz i will not hold back, etc.

speaking of— in the case of sebastian specifically, the fact that this is ciel’s desire to take back agency becomes even more clear.

sebastian and ciel’s dynamic is one of, if not the most compelling aspects of this series to me, in large part because of how goddamn codependent they are while simultaneously being inherently at odds with one another. this series Will end with sebastian eating ciel’s goddamned soul— i honestly think that even if the rest of the cast eventually becomes more aware of the specifics of sebastian’s demonic nature or their contract, ciel himself will stop them from trying to save him or break the deal somehow, and sebastian himself certainly doesn’t have nearly enough of an attachment to humanity as a whole to bother actually stopping himself from chowing down, even if he may regret it somewhat more than he expected afterwards. yet at the same time, right up until we reach that exact point, they have every reason to need and want to collaborate with each other— something that they do, even if it is with full knowledge of the exact sword hanging over their heads the entire time that they’re playing nice.

i really love the analysis from this post, which points out the fact that all of the three core rules ciel establishes for their contract are perfectly designed to turn sebastian into someone that ciel can trust. highly recommend reading that essay, but to elaborate a bit more in my own words— ciel knows that sebastian is going to eat him one day. he is incredibly physically fragile and aware of this, perhaps even aware of the ways in which he has been made mentally weak due to his traumas, and especially of the fact that he is vulnerable specifically in comparison to sebastian. every single time that sebastian saves ciel, it is another reminder that This is who ciel is going to die to. he is chained to this starving, rabid monster just as much as the monster is chained to him, and one day, those roles are going to flip. he’s not going to be in power forever, and he knows it.

therefore: when ciel is a Brat™ at sebastian specifically, i read this less as ciel actually being unaware/childish/stupid/etc., and more as ciel tugging on the proverbial chain to make sure he is still the one pulling the strings. ciel has a habit of emphasizing the fact that he is Ordering sebastian when he is in a stressful situation or panicking for any given reason, focusing on the language that he Knows sebastian will respond to. and it’s a trauma response. IT’S A TRAUMA RESPONSE!!

what i think ciel Hates, above all else, maybe even more than he cares to consciously admit, is not having power. he can’t stand to not be the one in full control of a situation. he can’t stand having his agency taken from him, not after Everything that he’s been through.

if there’s one thing that watching his entire family be killed while also being viciously abused by a cult taught (not) ciel, it is the feeling of having No power. he was helpless to stop his parents’ murders, he was helpless to stop the cult from violating and abusing him, he was helpless to stop his own brother’s death. ciel connects more easily and often more deeply on an emotional level with the lower class characters in the story because he knows what it feels like to be completely powerless in the face of the absolute worst of humanity. thus, when ciel acts like a Brat, when he asserts his title as an Earl, someone Respectable, or as The Queen’s Watchdog, someone Threatening, when he demands that everyone bend over backwards to serve his will— it is ciel taking back all the power that he can and gripping it as tightly as he possibly fucking can, because he knows what can and will happen if/when he lets it all go.

and there is no character for which this is more true than sebastian. one of the most powerful entities in the series, easily the one closest to ciel, who he depends on so incredibly— but who is also Destined and Required to bring his end once all this is over. ciel kicks sebastian around, treats him like shit and shows him rare moments of kindness and care, all for the affirmation that He is still in control. absolutely nobody can ever meaningfully hurt ciel again, so long as sebastian is there— and sebastian won’t hurt him either. not yet. but, instinctively, he needs to keep testing that bond. just in case. just to be sure.

honestly, i think that’s where the real tragedy of the series comes from— ciel never really grows, never really changes, because he Can’t. he guaranteed that for himself. at his absolute lowest point, ciel lost all faith in humanity and god and Himself. he lost his childhood naïveté, and the ability to believe in goodness in any form. ciel knows that one day, he’s going to be hurt again, that someone is going to snatch him up and chew him alive— all he wants now is the control to dictate for himself when that inevitable end will happen.

[six-of-snakes]

somtimes a boy's just gotta recognize the girl he used to be and acknowledge what she did for him and then move on to keep living his life knowing she's watching proud of what he's done

[problemswithbooks]

BNHA Ch. 429

So, I guess Toga is dead, and people are losing it.

I get why people liked her--she was actually queer, being pan/bisexual. She was representation for them and that's rare in shonen manga. But here's the thing--she was bad representation at best and insulting at worst. Nor do I think she was made queer because Hori really wanted to represent a queer girl. Himiko was always the author's poorly hidden fetish--she just was. She liked girls as much as boys because Hori wanted to draw a girl touching sexually on another girl. You can see this in how he draws her and Ochako in solo pics together.

I mean, people seem to understand this when it comes to Momo and her outfit being overly sexual or that both Himiko and Hagakure's Quirks either leave them naked or they have to be naked to use them. These are excuses to draw girls in a sexual manner. Himiko being into other girls is the same thing and that's the kindest interpretation.

Given how Himiko acts and her Quirk being heavily coded sexual desire, and therefore her use of it against someone unwilling being sexual assault, it could just being playing into harmful stereotypes of predatory gays.

As a queer person myself I just found Toga insulting. She was designed to be overly sexual and give the male author a female character that he could draw being suggestive with his other female characters. When he did flesh out her character, her backstory was eventually the trope/fear of straight people, that gay people will be so overcome with their lust that they end up sexually assaulting them.

In the end Ochako accepts this part of Toga and says she'll giver her blood forever, but as much as a lot of readers took that that as some deep lesbian confession, for me it really fell flat. Hori never really gave any of the main kids time to actually learn about their villain or show how that changed their minds toward them. Shoto only works because Touya is his brother (even though he admits he barely remembers him). But Ochako goes from not thinking of Toga at all pre-first war, to one thought about her during her speech, to suddenly caring about her so much she--given how Toga's quirk is coded, is willing to essentially fulfill Toga's kink for the rest of their lives.

It's weird and it comes out of nowhere. It's made even stranger because Toga doesn't actually change or show remorse for anything she did, which included personally hunting and murdering people before she joined the LOV. None of the death and destruction she is also partially responsible for is brought up either, something that Ochako was rightfully upset about during the first war when less people and property had been destroyed. Ochako just accepts everything about her suddenly and her past serious crimes are forgotten so they can cuddle and cry.

Am I shocked Toga died--a little. I didn't think Hori would have the guts to kill off a young girl character, especially one that he clearly got a lot of joy drawing in sexy poses. But at the same time, once he killed off Shigaraki and ended Touya's story with his slow death, I'm not surprised he went the same route with Toga.

This isn't Naruto--Hori isn't really kind to characters that do something wrong, especially if they don't try and change. Enji, Bakugo, Hawks, and Aoyama all sort of got punished for what they did. Enji is the worst off, being permanently crippled, missing an arm and burned everywhere. Bakugo's hand is damaged, his heart weaker, plus he feels bad that Izuku lost his Quirk so they can't compete the same way he wanted them to. Aoyama, despite doing way less wrong and even helping his class during the forest raid, still leaves school because he doesn't feel he earned being there yet. Hawks lost his Quirk and even though him running the HPSC could be seen as good for him, Hawks always wanted a break, but now he has one of the most time consuming and stressful jobs out there.

So, if this is what characters who actively did good things and even changed and fought to be better get, what would characters who never changed and never did anything positive for anyone but their friends/themselves get?

Before the last Arc started, when so many people said the LoV were 100% going to be redeemed I had doubts and always thought it wouldn't make sense with how the story presented redemption or treated other non-LoV villains in the past. That if the main LoV did get some happy ending where they were bffs with the main cast it would clash with how other characters had been treated.

That doesn't mean that I think how Shigaraki, Toga, and Touya ended up in the manga was well done. I think their endings fit far better then a last minute redemption would have, but at the same time you can feel how rushed everything has been since the end of the first war arc. Hori was done with this story months if not years ago, yet he was contractually obligated to finish it. Because of that I think he left out as much as possible. As much as I think he's written some pretty obsessive stuff, particularly towards women, I can't really fully blame him cutting corners or the story being shit at the end.

We know Manga authors, particularly those that work with Jump are treated like shit. That they suffer incredibly long hours at times not even getting to go home for days. We've gotten messages for Hori saying he's sick quite a few times. On top of that, weekly story telling is not a great way to tell a cohesive narrative. Ideas probably change week to week or at least month to month and you can't go back and change the last chapter no matter how much you need or want to. Then you remember he also gave a lot of ideas to the people who made the movies, which would also change his plans for how he wanted the main story to go.

The story is bad--it has been for a while, but I think a lot of people put their hopes on their favorite characters getting a happy ending, even when there were signs that probably wasn't going to be the case. I know how much it sucks when a character you love gets a shitty ending (Stain was my fav, but he got an absolute dogshit ending) but at least, knowing what I know about the industry I can't really blame Hori the way I see some other people doing. Criticize it, sure, but saying Hori hates his readers or is horrible writer isn't true. BNHA was popular for a reason--he's great with characters and the beginning of the story had some great pacing. We'll never know, but I wouldn't be surprised if BNHA could have been amazing if Hori had been treated better and the story hadn't needed a chapter every week.

If anything BNHA has taught me how much a story suffers when authors/artists are treated like crap and forced to work past burnout.

[commsroom]

i think doug eiffel would be a really good gift giver since, like. he's got such a thing about his own birthday, and he can be very thoughtful when it comes to the people he cares about. i'm sure he was amazing at picking gifts for anne. he knows exactly what kids are going to be excited about because he's kinda just an overgrown kid himself. like, he's picking stuff he also thinks is awesome. eiffel is just waiting for any excuse to buy toys; i know that must have been one of the most exciting things for him as a new dad.

eiffel gives minkowski a hard time about her birthday (why does she get star wars day? unfair.) but she's always pleasantly surprised by his gifts - things she mentioned in passing months ago, that she didn't think he was even paying attention to, and that he knew she wouldn't get for herself. he brings little things for hera all the time - flowers, seashells, whatever trinkets he thinks she'll like. when she finds some favorite albums, he buys her records (as well as copies of her favorite books), and he's kinda embarrassed at first that they're always secondhand, but she genuinely likes that better. especially if she can't physically, personally interact with them, she likes objects that have a history, that look a little worn and well-loved. lovelace is probably the hardest to shop for - i think she's more interested in experiences than things, and i don't think spending time with doug eiffel is... at all what she wants as a gift, literally ever - but he could probably find a way to get his hands on some sports tickets or something she'd like.

i really believe it's about the thought, anyway. i don't think eiffel has ever had money to spare, it's not like he's buying anything fancy, but he is... surprisingly thoughtful, at times.

[florida3exclamationpoints]

I just got irl jumpscared

[sskk-manifesto]

:)

[royalreef]

(( Honestly, what Miranda's Silent Hill would look like is one of those theoretical muse-building exercises that I've been spinning around and around inside my head for years. Because it's fun.

But I can promise: well. The violent sexual imagery is certainly not going away in her theoretical Silent Hill!

[our-lady-of-mcr]

everytime i think im done ranting i remember something else LMFAO this one is extra long i hit tag limit god mf damn

[aaternum]

cyberpunk verse stuff:

ryu is the daughter of an executive that works for arasaka. ryu was his only living family after the death of his wife and son, and naturally he is overprotective of his daughter.

he primarily dealt with arasaka's dirty work and took part in their acquisition of the soulkiller. because he did a lot of dirt, he had a lot of targets on his back, thus making ryu a target by association. after screwing over maelstrom (a gang in night-city) in a trade. they exacted revenge by finding and killing ryu on her 24th birthday in their home.

distraught and unwilling to let go, he uploads ryu's consciousness, and memories (called an engram) to soulkiller. the issue with uploading a dead persons' engram is they're glitched in a way. parts of them could be missing or incomplete.

arasaka, of course, is not happy to find out her father used their tech without permission and kills him off. but they have an opportunity for research with her engram.

over the years they pilot a project to revive her body/place her engram in replicas in order to use her for research purposes.

they find success in their methods, but she's still a working experiment.

ryu works as a spy/hitman for araska currently when under their influence (when her eyes shift in color; they're mostly in control and when they shift to teal shes in control).

they've convinced her she is doing 'good' work in the footsteps of her late father that was killed in a 'tragic accident'. she is thus forever indebted to them and believes anything they manipulate her into thinking. they have on occasion implanted false memories to help.

when she starts glitching or acting out of accordance, they will not hesitate to kill her and repeat the experiment. usually it occurs when she finds out what's happened to her or something triggers her. as of now she's died a total of 8 times including her real death. but they try to make that a last resort, as every death further shreds her psyche.

her implanted memories lead her to believe she's a ripperdoc assistant with arasaka and she takes on extra work part-time.

she does not know she's not technically alive and every time she dies she loses a bit of self. there are times she doesn't feel real or parts of her real memories that feel like memories come to her.

heavily inspired by the devils ending and the dream on quest.

[narcissusneverknewme]

a very select portion of personalities trigger my latent tsundere traits.

In reverse of the usual order, this feels all the worse if they are fictional.