#and then they carry that with them as they make their choices in life
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Whether you realize it or not, you are constantly influencing the younger generation. They watch how you navigate challenges, celebrate successes, and carry yourself through life’s ups and downs. Your actions, words, and even the choices you make when no one seems to be looking leave an impression that can shape their mindset and values.
You don’t have to be perfect to inspire; in fact, it’s your authenticity that teaches the most. When you show resilience in tough times, they learn strength. When you admit mistakes and grow from them, they see the value of humility and growth. When you pursue your passions unapologetically, you give them permission to dream big for themselves.
Even in the smallest moments—a kind word, a decision rooted in integrity, or how you treat others—you are leaving a legacy. The younger generation isn’t just listening to what you say; they’re learning from how you live. That’s why leading with intention and being true to yourself matters so much. You’re not just living your story—you’re helping shape theirs.
#ambitious women#glow society#beauty#beautiful women#the glow society#fit beauty#self love#health#self improvement#self care#women’s health#black girl moodboard#tumblr girls#boss women#healthy food#self development#fit girls#health and wellness#womens workout routines#becoming that girl
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Tim Drake will never be anyone’s favorite.
And that’s fine. Really.
He’s known it for as long as he’s been Robin. From the moment he slipped on the red and yellow, ignoring Bruce’s protests, he knew he wasn’t what anyone wanted. He wasn’t Jason—the fierce, untamed fire that burned bright and was extinguished far too soon. He wasn’t Dick—the golden son who carried the mantle with effortless charm and unwavering grace. He wasn’t Damian—destined for this life, born of Bruce’s blood, molded from the very beginning to take his place in the legacy.
No, Tim was the placeholder. The patch for a wound no one wanted to acknowledge.
He saw it in Bruce’s eyes—the resentment that simmered under the surface. Bruce never said it out loud, but Tim felt it every time Bruce looked at him wearing the colors of his dead son. Tim wasn’t Jason, and he never would be, and no amount of dedication or sacrifice could make up for that.
With Dick, it was something different. Dick was kind, but it wasn’t the kind of kindness that meant he cared. Tim knew he was a second chance, a way for Dick to atone for the mistakes he made with Jason. To be better. To be a good brother this time. But Tim wasn’t Dick’s brother, not really. He was a proxy for the one Dick had lost.
Even Alfred—warm, unshakable Alfred—looked at him like a Band-Aid on a broken bone. Alfred had loved Jason, mourned him, and Tim could never fill the space Jason left behind. Tim knew Alfred cared for him, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as the love for the boy who’d taught him how to hope for a better tomorrow.
When Jason came back, Tim felt the weight of his hatred. It wasn’t subtle, wasn’t hidden. Jason looked at him like he was a thief wearing stolen colors, like Tim had no right to call himself Robin. And Jason wasn’t wrong. Tim had known, from the moment he put on the suit, that it didn’t belong to him.
Steph and Cass were his best friends, his family in their own way, but they had each other. The two of them moved in sync, orbiting each other in a way that made it clear there wasn’t room for anyone else. Tim loved them both, but he wasn’t part of their world. Not really.
Then there was Damian. Tim knew what Damian saw when he looked at him: an interloper, someone who stole his birthright before he even had a chance to claim it. Damian hated him for it, and Tim couldn’t blame him.
Duke, newer to the family but still brighter than Tim could ever hope to be, looked at Dick and Jason with something close to awe. He gravitated toward them in ways Tim could never inspire.
Tim had always known he wasn’t anyone’s favorite. Not Bruce’s. Not Dick’s. Not Jason’s or Alfred’s or Steph’s or Cass’s or Damian’s or Duke’s.
And that was okay.
It had to be.
Because Tim didn’t become Robin to be loved. He didn’t do it for approval, or acceptance, or anything close to recognition. He became Robin because someone had to. Because someone needed to be.
Tim had never expected to be anyone’s favorite. He just wanted to matter, in whatever small way he could.
But sometimes, when he sees the way they all fit together, the way they orbit around each other, he wonders what it would feel like to be the center of someone’s world. Just once. To be someone’s first choice.
But he’s not.
And he never will be.
#tim drake#batfam#batfam dynamics#not the favorite but still the backbone#i had the idea to make this braindead and have tim become dannys favorite but that could be its own seperate post if anyone wants to read it#Tim shaped his belief early on that he would never be anyone’s favorite#and has unconsciously chosen not to acknowledge how those views have shifted over the years#because sometimes it still haunts him that they once disliked him so much
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Divine is saying, “No Added Sugars” You Need Rawness!
💕 Pick A Pile 💕
(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)
Hello, beautiful souls!🍀💖
It's about your purpose. You've been at a crossroads for some time now. With logic you won't ever be able to make the right choice or jump the timelines. You need to follow your intuition and do exactly what the world would call you crazy for. I know you're afraid of being judged. But who cares? I read this on a chocolate packaging, “It's always a nut who raises the bar.” ~The Whole Truth
If you wish to book a personal tarot reading with me then check out the links below:
BOOKING FORM • RATE CARD
Also, feel free to DM💌 me in case of any query.🫶🏻
~🌸☘️🌸☘️🌸☘️🌸☘️~
Pile 1🌷
Tarot Cards- The Hanged Man, Ace of Cups, 7 of Pentacles, 2 of Swords, 8 of Pentacles, 3 of Swords, King of Wands
Charms- Crescent Moon
Animal Spirit- Owl
When I was pulling out your cards, my shoulders felt burdened with bricks. Perhaps you've got responsibilities, or you are carrying heavy burdens that you must release to take a flight.
You want to fly high in the sky, but you can't seem to remove your focus from the past. Your heart's breaking every day for receiving less than what you put toward your purpose. This pile does seem to be on the right path but tired and exhausted. You're hanging in there, waiting for a new opportunity or something to align. Your intuition says something must change, but you can't see that change, so you feel stuck between the present and the future.
Some of you may even try to hide your pain by getting yourself entangled with your work. You don't want to face the truth of someone (possibly a fire sign), so you distract yourself, but you're unable to do that either.
Ugh! Okay! So the divine wants you to face your hurt once and for all. Your heart chakra needs to be activated to receive blessings. Nothing's changing for you if you do not make an extra effort or travel the extra mile to align your destiny with the opportunities that you deserve.
You've got the wisdom, yet you cannot decide, afraid of history being repeated. You need to understand that every person, every situation was meant to give you the experience you had to shape you and trigger your gifts. We're all co-creators, believe it or not! Do not take on so much load. Release the hurt and show grace to yourself and everyone else. Remove your need to keep track of the fruits your work must bear. Focus on the work, on you, and on aligning your energies to make the best out of your time.
There's a pattern that keeps showing itself up. It's not here to trouble you but to elevate you. Release it and free yourself. I feel you keep yourself in the waiting energy over and over again for something/someone, and this energy messes up your head and heart. What's meant for you will find you. Just like Harry got his letter from Hogwarts despite his uncle doing everything to refrain Harry from getting his hands on the invitation. Don't stop yourself from living YOUR life by putting a pause on your journey. The stagnancy is what bothers you.
Wealth is a few decisions away. I feel you're equipped to manifest an abundance of good fortune, but there's a pattern that's stopping you from making a decision. You haven't been feeling the spark, so it's necessary for you to release something physical—maybe old clothes or belongings that you do not use anymore. Donate them; you'll feel much lighter. Remove the past energy without ifs and buts.
At this time, divine encourages you to trust your intuition and follow your heart. Put all your love in you and your purpose. How you feel has a lot to do with what you attract, my dear pile 1. So try to make yourself feel better.
The moment you release the need to control everything on your journey is the moment aligned connections and opportunities will knock at your door. I see love to be quite prominent in your reading. I do see someone wanting to offer you their love. Listen to your intuition; you know the answer! I hear, “In my heart and in my head, tell me why this has to end.” Some of you are grieving losing someone, and that's acting as a blockage as you're not truly feeling every emotion.
Just give yourself time to grieve, release, and transform into who you are meant to become after going through the pain (properly). The new version of you will be able to manifest financial abundance easily and quickly. It's only going to take 1-2 weeks if you dedicate some time to grieving and releasing every day.
You're not crazy to feel this way, nor should you shame yourself for still needing to figure it out. Your mind tricked you into not leaving someone behind because they seemed to be the best thing that ever happened to you. But trust your inner knowing; you've always been guided to walk away as the purpose of the connection was served.
The moment you step into the different world and remove all your hopes from the past, you'll attract what/who is meant for you! God has something amazing planned for you. Your crazy move is to let go of that part of you that makes you feel you're nuts for letting go of something or someone who was good enough for you (but not the best!).
~🌸☘️🌸☘️🌸☘️🌸☘️~
Pile 2🌷
Tarot Cards- 2 of Pentacles, The Emperor, Temperance, 10 of Wands, 4 of Cups, 4 of Pentacles, 3 of Wands, 10 of Swords
Charms- Fairy, Dove, Feather, Snake
Animal Spirit- Lizard
You're already going through some major transformations, or you're about to. Major endings are headed your way. It doesn't make sense for you to take things lightly, but the divine wants you to take it slow and easy. You're about to come out of it transformed just like a butterfly.
Don't pressurize yourself with overthinking. It's time to preserve and persevere. Just take one day at a time. Your life is about to shift from lack to abundance! It's unbelievable, isn't it? I know, right! If you keep thinking about what you've lost, then yes, it's never going to make sense because then you won't allow the best possible scenario to manifest. This is the time to pray and rest. Spend more time in nature. Your mental struggles are ending. I heard, “I wave goodbye to the end of beginning. Just trust me; you'll be fine.”
Some of you may be moving places or shifting. Everything's a mess while shifting, but once you're in your new home (new reality), you can easily focus on decorating the new home. Right now you're transitioning, so it's a good time to remember the lessons and be prepared to finally step into your new reality.
Don't worry too much about what's going to happen next; though we all wish to plan ahead, we don't. Umm... and maybe it's fine for you to reminisce. Whoever's calling you crazy for wanting to slow down or take a break is too sane for this world, lol! I just heard someone saying, “Be realistic!” Well, tell them this is not something that happens in everyone's reality. Refrain from taking unsolicited advice.
At this moment, your biggest project is you and your reality. That's where your focus needs to be. You need to feel your world crumbling down in front of your eyes (I know it can be intense for most of you), but with due compassion, I'm saying this: you need to feel it all. Let your soul transform with the fire that burns your whole reality to the ground for you to step into a new one. It may feel unfair, or you may want to save the precious memories. Do it. But give yourself time.
At the end you'll realize it's so little that matters and what matters means so much, but unfortunately people are missing the realization.1010 and 444 can be significant. I see the universe wanting you to trust in the ending and lean on God for support. Very soon you'll find your happiness and the joy of life. All that is happening is happening for you to realize that light has to rise after the dark.
There's no other way; this is the law of nature. Maybe some of you have found it difficult to have faith in God or experience divine blessings. If you ever asked, “How do I trust God? How can I realize God's blessings?” This situation is God's answer to you. God's saying, “Now you'll see me and experience my blessings.” I strongly feel that you're finding it difficult to believe in miracles or that something extraordinary can happen for you. Just trust. I also hear, “Are you that naive? Why are you looking for me outside? I am within you. Don't you feel it? You have my essence, and that's how you hear me if you tune the strings of your heart. Ask what you want, and it shall be given. But first realize that I'm with you.”
It's crazy to have faith at this phase of your life, but if you're nuts, you will make it to the end of the tunnel. God tests us in the tough times. It's when you're at rock bottom you're given the choice to either lean on the divine or attach yourself to a false man-made safety net. The choice is yours, pile 2.
~🌸☘️🌸☘️🌸☘️🌸☘️~
Pile 3🌷
Tarot Cards- Ace of Wands, 8 of wands, 5 of wands, 4 of cups, 7 of pentacles, Ace of Pentacles
Charms- Key, Peacock, Fleur De Lis
Animal Spirit- Beaver
You do feel a blessing is coming your way that is going to shift your reality, but your mind refuses to believe it. You've been working so hard for such a long time that you don't want to get your hopes high.
Holding onto apathy or feeling like your reality is never going to change isn't doing anything good for you. In fact, this is the feeling that is keeping you trapped in an environment you've outgrown.
Get ready to do your best with what you have. As you keep doing your best despite how you feel, you'll become the best. This time, along the way you'll see the changes. You'll get your results as you remain consistent on your path.
In the past you've planted the seeds, and now the time is about to arrive for you to enjoy the fruits. The ideas that you're receiving are the key to opening a new door of opportunities. Once you stay consistent and act on your ideas, you'll rise above the competition!
Yes, it's crazy for you to still keep going. But do it! You're about to be blessed. You shouldn't lose hope when you're about to reach the finish line. In fact, you get more excited that you're about to win!
Say yes to the opportunities that come your way and believe that you deserve them. All you need to do is do your best by focusing on the work at hand.
I do see a lot of material abundance coming your way, but you don't see it yet. You need to tweak the way you work and see your reality from a different lens, and soon everything will fall into place.
You know how to water plants, but you don't know when to water what. And this is the reason you end up exhausted. Do your best with unidirectional approach. Your energies are being poured in an unorganized manner, which is causing this whole trouble of seeing inconsistent results with consistent efforts.
Your task is to manage and organize well to efficiently and effectively direct your energies in the tasks you're supposed to do to attract material abundance.
You're about to receive a new beginning in something you're very passionate about, and you're going to stand out in the crowd. It's fated in the stars for you to be blessed. Look at your sun sign and the placement of the sun in your birth chart. The planet sun is going to bless you with an auspicious new beginning.
It's time you stop denying your intuition. Don't gaslight yourself into believing what others make you believe. You're not your bad experiences; you're who you choose to become despite what you went through.
The wheel is turning in your favor. Something about planetary positions is coming out strongly in your cards. Your time's about to change. Fate and destiny are playing a major role here.
Your hard work is not going to go to waste. Divine has taken a note of your past efforts. You're about to meet your soul tribe, and I do feel many new beginnings are about to be gifted to you. Just allow the universe to do its part now, and you do yours with devotion.
Let the map of your purpose form itself as you remain consistent on your path. This is God testing your faith and patience for one last time before blessing you with what you're promised by the divine. I do feel there's even a surprise orchestrated by the divine that you will receive at the right time.
~🌸☘️🌸☘️🌸☘️🌸☘️~
#pick a pile tarot#pick a pile reading#tarot readings#tarot card reading#tarot card reader#psychic tarot#intuitive tarot reader#messages from the universe#divine messages#channeled reading#psychic readings#tarot witch#tarotblr#pick a pile#tarotcommunity#message from spirit#tarot cards
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥
Ominis GauntxF!Reader
art from @tamayula-hl and dedicated to her because she defines perfectly that art can provoke such beautiful things in people as happiness, longing and sadness.
Ominis Gaunt reflects on his role in life. Winners take all and losers fall, isn't that how it works?
Tw: Angst - Based on an ABBA Song - ABBA is Its Own Warning
Ominis Gaunt had always believed the world was divided into winners and losers. His father used to say:
“The winner takes it all, Ominis. The loser is insignificant beside victory. That is their fate.”
It was a life rule Ominis tried to avoid, but it seemed omnipresent. He had felt like a loser his entire life. He was never the most loved son, the most cherished friend, or anyone’s first choice. Everyone else seemed to find their purpose, except for him.
For a time, that was fine. Ominis learned to blend into the shadows; quiet observation and careful listening became his survival tools in a cruel world full of winners who basked in their achievements. Being a loser was bearable, as long as he surrounded himself with the right people.
Against his better judgment, Sebastian was a winner. A winner in every sense of the word. Everyone loved him—he was charming, fun, and destined to succeed in life. It wasn’t easy living in the shadow of your best friend, especially when that shadow turned into sheer darkness. A consuming, harmful darkness.
At the start of their fifth year, Ominis decided to change.
She wasn’t a loser. She walked into the Great Hall like a champion, a dragon-slayer, a stunning (according to whispered voices) and kind student.
Ominis was a loser, so of course, he was angry when he found her outside the Undercroft. Why was she there? Did Sebastian invite her? Had she gained his trust so easily? Typical winners—they seemed to sense success in each other.
No. He wouldn’t shrink beside victory. That wouldn’t be his fate.
Ominis did terrible things. Joining in Sebastian’s antics wasn’t honest or true to him. Oh, why did she push him to break the rules? Why did she defend Sebastian so passionately? It would be her downfall. Sebastian wasn’t a winner—he was just someone who knew how to mask his failures.
The gods could roll their cold, icy dice, and someone down here would lose a loved one. Sebastian was their puppet. A murderer.
“I don’t know what to do,” she cried.
Ominis didn’t either. No one ever told him that winners hid corpses or sent their friends to prison for life. None of that sounded like success. He asked for time to think; she did too. Sebastian waited.
And that night, Ominis tasted a drop of victory.
She couldn’t sleep and sought him for comfort. Two students breaking the rules, sleeping together in the same bed. It didn’t matter. Sebastian wasn’t there. The other boys weren’t there either.
Ominis whispered soothing words in her ear. She was worried, afraid of making a terrible decision. All he could think about was how right it felt to be in her arms, to finally belong somewhere, to have a purpose. He imagined a life away from Hogwarts and his family, just with her. He’d build her a house with a wooden fence, something to make him feel stronger. More like a man, less like a boy.
But he was a fool and kept playing by the rules.
“Let’s not turn Sebastian in,” he had said.
There was silence. The choice was hers, but Ominis had given her the push. He would carry the burden. Losers do that. Losers sacrifice. Losers…
Losers get kissed.
Softly, like a morning breeze. No, this wasn’t what losing felt like. This felt like winning. It was fulfilling, like reaching nirvana. Ominis, emboldened, stole another kiss—longer, clumsier, but utterly divine. Afterward, they both fell asleep.
Sebastian was a winner, so he claimed what was his. He consumed her completely, regained her trust, called her beautiful, and kissed her in public. Ominis stepped aside. Those were the rules.
The judges made their decisions. Ominis accepted them. He was a spectator of a spectator. Always staying beneath.
“So, you’re marrying him.”
Years later, Ominis wondered if there was any point in denying defeat.
“Well, I said yes,” she joked. “I suppose that seals the invisible contract.”
“Very funny. Why are you here instead of celebrating with the others? Your engagement party seems like the event of the year.”
“I saw you… You looked uncomfortable. Then you left, and now I’ve found you here alone, away from everyone.”
“It’s nothing. The noise gets overwhelming sometimes, and I needed a moment.”
“Are you sure?”
Ominis wondered if she ever thought of him. Did Sebastian kiss her the way he once had? Did she feel anything when he said her name?
“Was I ever an option?” Ominis asked.
“What?”
“I mean… Did I—”
“No, I heard you,” she interrupted. “You never wanted to be an option. You never did anything to make it so. Why… Why now? Couldn’t you—?”
“It’s foolish. I’m sorry.”
“Exactly! You always do this. You regret, turn away, wash your hands of everything, and leave people behind like—”
“I never—”
“You’re a liar. And now you’re pretending… Was it so easy for you to ignore everything? Deep down, you must have known I needed you.”
“You didn’t need me. That’s why you let Sebastian into your life when I told you to forgive him, and that’s why you’re marrying him.”
“Of course I am! Because he loves me, and I love him. He’s proven it every day and never let me go without explanation. Sebastian is devoted. I love him for that. He’s shown me it’s worth fighting for the one you love.”
Ominis grumbled. Fighting. The game was starting again. What could he hope for? A lover? A friend? Something big or small?
“I don’t want to talk about what we’ve been through,” she said, and Ominis swore he heard a sob. “Even though it hurts, what you’re saying now is history. I played my cards, and so did you…”
“I didn’t—”
“There’s nothing left to say. No ace to play.”
It was true. Maybe they were both losers. There was only one winner, and he had taken it all.
“Fine. I don’t want to talk if it makes you sad. I understand you came to offer me a hand, and I’m sorry if I upset you by—”
“By looking so tense? So unsure of yourself?” she said.
“Yes.”
She didn’t add anything else. She returned to the party.
That’s how it was meant to be. The winner takes it all, and the loser has to fall. The gods had rolled their icy dice and struck down their favorite loser. It was simple. Why complain?
But if it was so simple, why was Ominis crying?
#hogwarts legacy#ominis gaunt#hogwarts legacy fanart#ominis gaunt fanfiction#hogwarts legacy ominis#ominis gaunt fanart#please abba i cant keep listening the same song
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I waited for this post my whole life. I am a serial album collector (I have more than 300 CDs and some vynils) so I'll pick my favuorite ones.
The Sounds of Scars by Life of Agony is a story of a young boy trying to, ahem, let the blood flowing in his wrists have a nice day out of its fleshy prision, and how he carries inside the scars of that action in his adult age. I play that album everytime I suffer for anything. I ran in my car in the night ugly crying and screaming that album till my throat hurt because no one can hear you scream while going 90 km/h on the highway in the night.
The Spell by Cellar Darling is a concept album that tells the beautiful story of a girl born from the Pain of the Earth to try to show humanity the clear scars of Climate Change, but no one listens to her. And this is only song one. The incredible part is that she meets the Incarnation of Death, falls in love with it, Death falls in love with her, so it secretly casts a spell of eternal life on the girl. So she wakes up and not finding his love again decides to, ahem, call it back by damaging her fleshy robot. I won't spoil the finale, but I'll point out to the fanfic sequel posted on Cellar Darling's site of a contest they held for the album release.
Septicflesh's Infernus Simphonica is the recording of their live show with orchestra made in Mexico. They are a greek band thar plays symphonic death metal, so a mixture of classic music and death metal. Incredible stuff.
Sacred Steel's Wargods of Metal was my introduction to the metal genre and my 15 yo self imagined a whole fanfiction turning the songs in the album into a story. Heavy Metal to the end!
Another concept album: Fear Factory, in their golden age, released Obsolete, which can be easily recognized by the human brain and spine shown on the cover in the shape of... you'll get it when you see it. It's a sci-fi novel told through the eyes of an escaped prisoner that comes face to face with an harsh dystopia where people's lives and values have been discarded for the glory of those in their ivory towers, machines impose a strict ruling and religion is forgotten.
Fleshgod Apocalypse's King is an eye-catching symphonic death metal album (go Italy!) which details in its songs various figures of a court surrounding a king. You have to listen to the intro of "The Fool" this is a threat, you have no choice in the matter, if you read this influenza-induced brainrot till here you HAVE to listen to it. Mostly though, I have to point out their latest album: Opera! It's one of the best metal albums I've heard AND marked as one of the best metal albums of 2024 by experts. It's based on the thoughts of the band's leader, Francesco Paoli, after his fall during a climbing excursion wich left him hurt, scarred and needing serious surgery. And he STILL plays death metal with an half bionic arm. Legend.
Genus Ordinis Dei's Glare of Delieverance is a story of a witch being burned at the stake, only for her master to use her as conduit to emerge in the lhysical world. There's an associated movie on youtube.
Gojira's Fortitude is amazing, period.
Thornstar by Lord of the Lost is the first album I bought with my money. The band created a fictional cutlure to justify eurasian's ancient cultural roots, crafted a religion for them, crafted a downloadable alphabet and turned the band members into paintings that can be seen shining into the Aythor's music video. I am especially ennamored with the closing song, "Ruins".
Zetra is a new band to hit the scenes. Their gothic tones and ethereal sounds chill my bones and makes me feel like I'm stargazing into the heart of the cosmos and understanding its secrets only for a short second, before losing it all. Their album bears the name of the band, and it's the latest album I bought, fit to conclude this long ass post.
Final note: as I said I'm a devoted album collector and I have more than 300 CDs and I recently started collecting vynils because my sister stole my copy of Disintegration by The Cure and got a vynil copy for spite: I got the bigger vintage CD, who's laughing now?
(Also I am forced to offer you the humble Stairway to Valhalla by Nanowar of Steel because any band that can make a song about the Uranus joke has to be recommended)
it bothers me that you often don't really hear about people having a "favorite album" the way they might have a favorite movie or favorite video game
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Mercy. | K.W
summary: You find sanctuary by following a little blue creature.
warnings: GN!reader | Physical mutation!reader | Physical injuries | Canon-typical mutant hatred & bigotry | Use of canon derogatory term for mutants | Hints of past abuse & neglect
a/n: I don't know what this is exactly but I hope you enjoy, came to me while fleshing out an oc and thought those with xmen ocs who look different would enjoy. Slightly darker than I normally write. I left it open for interpretation appearance-wise so it could fit whatever you imagine. Unedited, I wrote this down quickly. ;; wc: 3.5k
You ran through the darkened streets, your heart pounding against your ribs. There was no other choice - survival meant flight, even as your instincts screamed at you to fight back.
You just wanted to satisfy your gnawing hunger, to feed the emptiness inside. But in this deeply religious town, where ornate cathedrals loomed on every corner casting judgmental shadows, the humans reacted with predictable horror at your appearance. You didn't look human, after all. You were an abomination, a monster - those words had been beaten into you since childhood, repeated so often they had become truth. Why did you have to be born so different?
You never chose this existence. You never asked to be born different, to be marked as something other than human. The burden of your nature wasn't one you volunteered to carry.
Lightning split the sky as you limped down the rain-slicked cobblestones, each step sending shockwaves of pain through your leg where the arrow protruded. Your feet splashed through growing puddles, leaving bloody footprints that the storm would soon wash away. Still you pressed on, knowing that to stop was to die at the hands of those who hunted you.
Damn those heartless townsfolk.
You just wanted some food, a measly piece of bread, a bruised apple, even a rotting vegetable - anything at all to fill the emptiness in your aching stomach. The painful hollowness reminded you that you couldn't even remember when you last had a proper meal, when food had last passed your lips. You gave your last bit of food to a small cat in an alley, its yellow eyes gleamed at you and seemed to silently plead to be fed. You couldn’t deny it, so you have up your last meal to it before it disappeared.
Through the darkness, you heard their distant shouting echoing off the cobblestone, saw their blazing torches casting dancing shadows on the walls, and you were absolutely terrified. The angry mob was actively pursuing you through the narrow streets, their sole purpose to hunt you down and end your life.
For absolutely nothing at all - just the crime of existing.
A sharp whirring sound suddenly cut through the cold night air behind you, and before you could react, a steel arrow viciously tore through your left shoulder. The searing pain made you cry out in agony, the sound echoing off the walls around you. Though the impact nearly brought you to your knees, survival instinct kept you upright - but the wound significantly slowed your desperate escape.
Their shouts grew louder behind you, the sound of heavy boots on stone drawing closer. “It’s this way! Come on, we’ve got it wounded!”
Pure desperation drove you into the deep shadows between a narrow alley, pressing yourself against the cold stone wall. You watched with bated breath as the group stormed past, their wild eyes frantically scanning the street for any sign of you. The angry flames of their torches reflected in their eyes and cast grotesque images across their faces, making them look evil in their pursuit of you.
"Come out little mutie!" They called out mockingly, their voices echoing through the darkened streets as they made exaggerated animal-like sounds, treating their pursuit like some twisted game of hide and seek. "Don't be shy now! We know you're hiding somewhere... Come out, come out, wherever you are... Stop running and we'll make it quick and painless!"
"Don't say that, you idiot," someone snarled, delivering a sharp smack to the back of the man's head with an audible crack. "We ain't gonna kill it quick - that defeats the whole purpose. Gotta burn the demonic spawn nice and slow, make an example of it. Need to purify this town once and for all, send a message to all these damned muties that they ain't welcome here. Let 'em know what happens when they dare show their faces in decent folks' neighborhood..."
You huddled in the darkness of the alley to try to stay out of their sight, blood seeping through your fingers as you pressed against the wound, your heightened senses detected a subtle movement deeper in the shadows. Turning your head cautiously, trying to minimize any sound that might give away your position, you caught sight of those unmistakable yellow eyes that you'd come to know. The cat.
It moved with silent grace through the darkness, its lean form barely visible except for those luminous eyes. The feline paused, tilting its head in that peculiar way that suggested both curiosity and concern, its shadowy figure weaving between patches of darkness as it investigated your presence.
A pained frown crossed your features as you slowly raised your empty hands, showing the creature that you had nothing to offer tonight. Your heart ached, both from your injuries and the inability to provide for the small creature. You silently willed the cat to understand the danger you were in, desperately hoping it would resist any vocal greetings. Your eyes met its glowing gaze, wordlessly pleading for it to move on before its presence could inadvertently reveal your hiding spot to those who hunted you.
It turned away deliberately, carrying itself towards the far end of the dimly lit alley. As it walked, the creature cast a lingering glance over its shoulder, golden eyes seeming to pierce through the darkness straight to you. It came to a calculated halt, its posture suggesting an unmistakable invitation for you to follow.
You managed to push yourself up from the ground, your legs still unsteady beneath you. The journey down the narrow alley became a careful dance of maintaining balance - several times you nearly pitched forward, your coordination betraying you as you pursued the cat. Despite the close calls with losing your footing completely and nearly eating shit, you somehow stayed upright.
When you finally emerged from the tight confines of the alley, the sight of the cat caused you to freeze. What you had been following wasn't exactly a cat - not in any conventional sense anyway. Its fur was an impossible shade of deep azure blue that appeared black in the low light. Brilliant yellow eyes, like twin flames in the darkness, stared back at you with an almost knowing intelligence. A thin, serpentine tail ending in a distinctive devil's point swayed behind it as the creature settled into a seated position, regarding you with apparent interest as its pointy ears twitched.
The revelation sent your mind reeling. You had been so certain you were following an ordinary street cat, but now, faced with this clearly supernatural being - this diminutive blue demon.
"Bamf!" The creature chirped in a voice that was somehow both playful and otherworldly, its gaze fixed intently upon your surprised face.
"What the..." You began, but another sudden arrow pierced through your body with a sickening thud, this time dangerously penetrating your abdomen from behind. The sharp metal tip tore through flesh and muscle, sending waves of excruciating pain throughout your entire body. You shouted again, your voice echoing through the air as you realized you had now been impaled three times by these vicious metal weapons.
"Nngh...fuck-" You cried out in anguish, your legs trembling before finally giving way as you dropped heavily to your knees, the overwhelming pain causing your vision to blur at the edges.
The blue 'bamf’s’ expression shifted to one of concern, a worried frown pulled at its lips as it repeatedly made the same distressed sound over and over. Its tiny, three-fingered hands reached out to touch your knee, its large eyes darting between examining the severity of your wounds and watching your face with growing anxiety.
The small imp's head suddenly whipped around to peek behind you, its eyes widening as it spotted the hostile townspeople who were now turning the corner and rushing around the building, their footsteps thundering against the ground as they approached you after seeing you were fallen.
"Bamf, bamf," it desperately attempted to move you to safety, its little hands urgently pulling and tugging at your wrist. "Bamf!" It cried out with increasing desperation.
You were far too wounded to move much more than a slight shift, the searing pain overwhelming every sense and thought. You could barely maintain your sitting position like this, your body swaying dangerously as your strength continued to fade. Your head felt increasingly woozy, the world starting to spin around you, and all you wanted was to give in to the growing urge to lay down and sleep.
Unfortunately for your screaming body, the persistent bamf refused to give up, yanking hard on your wrist with determined force. Your exhausted, heavy limbs nearly gave way beneath you, threatening to send you crashing to the ground. The thunderous footsteps and angry shouts of your pursuers grew increasingly louder in the distance, the sound sending fresh waves of panic through your mind as you knew, despite your body's protests, you had no choice but to keep moving.
The bamf chirped insistently and continued tugging until you managed to force yourself upright once more. Your entire body trembled uncontrollably as waves of adrenaline surged through your system once more, propelling your feet forward as you stumbled after your small guide through the winding streets. Blood flowed freely from your wounds, but the steadily falling rain proved to be a blessing, washing away the telltale crimson trail that would have led your hunters straight to you.
A violent cough wracked your body as you followed after the blurry bamf, and you could taste the distinct warm, metallic flavor of blood filling your mouth, feeling it mix with the cool rainwater as it trickled down your chin. The bamf's large eyes reflected as it looked up at you, desperately trying to encourage you to move faster despite your deteriorating condition.
With each twist and turn through the labyrinthine streets, your vision began to swim more severely, the world tilting and spinning as your strength continued to drain away with every passing moment, all the same as the water funneling down the grates in the sidewalk.
Just as your small companion led you to a towering set of imposing stone steps, your body finally surrendered to its injuries. You crumpled to the ground beside massive stained doors, their ancient oak surface adorned with intricate metalwork that formed elaborate divine patterns characteristic of classical European architecture.
You lose consciousness just as the little bamf is shaking you.
The first thing you noticed upon regaining consciousness was the blessed absence of the searing, unbearable pain that had previously consumed your every nerve ending.
Your clothes and skin were completely dry, where multiple arrow shafts had pierced your flesh there was now only phantom pain and bandaged skin, and instead of the cold hard ground, you found yourself resting on a proper bed. The transition between soaked agony and the dull, dry pain was somewhat disorienting.
With some effort, you managed to push yourself into a sitting position, but you immediately regret the sudden movement as your head spun in protest. A low, involuntary groan escaped your lips as you attempted to orient yourself in the unfamiliar space. Your hand held onto your head, gently and weakly rubbing in order to try to console yourself of the weird sensations you felt.
The little bamf sat at the foot of your bed, its head lifted to meet your gaze, large luminous eyes boring into you. It crawled closer to your side, reaching out with one small hand to gently touch the pristine bandages wrapped securely around your abdomen. Through the fog of your semi-delirious state, the realization slowly dawned that someone had tended to your wounds - and while the little creature before you seemed intelligent enough, you were certain it wasn't the one responsible.
"You'll have to forgive me, I am not an expert in sutures but...I tried my best." A voice spoke softly from your side, causing you to tense immediately and whip your head towards the source. The sudden presence startled you - the voice was distinctly masculine, deep and accented, and in your vulnerable state, your mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenarios.
"Ach, ach...do not fret, I mean you no harm. Though, I can understand your initial alarm at my appearance, ja? Most have such a reaction." The previously disembodied voice finally revealed its host as a man emerged slowly and carefully from the darker recesses of the room you found yourself in. His appearance matched the bamf precisely in every detail, from his rich blue skin to his luminous yellow eyes, even down to the pointed ears and sinuous tail that moved gently behind him.
You attempted to speak, your mind racing with countless questions - who was this mysterious figure, what medical attention had he provided, where had he brought you? But as all these urgent inquiries tried to tumble out at once, you found yourself overcome by a fit of coughing and hacking. Your throat felt like sandpaper, painfully dry with flakes of dried blood irritating the back of your throat and triggering even more violent coughs.
"Easy now, take it slowly, drink this...I have some warm broth prepared as well, if you prefer something warm with flavor." The blue-skinned man moved forward with carefully, holding out a cup of cool, clear water towards you with gentle insistence, encouraging you to take small sips.
You naturally didn't feel very secure in this unfamiliar environment, despite the gentle care being shown to your wounds. Throughout your life, kindness had been a rare commodity, and when it did appear, it was nothing more than a façade masking darker intentions. Your eyes darted nervously around the room as the man approached, his warm and welcoming smile doing little to ease your deep-seated suspicions as he extended the cup in his hands.
"Bamf!" The small creature perched faithfully by your side chirped enthusiastically, seemingly trying to convince you that it was safe to accept the offered drink. Though your inherent stubbornness and well-earned wariness fought against it, the burning desperation in your parched throat ultimately won out. With trembling hands, you reached for the cup, bringing it to your cracked lips and drinking deeply until not a single drop remained.
"There we go...much better I bet." The blue man's voice remained deliberately soft and measured to avoid startling you, like one might speak to a wounded animal. The townspeople spoke to you like you were an animal too, but his words and tone were completely different. "You were very wounded...running with three arrows out of you is quite the feat, Liebling." His eyes filled with concern as he gently indicated your abdomen, adding with quiet gravity, "A hair to the right and it would've pierced through your organs. You are very lucky."
You didn't feel lucky. In fact, the word seemed like a cruel joke given your circumstances.
The blue man sensed your unease in your defensive posture, and possible offense to his innocent words, his expression softening into a concerned frown. "I meant no ill meaning," he began carefully, his voice gentle and reassuring, "But I am truly glad you are alright...the residents here are quite...how should I say...closed minded when it comes to those who look different from themselves."
He glanced down at his own unusual appearance, shoulders slumping slightly as he let out a weary breath, "I have found sanctuary here, in the church, under the watchful eye of God. I place my complete faith in him, and he provides me protection through every hour of day and night while I remain within these sacred walls. The townspeople, in their fear and ignorance, don’t dare bring harm to this holy cathedral."
You listened to his words with divided attention, your mind primarily focused on the immediate concern of finding safety. As he continued his discourse, you recognized the familiar religious rhetoric - the same exhausting litany you had been forced to endure since your earliest memories. The cruel words echoed in your mind: you were condemned as a monster, declared an abomination against nature, labeled a demon deliberately sent to earth as divine punishment for your parents' transgressions against God's will.
"You are safe here, Liebling," he spoke softly, his gentle use of the endearment finally breaking through your defensive walls and capturing your full attention. "These doors shall remain open to you for as long as you require shelter."
You swallowed nervously, looking up at him from your vulnerable position on the bed as you shifted warily, your muscles tense and ready to flee at any sudden movement regardless if your wounded body protested. He tilted his head thoughtfully for a moment, studying your fearful expression, before he perked up with sudden realization, "Ach, where are my manners...you must be terribly confused and frightened. Waking up with a stranger after being chased by those who wish you harm. My name is Kurt, Kurt Wagner," he offered his three-fingered hand slowly and carefully towards you, maintaining a gentle, non-threatening posture.
You naturally recoiled from the offered hand, your body instinctively shrinking back as memories of past violence made you unsure if he would strike you or not. The blue man - Kurt - immediately recognized this defensive reaction, his golden eyes softening with understanding as he slowly pulled his hand back to give you more space. "Es tut mir Leid," he spoke softly in German, his voice carrying genuine sympathy, "I won't hurt you. I promise. You are safe here, as I said. No harm will come to you while you are here."
The aroma of the steaming broth wafted through the air, catching your attention and drawing your gaze behind him. Several of the small blue creatures had gathered there, their curious eyes fixed on the bowl as they too were enticed by the appetizing smell. Your stomach let out a prolonged growl that seemed to echo in the quiet room, betraying just how desperate and eager you were for sustenance.
Kurt's expression softened as he heard the sound, a sympathetic smile crossing his features. "You poor thing...you must be starving." He reached for the bowl and carefully brought it closer to where you sat. "Here, drink this. It's quite tasty, I promise you. Perhaps you'd like some fresh bread to go along with it?"
The broth smelled absolutely divine, its rich aroma making your mouth water instantly. The warmth rising from the bowl was a comfort to your aching belly and long-neglected taste buds, which seemed to come alive at the mere prospect of food.
At the mention of bread, you found yourself nodding softly - you did want bread, more than anything.
You began to sip the broth quietly, anticipation building as you waited for the promised bread. When he finally brought it to you, the combination proved to be the most heavenly thing you had ever tasted, each spoonful and bite more satisfying than the last.
Having survived on nothing but old, stale food for so long, the experience of eating something fresh and warm was like discovering an entirely new world of flavors.
"You like it, I presume?" Kurt inquired, his tail swaying back and forth with evident pleasure as he watched you eat with such enthusiasm. The small group of bamfs that had gathered grew bolder, clambering onto the bed with you and reaching their tiny hands toward the pieces of bread.
Kurt's expression shifted slightly as he addressed them, "Ah, ah...nein, this is for them to eat, not you. You get plenty enough already." His voice carried a gentle but firm authority as he spoke to the bamfs, his brow arching with paternal sternness. "They need to eat...they are weak and need their strength."
You finished the warm broth and crusty bread, finally setting the empty ceramic bowl down in front of you. The soothing liquid had worked wonders - your raw, scratchy throat felt significantly better, and the gnawing ache in your empty stomach had finally subsided. Kurt reached over to take the bowl and quietly set it to the side, his yellow eyes watching you with concern.
"You should rest for a while," he suggested softly, his German accent adding warmth to his words. "I promise, you'll be safe here. I can get these little rascals out of the room if they're bothering you -"
"No," you spoke up, your voice still quiet and unsteady but carrying enough strength to make yourself heard. You swallowed carefully before continuing, "No...it..." Taking a slow, deep breath to gather your scattered thoughts, you finally managed, "It's okay...I don't mind."
Your hand drifted down almost of its own accord to touch one of the small bamfs clustered near you, your fingers gently stroking from the crown of its head down along its spine, much like you would pet a beloved cat. The little creature responded immediately to your touch, arching its back in clear pleasure and preening before settling down snugly against your side, its tail curling contentedly.
Kurt watched this interaction with mild skepticism written across his features, but seeing how unusually calm and well-behaved the normally mischievous bamfs were being around you, he could see no real reason to make them leave.
"Alright then..." he conceded with a small smile, his posture relaxing slightly as he settled into the chair beside your bed. "Get some rest. I will be right here for anything you need."
It felt nice...not being alone.
Thanks for reading <3
*BAMF*
Dividers by @/adornedwithlight | Image from Pinterest
#kurt wagner#kurt wagner x reader#kurt wagner x you#nightcrawler#nightcrawler x reader#nightcrawler x you#xmen nightcrawler#xmen nightcrawler x reader#xmen nightcrawler x you#x men nightcrawler#x men#xmen#x men 97#🎠my works
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Sorry I have baby fever again and I'm projecting on my blorbos. This could've also evolved into mpreg but like I'm leaving it open
So the first time they break up, it's not as explosive as people assume — it is Bradley that does the breaking up.
They were going strong and Bradley didn't have any doubts that Jake was the right person for him — sure, maybe he doubted if he was the right person for Jake, but he tried not to give in to the insecurities.
That's all changed when he found out Jake didn't want to get married and have children.
Bradley didn't necessarily think marriage was something needed for love (he had plenty of examples growing up...) but it was something he personally wanted to have once the option showed up on the horizon and the first few states allowed for it. It wasn't really an option that he could consider with the Navy still looming over their heads and he and Jake started the whole relationship without big emotions attached and slowly turned it into what it became — so they never talked about their plans for life beyond the Navy.
Bradley always wanted to get married and have children, even when it didn't seem entirely possible. He had seen a couple of weddings when he was younger and he longed to have what some of the adults in his life had as a child. He was an only child, not by choice, and often felt lonely and by the time Slider and Sarah (and other couples in his parents life) had a child of their own, he was too old to play with them — but he was also old enough that the babies fascinated him, that he could hold them and feed them and make them smile or stop crying. And he liked it, a lot, maybe even much more than anyone would suspect for someone his age.
But it was meeting Jake's family that cemented it — Jake was the youngest of six and already an uncle to eight kids when Bradley met his parents and siblings for the first time. Bradley spent the whole weekend hiding away at the kids' table and holding infants and carrying around toddlers and managing little tantrums and speaking in a softer voice and cuddling sleepy pre-schoolers at the door.
He wanted this kind of life more than anything.
But Jake didn't. And Bradley found out by accident — their group was just sitting around and celebrating one of the guys getting engaged and sure enough when Jake got asked if he thinks about settling down with someone, Jake went, Hell no. Explained he didn't want to be chained down forever by anyone, that marriage is just a piece of paper and he doesn't really want a piece of paper to be the thing holding him together with someone.
And you know, on the off chance that this is something he said in front of everyone — it's not like he could have looked at Bradley across the table and say, If only I could — Bradley asks tentatively at home, you know, whether he really didn't want to get married if he had the option.
Maybe for a tax rebate, if it was big enough.
Half of a dream life falling, Bradley asks about children. And Jake gives him a whole monologue about how he had a newborn around himself since he was fourteen and he has enough diapers and cries for the rest of his life, thank you, children are not as fun when you can't give them back to their parents when trouble starts.
And Bradley makes a decision.
Bradley doesn't really say anything — it'd sound ridiculous, to say that he loves Jake more than anything else but they're just not compatible. Jake never really connects the dots and doesn't really understand what went wrong — one day he and Bradley were solid, the next one Bradley was breaking up with him — hence the bitterness.
Bradley dates people who have the same goals - marriage, kids, a family life — but he never really finds someone he feels even half as much as he felt about Jake.
When after the mission, they get back together, Bradley accepts that marriage and children are something he'll never have with Jake.
And so the Bradley Bradshaw Babysitting service starts — if Bradley can't be a parent, he'd fill the void by being the best uncle ever to every single child he knows. Javy's toddler, Slider's grandchildren, Omaha's sons, Halo's daughter, their neighbor's kids. It's usually easily excusable — Bradley volunteers to babysit, usually when Jake is busy, and if Jake questions it, he can always say, well, they needed someone and I didn't know how to say no and Bradley can just keep these two parts of his life separated.
It all culminates when they're at a BBQ with the whole group and Fritz's two-month-old daughter keeps falling asleep in Bradley's arms — she wakes up and starts crying whenever Bradley tries to put her down back in the stroller and Fritz's wife (a very tired new mom) says Bradley needs to move in with them so they can keep him forever.
So Bradley spends the whole evening walking around with a two-month-old baby in his arms, eating with one hand or letting Jake pop little macarons into his mouth, never letting go, repeating he doesn't mind it at all.
And Jake is watching him feed the baby with a bottle and Nat comes around and raises her eyebrows at him. "Thinking about having your own?"
"Kids only look nice in the pictures, not so fun if you don't have anyone to give them back at the end of the day. We like our peace and quiet." When Nat doesn't answer him and just stares at him, he adds, "What?"
Slowly, she says, "Bradley's wanted to have kids as long as I've known him."
"I think I know him a bit better than you."
She gives him an incredelous look and waves in Bradley's general direction, still with the infant in his arms, speaking softy with Fritz's wife. "Does he look to you like someone who doesn't want children?"
And then she just, walks away. And yeah, maybe when Jake looks at Bradley with the baby (and the countless other children from their friend group that love him), that makes sense. Bradley is really good with kids but that doesn't mean he wants to have kids — Jake is good with kids as well (hard not to be, given how many babies there are in his family) but that doesn't mean he wants kids.
And Jake always assumed that given the circumstances, Bradley didn't want kids — they were both two men in the Navy with little to no family around, kids weren't exactly available to them, the most logical thing would be to, well, not want them.
But the times are different, the last ten years have changed a lot, a lot is possible.
Jake's never thought to ask — why would he when it all seemed settled for him? Bradley had never mentioned anything when they were together the first time. He's never mentioned anything this time around either, despite babysitting half the neighborhood. Jake's known him the longest out of all the people in their friend group, knows him better than anyone.
So, when the opportunity arises, he asks Mav, "Has Bradley ever said anything about wanting children?"
He gives him the same look as Nat gave him at the BBQ. "Why, are you guys...?"
"No, god, no. I'm just curious, is all."
"Well, he's always wanted kids."
He tries not to be surprised. "Always?"
"Even when he was a kid, he played with baby dolls as much as with plane and car toys," Mav says, smiling, and Jake can imagine it — "And as a teenager, he was so good with kids, always said that when he gets married and has his own, he..."
Jake's never really thought Bradley'd think of this as a when, not an if.
"We knew, when he was younger, that he wasn't exactly straight but," Mav explains. "When he stopped talking to us, one of my biggest fears was that the years would go on and when we finally meet again, he'd already have children that never even knew Bradley had us, for a family. Now I kind of wish it happened."
Jake's not oblivious to the years he and Bradley were broken up — he knows Bradley dated, even if nothing serious came out of it. Would he be as happy as he was to get back together with him if Bradley had a child with someone else, if he had been married?
Jake doesn't try to be subtle when he brings it up. "I think we should—discuss having children."
"There's nothing to discuss," Bradley replies instantly and he's avoiding looking at Jake, curt.
"Bradley—"
"Jake," he says. "You don't want to get married, you don't want children. I'm happy as we are. End of story."
"But you do want all that," Jake notes.
"I made peace with—this, okay, it's not—" It's obvious that Bradley is trying not to lie to him, choosing his words carefully. "You don't want to get married, you don't want children — there's no compromise to this, there's nothing we can do."
"We could get married and have children?"
"It's—admirable, that you want to make me happy, but I'm happy already."
"You don't look happy," Jake says because it all just seems so clear - the way Bradley doesn't want to have this conversation, the way he's closed up this part of life away from Jake.
"My point is, I'm not subjecting myself to a husband that didn't want to marry me in the first place and I'm not subjecting any child to a parent that didn't want them out of their own will. Both those things—you just can't force."
"What if we weren't forcing it?"
Finally, Bradley looks him in the eyes and asks, "Do you want to marry me?"
"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, it doesn't really matter to me how we do it."
"Do you want children, Jake?"
"I don't know anymore."
"Those answers don't change anything then."
And Jake doesn't know why, fully, but it bothers him because for him everything suddenly changed.
#this has been in my notes app for some tine#og was mpreg ending bit but honestly adoption/surrogacy would suit as well#hangster#q
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Good boy
A sfw puppy logan fic
Pt 1
Pt 2
Pt 3 (1/2)
Pt 3 (2/2)
Pt 4
Art by me
Tw: mentions of abandonment issues, child abuse, blood, murder, guilt, voices, cursing, and overall truama.
Looking to the side, Wade sees Logan pushing his face against the window. His tongue is out and he's panting excitedly. Jumping in the back, he grabs his toy only to jump back up to the front.
Sympathetically, Wade rolled down the window just an inch or two, watching as Logan shoves his nose to it. His hands pull on the glass happily sniffing the air.
Wade's ambivalent small grin shifts to a frown, his brows furrowing as he looks back to the road, tightening his grip on the wheel.
This was it.
He was letting Logan go.
Letting him choose.
He wasn't made for apartment life. He wasn't like puppins who could live happily in a small area. He needed space. He needed a pack. He needed the woods.
A tear falls as he thinks about it.
The possibility of Logan never coming back.
It's something he's been thinking about for a few weeks. Ever since that day, when he first howled in front of him. Something didn't feel right about not giving him this choice.
Sure, he's taken Logan to the woods before, but always on a long line or a tracker on his collar. This time he wouldn't have his collar. He'd be free. Free to choose.
Was it selfish of Wade to hope he chose him?
Even if he knew city life wasn't for him, he wanted Logan to stay. To choose him.
Just this morning he decided better now than never. The longer he was here, the worse off he would probably feel knowing that all this time Logan would have chosen to go. Logan loved him. He knew this. It's why he didn't just go with his free will. He wanted.. No.. Needed.. Wade to let him go.
Logan had his blue collar on, his tags jingling as he laid in his large bed, happily gnawing on a femur that Wade had brought him home from work. There he was, content. Trying to dull his teeth on the bone, nipping what little tendon and cartilage was left between the patella and ball of the thigh bone.
Next to him, was the Deadpool plush that Wade had made him to help with his separation anxiety. Made from old suits and cotton stuffing.
He remembered when he wrapped it tight in a box for Christmas, letting Logan rip the cardboard and colored paper to shreds.
How his eyes brightened with stars, how he carried it between his teeth with such pride and joy, showing his gift to Mary multiple times, growling at her if she tried to touch it, though kept gesturing to her to observe.
He would come round, showing Wade several times too, wiggling with excitement.
Each time Wade would praise him, act shocked as if he himself didn't make the toy.
Wade gasps, smiling widely and petting him, not daring to touch the toy, leaning down to kiss his head. “What a pretty boy! Oh? Yes? I see you have a little me too, and you haven't even ripped his head off yet! What a good boy, Logan!”
Here, now, in the van, miles away from their home in New York.
Logan drops the toy into his lap, whimpering.
Wade swallows, sniffling as he licks the tear off his cheek.
“.. good boy, Logan..” he whispers, picking up the toy and putting it back in his mouth, watching in the corner of his eye as he shakes the toy, excited with aggression stimming from adoration of the toy. A small smile of pity appears as they stop at a red light.
It makes Wade think about the other day, when there were fireworks, sirens, a fire truck blasting from the.. well.. the fire the explosives made.
Logan had been so stressed out that he bit Wade. His hair was raised on the back of his neck, Face in the glass of the front window, growling and staring, stiff and still. He snarled at those that passed, only to yelp at the loud boom of fireworks from the top of their apartment building.
Wade came in after trying to get them to stop the fireworks, saying that they disturbed veterans like himself, having ended up threatening one of them, and shoving them off the building.
“Wolvie! I did it! They won't light any more fireworks, honey!” He says to him, coming to the bedroom in an attempt to comfort him.
“Pup? Did you hear me? No more booms oka- OW!”
Logan snapped, sinking his teeth into the warm flesh, the hot blood dripping down his chin and onto the carpet as Wade jerks the hand away.
He remembered the way he looked at him, lowering his head into a cower, Looking at him with such wide and apologetic eyes. The cosmos wish they were this deep. They dreamed to sparkle and be as wide as his pupils were. He wondered if Saturn was jealous of the thin white ring around the edge.
“Oh.. Logan. It's okay. You're still a good boy. My good boy.” He had told him, letting the man lick his blood clean from his hand, Simply saying sorry and trying to fix his mistakes..
Logan was always like that.. always fixing his mistakes. Well.. maybe this was a mistake. All of it. Maybe he should have never brought this Logan to live in the Big Apple. It was just cruel.
Cruel to expect so much from him. Cruel to force him to hide the animal within.
“Even cruel-er to force him to learn about taxes and unspoken social rules..” He mumbles to himself.
Next to him up front, Logan is sitting here, unknowingly about the destination deadline. He is just happy to be here, humble and holding the deadpool stuffy in his jaws with a big smile.
“.. you really love that guy.. don'tcha, wolvie?” Wade asks, somber and wistfully.
Logan's head tilts, staring at him with concern and worry.
“Nevermind.. don't worry babe, It's just conversation… I know you'd never replace me.” He mumbles, keeping his eyes on the road as he drives. Another tear comes but Logan is too busy sniffing out the window to lick them away, making Wade have to wipe it himself.
I guess he would have to get used to this.. not having Logan around to kiss or cuddle his hurt away..
Swallowing, Wade looks at the button that opened the side door, hesitantly taking a deep breath before clicking it.
When they pull up, before Wade can even come to a stop, Logan is already scratching at the window, whining and jumping in the back, practically vibrating with excitement.
“..I Love You, Logan.” He admits, Sickly sweet.
Before the door is even fully opened, Logan bolts, taking off into the woods without even looking back to say goodbye.
No double take. No second glance.
He's gone.
Wade can hear his hands pad at the crisp and compacting snow, frozen leaves underneath. He hears him grunt and huff as he runs off, like escaping reality in the literal sense. By the time Logan is not visible, He had shut the van off, coming to sit inside the open door.
Letting out a big sigh, Tears were not such a good thing to keep stuck to his cheeks this long, especially not in the cold but… But Wade didn't care. He left them, giving a smile when a group of birds flew off the moment they saw Logan running through the thick untapped maples And conifers.
“Bye, Bub..”
Wade had seen the quiet calculations the moment they came to a stop, How he perfectly jumped out, exercising his internal instincts. The one that was in a cage for far too long.
They say the silence makes a sound mind, but not his, no. If anything it just soaked the front of his jacket more from the frustrations of being alone with himself.
It's good land, or at least it was. Before people started building their AirBnb Cabins and disturbing all the quiet. It takes a strong hand to live out here. The kind in which Logan's calluses formed like the rough paw pads of the wolves that frequented the area.
The only good thing about this freezing forest was the quiet that came to Wade. Though with quiet came thoughts, and thinking in silence wasn't his strong suit.
That was the day Wade decided that he would never be like him. He wouldn't keep people who were better off somewhere else. He wouldn't lock those who loved him in a room to starve. He wouldn't ever hit those who he loved, he wouldn't come home angry and scream at anyone he could find. He wouldn't call them useless or pathetic.
Wade has been alone with himself since he could remember. The agonizing voices constantly critiquing his every thought and action, never being good enough, reinforced by his father. Honestly the Doc just said it nicely.
Your fucked, just like your dad.
But Wade wasn't his father.
He wouldn't force those who needed to run out their energy to stay inside a tiny trailer. He wouldn't cheat on his partner (ever), he wouldn't abandon them to go out gambling, he wouldn't hit his kids for saying how they felt, he wouldn't ever make them afraid of a belt. He wouldn't-
Thick tears wet his gloves as he blinks, not knowing how long he had been staring at the ground.
He wouldn't treat others how his head treated him... how his father treated them.
Taking a deep breath, Wade swallows, his throat tight with anger and regret.
They were overdue for this. Honest. Except this wasn't just blowing off steam or playing. This was the real deal. Logan was going to be free. He's spent so long just getting by. Skipping parties and hopping from town to town hoping that maybe, the farther he got away from himself, the more he'd be able to sleep at night without remembering what those hands have done, hoping to curl up in a dumpster and die.
It's where Logan thought he belonged. That he deserved all the bottles people threw at him, all the curses they screamed at him until he left town. But Wade didn't think that. He thought Logan deserved the world. To be happy. He deserved to be free of the expectations of society and their backwards thinking of Ferals.
Logan has said that before Wade, He was just traveling from place to place, crossing his claws that someone like him would find him and not only love him but accept him.
He told him, That Logan died within that timeline. When he destroyed his world for Wade's, a piece of him died, a piece that has spent his entire life doing everything just to survive, but never to live. Wade has taught him how to live. It's something he never thought about when he lived in his universe, but that's the thing about survival. Who the hell likes living just to die?
That was the plan, anyway. Why would He care? No one would miss him. Though it was Satan's own funny joke to make him unkillable, no matter how many bottles he drank.
Wade takes a deep breath, not noticing the time that has passed. His fingers were numb, his face was frozen, His breath was smoke.
Sniffling, Wade sighs, standing up. He looks back, only to see that Logan had left the Deadpool plush, the one Wade made for him and must have stitched over 20 times already from how rough Logan liked to play with it. Taking it into his jaws and shaking his head happily.
Just this morning, he saw how excited he was to get in the car.
“Peanut! Let's go!”
Logan, of course, came when called, Wiggling so ecstatic that his squirming made it almost impossible to put on his harness.
Giggling, Wade put a hand on his chest, right above his heart, to soothe the beast within him. The one that wanted to run for miles and couldn't wait to go outside.
Packing up the car, Wade loads it up with blankets, snacks, fake passports, extra money for gas, chargers, toilet paper, etc. Things they would need for their road trip.
Once ready, He opens the door, smiling. “Alright baby! Come on. Let's go! Outside?”
Logan runs out the door, only to skirt to a stop as if forgetting something, whimpering. Scratching at the door, he looked back up to Wade, giving him the biggest puppy eyes.
“What's wrong, Wolvie? Okay- okay. Hold on.”
Getting his keys, Wade jiggled them into the door, clicking it open. “What did ya forget, boy?”
Rushing into the apartment, he just as quickly comes back with the deadpool plush in his mouth. He was so eager to get it, to keep it with him at all times, careful not to forget it at any of their pit stops.
And now here it was.. in the back of a van.. a hole in its side.. stuffing falling out. Left alone.
Abandoned.
Though.. Wade smiles, sniffling as he cleans up the car, picking up the pieces of heart he put into sewing the plush toy. At least Logan loved him while he was here.. that's what mattered right? It would be nice to know that now, when things got hard, and Wade missed him more than anything, Logan would be far from here.
He'd be wherever he needed to be. Free to run. Free to hunt. Free to scratch and climb as much as he pleased. And Wade knew, he'd go far. As far as he needed to feel free from the chains of expectations.
Perhaps he'd find some Wolves to run with. Find a new pack.. find a new mate.. forget Wade entirely.
#puppy logan#pup logan#caregiver wade wilson#deadpool and wolverine#poolverine#logan howlett#wade wilson#deadpool#wolverine#deadpool 3#deadclaws#pet regression#petre#sfw petre#pet space
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Trevor: Arcana was the result of a one night stand. The mother's a human woman so Trevor had to pretty much confess he's a werewolf which obviously scared the living fuck out of her and she wasn't sure if she'd keep the baby or not. She wanted to learn all about werewolves before making her decision so with time and patience Trevor, Angelus and other werewolves explained to her everything about them. At no moment was she pressured, she heard them out about what it was like being a werewolf and what that would mean for her as the mother and in the end she ended up keeping the baby.
As a dad Trevor is excellent, he's always checking in on the mother, Seren, and whatever Arcana needs he'll get it no matter what. He also spends as much time with Arcana as he can when it's his turn. He and Seren have joint custody. Both of them are aromantic and obviously live apart, but like I said Trevor likes to check in on her and make sure she's okay or doesn't need anything.
Did Trevor ever want a kid? No fucking clue. But now that she's here he's beyond ecstatic about it, he'll do everything and beyond to make sure that kid is happy, healthy and living her best life.
That's how we got Arcana Solara Ravencroft-Hollingsworth. ((I wanted a very goth sounding name for this kid.))
Jelani and Angelus: Not only was this completely out of the blue but it was also a surprise 'cause while it was always known that Angelus could get pregnant it was mostly on the lower percentages. So after one of those "if you use a condom or pull out I'll kill you" nights he ended up pregnant.
He was kind of suspicious, his period is always really irregular, sometimes he goes months without seeing it but there's a sort of pattern to the irregularity of it. Bunch of home tests later and most came back positive, then some blood work later told him for sure he was and then the freaking out started. So he finally told Jelani and both were taken aback. Jelani asked him what he wanted to do and Angelus is the worst when it comes to making decisions so he kept asking him what he should do. Jelani told him that no one could make that choice for him but no matter what he chose he was gonna be 100% there for him and would support whatever decision he made.
He sat on it for 3 weeks and then decided to keep it. Both of 'em kept it to themselves but one look at him and Sanaa just knew but she promised not to say anything until they were ready to tell others. Then it became them when they found out he was actually carrying twins. Then they told Loke. Eventually when Angelus couldn't really hide it anymore, let's face it that didn't take long that little shit is really skinny so it was noticeable pretty quick, they told everyone else.
((This hasn't happened yet. Mostly because I'm not ready yet.))
And that's how we got Ayanna Freyja and Runar Anatoly Haakonsen. ((mix of Norwegian, Russian and Kenyan.))
which oc became a parent unexpectedly?
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SALESWOMAN
★・・・★・・・★・・・★
PLOT: there was once a saleswoman. she had to go.
WORD COUNT: 3K
WARNINGS: a gun.
Wake up, suit, and briefcase. That’s what it was like everyday. The fake smile I had to put on for the money hungry scumbags of the city. They smelt disgusting. I was a “saleswoman.” Doesn’t sound right, huh? But it felt great slapping those idiots.
The things they would do for money. Even throwing away their dignity for some quick cash. I’ve been doing this for 5 almost 6 years. I guess you could say I was a pro at it.
Everyday, I have to walk to that musty, loud train station to go spit in homeless people’s faces. Not literally. I’ve thought about it though. Anyways, this routine had it out for me. I hate the way they smile when they win a child’s game. Wack ass hoes.
Today, I felt like it would be different. Someone would actually beat me every round.
“Would you like to play a game with me? You seem to be unfortunate. Having a bad day?”
I asked this man. He seemed do be in his 30s.
The man looked at me, his tired eyes reflecting the weight of a thousand lifetimes of bad decisions. I could see it in his posture too—like he was carrying something heavy, invisible to most people but not to me.
I could smell it too—doubt, defeat, and desperation, a pungent mix that hung around him like a thick fog. But I had my job to do. I had to keep up the act.
"Bad day?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. I forced a smile. "Don't worry, we all have them." I reached out and lightly touched his shoulder, an almost motherly gesture, though there was no warmth in it.
Just pity.
He looked at me, frowning, but nodded slightly. "Yeah. I guess."
"Well, maybe I can help," I said, still in that soft, reassuring tone. "How about a game? It’s a simple one, and maybe it’ll help take your mind off things."
I reached into my bag and pulled out a folded square of paper and a small stone. Ddakji. The game was as old as time in this city, and I was its undisputed champion. I flicked the paper into the air, a perfect fold each time. It was an art I’d mastered, just like everything else in my life.
His eyes were wary, but curiosity won out. "Sure," he said, shrugging. "Why not?"
We sat down, the noise of the train station buzzing around us. I flipped my piece with practiced precision. It landed perfectly. "You go first," I said, handing him the other piece. He hesitated, but I could see he was too tired to turn down the distraction.
We played. The first round, I let him win. It was a small gesture, just enough to make him feel like he had a shot. But that’s the thing with people like him: they never see it coming. By the third round, I could see the little glint of hope in his eyes. The first crack in his armor. He smiled a bit. I hated that smile. It felt like a victory he didn’t deserve.
By the fifth round, I was starting to feel a little... annoyed. I had let him win a couple to boost his morale, but he had beaten me every single time since. Each loss felt like a little slice of my own dignity being chipped away.
"What the hell?" I muttered, flicking my piece to the side. "How are you so damn good at this?"
He didn’t say anything at first. He just smiled a small, almost embarrassed smile. "I guess I’ve got nothing but time," he said quietly, looking down at his hands, and for a second I could see it—this man was living the kind of life I had avoided. He had no choice but to become good at this. No other option.
I clenched my jaw, staring at the game pieces in front of me. "Alright, fine," I said, standing up suddenly. "Maybe you’re good at this game, but you wouldn’t last in a real challenge."
He looked up at me, confused. "What do you mean?"
I felt that familiar sharp edge in my voice. The one I reserved for moments like this—when the act wasn’t enough. When I had to push, to provoke.
"How about we make this interesting? Ever heard of Russian Roulette?" I asked, my smile just barely hiding the venom in it.
He frowned, clearly not understanding. "Russian Roulette?"
I nodded, pulling out a small black card from my coat pocket. "Yeah. One bullet. One chance. You pick a card, and you might walk away alive, or not. Your choice."
He looked at the card, then back at me. Something shifted in his eyes, but he didn’t flinch. "That’s… that’s insane," he muttered. But there was a flicker of curiosity there, like he wanted to know. Maybe he wanted to test himself.
I slid the card across the table, my smile unwavering. "You don’t get to decide how life treats you," I said softly, almost pityingly. "But you do get to decide how you respond to it."
For a moment, I thought he might just walk away, but then he picked up the card. He glanced at it and looked up at me, still unsure, but determined.
"I’ll take my chances," he said, his voice steady now. There was no fear, just a grim acceptance.
I nodded, satisfied. "Good. Hold onto that card. If you want to know what happens next, just follow the instructions."
With that, I stood up, adjusted my jacket, and gave him one last glance. My fake smile returned, the one I had perfected over the years. The same one I wore every damn day.
"Take care," I said, my voice as smooth as ever, and I turned, making my way out of the train station.
The noise, the crowd, the rush of the city—it all swallowed me up, just another face in the crowd. But as I left, I couldn’t help but wonder: would he follow through? Would he even make it out alive?
I didn’t care. Not really.
I just liked the idea of someone being desperate enough to play the game.
-
Two weeks had passed since that encounter at the train station. The man had done exactly what I thought he would: he followed the instructions on the card. Curiosity, desperation, or maybe something darker—he didn’t waste any time. I received a call that night, a hoarse voice on the other end asking to meet.
I knew he would call. They always do, eventually.
I agreed, of course, the same smile plastered on my face as I hung up the phone. This was how it always went, a dance of twisted fate. They never learn. They always think they can win.
We met in an old, abandoned hotel at the edge of the city. The building was crumbling, its walls sagging, but it served its purpose.
The atmosphere was perfect for what was about to unfold. I had set up a small, isolated room, dimly lit by a single bulb swinging from the ceiling. Dust hung in the air, thick and oppressive. The only sounds were the creaks of the dilapidated floorboards beneath our feet.
When he entered the room, he was almost unrecognizable. There was a strange stillness to him now, a kind of hollow resolve. His eyes, though—those tired eyes that had once reflected defeat—now had a fire behind them. But there was something else, too. Something fragile.
"You came," I said, my voice as smooth and controlled as always, though the darkness behind my words was now more palpable, more dangerous. I didn’t need to ask him why he was there. I already knew.
"Yeah," he said, his voice steady, but with an edge. "You said you had a game for me."
I nodded and motioned for him to sit at the small table where I had already prepared the setup. "The rules haven’t changed. You pick a card. There’s one bullet, one chance. If you make it through, you win. If not… well, you lose. It's as simple as that."
I didn’t smile this time. My face was hard, colder than it had ever been, and my eyes were sharp. The air in the room seemed to tighten around us, thick with the weight of what was about to happen.
He sat across from me, his eyes locked onto the cards on the table, the same worn, beaten deck that had made so many people like him test their limits.
"Now," I said, my tone shifting, becoming sharper, "You remember the stakes. This time… it’s real. And no one walks away without paying the price."
He nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the cards. I watched him closely. He was playing the game, but I could see the hopelessness still clinging to him. It was in the way his jaw clenched, the way his gaze darted to the door, wondering if there was any chance of escape.
But he wasn’t escaping. Not this time. Not with me.
As he selected his card, I felt the excitement stirring inside me, that thrill of control. I kept my face carefully neutral, though my pulse quickened. There was nothing like watching someone teeter on the edge of their own mortality, all for a game. I wasn’t about to let him off easy, though.
I leaned forward, letting the silence stretch. Then, my voice, cold and calculating, broke it.
"Why do you want to die?" I asked, staring him down, my eyes narrowing. My smile was gone, replaced by something more sinister. "What’s so bad about living that you’re willing to risk everything on a stupid game?"
He paused, his fingers still clutching the card. He looked up at me, his eyes dead, hollow in the way that only someone who had seen too much could manage.
"I don’t want to die," he said, his voice low, filled with a bitterness I hadn’t expected. "I want to beat you."
My eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "Beat me?"
"Yeah," he continued, his words sharp. "Your smile. It disgusts me."
I blinked, taken aback for a second. It was the last thing I had expected to hear. Most people either begged for mercy, or acted like they wanted to escape, but this man—this man wanted to beat me. Wanted to strip away that part of me, that fake smile I wore so well.
It was almost laughable. Almost.
I let out a small, cruel chuckle. "I see," I said, my tone cold and venomous. "You want to destroy what I’ve worked so hard to create. How cute."
I watched as he drew the card and placed it face down on the table. His hands were steady now. He was no longer shaking with fear. There was a different kind of determination in his eyes. I could see it—he wanted to win. But he wouldn’t.
I picked up my own card, feeling the familiar weight in my fingers. The bullet was in place. I knew the rules. I had played this game countless times, and this time, it would be no different.
The first round passed. We both pulled the trigger. Click. Empty. He didn’t flinch. Neither did I. The tension in the air thickened, like a storm was brewing.
The second round. Again, no bullet.
The third. The fourth. The fifth. We kept playing, each time the tension building, the clicks echoing in the silence.
And then, it was my turn.
I smiled—a real smile, twisted, sharp, full of malice. There was a part of me that was enjoying this far too much. There was something deeply satisfying in watching him squirm, knowing he couldn’t stop it. That he would fail, just like all the others before him.
I placed my card on the table, my hand steady. I stared at him, daring him to look away.
He didn’t.
I held his gaze as I lifted the gun, clicking it against the side of my head, the barrel cold and metallic. There was no fear in my eyes, only a cold thrill, a feeling of power that pulsed through me.
"You know," I said, almost tenderly, "It’s always the ones who think they have control who end up losing it all. You should have known that from the start."
I squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
I let out a small laugh, more out of exhilaration than anything else. "See? I’m still here. Just like I always will be."
His expression hadn’t changed. He was staring at me, eyes emotionless. His hand was still on the card, waiting. His pulse was steady. It was as if nothing in the world could move him now. He had been so focused on defeating me, but in the end, it was clear—he had already lost.
I looked at him one last time before standing up, smoothing my coat. "It’s over now. You know the truth. This game… it never really had a winner."
I walked to the door, the faintest smile returning to my lips as I opened it.
As I left the room, I didn’t look back. But I could feel his presence, still there, waiting in that dark, dusty room, trapped by his own disgust and desperation.
Bang.
Some people never learn.
if the roles were reversed…
Round after round. We both went through the motions like we’d done a thousand times before. But the more we played, the more I felt the walls closing in.
My confidence, my carefully constructed demeanor, was starting to crumble. Something was slipping through my fingers, and I couldn’t figure out what it was.
I didn’t expect it to happen this way. I didn’t expect him to be the one to win.
The fifth round came. He pulled the card and placed it on the table. This time, the gun was in his hand. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, calculating, cold. No emotion, just a kind of quiet certainty. He had stopped trying to win.
Now, he just wanted to watch me lose.
He lifted the gun, and for the first time, I couldn’t look him in the eye. My breath caught in my throat, and a cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck.
"I told you I didn’t want to die," he said softly, his voice calm but sharp with conviction. "I just wanted to beat you. Because your smile… it disgusts me."
I wanted to speak, to shout, to remind him that I was the one who controlled the game. But I couldn’t. The words were stuck in my throat. I didn’t even see him pull the trigger.
The shot rang out.
Pain exploded in my chest, and for the first time in years, I felt something real—a rush of panic, a heat flooding through me. I collapsed to the ground, my vision blurring as I gasped for air.
He stood over me, his face still unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now. A kind of satisfaction. But it wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t a celebration. It was... quiet.
"I said I wanted to beat you," he repeated, stepping back as I struggled to breathe. The blood was hot on my skin, spreading across my shirt, staining everything. "And I did. Your smile isn’t so damn important anymore."
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even move. My body was heavy, the weight of defeat sinking into me, thick and suffocating.
And then everything went black.
-
A year passed.
The city hadn’t changed. The skyline still towered over the streets, the same cold, metallic heart that kept the gears turning. The people were still just as greedy, just as hungry for whatever scraps they could get. And somewhere in the midst of all that noise, he had risen.
He wasn’t the man I had once met, the defeated soul who’d been desperate enough to take a chance with a game of Russian Roulette. No, now he was a shadow of the woman I had been. He had taken over my place, the reins of the game. He was the salesman now.
He moved through the streets like a phantom, dressed in the same cold, efficient attire I had worn, his briefcase clicking sharply against the pavement. His smile—the same twisted, controlled smile—was already perfected, a mask he wore so effortlessly that nobody could tell it was fake. But underneath it, there was something else—something darker.
He had learned all the rules. He understood the game better than I ever did, and in the end, he had done exactly what I couldn’t: he had beaten me at my own game. And now, he was taking my place.
A year later, when he walked into a new train station—his first stop as the new salesman—he caught the eyes of every passerby with that same twisted grin. His hands were steady as he approached a stranger, someone who would be his next victim.
"Would you like to play a game?" he asked, his voice smooth, his smile sharp. "You seem unfortunate. Having a bad day?"
And in the back of his mind, there was a quiet satisfaction. Because he wasn’t just offering a game anymore. He was offering the same thing he had taken from me—a chance, a risk, a taste of something more.
But he knew the truth.
The game never had a winner. Not really.
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Burrow Bound// B.W x Reader Chapter 9
Authors note at end.
originally requested by @littlegreenteacup
summary: Y/N, an American half-blood witch newly arrived in Muggle London, stumbles into the warmth of the Weasley brothers after a serendipitous meeting in Diagon Alley. Drawn into their world, she finds herself at the Burrow more often than not. Meanwhile, Bill Weasley is learning to navigate life as a single father, relying on his mother’s help to care for Victoire. Though their worlds orbit each other, Y/N and Bill’s paths never seem to align—until one evening when fate finally draws them together. Will it be the start of a love story, or will they be left with nothing but heartache?
Next Chapter
Last Chapter
word count: 2.2k
The late afternoon sun cast warm, golden light over the yard as Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass, surrounded by Victoire and her assortment of new birthday gifts. The little girl was gleefully sorting her dragon figurines into their new treasure chest, her curls bouncing as she moved from one pile to another.
“Look, Y/N!” Victoire said, holding up a sparkling purple dragon. “This one’s guarding the treasure because it’s the bravest!”
Y/N grinned, leaning closer. “A very wise choice. Every treasure hoard needs a brave protector.”
Victoire beamed and carefully placed the dragon at the center of her makeshift scene. Y/N glanced over her shoulder to see Bill and George in the distance, gathering discarded plates and cups from the party. George was talking animatedly, while Bill appeared to be listening with an expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
“Alright, darling,” Y/N said, brushing some grass from her jeans. “You keep sorting your treasures. I’m going to grab some water. Be right back, okay?”
Victoire nodded seriously, fully engrossed in her task.
Y/N headed toward the house, passing George, who gave her a sly grin as she went by. She caught the tail end of his comment to Bill
“I’m just saying, mate, she’s brilliant.”
Bill groaned audibly, his shoulders tensing. “Not you too, George. What is it with everyone today?”
George raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “What’s what?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” Bill replied, tossing a crumpled napkin into a trash bag with more force than necessary. “Charlie, Mum, Ginny, and now you. It’s like the whole family’s conspiring against me.”
George held up his hands, mock-surprised. “Conspiring? Against you? That’s a bit dramatic, even for you, big brother.”
Bill stopped and turned to face him, arms crossed. “You’ve all been dropping hints about Y/N since she showed up. It’s not subtle.”
“Hints?” George said, smirking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just making observations.”
“Observations,” Bill repeated flatly, narrowing his eyes. “About how great she is? How wonderful she is with Victoire? How I should, what, sweep her off her feet?”
George laughed, leaning on the table he’d just cleared. “Well, I wasn’t going to say it, but now that you mention it…”
“George.” Bill’s voice carried a warning, but there was no real heat behind it.
George straightened up, his expression softening.
“Look, no one’s trying to meddle, okay maybe Mum is, but the rest of us? We just really like her. She’s... different.”
Bill frowned, picking up a few discarded cups and stacking them absently. “Different how?”
“Different like... she fits,” George said simply. “She’s been around for a few months now, and it feels like she’s always been part of things. She’s kind, funny, doesn’t take herself too seriously. And let’s not forget how she handled the Canary Cream incident. That’s rare.”
Bill let out a short laugh despite himself, shaking his head. “So, what, you think I should, what did Charlie say, ‘open the door’? Let her in?”
George shrugged. “I’m not saying you have to do anything. But I am saying that if you don’t at least consider it, you might regret it later. She’s a good friend, Bill. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s not enough of a reason,” Bill muttered, though his voice had lost its edge.
“No,” George agreed, leaning in slightly. “But maybe the way she makes Victoire laugh is. Or the fact that she genuinely listens when someone talks, like she actually cares. Or how, even after a whole day at the party, she’s still out there playing dragons with Victoire like it’s the best part of her day.”
Bill followed George’s gaze back to the yard, where Y/N was now pretending to be a treasure-stealing knight, much to Victoire’s delight. The little girl was squealing with laughter, waving her stuffed dragon in the air as Y/N “surrendered” dramatically.
“She’s great with her,” Bill admitted quietly, his expression softening as he watched them.
“Yeah, she is,” George said, clapping him on the back. “And maybe, just maybe, she could be great with you too.”
Bill sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
“Part of my charm,” George said with a grin, grabbing the trash bag and hoisting it over his shoulder. “But seriously, mate. Don’t overthink it. Sometimes good things are just... good. You don’t have to question everything.”
As George headed toward the house, Bill stood there for a moment, his gaze lingering on Y/N. The awkward tension he’d felt all day was still there, but now, it was tinged with something else, something warmer, quieter, and far harder to ignore.
–
The kitchen was quiet now, the echoes of the party long faded. Bill sat alone at the table, staring at the dregs of his tea. The steam had stopped rising ages ago, the mug gone cold in his hands. The silence pressed in around him, but his mind was far from still.
Through the window, he could see Y/N in the garden. She was sitting cross-legged on the grass with Victoire, helping her arrange the little treasures she’d collected from her party: tiny dragon figurines, a shimmering plastic tiara, and the little treasure box Y/N had given her. Victoire’s giggles floated faintly through the open window, and every so often, Y/N’s soft laugh joined hers.
Bill closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The familiar battle in his chest raged again, stronger this time. He’d been so careful to keep his distance, to stay guarded. Letting someone in, even someone like Y/N, felt like opening a door he’d worked so hard to keep shut.
She’s just a friend. She’s good with Victoire, that’s all.
The thought was sharp, a desperate attempt to keep the walls he’d built intact. But it felt hollow, even as he repeated it to himself. Because the truth was harder to ignore now. He wasn’t just watching Y/N because she was good with Victoire. He was watching her because he couldn’t seem to stop.
Her laugh, her kindness, the way she looked at Victoire like she was the most important person in the world, it had all woven itself into his mind, tugging at the edges of his carefully guarded heart. And that scared him more than he cared to admit.
What are you doing?
The question echoed in his head, heavy with doubt.
What do you think is going to happen? That she’ll just, what? Fall into your life and fix everything?
He shook his head, huffing a quiet laugh at himself.
Ridiculous.
And yet…
He glanced out the window again. Y/N was leaning forward now, her hands gesturing animatedly as she told Victoire a story. Whatever she was saying had his daughter in stitches, her high-pitched laughter ringing out like a bell. Y/N’s own laugh followed, softer but just as bright, and Bill felt the corners of his mouth tug upward despite himself.
She fits, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. She fits here. With Victoire. With you.
He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away. It’s too soon. Too complicated. What if it doesn’t work? What if I let her in and it all falls apart again?
But then another voice, quieter but stronger, crept in.
What if it doesn’t?
Bill exhaled sharply, the weight of the question pressing against his chest. He had spent so long being cautious, so long holding everything together on his own, that the idea of letting someone else in felt almost impossible. But Y/N wasn’t just anyone. She was kind and patient, and she didn’t seem to shy away from the chaos that came with his life.
Victoire adores her. Mum adores her. Hell, even Charlie’s been dropping hints left and right.
But none of that mattered if he couldn’t take the first step. If he couldn’t get past the fear that kept him rooted to this chair, staring out the window like a coward.
He ran a hand over his face, frustration building.
You’ve faced dragons. Curses. Death Eaters. And yet, here you are, too scared to walk outside and ask someone to dinner.
The thought stung, cutting through the haze of his doubt. Slowly, his hand dropped from his face, and he sat up straighter, his gaze locking onto Y/N through the window. She glanced up just then, her eyes meeting his, and she smiled, a simple, warm smile that made his chest tighten.
Maybe it’s worth it, he thought, the tiniest flicker of hope breaking through the fear. Maybe she’s worth it.
But as quickly as the thought came, the doubt followed.
And if she’s not? If this ends like before? Can you handle that? Can Victoire?
His fists clenched against the table, the tension in his shoulders growing unbearable. He didn’t know if he could do it. If he could risk the fragile balance he’d built for himself and Victoire. If he could let himself hope for something more.
But as he sat there, torn between fear and possibility, one thought lingered above the rest, soft but insistent:
You’ll never know unless you try.
—
The house was quiet as Y/N and Bill reached the door, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath their feet the only sound breaking the stillness. Y/N turned to face him, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Her expression was warm, but Bill could feel the nerves simmering just beneath his skin.
“Thanks for inviting me today,” she said with a small smile. “Victoire had such a great time.”
“She’s been talking about it nonstop,” Bill replied, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He paused for a moment, his throat tightening as he glanced at her. “And I’m glad you came. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
The words felt heavier than he intended, but he pressed on, his pulse quickening. The moment stretched between them, and for once, the silence felt unbearable.
Just ask her. It’s not that hard.
Clearing his throat, he tried to sound more casual than he felt. “Y/N, I was wondering… would you like to have dinner with me next Saturday? Just the two of us.”
The words were out, hanging in the air like a fragile thread. For a second, Y/N froze, her eyes widening in surprise. She blinked at him, clearly caught off guard, and her lips parted as if to respond, but no sound came out.
Bill’s chest tightened, the silence hitting him like a blow.
Oh no.
This was a mistake.
You’ve just made it awkward.
His mind spiraled, each second of hesitation fueling his doubt.
Of course, she doesn’t feel the same. Why would she? She’s kind, smart, and beautiful. What could she possibly see in someone like me, a single dad who barely has time to sleep, let alone offer her what she deserves?
As Y/N stammered slightly, searching for words, Bill felt his stomach drop further.
She’s trying to find a nice way to let you down. Merlin, why did you think this was a good idea?
He stepped back slightly, forcing a small, tight smile as he glanced down at the floor. “It’s fine if you don’t want to,” he said quickly, the words rushing out in a weak attempt to save face. “I just thought I’d ask. No pressure.”
His heart was pounding now, his breath shallow as the embarrassment curled hot in his chest. He’d overstepped. He’d ruined the easy, friendly connection they’d shared, and now he’d have to watch her walk out the door, knowing he’d made things awkward.
“Bill, no,” Y/N said, her voice breaking through his spiraling thoughts. She shook her head quickly, stepping forward. “It’s not that at all. I was just surprised.”
Her words made him pause, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. The warmth in her expression was unmistakable, a faint pink tinge coloring her cheeks. “I’d love to have dinner with you, Bill,” she said softly, her smile returning. “Saturday sounds great.”
For a moment, he couldn’t quite process her words. “Really?” he asked, his voice hesitant, as though he didn’t quite believe it.
“Really,” Y/N said, her smile widening, her tone steady.
Relief hit him like a wave, the tension in his shoulders easing as her words settled over him. The earlier turmoil in his chest dissipated, replaced by a cautious but undeniable flicker of hope.
As Y/N adjusted her bag and reached for the door handle, she glanced back at him. “I’ll see you then,” she said gently.
“Yeah,” Bill replied, his voice softer now. “See you.”
She stepped outside, the door clicking softly behind her, leaving Bill standing there in the quiet hallway. The air felt lighter somehow, and yet his heart was still racing. He let out a shaky breath, his lips curving into a faint, disbelieving smile.
She said yes.
The doubt still lingered, a quiet voice whispering that he might not be enough, but for now, it was drowned out by the simple truth of her answer. And as he turned back toward the kitchen, a small, hopeful spark settled in his chest, glowing brighter with every step.
tagged: @navs-bhat @neenieweenie @buendiabebeta
a/n: OH MY GOD GUYS!!!!!!! from here on out its just fluff i fear. i know the orginal request asked for some angst and i will definatly try to add that in, but i'll make it more internally.
#bill weasley x reader#bill weasley angst#bill weasley fanfiction#bill weasley fluff#american reader#harry potter fanfiction#fanfic community#hogwarts fanfiction
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youtube
Leaving a Cult and Dealing with Religious Trauma - Knitting Cult Lady
Ironically, this video crossed my feed yesterday shortly after I opened the NY Mag Gaiman article. In it, she talks about how getting out of a cult is a first step, but is not the end of what you need to heal. That there's a Decade of Deconstruction necessary to fully be present in and enjoy the new life you build for yourself.
It dovetails with some issues swirling within the ex-Scientology community right now that I'm sure are about to collide with the parts of the NYMag article about Gaiman's roots in Scientology and the traumas he has failed to deal with appropriately.
I'm not super deep in the ex-Sci community, though YouTube likes to suggest certain videos to me because I watched Leah Remini's show. In general, it seems that many of the younger people who left the cult and have chosen to be public are constantly beefing with the elders who've been out for years or decades. Most of these younger folks have YouTube channels, and they're playing out all their personal dramas there in public in ways that are deeply unhealthy. Every time I see or read about the newest development, all I can think is: They're acting the way Scientology taught them to act while maybe not realizing it.
Based off of what Danielle says in the video, they have not fully deconstructed, and appear not to realize they need to do so. They think that because they are Out, they are fine.
Narrator: They are not fine.
It makes me wonder how little deconstruction from Scientology Gaiman did. Makes me wonder if he did any. Because the high level of compartmentalization that appears to be going on with him feels very close to what we've heard people who left Scientology talk about needing to do to survive, and how those still in the cult engage in it.
This isn't constrained to Scientology. In the reading and watching I've done, it's a part of any high control group/cult. Which is why getting out involves more than just not believing, anymore, and physically escaping. There must also be deconstruction so that you don't carry these destructive ways of existing and relating to people out into the world.
This is in no way any kind of excuse or apologetic. In the end, Gaiman is responsible for the choices he made. He had the money to get help, he had friends and family and community to lean on, and even if the tools weren't all there when he was a young man, they've been available and talked about for many a year.
He learned all the wrong lessons from Hubbard.
#neil gaiman#fuck neil gaiman#fuck you gaiman#scientology#scientologists#ex scientologists#SPTV#cult#cults#cultsim#Youtube
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hmm thinking about this with a slight change;
It's not Hermes' fault Luke is dead. He did everything he could while not breaking the canon no-interference laws. he paid attention to Luke, he gave him gifts, he gave Luke a quest when Luke asked for one and the oracle didn't have anything for him, he sent demigods to help remind Luke of who he was and to stop his destructive path. was he a good father by mortal standards? fuck no. was he a good father by godly standards? yeah - one of the best actually.
After 3000 years of seeing the Fates ALWAYS getting their way whenever they want something, it makes sense how depressed and hopeless Hermes was when he found out through May's curse (also not Hermes' fault - he warned her and she didn't listen) that Luke was destined to die horribly.
Hermes doesn't kill one of his own children to get a body for Luke. As much as he loves Luke, he loves his other children too - watches him, if less intensely, he cheers for them silently at their chariot racing games, keeps track of them and sends them winged shoe gifts for birthdays etc.
However.
After the war ended, Hermes found a child with blue eyes and blond hair, dead. Maybe a mortal child. Thanatos had already reaped their soul and carried it to the underworld. the wound they died from was a mundane one - not sophisticated greek weapons, or poison from Tartarus - it was a stabbing that hit an artery.
it's child's play for Hermes to gather the body, fix the severed artery, replenish the blood. heal the tissues that started to deteriorate from oxygen loss and plop Luke's soul into it.
I don't have any more yet but if I do write this, I'm thinking it has to be a mortal's body. I don't think Hermes could tolerate implanting Luke into his own other dead child - he cares about the rest of them too. another demigod body wouldn't work because the godly parent would probably be furious about Hermes disrespecting their dead kid's body - unless they were seriously negligent. I suppose it could be a demititan, one that went back to their previous imprisonment or was 'killed' like hyperion. I like mortal better tho - it seems like a better choice for Hermes because mortals are generally let alone by the greek world & prophecies and that aspect would appeal to Hermes. a second life that the Fates don't tamper with and let Luke live peacefully.
Also thinking about writing this from Percy's pov? He's hanging out with Hermes and for awhile now he's known that something is up with his friend, but Percy doesn't know what and he knows that if Hermes won't tell him there's nothing Percy can do to force him. but eventually maybe during the solstice kid!Luke runs away and Percy gets a phone call from frantic May like "can u pls help my dead son in the body of a dead kid has run away and my godly ex-boyfriend isn't responding to my prayers" and Percy spends a good 10 minutes unpacking that (he knew Hermes was acting less miserable than he shouldve at Luke's dead based on the way Percy saw him acting in tlo) before calling blackjack and heading to Miami (I think that's where May lives - tho i imagine they move somewhere else in an attempt at a fresh start).
tho just to fuck up the situation even more - maybe it's actually years after pjo and Hermes snagged Luke's soul when it escaped Tartarus (he's still livid that Hades' judges threw him there), and now Luke has a little sister bc May and Hermes had some post-curse nostalgic/comfort sex (without officially getting back together maybe).
I just learned that apparently Hermes is a psychopomp, meaning he guides souls to the afterlife.
Anyway imagine an AU where after Luke's death in TLO, Hermes was supposed to guide his soul down to the underworld. But he just can't bring himself to do it. Hermes just can't. Because deep down he knows that this is his fault. That it was his fault that Luke grew to hate the gods and ended up dead from it. He abandoned Luke and May. He left his son alone, hiding behind a prophecy because he was too lazy to inept to put in true effort.
It's easy for one measly human soul to slip by in the chaos that Kronos' resurrection brought with it. Luke doesn't know any better- he's never been dead before. So when Hermes doesn't lead him towards the underworld but instead into one of his own domains- a safe little space even the other gods won't notice- he follows easily. Mortal souls are truly.... conscious so close after death. It's like a trance for them, a haze they only wake from one they reach their destination of the underworld. That's why they need guides like him afterall, lest there's the risk of them getting lost. Hermes isn't stupid of course. He knows he can't just keep Luke's soul outside the underworld like that- even if he hides him in his own domain sooner or later someone would notice a displaced soul. Luke needs a body. Luckily for Hermes he has plenty of other kids around. And hey! Don't look at him like that! He knows that what he is doing may not be the most.... moral of things. Sure, he may have ripped out the soul of one of his younger kids with blonde hair and blue eyes- and sure, that may have meant the death of the child. But it is for Luke.
It's for his and May's darling little baby boy- the boy whose blood soaks his hands. What more is the blood of another child of his on his hands?
Should Luke ask Hermes can simply say the six year old boy died during the Battle of Manhatten. Luke's been away for camp long enough to not know that the child had never even set foot into camp before getting his soul reaped by his own father. Having Luke's soul settles into a body not only not his own, but also much younger than his original one wasn't easy. Hermes isn't going to lie about that. But it all worked out fine in the end, even if his son would most certainly be asleep for the next few days to recover from the strain. Hermes isn't exactly sure how his boy would react when he wakes up. Certainly angry and surely bitter, probably confused too- but no matter how Luke would react, Hermes would handle it. He made the mistake of abandoning his little boy once already, and he wouldn't repeat that. Having Luke in the body of a child is more of a blessing than a curse, if you think about it! His baby his so young again, this is the second chance Hermes needs to raise his son right. To raise his son in the first place. May'll be so happy.
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I've got female Sole Survivor on the brain thanks to this Deegan one-shot, especially in relation to her grief at all she's lost at the beginning of the game. This may be a touch controversial.
I see a ton of female Soles (both in fan works as well as in general discussions about lore, roleplay, etc.) who are wracked with survivor's guilt in the aftermath, wrought entirely hollow by the loss of their husband and child. This is not a statement of judgement or me implying that it's a subpar creative choice; it's a very natural conclusion to draw. Losing your entire immediate family, on top of surviving multiple mass-casualty events, would naturally leave you wondering why you lived when others didn't and feeling incomplete without those dearest to you.
Personally, the first time I played Fallout 4, I immediately imagined my own Sole as a woman dealing with an immense amount of guilt for an entirely different reason: she feels relief on more levels than one.
Yes, the world ended and everyone she ever knew or really cared for is long dead. But even the horror of that realization doesn't change the fact that there is a massive weight lifted off of her shoulders when she wakes up in that Vault and realizes that she no longer has to be a wife or mother every single moment of her life. It wasn't something she pictured for herself long-term, but she hadn't realized it until it was far too late; very much the sort of person who agreed to get married and have a child before they fully considered all that it would mean (which isn't an uncommon character flaw). But, between the general state of the world at the time and her own hidden struggles, she was eager to feel like she was doing something meaningful with her life.
Nate was the same. It was one of the only things they'd had in common anymore by the time Shaun was born.
I imagine their marriage was struggling (or perhaps simply not as satisfying as either of them would have liked), and having Shaun was an ill-conceived attempt to save things, to find some sort of renewed enthusiasm or meaning. Of course, having a baby to fix your marriage (or yourself) never works. Pregnancy and labor were rough for her, but postpartum was worse; her husband continued to pull away like he had been before, just at a more agonizing rate.
Pretty immediately after the birth, she recognized she'd made a mistake, felt stupid and childish for making such a life-altering decision based on flimsy justifications. But so many people in her life (parents, in-laws, friends who were already parents themselves, society in general) swore to her that having a child would magically end all of her problems through the sheer power of maternal love that she felt selfish not "putting forth the effort" and trying. No one bothered to clarify, though, that if the old 'baby trick' doesn't fix your life, you're then stuck with an inherently needy little person whose existence you may feel indifferent towards more often than not. That realization had been in the middle of literally crushing her to death when the bombs fell.
She's slowly finding herself again as she goes through various adventures and trials in the Commonwealth, helps build community that feels more like a real family to her. Dips her toes into the dating pool eventually. It's not a straightforward process, though, and some days she feels like an uncaring monster and can't even get out of bed. Others, she functions, but with a visible cloud over her, morose and quiet. A tiny, irrational part of her may even feel that she somehow manifested the war, literally brought forth the end of the world with how ardently she begged for something, anything to take her away from what her life had become towards the end.
Her guilt is tinted with anger and shame. She still has lingering health issues from carrying to full term, and her body is changed in ways she knows she will never recover from. Fixates on the changes she notices and it breeds self-consciousness. Part of that fixation is vanity, sure, but she also knows very well that she likely shaved at least a few years off her life span by choosing to become a mother, an endeavor she wouldn't describe as "personally worthwhile" if pressed hard enough.
She also constantly beats herself up for not searching hard enough for her son, but it's unproductive. No matter how guilty she makes herself feel, she doesn't find many leads. Doesn't bring him or Nate up much, unless she's feeling especially vulnerable (or self-hating). The pity people usually express when she says she lost a spouse/child doesn't feel earned to her.
Part of her says her son is likely dead, having lived his whole life without her, and so she'd be wasting her time by dedicating every waking moment to finding him. She finds both peace and sadness in that idea. Another part of her, though, knows she's dragging her feet, pacifying herself with that thought because she doesn't truly want to find him.
#I've played 333 hours of Fallout 4 and I have spent ZERO of them looking for Shaun#no shame#fuck that kid#upcoming one shot is high-key 'divorce bad husband/do not have baby' propaganda#fallout 4#fo4#female sole survivor#nora fo4#nate fo4#edward deegan
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I'm not ok with the Lucanis' hardened romance mod.
I'm neurodivergent, how I relate to people can be a challenge as I don't trust easy, and from that starting point I can't help but see this from a more personal perspective; understandably, is what I know.
So if I begged someone I care about for their help in a life or death scenario, someone with whom I was having a mutual romantic interest, and they suddenly just dropped me for someone else, no matter how difficult the choice, no matter how much I could rationalize it and understand it, it would still hurt like hell. And then I would never trust that person the same way, even if we stayed friends, next time I need help they'd be the last on my list to ask because they just showed me that when I needed them the most they prioritized something/someone else, I was simply not a option, or if I was I mustn't have been an important one as they basically put me aside on hold. Now imagine when such a request for help involves your family, your home, everything you care about, and what you get is "sorry, I choose the other one". It's just too much and whatever bond was in the making would be shattered.
Lucanis remains as a friend, and stays on the mission because it's too important and he's already committed to his part in it. But a romance with a Rook that didn't choose his side is simply not possible. How could anyone open up, become vulnerable, build any sort of intimacy with someone who decided not to be there for you when you needed them the most?? I could never, and I think it makes total sense neither could Lucanis. He carries a tremendous load of trauma and this just adds to it, his natural response to close off makes sense, it also explains why Spite doesn't approach Rook if you make that choice. When you choose Treviso later Spite goes to Rook for help because he knows Lucanis listens to Rook, he's open to Rook. When you choose Minrathous you close that door. Lucanis remains in the Veilguard, does his part, stays as a friend but that door to his innermost self is blocked, because then he knows he can't rely on Rook like that anymore. It's a connection that perhaps could be mended, but it'd require a longer time than they can afford in the game.
I don't care if there were lines in the files, if originally once upon a time it was intended to happen. I imagine as the game came together the devs may have realized not all the pieces fit right as planned, it happens in all projects really. Specially with characters like these, as they become more realized and one can actually see them perform in game some things may click that didn't before and changes have to happen. This one in particular I think was a correct approach and respectful of his character and his nature in the context it's presented.
To strip that away with a mod is for me akin to those that enable heterosexual romances for homosexual characters, they force a character to go against their nature to suit the player.
Yeah, they're just pixels, but they're pixels we come to care about, they're pixels that mirror our experiences and can sometimes help us process stuff we couldn't otherwise. These pixels deserve a modicum of respect if not for themselves then for what they grant us as players. My canon Rook is coincidentally a Shadow Dragon meant to romance Lucanis, so when I learned the romance is blocked if Rook saves Minrathous instead, I had to deal with it, wanna know how? I worked with my Rook, his personality, his beliefs, his nature and found a way to justify him choosing Treviso. I adapted my Rook to accommodate Lucanis, not the other way around. I understand not everyone's OCs might be able to adapt but it doesn't feel right to me that using mods to disregard the character's state is the go-to choice.
I don't pretend to dictate how other people play their games, I'd just prefer it if some mods weren't advertised and specially so as if they were the greatest thing ever when they're actually questionable at best. The message this sends me is in order to be loved we have to just suck it up, pretend it's not a big deal -when it is- and just go with what our partner wants, and fuck our boundaries and our agency and our consent, MC wants to shag, shop can't ever be closed no matter what, one must always be available. Like for real, wtf?? It's a small but unavoidable sting, that a neurodivergent character can have his boundaries crossed so carelessly. Idk it just hurts, Lucanis is an important character to me personally and I've adored him since he first appeared in Tevinter Nights, and I'd prefer it if people could respect him as he was given to us instead of trying to twist and force the game to please unpleasable players, many of whom have been dedicated to finding flaws and complaining about it since release.
I don't expect people to understand, if you disagree just pretend this doesn't exist and go on with your day and may you have a blessed one.
#veilguard spoilers#lucanis dellamorte#rant#i tag for myself#not to get interactions so if you don't like this really just ignore it#this is kinda personal too and i get that
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My main issue with the conversations we have about media and how moral it is is that there's actual, tangible suffering and death in real life we can work on instead. I don't really care if I'm watching a horror movie that's not giving the women agency because it's not real, but I care very much about women not being assaulted in real life. I only have so much energy, though, so if I focus all of that on how to tell the One Perfect Horror Story, I'm not focusing it on getting women access to healthcare, which is the thing that will really help.
#like just to be clear!#representation does do good things#and a lot of people prefer to read stories they can relate to#i prefer to read about people who are not like me but that's me! you can want to only read about people like you and that's okay#because we are having fun#our moral worth is not based on our netflix history#but!#there is actual work to do!#in terms of making the world better!#and i want to do that!#and i think often that we get distracted by things that maybe feel more achievable or are more visible#and we forget the less glamorous more frustrating work that really moves the needle#like I'll have long conversations with very sexist guys to try and open their minds just a tiny bit.#usually it doesn't work but sometimes it does! sometimes they see the world a little more widely#and then they carry that with them as they make their choices in life#and this stacks up.#it's not that you can't do a lot of real work in media. you can!#but there is so much more that is maybe more influential#because you can tell stories as perfectly as you want#and it won't necessarily impact how people live#because people often only interact with media they agree with already#so it isn't changing minds or policies or culture etc etc etc#does that make sense?#and it comes from this puritan idea of withdrawing from the world to be pure#which doesn't. help. fix. the world#ANYWAY
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