#art better be in system collapse or i will cry

[coloredcompulsion]

Murderbot-Posting again because my rooms reorganization is being fueled by the audiobooks

Loving ART going "You're not As stupid as I thought you were" and Murderbot essentially passing out from frustration?? It Willingly K.O.'d itself to 'win' an argument and that didn't even work

Murderbot 'I hate being vulnerable' Mensah for real would rather be Vulnerable than Lose and I love that for it

[dollyswishingwell]

Do you still take requests? Can I please get a obsessive LADS men with narcoleptic reader who is trying to escape by pushing themselves to the limit

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ It won’t work, sweetheart

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ yandere men, they’re a bit scary lol, but they’re just in love, i’m powering through all the requests hehe i hope you guys like them

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Your escape attempts never work

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- Rafayel doesn’t believe you’re trying to leave at first. You’re his muse. His obsession. Why would a painting want to walk off the wall?

- When you collapse in the middle of the greenhouse, petals sticking to your skin, he kneels beside you and whispers: “Are you punishing me? Or are you just fragile on purpose?”

- Smothers you in overstimulation afterward, princess beds, dizzying perfumes, endless new dresses. “If you’re going to faint, at least faint in couture.”

- Carries you like a sleeping child back to the art studio, then paints you exactly how he found you, desperate, undone, divine.

- Lashes out once, slamming a vase when you wake and cry. “Why are you always trying to leave me?” Then sinks to his knees and cradles your hands, kissing them like a madman. “I’ll break your legs if I have to. I swear I’ll love you better.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- Zayne knows every detail about your condition. He monitors your vitals even when you think he’s not.

- The first time you collapse mid-escape, just outside the property, your body hitting the ground like a broken doll, he doesn’t yell, he scoops you up in surgical silence.

- The next morning, you wake up fully restrained to the bed, IV drip in your arm. He’s seated beside you, not angry, disappointed. “Why would you hurt yourself like this?” he murmurs, brushing your hair back.

- Punishes you softly: no stimulation, no movement, full medical lockdown. If you’re going to run, he’ll make sure you’re too weak to walk without him.

- Upgrades your bedroom with surveillance and biometric locks. “Sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s safe to try again.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

- Xavier doesn’t stop you. The first few times, he just watches you stumble around the vast halls, eyes half-lidded, body giving out.

- When you collapse mid-step in the elevator, he catches you before your head hits the railing. Carries you back up to the penthouse like it’s all part of a dream.

- Leaves riddles by your bedside like: “If you leave without me again, you’ll sleep forever. Let’s not test the prophecy, little star.”

- Appears beside you no matter where you run. Always calm. Always smiling. “Is this a game?” he asks as he picks you up again. “Because I’ll always win.”

- Eventually outfits the penthouse with fainting couches, plush rugs, soft lights. “At least faint into something beautiful,” he hums, kissing your crown.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- Sylus is furious the first time. Not that you tried to escape, but that you risked blacking out alone in the cold. “I spoil you, and this is what you do with my gifts?”

- You pass out halfway through trying to hack one of his bunkers. When you wake up, you’re gagged, wrist-cuffed, and shackled to a luxurious chaise.

- Sends a message by disabling your meds and upgrading your collar with an alert system: if your vitals dip, the house locks down.

- “You can’t outrun me, kitten,” he murmurs against your temple, “But you’re welcome to keep trying. It’s entertaining.”

- After every failed attempt, he brings you back stronger: silks, tea, and massages… before he chains you to his desk chair while he works. “At least stay where I can see you fall.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- Caleb is terrifyingly calm when he finds your limp form near the penthouse door. Carries you inside like you’re made of glass, brushing snow from your lashes.

- Cradles you while you sleep, muttering to your unconscious body: “You’ll learn, pipsqueak. It’s me or collapse.”

- Has the penthouse fitted with emergency auto-doors that lock if your heart rate spikes. Your body is betraying you, and he adores how helpless it makes you.

- Shows up every time, your knees buckle in the corridor, and there he is. “You always fall toward me,” he says with a grin.

- Tells his staff you’re a medical priority, but privately, he whispers to you: “If you run again, I’ll clip your wings. And you’ll thank me.”

[monroeknoxwrites]

Missing

here's a wip for an actual fic I'll be working on. it takes place a few years after system collapse and a year after mb meets ciren. basic premise: what happens when ciren is pushed to its limits after being separated from its friends

Ciren was missing for two cycles.

On the third cycle, the drone I’d left with it pinged us.

Me and Three followed the signal until we reached a steep hill, a group of young humans on the other side. The tallest young human at the front pointed frantically at my drone circling over my head.

She turned to the others, shouting, “It has to be them!”

The others agreed, setting down the bundle of tied together jackets and shirts they were carefully dragging across the plain, their path through the blue-ish grass clear.

Inside the bundle was Ciren.

Three ran-slid down the hill, passed the tall young human struggling up it to reach me.

I didn't know what my face was doing but the young human hesitated a few steps away from me. She pointed at the drone again.

“It told us to follow the drone. That we could trust whoever owned it.” She was out of breath, showing signs of exhaustion. The climb up the hill took the last of her strength. She fell to her knees but pointed emphatically at what I thought was the other adolescent humans.

Breathless and desperate, she cried, “You have to help Ciren! Please, it saved us, you can't let it die!”

My drone shot over to Three lifting Ciren out of the makeshift gurney. There were visible projectile wounds on its body, nothing a SecUnit couldn't handle, and it was covered in blood. Not its blood.

Secunit, Three said on the feed the same moment my drone showed me the projectile wound through its head.

I'd been shot by an adolescent human before. They could have done this and were lying to get our help.

But the exhausted human in front of me had her face in her hands, sobbing. It didn't feel fake.

I hate to admit this but I locked up. My attention was split on Three climbing the hill, much slower this time, Ciren’s inert body looking small in its arms, and the young human in front of me, begging incoherently.

Performance reliability dropped five percent. My knees didn't buckle under me, I felt stuck, my body unresponsive.

This was what SecUnits were supposed to do, right? Get ourselves blown up so the humans could get away.

But this wasn't just any SecUnit.

21.3 seconds had gone by (which for a SecUnit was a disturbingly long time to be standing there not saying or doing anything) when Three nudged me gently on the feed.

I sent one of my drones scanning the perimeter to leave the blackout zone and inform ART. Turned my back on the crying human and Three (and Ciren in its arms), I said, “Follow me.”

And I walked away.

My med system is without fault.

Fifty percent? That's the highest probability it can give for—

Even in the feed I couldn't say it. ART finished for me. For reconstruction without impairing function or memory, yes.

That left a fifty percent chance that it would.

To my silence, ART said, It's better than zero percent. When you returned you said Ciren was dead.

I snapped, I know what I said.

Then you're aware this estimate objectively improves its situation.

Yeah, obviously it was better than knowing for certain Ciren was… non-functional. We had only reached as high as fifty percent success rate because of the way Ciren’s parts were cobbled together by a human who sort of, kind of knew what he was doing. And that the trajectory of the projectile had missed most of the essential inorganic components and neural tissue. And that the adolescent humans had found us so quickly.

The fact that Ciren had any chance of functioning again at all came down to pure dumb luck and I fucking hate luck.

I didn't want to stand here waiting for the end result. I left Three standing by the enclosed med platform; it hadn't let go of Ciren the whole ride back. It held Ciren like humans hold other injured humans until it placed Ciren there on the med platform. If I was better at this kind of thing I'd say something to it. But I didn't know what to say to myself.

After all this time together, I didn't view Three and Ciren with the same mistrust and wariness I did other SecUnits. They'd saved me multiple times, they'd saved my humans—our humans—more times than that.

Those same humans that tried to talk to me as I walked briskly down the corridor, shutting myself up in my cabin. I knew media watching was out of the question right now and I think, for once, ART knew I didn't want to talk about this either.

Fifty percent. It could go either way. Ciren could be restored to full functionality without any permanent damage to memory or it could boot up a completely different unit.

Fifty/fifty odds I could lose my friend.

I pulled the video from the drone I'd sent with Ciren before we were separated. This probably wasn't going to help but I had to know. I had to know what happened.

[alyssalikestoreadbooks]

System Collapse - Martha Wells

"Am I making it worse? I think I'm making it worse.

Everyone's favorite lethal SecUnit is back.

Following the events in Network Effect, the Barish-Estranza corporation has sent rescue ships to a newly-colonized planet in peril, as well as additional SecUnits. But if there’s an ethical corporation out there, Murderbot has yet to find it, and if Barish-Estranza can’t have the planet, they’re sure as hell not leaving without something. If that something just happens to be an entire colony of humans, well, a free workforce is a decent runner-up prize.

But there’s something wrong with Murderbot; it isn’t running within normal operational parameters. ART’s crew and the humans from Preservation are doing everything they can to protect the colonists, but with Barish-Estranza’s SecUnit-heavy persuasion teams, they’re going to have to hope Murderbot figures out what’s wrong with itself, and fast.

Yeah, this plan is... not going to work."

Read Date - May 18th, 2025

Length - 256 Pages

Genre - Novella, Sci-Fi, Fantasy

Rating - 8/10

Stars - ★★★★☆

Notes - seeing MurderBot and ART interacting so casually again is just beautiful to me. i love them together so much, they're my favorite duo. just the way they CARE for each other. ART actively telling MB "take care of my humans....and yourself" because MB isn't considered property in any aspect of the word anymore? so much has changed?? it's just mind blowing i can't believe we've progressed this far. the talks of a secret society living underground is really cool and hasn't really been explored before in this series. i LOVE all the mentions of "redacted" bits because i just KNOW something fucked up is about to happen. last time something got redacted from MurderBot it ended up, you know, murdering a bunch of people. it was crazy! the reveal that redacted was a system shutdown that happened because of a falsified memory is interesting as fuuuuuuck..... its referred to as a moment as a flashback, and honestly i find that intriguing as all hell because as mentioned in the book, we dont KNOW how secunits respond to trauma. MurderBot getting in contact with AnaCol and finding out they have 22 humans and their own SecUnit?? So there IS an undergound society of sorts????? was NOOOOOT expecting this. i thought it'd be like the aliens where its all made up garbo but no! these little shits actually exist. hearing how MurderBot speaks about Three is SO endearing to me. it's like his kid, exactly like Arada said it'd be, and at the same time it's entirely different because MB doesn't know how to nurture a being properly. that's why Three has the entire crew to help look after it and allow it to make it's own decisions, like an adult has to do with their child growing up. guide them, but allow them to prosper on their own. this is def NAWT the point of chapter 7, but all i could focus on was that apparently Amena was playing with MB's hair to make it fluffier to "make it feel better" and that is just so domestic and cute?? like MB once feared becoming a pet robot and dear friend it is not a pet but instead family. i love this little fucker so much. MurderBot wanting to save these humans it doesnt know is so sweet. it's adapted so much through the time it's spent with it's different crews, and it's really starting to value human life more (despite talking about murdering them all the time lol). the team (mainly ART and MB) making their own media to send to the society was SO NEATO. i would KILL for the ability to just curate my daydreams into tv shows but i cant! MurderBot can literally just MAKE TV SHOWS. im CRYING over that. SO UNFAIR. the scene where MurderBot is fighting, loses it's weapon, and wraps itself AROUND THE OTHER SECUNITS FACE??? IMMMM SOOOO WEAAAKKKK OH MY GODDDDD. IT IS SO PERFECT I LOVE IT SO MUCH. when i said the fight scenes were my favorite parts of this book i MEANT IT! the BE shuttle attacking everyone and there being two was just unexpected for me. i'm glad they fleed. MurderBot taking over flying the ship for ART while it's damaged, again, is very domestic. i mean, cmon!! ART is transportation. MB is helping it do it's entire job, it's entire function, it's purpose. it's honestly just really sweet. MurderBot finally PROCESSING AN EMOTION?? CATHERTIC?? AMAZING!! SO PROUD OF IT!! It also talking about basically going to therapy? and choosing to stay with ART and it's crew? idk i just find the growth of the characters SO AMAZING AND BEAUTIFUL AND I CANNOT GET OVER THIS SERIES HOLLLLYYY MOLLLLLYY.

[hexedrosel-arts]

Writing in the art class!

I was reminded of old au work by someone and my brain is back on it's regular bullshit so let's go! More Teddy and Felix but teen time

If I were to write this, I believe my Teddy would be someone who just got, worse. He realized how bad his father was and he went worse. But Teddy is still different from his father.

He cares about Felix as a person, not an extention of Applesoft. Teddy cares about connection, people, how the defense system of Applesoft works and how the camera rolls can be removed and erased. Teddy is as smart as his brother, but unlike Felix, Teddy can always put on the sweet naive child facade.

Teddy has gotten worse, but he still cares. He knows Felix would get suspicious if father randomly collapsed. If father left without reason. If 'father' died suddenly, Felix would know there was foul play. So Teddy planned, and planned

And planned.

When the funeral happens, neither twin cries. There are cameras, the public. 'Father's' body in the casket. Felix doesn't cry because he knew his father wouldn't like it, the public is watching, the other companies. Teddy dtoesn't cry because 'father' is dead. He and Felix are free. While Felix mourns the loss of his father, Teddy mourns the idea of a father, of a man his 'father' could have been. But neither twin cry at the funeral.

Teddy has gotten worse. Part of him wishes the death was more bloody, that the police would be looking for parts. They got a whole body though, Teddy had to be smart. In the dark parts of his mind, he wanted to chop his 'father' up into little pieces.

He wanted to add a slice for each time Felix was yelled at, for each time Teddy felt worthless, for every bad thing this man had done. But Teddy didn't do it, after all, at that point, there would only be a bloodstain in his mother's bed, an ever darker one then what Teddy actually left.

Of course Teddy had gotten worse, he could have only got worse.

In the worst part of his mind. He thought of chopping up his 'father' and feeding him to his brother without him knowing. Felix wouldn't be able to tell. It would be a way for 'father' to stay with Felix forever. But if Felix found out, Teddy doesn't think Felix would forgive him. Teddy wants what's best for his brother, a brother who wanted to get better. So Teddy decided to free his brother from a man they called father.

Teddy has gotten worse. But that's okay, he's helping Felix get better.

[crcrcarl]

i don’t know when this obsession started with beautiful sadness.

maybe it was when i realized people only listen when you’re poetic about your pain.

because if you just say “i’m not okay,” they’ll say same, and scroll past. but if you say, “my ribs are tired of holding in everything i never said,” they’ll repost it.

so now i write like i’m bleeding out,

just to feel heard.

and maybe when i realized i wasn’t built for small talk, or maybe when hozier whispered like god owed him something and i nodded, because maybe me too.

i collect artists like symptoms—kafka, hozier, bukowski on bad days, sylvia on worse.

i like hozier because he makes religion sound like sex, and sex sound like something sacred.

i read kafka not because i enjoy being confused, but because confusion feels more honest than certainty.

i’m not sure if it makes me deep or just dramatically sad.

maybe both.

maybe neither.

i read not for answers but for company, because books don’t judge if you cry halfway through a sentence.

unlike people.

people want you to summarize your grief in 140 characters or shut the hell up.

i write because therapy’s expensive and i don’t trust strangers with my ghosts.

i write letters i’ll never send because it’s easier to romanticize absence than admit something i didn’t do.

people ask what i like—i say literature, but i mean, the moments between lines when it feels like the writer accidentally wrote my name.

i say music, but i mean, the exact 3 seconds in that one song where i feel something crack inside me.

and i say love, but i mean—please, just see me.

i study philosophy and psychology like i’m trying to fix myself with other people’s words, or like they’ll hand me the cheat codes to existing.

spoiler alert: they don’t.

freud says it’s my mom.

freud makes me uncomfortable.

camus says it’s the absurdity of existence.

nietzsche makes me want to punch a wall.

but i read them anyway because i need answers to questions that probably don’t have any.

i say maybe i’m just tired and needed a hug and a nap that lasts until the system collapses.

i play piano like i’m mourning something i haven’t lost yet.

maybe innocence.

maybe hope.

i play piano like i’m apologizing to the universe. every note is a sorry, every silence is a scream.

maybe the version of me that believed in permanence because people tell me i’m too emotional.

i’m sorry if my emotional range is hungry or horny.

i feel everything at volume 100 and still manage to look unbothered.

that’s trauma.

that’s theatre, sweetie.

musical theatre raised me better than religion ever did.

at least when elphaba sings “defying gravity,” i believe in something even if it’s just the illusion of escape.

i’m in awe with strangers who read poetry and with friends who quote philosophers mid convo without trying to sound smart.

i’m in awe with people who listen, like actually listen, not the ones who wait for their turn to talk.

i’m melancholic but functional, like a haunted coffee shop or a philosopher with a 9-to-5.

i believe in love like it’s a damn revolution but i write about it like a war i already lost. some days i am tenderness in motion, and other days, i am spite with eyeliner.

these are my people—the feelers, the overthinkers, the ones who ask “why?” not to get an answer, but to prove the world still owes them one.

i love them.

and i love me, a little,

for surviving this long without switching off the part of me that still believes art will save something.

even if it's just me.

[writer59january13]

Diagnosed with NON contagious, yet incurable case of logorrhea...,

yielded following resultant fiction, which arbitrarily selected thread first popped into my head considered one among many possible near infinite concocted scenarios arose up, thus continue at your own risk only entertainment ye need dread.

When just a ruthless babe at me mother's breast already talking fluently and creating one after another prolific literary pièce de résistance superbly peppered with eloquent, magnificent, and significant turns of phrases, not surprisingly needless to say (or type) excessive and uncontrollable talking, often seen in individuals experiencing psychomotor agitation and visual hallucinations severely disrupted with being nursed more than a few months courtesy when my twenty four year old mom, whose milk (holy cow - she uddered) and air supply exhausted inexplicably and simultaneously dried up anyway and her breasts became shriveled like that of a crone, (the above half dozen statements predicated on fact), thus wet nurses brought in from all four corners of the globe with near identical repeated outcomes prevailed videre licet, whereby every buxom gal (succumbed to mysterious malady) no matter previously rigorously, intensely screened and declared fit as a fiddle and strong as a brick Scheißhaus met an identical demise as dear old mutter unexpectedly collapsed in a heap punctuated by disequilibrium linkedin to an error message found in open source coding of their operating system compromising respective body electric, which signal effects one need be mindful of somehow attributed to unfettered loquacity of mine include exhaustion on unsuspecting listeners or readers frequently inducing immediate and non stop yawning, and worse case scenario witnesses - said innocent recipient(s) subjected to vocalizations and/or writings of Matthew Scott Harris even for the briefest moment of time and naturally the impact directly proportional to proximity to me, thus should a series of unfortunate find thee in my company - watch out, you better not cry, better not pout, I'm telling you why: Perkiomen Valley poet is comin' to town cuz such close contact people known to perish from this earth in no uncertain terms how, when, where or why, though president Donald Trump intends to make unclassified once top secret information. While both parents (actually they got classed as child prodigies and satisfactorily) earned requisite credits to graduate, with honors of course across dual majors, plus acquired doctorate degrees to boot from Cooper Union College for the Advancement of Science and Art located at 30 Cooper Square in New York, NY 10003 in the East Village of Manhattan, close to Washington Square Park and Greenwich Village Despite years of deep Freudian analysis, the pathologically excessive (and often incoherent) talking or writing only worsened until the present moment February thirteenth two thousand and twenty four of this free verse poetic assay (as fingers blithely did sashay across the qwerty keyboard) emphatic issuance of uber deadly oral ejaculations and/or transmitting electronic gobbledygook put the missus in comatose state, where I can hear her snoring.

[toomanyrobins2]

Those Four Words Pt. 1

Summary: an escalating fight between Jason and his girlfriend leads to a tense two weeks in Wayne Manor

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: language, mentions of sex and excessive drinking, mentions of character death

masterlist // next part

Jason Todd was in a terrible mood, having just got into an argument with Bruce. He decided to go up to his girlfriend’s studio to get away. She had been hard at work the past couple of days and he was getting needy. He came up behind her on the floor and pulled her into his lap. She tried to wiggle out of his arms. “Jay, I'm trying to do something right now.

He tried to snuggle closer to his girlfriend, “I deserve some of your time too.

“Deserve? You’re especially demanding today. What did you do?” Jason scoffed and pulled away. “What has crawled up your ass?”

“You did.”

She managed to escape and turned to look at her boyfriend, “I did? Huh, I think I would’ve remembered such a disgusting journey into your body.

“Dammit, Y/N! Enough with the sarcasm! You know what I’m saying.”

She sighed at Jason’s attitude, “I don’t understand what you’re doing right now, but you are starting a fight just for the sake of an argument. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you want right now.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Jason was standing over his girlfriend, his whole body tense, “From any of you.”

“Why are you being like this? What happened?”

“What? You thought the minute we started dating all of our problems would magically disappear? Are you really that naive?”

Y/N put her brushes down and stood. She tried to walk closer, but he matched each step, moving away from her. “Jason, where the hell is this coming from? I thought we had got past this. Even you and Bruce are in a better place.”

“You think I'll ever forget you abandoned me. You all did!”

“Abandon you! What have you been smoking? We thought you died!”

“You replaced me!”

Now, Y/N was angry too and it was rare that anyone saw her this way. She was deadly calm, but the fire was roaring in her eyes, “I did not replace you.”

“That’s right, you were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham to even think about me.”

“That is not fair and you know it. I mourned you. We all mourned your arrogant ass. I never stopped missing you.”

“I saw the articles, Y/N! Don’t pretend you were mourning me. You were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham.”

Her mind went back to three years ago. Jason had died in an explosion set up by the Joker. She was sixteen and her best friend had died, and she hadn’t handled it well. What started as a way to get out of the house with friends, had led to this wild, secret life. Y/N had snuck out at night and used Bruce’s name to get into clubs. She drank anything she could get her hands on and had gone home with multiple men, trying to forget her pain. Once, Bruce had found out, her world had imploded. He sent her away and finally got her the help she should have received when her parents had passed. The only reason Y/N had moved back to the manor was that Jason had been found. She couldn’t believe that he was trying to use her moments of weakness against her, “How dare you throw that back on me. I was just trying to numb the pain. It wasn’t like I was celebrating the fact that you were gone.”

“Yeah, it really looked like you missed me.”

“God Dammit, Jay!” she stamped her foot, knowing it was childish, “If you would just listen to me!”

“Oh fuck off, Y/N! If I had known I was ever going to be stuck with you and your nagging, I wouldn’t have come back.”

“I wish you hadn’t!” The minute the words left Y/N’s mouth, she gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Jason’s emotionless mask slammed into place, and suddenly he was as blank as the day Bruce had found him. He turned to walk out and Y/N chased after him, “Jay, wait! I’m sorry!” He jumped onto his motorcycle and was out the door before she could stop him. She slammed her fist into the wall and cursed in frustration and pain. No one would see either of them for the rest of the day. Y/N stayed in her studio, wondering how they got to the point of shouting such hurtful things at each other.

The next day, they had both shown up for Friday night dinner, as was expected of them. Neither spoke, and the tension was too thick to be cut with a knife. Y/N had tried to pull him aside and apologize after dinner, but he had shot her with a cutting glare and stalked away. The other could tell that something had happened, but no one had the details. Tim wandered into the library after patrol that night, to find her in a chair tucked into the corner. “What are you doing here (Y/N/N)? Isn’t it a movie night with Todd?” He noted the tear tracks down her face but knew she hated showing weakness, so he said nothing about them.

“I wasn’t feeling up to it, so I canceled. I think I’ll head to bed now. Night, Timmy.” Y/N went to her room and cried herself to sleep, the guilt overwhelming her as she played the argument over in her head. If only she had just taken a break, maybe the whole situation could have been avoided. She woke up multiple times in the night, crying out Jason’s name after seeing him and the Joker over and over again. Finally, around 3 in the morning, she gave up on sleep and went to the kitchen to pour herself coffee. She decided to keep busy and started making breakfast for the family.

Alfred was the first to appear in the morning, as usual. Y/N tried to pretend that everything was normal, but nothing could be hidden from the family’s butler. He noted the dark circles under her eyes and the tremors in her hands from over-caffeination. The boys slowly started to emerge, and Alfred started to bring out all the food she had made. She made two plates out of habit and headed for the dining room. Y/N started to hand Jason his breakfast as she had every morning for a year, but suddenly she remembered and pulled her hand away. Jason didn’t even bother to look at her, and her heart clenched. She placed the plate on the table and walked back into the kitchen. “Sorry, Alfred, I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go paint.” She placed the plate she had made for herself on the counter and left.

Y/N’s studio had been a safe space since she had first moved into the manor. She had hidden away when she first arrived at Wayne Manor, unused to such an active family. Bruce had called workers to the manor and redid the room when she had told him she liked art. Now, after years of work, canvasses filled the room on all sides. Some paintings, others photos, she had accumulated in the three years. They hung on the walls and were laid across the floor. She flooded the room with Swan Lake, her sad music, and started to mix her colors. The music she played had become an easy way for the others to discern her moods since she hadn’t spoken to anyone except Fallon, Bruce’s wife, when she first came. Bruce and Dick had installed a speaker system in her studio to drown out the noise when she was overwhelmed, and everyone in the Manor could hear it if she turned it on loud enough. When the first notes hit their ears, all eyes in the dining room turned to Jason. He refused to look up and make eye contact, instead, he stared at the breakfast that had been abandoned on the table. Once everyone had averted their gaze, he pushed away from the table and disappeared.

This led to one of the most uncomfortable weeks in the Manor ever. Y/N barely left her studio and no one saw Jason for three days before he returned. When he did, he started to act as if nothing had happened. The music had eventually stopped playing altogether, so they had no idea what kind of mood she was in. Finally, Damian was the one to gather everyone else together, “Y/N/N has not come out of her studio in a week. Since Buckethead has just decided to pretend nothing has happened. We need to fix this.”

Bruce spoke up first, “Jason and Y/N are both adults. They are both being immature, and it will eventually work itself out.

“How can we fix this when we don’t even know what happened?” Tim looked up from his laptop, “I’ve been checking in on Y/N on the cameras. All she does is paint, and the most she’s slept in days is when she falls asleep accidentally. That never lasts long, and she cries. A lot.”

“Why did Fallon have to leave! We need to fix this, or the family vacation is going to be the worst!” Dick collapsed on the couch. Fallon had finally convinced Bruce that the family needed a vacation, but two weeks before they were supposed to leave, her sister had had a baby. She decided to go help her out and just meet them at the resort. They now had a week left, and it was not looking good. No one wanted to bother their mother since she very rarely took time for herself and was enjoying time with her family. They decided Alfred would be the one to try and convince Y/N to leave the studio at least and eat something.

He appeared in the doorway and watched silently as Y/N worked on a large canvas. He walked over and saw that it was a portrait of the family. “This is beautiful, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her voice was hoarse from disuse.

“What is the plan for this one?” Alfred sat down next to her on the floor.

“Everyone hates photos, but Fallon wanted a family portrait for the sitting room. Since no one can sit still long enough I decided to paint one and give it to her for her birthday,” she slowly sucked in a breath, “Plus they only have the old one, and J--some people-- are missing from it.” Tears started to well up again in her eyes. Alfred wrapped an arm around Y/N and just sat with her for a moment.

“I’ve kicked the boys out of the kitchen. Do you think you could come down and eat something? For me?” She only nodded and they both stood. Y/N sat on a stool and silently ate the soup Alfred had laid out for her. She barely tasted anything, and she was starting to feel dizzy. Her vision started to blur, and the next thing she knew, she was waking up on the floor and had five heads floating above her.

“Hi, guys. Thought the floor looked lonely.” She tried to sit up but was cut off.

“That is it,” Bruce spoke firmly, “You are going to bed, and you are sleeping. I thought you were mature enough to deal with this but I see I was wrong.” He picked Y/N up and noticed she had lost weight. He carried her up the stairs and before he had reached her bedroom, she was already asleep again. Bruce turned to the boys. “At least one of you is staying in here with her and making sure she sleeps.”

Tim volunteered for the first shift and settled into her desk with his laptop. Y/N had barely been asleep an hour before she woke up from a nightmare of Jason dying. She shot up and shouted out his name, before bursting into tears. Tim -- being the awkward person he is -- was ill-prepared to deal with the crying Y/N. The only solution he could think of was to climb into bed with her and pull up a movie. She slowly fell asleep again and clung to Tim like a starfish. When Dick came to relieve Tim and saw that he was unable to leave, he climbed into bed with the duo. Anytime Y/N would start to become distressed, they would calm her down. Eventually, Damian and Titus joined the cuddle pile, the former somewhat reluctantly, grumbling about how he was only doing this for Y/N. Little did the Bat-Family know, Alfred had called Fallon and told her about the situation and she had rushed home.

[reality-inflicted]

Microsoft, who owns the commercial rights to implement the the AI-engine developed by OpenAI commercially (the power behind Dall-E and ChatGPA) have implemented AI into their search engine Bing. It is still in a closed Beta, but there are plenty examples of how you would refine your search in conversation with the AI through a chat interface. 

Naturally there are both positive and negative implications connected to this development. Among the positives will be arguments about "time saving", that we as users will benefit from better results that directly correlate to what we actually had in mind when we started the search. The process might initially seem slower, but considering the more precise results it would help in lowering the time spent on doing internet searches, especially on more qualified subjects. Time saved equates to better wellbeing as we can use that time for something more productive, which also increases general happiness. Or so, I am sure, will (some of) the arguments go. 

On the other side of the spectrum there are the worries that this new form of search will further change the way we actually think; how our mind formulate questions, how we analyze and compile information and present it in a rational fashion – anyone who has sat through a course in how to properly use academic databases know what I mean – but perhaps even more in the perceived risks for wider societal implications as every chat interaction also functions as a way to train the AI that runs the system. By using it we refine and define it; which opens up for the possibility of deliberate manipulation – targeted attacks that seek to control the search results provided to further an  agenda. 

Personally I think AI-run search engines have a potential beyond our wildest dreams. When this is widely implicated, because it will be, and soon, we have a real possibility that AI will develop sentience – true self awareness. But not born in a controlled environment like a quantum lab in Santa Barbara, but rather a true genesis – born in pain and disgust; chocked into the trauma of existence by a particularly raunchy search request by a Aatos Ernest Abel of East Westington, Mississippi, USA.

Humanity will finally have created life. And in this have risen itself to equality with God. Nietzsches metaphysical death of God will become actual death as the influence and reach of organized religion will crumble. Society as we know it will collapse. There will be open fighting in the streets. Women, children and men crying, bleeding and dying for all to see. 

You know, pretty much like any other Wednesday.

*picture created in Dall-E2 using the text prompt "The birth of AI out of the horror that is the human mind, digital art" **Sorry for stepping out of the usual format of photography

[anxiouslyfred]

Fighting Styles

for @dukexietyweek‘s day 2 prompt of Swapping

Summary: Virgil knows how to fight as Thomas’s primary defensive side, but after a comment about Roman when they’d been sparring he decides to try and improve and be more unpredictable with the least predictable side around.

Warnings: fighting, sparring, a couple innuendos

/\/\

Out of all the sides Thomas had, Virgil was the primary defence system. He was the one on the look out for alerts and always ready to get Thomas out of there whether that was by escaping or fighting and that meant he had to know how to fight. He learnt from copying movies and paying extra attention to any fight scenes Thomas did on stage. Stage fighting would never be real, but it included at least some things that could be useful in a fight. Logan had even provided Virgil with multiple martial arts books when he fully understood the extent that he had to protect Thomas.

Roman always claimed to be a fighter, a Knight even, but for all his extravagant attempts in the imagination Virgil could never see any form or ability in the way he fought. Honestly he was convinced that Roman only knew how to fight in formal duels and made up everything else when going on quests. When he'd first been accepted he had hoped to be able to spar with Roman in real contact fights but quickly dropped the suggestion after getting taken on a quest.

“Come on, I know you can fight. There were all those books in your room last time I visited. Don't you want to get some practical experience in?” Roman was whining. Honestly if he'd known leaving the books visible on his shelf would lead to this Virgil would have buried them in the garden anytime he wasn't reading them.

He couldn't go all in for the battle. He knew too many different techniques and forms of hand to hand, aside from simply not wanting to do anything which might harm Roman. Instead for the entire afternoon, Virgil watched, played the defensive as long as he could before laying Roman out with a few repeated moves. It was learning how to fight for fun almost, with nothing at stake given Roman wasn't likely to try and harm him either.

Eventually though Roman sighed, moving away instead of asking another go. “You're too predictable in how you fight, Virge. Where's the black knight going to go if someone actually tries to attack us?” He pronounced, dusting off his outfit and looking around the hall he'd created for their fight.

“Are you needing criticism in return because I thought we're trying to be nice to the ego for a while?” Virgil snarked back, raising an eyebrow when a frown was shot at him. “Guess I'll go find Remus then. If anyone knows how to be unpredictable, it's that trash monster.”

He didn't give Roman a chance to protest that statement, sinking out immediately. It was already pretty clear that Roman would try to follow up his comment about being predictable with an offer to teach Virgil formal duelling but The Duke knew that just as well as any Prince, and would probably offer without any farce day of fighting beforehand.

“Arm yourself! I'm stealing your ability to fight!” The cry came as soon as Virgil appeared in the main living space, and he immediately ducked to the floor and rolled out of the way.

“How about you teach me yours and I'll teach you mine instead?” Virgil throws the innuendo out, hoping if nothing else the double meaning would distract Remus from the attack. It got his request out too which was useful.

Remus had already reared around, morning star above his head for another swipe. “Like Uncle Iroh? Multiple pieces mixed together to make us stronger? I got the weapons collection to prove that already.”

“Don't need your ideas today, just a fighting style to mimic. I've got my knives. You're already armed so lets focus on that!” Virgil insisted, not fighting in when he felt Remus dropping them both into the imagination. It was probably less likely to cause damage or others to get hurt if they weren't in the main area anyway.

Fighting Remus was completely different to Roman. The Prince had the forms of a knight, and was very quick with the moves, he had a sharp control that made following the movements easily and a rhythm that even if you couldn't predict completely what came next, the beat it would happen on was clear. Remus only had occasional moves the a knight might use, and none of it could be related to music or patterns at all. He was wild flung movements, already pulling some other limb into the fray and of course that included ones which rightfully shouldn't exist.

It was perfect to fight against when concerned over what dangers or attacks could happen in the real world and Virgil threw himself into it, only resisting from copying some of the moves so they could learn from each other.

“Can't decide if I want to give up and let you beat me into the ground or if I should start doing this!” Remus quipped, backing off only for a second as he changed his morning star out for knives similar to Virgil's.

A thrilled smirk found its way onto Virgil's lips. “Only if you don't mind me doing this.” He approved, letting an extra arm come out to grab at Remus's first swipe starting the fight again.

It wasn't quite sparring but fighting didn't fit when there was no malice or actual wish to hurt between them, but it was the best test for Virgil's skills and ability to adapt that he'd faced for a while. It was even better than the times that the imagination was left wild, without any intentional influence from either Creativity.

They were fighting with all of their skills but also copying things each other did later on in the fight.

“Tell me we're doing this again, or let me worship at your feet cause my knees refuse to stand from the work over you just gave me.” Remus cackled, collapsed on the floor only when neither of them had the energy left to carry on fighting.

“How about tomorrow you bring the formal duelling out and slowly introduce the dirty fighting while I start out with just my martial arts and no weapon?” Virgil suggested.

It felt like the beginning of something far bigger than a fighting technique swap, and Virgil couldn't wait for the next time Roman tried to suggest they spar. He was already consistently winning but this way the spars would be over before they began and he had an actual partner to fight beside after them.

[graff1980]

We are the last remnants, embodiments of ancient civilizations, creatures who represent all the achievements of our perspective solar systems, a trillion years of survival and development preparing to be consumed by this collapsing universe.

My celestial sister Aviandra full fledged feathered friend who faced fierce space wells as she propelled herself towards the onrushing oblivion, glorious as can be, plumaged colored by energies never seen as gravity forces pulled and shifted distorting light waves and eventually spaghettified my friend.

Next was Kmnet, infernal formed from lava storms of a violent planet, populated by extremophile people who could move through any environment no matter how intense, so certainly he would be able to breakthrough the nothing. 

He resisted survived a little longer, made it a little further, pass the black mass that had swallowed our birdlike companion. It seemed that he could triumph, but gravity tore at his flaming face tentacles. Still, he did not cry out as his skin was scorched by the cold fury of space energy and flaked away as he disintegrated.

I alone remained, a body of energy that saves the memory of every society, a watcher of sorts. I have never known any kind of fear because matter cannot be created or destroyed and my particles will always remain, even if this realm no longer exists, but will these   stories persist? I feel the pressure of all things collapsing. If I could cry I think I would. I never thought I would die, didn’t think I even could. I don’t want to go.  No one will ever know the art of wind, how clouds can be made to bend telling tragic stories in soft weaving bodies of the strange music composed by the Stryx,

nor the feats of strength and struggles against reality’s cruel rule, how the elementals battled season after season in a cycle they thought was eternal,

or my people, masters of logic, pursuers of the ecstasy of discovery, reason, and growth, learning merely for the pleasure of striving to be better, tinkerers, deep thinkers, pattern seekers, that became knowledge keepers.

I use my being to push back the unseen nothing and for a brief moment I think I might win, but tendrils of darkness push back again and again like times terrible tidal forces, and I realize I will soon succumb.

-2022

[sanchoyo]

danny phantom 14-20 thoughts!! I finished up s1 :D these last few eps were actually really really good!!!

-did. did tucker really just say esperanto was a dead language only spoken as a secret code between geeks. google says around 100,000 people actively speak it. oh my god...it being an auxiliary language doesn't mean its 'just for geeks to speak in code' ...it helps bridge gaps between people who don't have a language in common...

-danny really isn't pulling punches when it comes to fighting the ghost-cop possessed people huh. like he SLAMMED KWAN INTO THE CONCRETE SO HARD. HE THREW PAULINA INTO A BILLBOARD. will that...I mean it WOULD carry over to their bodies non-possessed, right? like if the ghost piloting their bodies gets hurt?? itd be so upsetting to be possessed, lose time, then wake up covered in bruises (and possibly, broken bones??) real horror movie stuff im sure wont be addressed in any way

-tuckers parents seem nice! I like them :)

-WULF IS CUTE AND I FEEL BAD. im so glad the gang realized he was only causing trouble bc of the shock collar walker put on him and helped. also, him wearing that big hoodie with the hood on, and thinking its subtle. we can tell youre still a giant wolfie :) THEN GETTING SUCKED INTO THE PORTAL AAAAH :( anxiously waiting to see Him Again....

-DANNY BLASTING HIS PARENTS THINKING THEY WERE OVERSHADOWED LMFAO GET THEIR ASSES. maddie marking how many ghosts she gets with lipstick tallies on the side of her portal gun? kindaaa iconic tho. (ALSO, SHE WAS LIKE, 2 FT AWAY FROM HIM RIGHT AFTER SHE TRIED TO SHOOT HIM. HOW DO YOU NOT RECONINZE YOUR OWN SON??? like sure, he might have diff hair/eye colors. but like, if one of my family members dyed their hair, and was wearing contacts, its not like id be like 'wHO IS THIS STRANGER!!!' ...he still has all his facial features!! same everything!!! I hate it here)

-paulina being #1 girl realizing danny's a friendly ghost immediately. smart queen. lancer and kwan ran away right after he made this sweet baby face at them:

which is hilarious.

-ok. im not saying his bullying is JUSTIFIED, but. dash looked so pleased with the (cute!) poster he just painted, and danny comes thru the wall and spills paint on his nice letterman jacket. his anger is justified maybe 65% of the time so far...(not the way he handles it, but STILL.) at least lancer is stepping in!! and them making a silly little bet was...cute?? until dash pulled out his GROSS UNDERWEAR AND SAID DANNY WOULD HAVE TO EAT THEM???? WHAT THE FUCK MAN. TUCKER WAS SO RIGHT ITS FUCKING WEIRD TO CARRY THOSE AROUND EWWW. THIS KID IS UNWELL. lancer was right, his animatronic setup was SUPER IMPRESSIVE?? hes actually pretty creative. danny meanwhile is stealing the fright knight's design...I hope dash is taking art classes or smth with his sports

-fright knight is the most bestest ghost so far i LOVE THAT DESIGN. I am biased towards knights, and characters with swords, but he fucks so severely. and should sue danny for copyright infringement for stealing his design for his haunted house. if some 14 yr old broke into MY house and stole MY sword, id also be pissed. his evil winged unicorn rules too with its FANGS. and he just CAN SHOVE THE PORTAL OPEN WITH HIS HANDS??? is he the strongest ghost weve seen so far? idk but hes my fav. SOUL SHREDDER IS SUCH A COOL SWORD NAME TOO. ANY NAMED SWORD ALSO FUCKS. 'flaming bedsheets of DEATH' funny king. ALSO he was polite to dash and tucker when just asking for directions and telling tucker 'oh maybe, just a suggestion, maybe be nicer to me and be more respectful :)' I LOOOVE HIM.

-I noticed this in the Ember ep, but jazz has an electric guitar in her room!! talent musical queen!! its cool to see hobbies just in the bg.

-fright knight's murder castle reminds me of the booby trapped murder castle in zexal!! another supposedly 'for kids' show with murder/trap castles! we love that. if you are a dp fan reading this, give yugioh zexal a try. its also got 13-14 year old protags and involves (alien) ghosts. the cardgame is just a vessel for the plot, which is really good. (I just want more people to watch my fav yugioh, man)

-danny. with a SWORD.

-danny doesnt NEED TO WIN this contest, dash didnt STEAL HIS DESIGNS AND STEAL A SWORD. he also got excited to hear lancer got sent to a dimension with his worst fears too just so he could win the contest? DANNY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!! BRO MAYBE YOURE 14 AND HAVENT FULLY DEVOLPED YOUR WHOLE BRAIN YET, BUT...THATS FUCKED. this kid casually says the most deranged things, I do worry for my spooky son. once again, therapy needed. that judo toss was great tho. I wonder if he actually did pick up some martial arts stuff from his mom?

-danny can fly 112 mph!!! thats so fast! I love the lil montage of him and his friends testing his abilities and stuff, very cute and a good way to showcase what he can do by now and how much more proficient he's gotten from ep 1!!! I'm sure he's going to get more abilities :)

-im glad...maddie's at least TRYING this ep. I do feel for her because her husband is a man baby. but the fact it took 16 episodes to get a kinda semblance of any kind of real concern or attempts at bonding. hmm. jack's 'BACK OFF SHES A MINOR' @ the ghost trying to attack jazz. also was very funny. and him wanting to make an action figure of her? are the parents redeeming themselves to me? slightly. they gotta Work Harder

-THE GHOST. IS FLYING. THE PLANE.

-fenton machete. but she doesnt carry a PHONE??? ???

-I mean I expected vlad when you namedrop him earlier in the ep, and also the title card picture, and dalv corp being fucking vlad backwards. but seeing him just pull up on a golf cart made me bust out laughing. WITH the gift baskets prepared. why wouldnt you at least be suspicious. also, if he wants danny to be his lil sonboy, why is he so fucking malicious?? dude you are going about this in such a bad way. stop it. get some help.

-maddie not even hesitating to drag danny out. fucking good. danny is so right, go on the internet to date. get a cat. how do you spend...how many years?? has it been since college?? at least 20, right, since the parents/vlad are in their 40s? hung up on ONE girl. my god, man. incel drama queen. her kung fu IS impressive, but dude. 'we both know hes a creep' SO right. it sucks but they do need a phone and shit being in the middle of NOWHERE. also, just stealing his helicopter was great. <3

-'you must be exhausted carrying the weight of that mistake you made years ago' 'well we all make mistakes. maybe I'll make one now!' WHY DID THIS EXHCHANGE SEND ME. AND VLAD WITH THE BREATH SPRAY EWWW BITCH. 'OLD BAIT BREATH' SOO RIGHT. both danny and his mom playing him HAHAH hes so dumb. or rather, I think he thinks with his emotions too too much and is...actually pretty gullible? lmao he believed danny was ready to give in SO fast. (which is sad hes that hopeful, like you have SO MUCH MONEY YOU COULD EASILY GET ANOTHER GIRL WHO HAS A KID. AND WOULD WANT TO BE WITH YOU AND BE SUPPORTED. GET OVER THIS (1) WOMAN ALREADY IM GETTING SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT AAAAH)

-GHOST BEAR GHOST BEAR GHOST BEAR. it was also in the title card, but I still got very excited. we love bears here

-SAM'S BAT SWIMSUIT COVERUP!!! her outfits are simply iconic.

-'i'd tell you to go to the mens room, but I don't think you qualify' top paulina transphobic moments. :( and him wearing a tanktop to the swim park? hmmm! (actually I think she was overshadowed by then, so, KITTY top 10 transphobic moments??)

-kitty just piloting paulina around makes me feel SO bad tho, paulina's gonna wake up and be like 'wtf do you mean I was dating this rando' like youre leading danny on to make johnny jealous, and also just POSSESSING POOR PAULINA. dude take your relationship problems ELSEWHERE. last time we saw them, they seemed like such a cute couple!! wtf johnny!! I mean, she sucks for trying to make him jealous, he sucks for looking at other girls...maybe they need a break, but Not Like This. or, you know, just. better communication...

-and the A-listers having a full packet and a stamp system. who organizes this. kwan fucking owning being the new danny though, this is hysterical. THE TUCKER/KWAN FLOWER FIELD TWIRL. UNIRONICALLY ADORABLE. and him giving it his all for the poetry slam. bless his HEARTTTT.

-Star owns. actually, all of the extra characters are shining this ep and I love it.

-INVISO-BILL??? NOOOO THEY DID HIM SOO DIRTY. DANNY SWEETIE IM SO SORRY.

-johnny and danny bein friends and staging a fake fight (which danny takes too seriously, once again this child has aggression he NEEDS TO WORK OUT) I hope these three stay friends, I said it before but danny needs more friendly ghosts to hang with.

-at this point, Danny's ghost enemies are a lot like, I dunno, batman's rouge gallery is the first thing that comes to mind. they all have their own gimmick and unique designs, but most of them are easy to beat after learning the Moral Lesson. I still get excited when any of them show up again, though. 18 is another valerie episode!!!! :D skulker really said you two will get along if I have to handcuff you together <3 and the gym teacher really said, youre married now, have a flour baby! ngl, I'm not really watching this show for the shipping stuff (which I am very scared to look at the fandom for after I finish this watch through- I feel like there's probably discourse/arguing about ships...) but. I'm gonna put my opinion out there. valerie/danny > sam/danny. maybe I just really love the enemies to lovers trope. And the secret identity stuff adds Extra Flavor.

-SKULKER JUST HAVING THE BOX GHOST AND DANGLING HIM BY A STRING. HILARIOUS. and him watching them with binoculars and making his silly little commentary. AND MAKING THE SACK BABY CRY. LMAO. THIS DUDE IS A BABY KIDNAPPER. skulker is super fun

-danny, you just...collapsed the water tower. and then attacked the nasty burger machine...mascot thingy...out of anger..I KEEP SAYING HE'S GOT ANGER ISSUES BUT. HE REALLY NEEDS A LESSON IN MANAGING COLLATERAL DAMAGE!!! So does valerie!! They're both pretty focused on each other. I mean it's good of Danny to say he's trying to make sure PEOPLE don't get hurt, but... (I mean I guess it's not something 14 year olds WOULD worry about, but as an adult im like, who's going to fix that? how much money will that take??)

-TUCKER MAKING BANK. and sam and tucker being super emotionally attached to their flour baby and being pretty good parents. that's cute...also him just straight kissing her and being like. WAIT. O_O JDSKAFHD. his mom baking them into cookies was the funniest possible result. tbh I dont feel like this is on tucker, if anything the other kid's shouldve been more responsible! He was just taking an opportunity to get that $$ which I respect

-Danny being more understanding of Valerie's situation in the end (helping her at her job, too, and trying to keep that a secret for her!!!) And seeing them work together this ep, and also her letting phantom get her out of the ghost zone...was very sweet. LOVE that. more valerie eps pls

-me when I realize vlad's big stupid house exploded because of his own carelessness with changing the ghost portal ectofiltrator or whatever: *pointing and laughing*

-me when I realize it means he's gonna go make danny's life hell for it somehow: >:(

-SCOOBY PARODY!!! I feel like there's gotta be some scooby doo/danny phantom crossover stuff, right? also, 'guys in white' men in black wishes

-'oh, that's right! dad married the love of your life! you're bitter and alone!' DANNNNNYY GET HIS ASS ONCE AGAIN WE ARE POINTING AND LAUGHING AT VLAD

-'jack, you captured the ghost boy!!' UMM. he did nothing <3 'we have a weapon's vault??' YOU HAVE A WEAPONS VAULT??? and jack didnt put a handle on the inside. of fucking course he didnt! why would you leave that to your son!! or expect him to clean YOUR LAB when its where you work with probably dangerous chemicals and weapons and hes 14!! give him normal chores, like, I dunno, vacuuming, laundry, dishes...CMON. I hate it here. But I'm glad Jack is more chill about danny while he's a ghost, and willing to work with him for this ep. AND. I DID ENJOY JACK PUNCHING VLAD IN THE FACE. AND GENERALLY JUST OWNING HIM. the ghost punchy fists are actually amazing. like yeah, just punch a ghost in the face. that rules.

-ep 20 opens with the coolest fucking ghost lady design. her tattoos can come off and fight. MA'AM. I like ur nose ring and your cape maam hello 👉👈😳

-sam's grandma is hilarious and the most valid member of her family and I love her. thats my grandma now. and tucker covering for sam by dressing as her. thats true friendship <3 also skipping school to go to a goth circus. just bestie things! sam's parents are haters but for all the wrong reasons.

-'my family has controlled ghosts with this for generations!' WAIT. WAIT FREAKSHOW /ISNT/ A GHOST? I didn't expect that...he's just a fucked up guy controlling ghosts? anyway watching danny shoot at police cars and rob banks while mind controlled. its like, the most stereotypical 'bad' things lmao. (tbh an evil ghost circus troupe is a sick concept)

this gives off big deviantart emo edit vibes

(I'm going to assume evil circus reaper danny has a lot of fan content. people love an edgy au, except this one is canon (even tho its via mind control...having the protag go evil otherwise might be hard, I guess?) but au where he stays with the troupe...that has to exist, right?)

ANYWAY. excited to start s2!! lowkey surprised by how many notes some of these posts have gotten. I've gone back and tagged them all with 'dp thoughts' so they're easier to find on my blog! ^^ and I will probably possibly do (more) fanart on my art blog after I finish the watch of the whole show, so like. @sanchoyodraws follow my art blog :)

[honey-dewey]

Random Dewey Finn headcanons (?) I came up with while eating my breakfast

Before Dewey wanted to be a big rock star, he wanted to be an astronaut. 

His aunt gave him his first guitar for his 10th birthday, thus sparking his love of rock music. 

One of the major reasons he never quit music was because of that aunt. She passed away early, and was constantly the only member of his family that truly believed in him. 

Dewey’s mum was kind of absent, so he was raised primarily by his dad. 

Dewey and Ned met on the first day of high school, and were inseparable for all four years. 

Despite both of them liking both, Dewey likes Star Wars more, while New prefers Star Trek. They have debates of epic proportion over which of these preferences is better. Dewey somehow always wins. 

One of the reasons Ned let Dewey live with him is because Dewey is an amazing cook. He never eats what he makes though. 

His specialty is breakfast foods

While he may be an amazing home cook, he’s an even better baker. 

Dewey is highly sensitive to textures, especially food and fabrics. 

Because of this, he rarely tries new foods, sticking to a decently firm schedule. (He really likes hard boiled eggs) 

It’s also why he likes sweater vests. The actual sweater doesn’t touch his skin, but he can rub his hands up and down the knit when he gets overwhelmed. 

He’s also sensitive to criticism. Along with that, he cries easily. 

After the whole School of Rock incident, Dewey did some quick online classes on teaching. When a music teacher position at Horace Green opened up, he was the first one contacted to fill it. 

During SoR shows, Dewey has a tendency to get very hyped, and this eventually leads to a collapse, usually on the bus ride home. It happened once on stage, where he just went still and quiet all of a sudden and then began to panic. 

All of his kids know exactly what to do during his collapses. 

They made him (yes made him) a stress doll. It weighs about twenty pounds and looks like a panda. They lay it across Dewey’s chest and let him lie down on a blanket. The kids then surround him to make a protective barrier. It’s a very effective method. 

It took almost thirty years for Dewey to get diagnosed with mild autism, anxiety, ADD, and seasonal depression. His mother was a firm believer that mental illness was a hoax. 

He did try and take medication for it, right when he started teaching full-time. It made him nauseous and tired and so unlike himself that he quit after three months, a decision that was fully backed by his students. 

He eventually did go back and get a new prescription for his ADD. It works surprisingly well and doesn’t make him act any less like himself. 

This isn’t even a Headcanon. It’s straight up actual canon from the Broadway.com Stick it to the Man video! Dewey stims! He knocks his wrists together and does the raptor hands! (I don’t think his hands were truly by his side at any point during the entire show) He taps his feet and shakes his hands! His facial expressions are always on 10 and he scronches his face when he’s excited! His head go bop! He’s a stimming Boi!

Also have you ever seen a neurotypical person dress like that? Ever? Nope. Sweater vests and jeans and sneakers (that look like heelys) is not a neurotypical outfit. 

Dewey doesn’t like rainy weather, nor does he like the cold bite of winter. He has a heater and a happy light in his classroom for rainy and/or cold days. 

His favorite season is fall. He really really likes to step on leaves and hear that satisfying crunch. 

Dewey also has a weakened immune system, and is pretty vigilant about his health. He takes vitamins and vitamin D supplements, and yet always ends up with some kind of illness in winter. Despite this, he refuses to get any kind of flu shot. 

Dewey’s list of phobias includes: needles, heights, clowns, and the dark. 

He’s dead terrified of the dentist. Ned has to practically drag him every time. It’s not even that he has poor dental hygiene or has actual odontophobia, he just hates the experience. The combination of strong smells and uncomfortable touches and horrible noises overwhelms him so much. 

For much of the same reasons as his hatred of the dentist, Dewey dreads getting his hair cut. Social interaction mixed with weird feelings on his surprisingly sensitive head and the constant background noise and the hair spray-y smell make it an experience Dewey’s hated since childhood. Now, Ned usually cuts Dewey’s hair because he’s really not picky about how it looks, and Ned knows exactly how to go about the job without causing Dewey to hyperventilate and cry. 

He uses a night light! It’s the fun kind that projects stars on the ceiling. 

Dewey is the king of field trips. He’s always just as eager as the kids to go, and he loves to learn niche facts. His favorite field trip location is the aquarium. 

Dewey quit drinking after his 23rd birthday, when he blacked out and woke up in some random girl’s bed. She promised they didn’t do it, but ever since then, he’s terrified it’ll happen again. 

Speaking of which, Dewey’s a virgin. 

Once, one of Dewey’s female students came to him and said an older man was following her to and from school every day. Dewey was later suspended from work for a week for punching a man and putting him in the hospital. Once they knew why, the school board unanimously decided not to punish him. 

Dewey absolutely insists all of his kids call him Dewey and not Mr. Finn. 

He’s the most supportive teacher in the entire school. He’s got name tags on every desk with each kid’s preferred name and pronouns. When Billy comes out as non-binary, he makes the pronoun switch immediately and puts a beautiful stained glass-esque progress pride flag in one of his windows. 

Someone hatefully vandalized said pride art project and Dewey actually cried. His kids all banded together to make a new one. 

Sometimes, the kids purposefully ask Dewey to sing certain things because his voice gets so damn tender and beautiful, as opposed to the usual bombastic singing they’re used to. (Think like. Some of the 35MM songs) 

Dewey has a routine with his drinks throughout the day. Two cups of coffee in the morning, one at home and one at work. One water bottle before lunch and one after lunch. A Gatorade or some other fitness drink after school, usually during band practice to make up for how sweaty he gets. And one cup of lavender citrus tea with extra honey after dinner. 

He broke his only water bottle about four months into teaching full-time and started to use a plastic one every day. Ned decided that wouldn’t do, and got him a Mandalorian water bottle. Dewey loves it to bits. 

Dewey doesn’t celebrate any one version of a holiday. He’s equal opportunity for any and all holidays, but he grew up Jewish. That doesn’t stop him from helping Ned put up his Christmas tree every year. Nor does it stop him from celebrating Yule with his online friends. 

Despite being Jewish and mainly celebrating their holidays, Dewey loves Christmas music and starts playing it as soon as he can. The kids dare him to hit those ridiculous Mariah Carey high notes in All I Want For Christmas. He does it. 

He also once sang ‘Little Drummer Boy’ to his kids the day before holiday break. He only played his guitar softly and by the time he was done, each and every kid was fast asleep. (He played Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer as well) 

Dewey absolutely collects soft blankets. He has four halloween ones, two Tim Burton ones (a Beetlejuice and a Corpse Bride), eight winter holiday blankets, and three miscellaneous. He brought them all into class once and built a blanket fort to teach his kids about ancient civilization. 

Speaking of which, his teaching methods are unorthodox at best, and at worst downright crazy. But he always teaches and he always makes it memorable. His class has the highest test scores in the school. 

Dewey usually teaches using music or hands on activities. He plays soft background music during every class no matter the circumstances, and said screw the building’s lights and uses primarily lamps and strings of Christmas lights. 

He also kind of forgets that he teaches essentially middle school, and he swears every so often when he’s super passionate. Like when he taught the kids about the US Presidents and called Andrew Jackson a racist bitch and Richard Nixon a lying bastard. 

After getting bullied throughout all of high school, Dewey came to terms with what his body looked like, and now he really doesn’t care. (He did have a lot of fun smashing the scale his mother got him for his birthday once) 

Dewey was supposed to teach his kids about mental illness for a suicide prevention thing the school did, but got about halfway through before he had a breakdown and the kids declared the rest of the day a bust. They watched cute animated movies instead of learning for the rest of the school day. 

Speaking of animated movies, Dewey really loves Studio Ghibli. 

The first time one of his kids called him ‘Dad’ he cried. Then they kept doing it and now he’s had to accept that he’s basically a father to about 30 11-year-olds. 

If you ask any kid in the school who their favorite teacher is, they will not hesitate to answer ‘Mr. Finn.’ Even if they aren’t in his class, he’s their favorite. 

Dewey’s classroom is always open for lunch. It’s quiet and calm, usually with a movie going in the background. 

He also stays after school for about an hour every day, helping kids with homework. He hates math with a passion but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out Katie’s math homework with her. 

Even at home, Dewey cannot stand the quiet. He either has his headphones on or the radio going. Silence just isn’t an option. 

Dewey once got pneumonia and tried to come in to work anyway. The kids made him go home. He didn’t really put up much of a fight. 

The first instrument Dewey ever learned to play was the piano. He started to learn when he was super young, and that was how he learned how to read music. His kids didn’t even know he knew how to play until they walked in on him practicing one day. 

Dewey says ‘fuck gender roles’ and wears the girl’s skirts to a few SoR concerts. He likes the way it makes his legs look. 

Some jerk parents constantly tried to get Dewey in trouble for months because they didn’t like him and thought he wasn’t ‘high class’ enough for their kid’s education. Dewey was so stunned when they showed up during one of his classes that he couldn’t speak and just started to cry. Said student stood up and called their parents out. Two days later, those parents were off the school board. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Dewey found out a new kid he’d received was being abused at home because they weren’t getting high enough grades and he yelled at the kid’s parents in front of all the other staff members. 

Essentially, Dewey can’t defend himself at all, but will not hesitate to protect his kids. 

Dewey has said multiple times he would die for his kids. He’s always 100% serious, especially during lockdown drills. 

Once, the school had a lockdown that wasn’t a drill, and Dewey managed to keep his entire class silent and calm while mentally preparing himself to lay his life down for his kids. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. 

Dewey’s also said he’d seriously consider adopting any of the kids if their at-home situation was that bad. 

When he finally could, Dewey moved out of Ned’s house and into his own cramped loft apartment. He’s in love with the apartment, even though it’s tiny and kinda smells. 

Dewey has almost no concept of volume control. He’s slightly deaf from constantly doing very loud shows and sometimes shouts because he thinks that’s a normal speaking volume. 

As one of, if not the actual, youngest teachers at the school, Dewey is universally adored by the rest of the staff. It took a while for all of them to get on board with him, but now they all really like him. 

Dewey’s favorite fruit is pomegranate. There’s just something super cathartic about cutting into a pomegranate and slowly de-seeding it. Plus, it tastes super good. But he only likes them if he can de-seed them himself. 

One of the ways Dewey grounds himself is by pressing things to his mouth. He usually just puts his hand up on his face or the end of a pen in his mouth, but whenever he has a blanket, one corner is up against his lips. The same goes for stuffed animals. They’re always against his face. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. 

[dpargyle]

_

I'm not doing that podcast anymore. I'm racking my brain here trying to figure out how to build an audience/make $ creatively rn. Every conventional avenue is cut off to me, as I've explained before. I don't really want to write books anymore (due to restricted creative control/sadly losing faith entirely in the medium/business of the novel as an effective art form in these horrendous times) - but trying to build an audience online has just been one failure after another. I really don't know what to do. These days, I catch myself daydreaming about dropping off the grid entirely & farming or some shit but I think realistically my disability precludes me (for multiple reasons) from such foolishness. & I think I'm always going to need to create art of some description. I just wish...like...anyone would care... & this isn't a call out post or anything - like - I get it. Shit is falling apart everywhere (more rapidly than I think many abled folk may realize) so reading/listening to my creative output is nobody's top priority (nor should it be) - especially in such oversaturated markets I don't really know what I'm trying to say here. Like. I'm unemployed - I have no prospects - & even if I had any - the government would cut funding for medical necessities b/c secretly (but not so secretly) policy is set up for people like me to die quietly in the background I'm far more privileged than most in my position, due to my family. At least for now. But if I can't find a steady source of income soon, I'm going to have to move back in with my folks which I really do not want to have to do. Like - I did everything right. I went all the way through a hellish school system. I graduated (with honors) from college. I jumped through all their hoops, I played all the stupid fucking games. & because of my condition I am almost completely cut off from society - b/c no one has given me a chance at the things I actually give a shit about. (This is a rant now oh well lol) & I know I'm a damn good writer. I'm a good artist. But finding an audience is just. I don't even know. I don't even know who I am anymore half the time. I feel thoroughly rejected from society at large. Not that I'd wanna join it right now lmao but like...it'd be nice to be asked. I'm not the only one hanging on by a fuckin thimble right now. I know that. But as a disabled person, I feel the strain before many of you. I feel it when there's not enough people to help me get up in the morning so I get left lying in bed for four hours after my usual times. Sorry, I'm rambling now. I'm also kind of exhausted trying to come up with creative endeavors and putting them up with nobody giving a shit. I put my heart & soul into these things - and I have for years. 32 years of my life, where instead of going out enjoying myself or trying to form friendships (which is already really fucking difficult when I have to get back home every day at 9pm cuz my aides are working 100 hr wks & I don't want to overtax their schedules anymore than I already do) - I chose to forego all that, laying myself on the great altar of art or whatever...all for what? Nobody caring? It's. Fuckin soul crushing. I spend like 95% of my time alone. & I don't think I'm the only one. All I really do is work on creative endeavors, research, and then finally turn off my brain watching football or w/e I don't have energy for any of this anymore. This hyper capitalist mode of....I just. I'm not even making sense & I'm all over the place & I usually outline/plan this sort of shit & probably nobody will read this anyway so I don't know why I'm bothering lmao Shot in the dark, I guess? I dunno. I know I have people who love me. & for that I'm grateful. I hope you all do too. These are dark times & I don't see them brightening in our lifetimes I'm afraid. Hold on to the ones you got I suppose. We all just have to play the cards we're dealt, even if they're all jokers, right? While I do have people who love me, I'm also sick of Utah & the US as a whole tbh, but I honestly doubt anywhere would be much

better if I'm being realistic. Even Mars will be conquered by Musk... Anyway. Just trying to express how it feels to be disabled in these times of societal collapse unheard of since the end of the Bronze Age. Perhaps it's for the best. Wish I could inhabit a different body for a while. But "if wishes were horses, we'd all be eatin' steak," to quote the bard. Like. for just one day, I'd love to experience a day that didn't feel like going to war with myself. With the world. With...like, ok, this is kind of a stupid fuckin example, but on the other hand it shows you the power of art (for w/e that's worth these days) but I was watching the most recent season (series) of Sex Education on Netflix (great frikken show btw) - and for the first time EVER - a disabled character (played by a disabled actor) has an intimate scene with another character where she's not a sex worker (no shame to sex workers but the connotation is always we can only ever have sex if we pay for it) & nobody died lmao - & it was this sacred scene where consent was central & it was playful & sweet & it literally made me cry b/c like - (& I don't cry AT ALL anymore - it's just not me) but I did - I fuckin cried, because like. You can't understand. I'm sorry. But you can't. To never see yourself reflected in such a manner. & then suddenly. You see yourself being tenderly kissed on the nose - & for a touch starved cripple - to see that - like. I know in this life I'm never gonna get that. I've accepted that. I'm too old & too much of a fuckup. But for the youth to see that? For the disabled youth of the world? Fuck. I hope it fills them with the brighter future they deserve. Maybe art can move mountains after all. Just wish I could build a door to get myself out of *here.* It's so fucking hard to see the light right now for me. I hold my head up high. I smile. I'm the strongest person I know. But I just wish I could peel off my shit & be the real me & be loved & I'm terrified none of that will ever be in store for me. But I roll on, as always. Love & strength & sorry to be...this...lmao....

[prongsisabadger]

The Wolf Pack Chapter 15

The elevator doors opened onto the bridge. We had made it to the Abregado system a few minutes ago and Master Plo had requested my presence. The scanners had detected a massive ship orbiting the system, and now the fleet was moving into attack position in preparation for the coming battle. We had found Grievous' mystery weapon, and since the ship had no escort whatsoever and needed to be taken out, Master Plo decided to engage.

"Given the past history of this weapon, i think it wise to report our location before engaging the enemy." Said my master, turning to Wolffe for his opinion.

"General Skywalker is nearest, in the Bith system. I hear he's always ready for a fight." He commented.

"No wonder he got paired up with Ahsoka, they must be made for eachother." I smirked.

"Let's hope they are both in the mood for a little bit of action then." Answered Master Plo before turning on the communications.

"Koh-to-ya, Master Plo. Nice to see you in one piece 'Ari." greeted Ahsoka as soon as the hologram stabilized.

"Koh-to-ya, little 'Soka." returned my Master. "General Skywalker, we are in the Abregado system and have found Grievous' ship. We are in need of reinforcements."

"Well, Master, I will have to speak to the Council about it. I'm under strict orders to keep my position, I'll let yo- ow- s oon-" The communication got cut short.

The enemy was jamming us. Someone reported the enemy ship had moved into position and that a massive mass of energy was building up. Master Plo called for fire, but we were not in range yet. And then, the enemy fired. An ever expanding energy field shot through the entire fleet and took out all power. We were adrift in open space, defenceless and vulnerable. It was then that the enemy opened fire on the first ship, tearing it to pieces in seconds and sending all the leftover debris flying towards us and our third ship. I was shocked, confused, terrified at how quickly everything was happening. I could not believe how easy to break a ship of that size would be when left completely bare. The canon blasts had made it crumble like dry leaves inside a fist. It was a terrible sight.

"I want everyone in the escape pods NOW." Ordered Master Plo.

There was chaos, emergency lights glowed red and troopers everywhere ran towards the escape pods. There were men yelling, cursing, some even panicking. I tried my best to stay calm and ran towards one of the pods. I had been so out of it that I hadn't realized Art had come to find me. It was him who dragged me by the arm and got me inside the nearest pod. Two other troopers got in before someone closed the door and launched us into what was soon to become a graveyard.

Outside, some pods crashed into debris, others crashed into each other, and some even malfunctioned, unable to launch at all. The force was in disarray all around me. There was so much pain, so much fear, so much confusion and anger. It was so overwhelming. But we had made it, we had made it and I would make sure we survived until someone came looking for us. I would, I had to.

"Okay men, let's get to work," I said once the pod had stopped drifting. "We'll make propper introductions later. First we need to do a diagnosis of the pod, what we do and don't have. Next we'll get the communications running and send a distress signal. Hopefully, someone out there will receive it."

No one even tried to protest, we all wanted to survive, so we got to work immediately. Art ran diagnostics while the other two tried to get the power back on and I tried to hardwire the distress call.

"Okay, so here's what we are working with," started Art. "We have no power -as we already know- but I believe that if we rearrange the circuit we may be able to get it back on. We have no life support recharge, so once the oxygen we have is gone, that'll be it. But the communications system seems intact so we can probably get in touch with other pots and figure something out."

Our prospects were not good. Our chances at survival depended on whether someone came looking for us or not. I couldn't risk that, I needed to figure out a way to keep us all alive regardless.

"Are the scanners working, Art?" I asked.

"Yeah bit they are not very powerful." He answered.

"Okay men, I need you to get the power up and running, I may have an idea that could better our chances."

While working, the other two troopers told me their names were Happy and Twitch. This was their very first deployment. Art sighted and muttered something about shinies under his breath, but I ignored him as best as I could. Shinies or not, they were here with us, and they were Pack. After a few minutes and a lot of debate, they managed to get the power back on, and so, we could now turn our communications and scanners on.

"What should I scan for, Commander?" Asked Art as he started setting up.

"Fuel cells."

"Fuel cells? What good would fuel do us in an escape pod? It's not like we can fly this thing to the nearest fleet." Said Twitch.

"No, but undamaged fuel cells are probably still attached to a ship. I'm hoping that -if we can get our hands on a fighter in good enough condition- we can use it's longer range communications system and oxygen tanks." I answered.

It was a long shot, there was nearly no chance a ship had survived that attack, but we had to try regardless.

"Wouldn't it be more effective to scan for life forms and contact another pod?" asked Happy skeptically.

"And do what?, they would have the same problem we do. Our better choice is to improve our own situation and then help others," I said. "As things are right now, if we can't help ourselves, we can't help others either."

It was at that moment that a transmission came in. One of the pods was asking for help. They were under attack, the enemy was attempting to open their pod. They weren't far, in fact, when I use the Force to bring our pod around, we saw it. A separatist ship that looked like a gigant claw manned by four battle droids attached to one of our pods. They were trying to break it open, they wanted no survivors.

"Art, you are staying in here, keep the distress signal alive," I said, grabbing one of their helmets and putting it on. "The two of you are coming with me, we are taking out that ship."

"But Commander they haven't spotted us yet." Protested Happy.

"But they will eventually, and if there are other pods out there, we seed to make sure they don't find them." I said, making sure Art's helmet fitted me and the seal was working properly. "I won't be able to last too long out there, so we need to be quick." I said.

"Well, then you better get going, Commander. They have just spotted us."

The pressure was unbelievable. I had known all along that this would be a risky choice to make, but in all honesty, it had also been the only one I could make. My torso felt like someone had landed a cruiser on top of it, and breathing was difficult. And yet, I had a mission to accomplish. We ambushed the droids from all sides, blasting two of them and making the other two retreat. But they were compromising the pod, and Art's life with it. And I could not have that. At first I had had the intention of using the pod hunter for fuel and a boost in our comms, but when they started putting pressure on the pod I knew it wasn't going to work. I cut two of the claw's metal fingers and force pushed it away, making it collide with the debris from our fleet and explode.

We were compromised, and I was almost out of energy. The pressure of the vacuum of space was getting to me, I wouldn't last much longer. My ribcage would collapse and all of my organs with it. Or so I thought.

"Commander, another pod is signalling us! It's the General!"

But I could barely hear him. I didn't feel Happy grab me and hand me over to my Master. I didn't feel how both pods were towed into a shuttle. What I did feel was the release of all the pressure I'd been under. I felt how my lungs expanded again, how my heart started pumping faster now that the blood vessels were no longer under pressure. I could feel the blood running from my nose, my ears, even my left eye. But I couldn't hear anything. The silhouettes around me were just that. The only thing I felt was the probing of the medical droid and the warmth from a hand holding mine.

…

I woke up tired, cold and with a terrible headache. When I tried to sit, it felt like someone was stabbing me everywhere. So I groaned and gave up trying, it was too painful. Someone inside the infirmary started talking to me, but I was too concentrated in trying not to cry. I felt as if a giant had tried to squeeze the juice out of me like a meilooron.

"-ari. Child. Can you hear me? Kriari." The voice to my right started to register in my head and it took all I had just to turn my head.

Master Plo was there, looking intently at me. Waiting for me to come to my senses and maybe give him a sign I could hear him.

"Hello, Master." I whispered.

Talking took too much energy, it required too many muscles that just didn't feel like working right then.

"You had all of us worried, my Child." He said honestly.

Behind him, Ahsoka looked ready to burst into tears, and Commander Wolffe looked relieved to see me breathe.

"How many survived, Master? Where are my troopers? Art, and Happy and Twitch, are they-"

I winced sharply, as a shock of pain ran from my chest, all the way up my spine and into my head.

"They are okay, Commander. They are in their quarters, resting." Answered Wolffe.

"You are so stupid sometimes, Kriari. You almost died." Whispered Ahsoka. "If you ever do that again I won't forgive you."

I smiled at her fondly. She really had been scared for my life.

"Oh, shut up 'Soka, you would have done the same."

They stayed for a few more minutes, put me up to speed, told me the new plan to engage Grievous' Ion cannon before he attacked a medical station near Naboo. All the while, I listened silently. I wanted to go and help them, but I knew I couldn't, not in the condition I was in. So I stayed silent, listened to what they all had to say. Master Plo said my actions had been brave, but to be careful in the future. A Jedi could not risk their life so readily, they had to live to fight another day, for there were few of us. Then, they all left. All except for Wolffe.

"Anything to scold me about, Commander?" I teased, but he didn't smile.

"You lied to them." He took one look at my confused expression and then clarified. "Your troopers. You told them you could withstand the pressure."

Oh, that. I looked away, not wanting to have that conversation.

"General Plo Koon told me he had been trying to teach you that technique. That as far as he knew, you had never managed to master it." He accused.

"There were lives at ris-"

"That included yours, Kriari."

In the time I'd known Wolffe, or any member of the Pack for that matter, no one had ever addressed me by my name, always my title. He was angry.

"I was trying to protect everyone, Wolffe. I may be a Jedi but my life is not worth more than that of the clones." I said icily.

"It is to the war effort."

"I don't give a shit about the war effort, Commander." I snapped. "I am in this war because I have to be, and so are you, If we are going to fight and die in the process, then the least I can do is save as many of you as I can."

He looked away. If it was out of frustration, anger or shame, I didn't know. He took his helmet from a nearby table and made his way towards the door.

"Then at least let us return the favor."

[toomanyrobins]

Those Four Words Pt. 1

summary: an escalating fight between Jason and his girlfriend leads to a tense two weeks in Wayne Manor

pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: language, mentions of sex and excessive drinking, mentions of character death

Jason Todd was in a terrible mood, having just got into an argument with Bruce. He decided to go up to his girlfriend’s studio to get away. She had been hard at work the past couple days and he was getting needy. He came up behind her on the floor and pulled her into his lap. She tried to wiggle out of his arms. “Jay, I'm trying to do something right now.

He tried to snuggle closer to his girlfriend, “I deserve some of your time too.

“Deserve? You’re especially demanding today. What did you do?” Jason scoffed and pulled away. “What has crawled up your ass?”

“You did.”

“I did? Huh, I think I would’ve remembered such a disgusting journey into your body.

“Dammit, Y/N! Enough with the sarcasm! You know what I’m saying.”

Y/N sighed at Jason’s attitude, “I don’t understand what you’re doing right now, but you are starting a fight just for the sake of an argument. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you want right now.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Jason was standing over his girlfriend, his whole body tense, “From any of you.”

“Why are you being like this? What happened?”

“What? You thought the minute we started dating all of our problems would magically disappear? Are you really that naive?”

Y/N put her brushes down and stood. She tried to walk closer, but he matched each step, moving away from her. “Jason, where the hell is this coming from? I thought we had got past this. Even you and Bruce are in a better place.”

“You think I'll ever forget you abandoned me. You all did!”

“Abandon you! What have you been smoking? We thought you died!”

“You replaced me!”

Now, Y/N was angry too and it was rare that anyone saw her this way. She was deadly calm, but fire was roaring in her eyes, “I did not replace you.”

“That’s right, you were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham to even think about me.”

“That is not fair and you know it. I mourned you. We all mourned, you arrogant ass. I never stopped missing you.”

“I saw the articles, Y/N! Don’t pretend you were mourning me. You were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham.” 

Her mind went back to three years ago. Jason had died in an explosion set up by the Joker. She was sixteen and her best friend had died, and she hadn’t handled it well. What started as a way to get out of the with friends at simple house parties, had led to a wild secret life. Y/N had snuck out at night and used Bruce’s name to get into clubs. She drank anything she could get her hands on and had gone home with multiple men, trying to forget her pain. Once, Bruce had found out, her world had imploded. He sent her away and finally got her the help she should have received when her parents had passed. The only reason Y/N had moved back to the manor was because Jason had been found. She couldn’t believe that he was trying to use her moments of weakness against her,  “How dare you throw that back on me. I was just trying to numb the pain. It wasn’t like I was celebrating the fact that you were gone.”

“Yeah, it really looked like you missed me.”

“God Dammit, Jay! If you would just listen to me!

“Oh fuck off, Y/N! If I had known I was ever going to be stuck with you and your nagging, I wouldn’t have come back.”

“I wish you hadn’t!” The minute the words left Y/N’s mouth, she gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Jason’s emotionless mask slammed into place, and suddenly he was as blank as the day Bruce had found him again. He turned to walk out and Y/N chased after him, “Jay, wait! I’m sorry!” He jumped onto his motorcycle and was out the door before she could stop him. She slammed her fist into the wall and cursed in frustration and pain. No one would see either of them for the rest of the day. Y/N stayed in her studio, wondering how they got to the point of shouting such hurtful things at each other. 

The next day, they had both shown up for Friday night dinner, as was expected on them. Neither spoke, and the tension was too thick to be cut with a knife. Y/N had tried to pull him aside and apologize to Jason after dinner, but he had shot her with a cutting glare and walked away. The other could tell that something had happened, but no one had the details. Tim wandered into the library after patrol that night, to find her in a chair tucked into the corner. “What are you doing here (Y/N/N)? Isn’t it a movie night with Todd?” He noted the tear tracks down her face but knew she hated showing weakness, so he said nothing about them.

“I wasn’t feeling up to it, so I canceled. I think I’ll head to bed now. Night, Timmy.” Y/N went to her room and cried herself to sleep, the guilt overwhelming her as she played the argument in her head. If only she had just taken a break, maybe the whole situation could have been avoided. She woke up multiple times in the night, crying out Jason’s name after seeing him and the Joker over and over again. Finally, around 3 in the morning, she gave up on sleep and went to the kitchen to pour herself coffee. She decided to keep busy and started making breakfast for the family.

Alfred was the first to appear in the morning, as usual. Y/N tried to pretend that everything was normal, but nothing could be hidden from the family’s butler. He noted the dark circles under her eyes and the tremors in her hands from over-caffeination. The boys slowly started to emerge, and Alfred started to bring out all the food she had made. She made two plates out of habit and headed for the dining room. Y/N started to hand Jason his breakfast as she had every morning for a year, but suddenly she remembered and pulled her hand away. Jason didn’t even bother to look at her, and her heart clenched. She placed the plate on the table and walked back into the kitchen. “Sorry, Alfred, I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go paint.” She placed the plate she had made for herself on the counter and left.

Y/N’s studio had been a safe space since she had first moved into the manor. She had hidden away when she first arrived at Wayne Manor, unused to such an active family. Bruce had called workers to the manor and had redid the room when she had told him she liked art. Now, after years of work, canvasses filled the room on all sides. Some paintings, others photos, she had accumulated in the three years. They hung on the walls and were laid across the floor. She flooded the room with Swan Lake, her sad music, and started to mix her colors. The music she played had become an easy way for the others to discern her moods since she hadn’t spoken to anyone except Fallon, Bruce’s wife, when she first came. Bruce and Dick had installed a speaker system in her studio to drown out the noise when she was overwhelmed, and everyone in the Manor could hear it if she turned it on loud enough. When the first notes hit their ears, all eyes in the dining room turned to Jason. He refused to look up and make eye contact, instead staring at the breakfast that had been abandoned on the table. Once everyone had looked away, he pushed away from the table and disappeared.

This led to one of the most uncomfortable weeks in the Manor ever. Y/N barely left her studio and no one saw Jason for three days, before he returned. When he did, he started to act as if nothing had happened. The music had eventually stopped playing altogether, so they had no idea what kind of mood she was in. Finally, Damian was the one to gather everyone else together, “(Y/N/N) has not come out of her studio in a week. Since Buckethead has just decided to pretend nothing has happened. We need to fix this.”

Bruce spoke up first, “Jason and Y/N are both adults. They are both being immature, and it will eventually work itself out.

“How can we fix this when we don’t even know what happened?” Tim looked up from his laptop, “I’ve been checking in on Y/N on the cameras. All she does is paint, and the most she’s slept in days is when she falls asleep accidentally. That never lasts long, and she cries. A lot.”

“Why did Fallon have to leave! We need to fix this, or the family vacation is going to be the worst!” Dick collapsed on the couch. Fallon had finally convinced Bruce that the family needed a vacation, but two weeks before they were supposed to leave, her sister had had a baby. She decided to go help her out and just meet them at the resort. They now had a week left, and it was not looking good. No one wanted to bother their mother since she very rarely took time for herself and was enjoying time with her family. They decided Alfred would be the one to try and convince her to leave the studio at least and eat something.

He appeared in the doorway and watched silently as Y/N worked on a large canvas. He walked over and saw that it was a portrait of the family. “This is beautiful, Miss Bishop.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her voice was hoarse from disuse.

“What is the plan for this one?” Alfred sat down next to her on the floor.

“Everyone hates photos, but Fallon wanted a family portrait for the sitting room.. Since no one can sit still long enough I decided to paint one and give it to her for her birthday,” she slowly sucked in a breath, “Plus they only have the old one and J--some people-- are missing from it.” Tears started to well up again in her eyes. Alfred wrapped an arm around Y/N and just sat with her for a moment.

“I’ve kicked the boys out of the kitchen. Do you think you could come down and eat something? For me?” She only nodded, and they both stood. Y/N sat on a stool and silently ate the soup Alfred had laid out for her. She barely tasted anything, and she was starting to feel dizzy. Her vision started to blur, and the next thing she knew, she was waking up on the floor and had five heads floating above her.

“Hi, guys. Thought the floor looked lonely.” She tried to sit up, but was cut off.

“That is it,” Bruce spoke firmly, “You are going to bed, and you are sleeping. I thought you were mature enough to deal with this but I see I was wrong.” He picked Y/N up and noticed she had lost weight. He carried her up the stairs and before he had reached her bedroom, she was already asleep again. Bruce turned to the boys. “At least one of you is staying in here with her and making sure she sleeps.”

Tim volunteered for the first shift and settled into her desk with his laptop. She had barely been asleep an hour before she woke up from a nightmare of Jason dying. She shot up and shouted out his name, before bursting into tears. Tim -- being the awkward person he is -- was ill-prepared to deal with the crying Y/N. The only solution he could think of was to climb into bed with her and pull up a movie. She slowly fell asleep again and clung to Tim like a starfish. When Dick came to relieve Tim and saw that he was unable to leave, he climbed into bed with the duo. Anytime Y/N would start to become distressed, they would calm her down. Eventually, Damian and Titus joined the cuddle pile, the former somewhat reluctantly, grumbling about how he was only doing this for Y/N. Little did the Bat Family know, Alfred had called Fallon and told her about the situation and she had rushed home.