#because despite everything they are still brothers

[dcxdpdabbles]

Everything is fun and games until Menace!Danny's little siblings find out that he's the one with a partner.

I'm a little sibling. I know we have a perfect 10 steps plan to make the partner disappear. Menace!Danny is giving shovel talk — his siblings are kidnapping and doing human sacrifice because violence is the only possible answer.

The first time it happened, it was a goth girl. Her name was irrelevant (though they would soon learn that Danny had a type), but they knew that Danny had met her at a protest.

Apparently, the two had been attempting to stop a project that was going to cause damage to the local buildings. Danny was a big fan of protecting Gotham's iconic Gothic infrastructure and was appalled that the big corporations wanted to tear it down and move to more modern skyscrapers.

Now it's well-known that the Waynes all looked up to Danny. He was everything they wanted to be.

Danny could match Bruce in hand-to-hand combat, make even the most stubborn of heroes respect him with a few soft spoken words, and not to mention his inventing ability. Danny was the glue that kept them all together and their unwavering leader in the darkest if nights.

Despite the rumors, the masses (and themselves before they actually met him) believed Danny was sensitive in an almost heartbreakingly kind way, which worried them for their brother. If the world thought the worst of him, then Danny likely had the worst of the worst attempting to use him.

The Waynes all collectively agree that no one was worthy of Danny's time, especially some goth girl who commented more than once that "dirtbags like Fenton-Wayne" were relatively easy..

And really, she was all about death as a goth, so why had she made such a big deal about them nearly feeding her to Killer Croc? If she liked Death so much, why was she even still alive? They were doing her a favor.

Danny had been rather sad for a few days when she was rejected, even when walking near him, but he took it as their personalities not matching. He was unaware of them slowly lowering her towards a canopy while Dancing Queen was playing. Dick had made sure she could see them dancing to the music as they each took turns reading the comments they documented her saying and then pulling the level to have her drop little by litte.

When she threatened to involve the cops, Tim laughed and told her they were rich. The rich always get a slap on the wrist, especially against someone in her tax bracket. More so with her having no proof.

They made sure she had no proof.

She left the city the following month, but by then, the Waynes had turned their attention to the third son of the Trox family. He had flirted with Danny, who seemed to believe it was the beginning of an epic romantic tale, unaware that the Trox boy was bragging about how easily he got the eldest Wayne on his knees.

Jason was working on how to take Trox's kneecaps without the police, Bruce, or Danny any the wiser as revenge for those comments. His siblings were more than happy to get it done.

[beevean]

I wonder if something could be said about Ashley's apparent penchant for drawing.

Leyley used to draw a lot. This, in itself, is nothing special: many kids draw as a hobby. The most noteworthy thing is that Leyley loved to draw so much, she'd do it on the walls, which Andy had to clean...

... and on Andy's notes, which made it difficult for him to study.

I don't need to say that this is just one of the many ways Leyley begged for attention and approval, which most surely had the opposite effect.

However, what made me pause a bit are three completely separate scenes.

This is in the very opening of the game:

We don't see Ashley drawing as an adult, but she doesn't seem to be very confident in herself. Then again, at this point in the game, it could be just goodhearted self-deprecation. It does say something, however, that she's still clinging onto that drawing, both because it's so old and not good-looking, and what it represents.

This is after Ashley, as a teen, has a meltdown over Andrew "seeing Julia":

Andrew is being mean, but to be fair to him, he's also angry and interprets the torn drawing as a way to make him feel bad, so I'll let it pass. The artstyle is so crude, I assume this is another old drawing: the lemon muffin is a reference to a way Andy celebrated Leyley's birthday when they were kids, so it's possible she drew it back then. And then kept it for years, before destroying it in a fit of heartbroken rage. It's how she conveyed her love for her brother, and it was that important to her, that apparently, she still had it in grabbing and tearing vicinity. Her hate for Nina is as important as her love for Andrew.

(the other option is, of course, that it's a much more recent drawing, and yes, this is a pretty abysmal way of drawing for a teen who apparently has been doing so for years. I still wouldn't call it garbage though, Andrew, she meant well :<)

Not much after that scene, Andrew also tells us this:

Whether Ashley still draws in her teen years or has stopped, at least we know it's more important to her than her homework, and enough for Andrew to comment on it.

And this is an offhand comment Renee makes to her mother while pretending she doesn't regret her life choices and children.

This is how Renee chooses to paint Ashley in a good light: by praising her art. Which is a lie, of course, because even back then she wasn't exactly Leonardo Da Vinci, but hey, grandma doesn't need to know about that. Worthy of note is that, despite doing everything in her power to interact with her daughter as little as possible, she did notice how much Leyley likes to draw (although afawk it could be because she once saw her drawing on the walls, so it's even more of a backhanded compliment).

So I suppose Leyley's cry for attention did work, in part.

It's a running gag that Ashley is a pretty bad artist. More than once, people point out she struggles to draw circles.

Speaking of attention seeking behavior, and how Renee keeps denying it.

So, what do I take from this?

That Ashley had a predisposition for drawing, clearly enjoying it regardless of her talent, and partially did so as a way to yell "look at me! I'm a person too! I have feelings, here they are!" at the world; but that predisposition was never nurtured, neglected as she was. Her art was ugly at best, a bother at worst. So she never developed her artistic skills, stagnated, and now she's a "bad" artist, which she resents. It's quite a shame, because of all the ways you could vent your feelings, art is by far the healthiest. Perhaps she would have been less destructive.

Naturally, this is part of one of the game's key themes: Ashley never grew up. She wasn't given the tools to, and now, she doesn't even want to. So she never developed past the "Leyley" phase of her life, still drawing in a childish way, still "playing" with her bunny plushies in her mind, still clinging onto her child self when Andrew wants nothing more than to grow up (or so he says). Much like her art, she too was seen mostly as an embarrassment, and so never improved. But every scrap of attention Andrew gives her? Means the world to her. And that's why she keeps going.

Lastly: every ending of the game comes with a crude crayon drawing.

It makes me believe that Ashley's art, ugly and childish as it is, is an important part of her, and her perception of the world.

[maxdibert]

Sirius always did everything right. Sirius defied his family, his blood status. Sirius opposed supremacist ideals. Sirius spat in the face of his surname, his parents, his brother. Sirius rejected everything Voldemort stood for like the plague. He left home. They erased him from the family tree. Sirius spent 12 years in Azkaban with no one believing in his innocence just because it made sense that a Black would betray his Muggle-born friends. Sirius always chose the right path and still, Dumbledore—the man he kept trusting even though he never really advocated for him, the man he followed even though he never showed interest in whether he was guilty or innocent—chose Snape.

Sirius did everything right and Dumbledore chose Snape as his right-hand man. The same Snape who had always wanted to be everything the Blacks represented and Sirius had rejected. The same Snape who surrounded himself with supremacists. The same Snape who followed his family’s ideals. The same Snape who joined the Death Eaters and bore the Dark Mark. Dumbledore chose Snape—who never chose the right path, who never made the right decisions, who never stood up to the people Dumbledore claimed to be against. But it was Snape whom the old man trusted most. Snape who had the secret conversations and the dangerous missions. Snape who reveled in having the old man’s backing, who was accepted despite being a black sheep.

Because Snape was always the prodigal son—the one who strayed and returned to be embraced and acknowledged by the Father. And Sirius, without even realizing it, was the son who always stayed, but no one seemed to care.

[ateez-himari]

250416 ; OPEN WOUNDS

[NEW MESSAGES FROMM HIMARI]

[AM 9:12] Good morning Tiny, look at my new Hello Kitty merch! This pretty cool Billboard Plaque came in the mail today too, it'll look nice in my studio

[AM 9:12] ㅎㅎ No don't worry that's not the only one hanging on my wall, I also have the one from 'Seven' and I have one coming with 'DDAENG', surprise!

[AM 9:12] They sent me a late congratulatory email a few days ago, apparently the track made it to the top fifteen days after it was released...I'm still shocked

[AM 9:13] I don't want to be too emotional so early in the day, but this amount of success is all thanks to our Tiny ♡ The songs released under my own name were meant to be no more than individual artistic expression and I never imagined that 'Sungyo' would become so popular in such a short time

[AM 9:13] Looking at the statistics now so many songs peaked in the billboard top 10, you made all my dreams come true ㅠ.ㅠ Seeing albums I produced perform well in the international scene is already surreal but my own tracks-

[AM 9:14] Yeah, certainly! It's always emotional to look back at how much work has gone into changing my career, there used to be so much hate on my name

[AM 9:14] That's a deep question ㅎㅎ In all honesty the reason I work this hard even now...I think it's fear. Passion is the center of everything I do, but I'm also very scared

[AM 9:15] There's always been this thought of "what if people realize the members are better off without me", so I've had this overwhelming need to prove myself. In truth it's why I went on stage that day in Tokyo, I was scared of being forgotten

[AM 9:15] My work with other artists and on solo releases all stem from the fact that music has always been the driving force in my life, my purpose, 生きがい, but all the injuries from stages were because fear pushed me too far

[AM 9:16] There was so much pressure on embodying perfection in order to be accepted by fans that my hearing aid would be forgone and I would spent minutes on end throwing up because of overstimulation

[AM 9:16] Nowadays it's become easier to accept every part of myself with the success we've seen despite my presence in the group, showing my scars, opening up about my hearing disability, my injuries, but I also look at the state of my body and think "did I need to do this?"

[AM 9:17] The wounds are healing well, but there are also times where I feel so much fear when my heart begins to hurt on stage. I think...I try to hide as much as possible in front of our Tiny, but the past is still painful

[AM 9:18] Please don't worry though, you'll never see me in that state again ♡ Tokyo was a wake up call, from then on I've watched over my health carefully. I'll never scare you or the members in such a manner again, I promise

[AM 9:18] Yes, even though I'm still very busy ㅎㅎThe kids told fans already, they must have been excited ㅎㅎ I worked with BND again for their comeback!

[AM 9:19] Last time I only produced their title track's guide due to health issues, but I've come back to external projects. I worked with my babies, Xikers, on 'Breathe' too

[AM 9:19] Ahh Mingi oppa told you? I'm okay now, I received my new hearing aid a couple of days ago...it's strange getting used to it but it's actually much better

[AM 9:20] You want to learn? Our Tiny are going to make me cry already...I'll try to plan some sign language classes if you really want it, whoever can sign "Jung Wooyoung 바보' at our next concert gets a candy ㅎㅎ

[AM 9:21] Thank you for listening to my heart, I have to go now, my Bangtan big brothers are waiting for me to get breakfast ♡ Love you so much, kisses!

Translated from Korean by Google

Taglist ; @prbywoo

[blxxmingrose]

hans felt a relief wash over him as june closed the journal, sharing in that brief quiet in his chest that his husband described. what had been their constant in recent years—that feeling of peace and sense of belonging—had been taken away, but this moment reminded him that they’ve had it. that they could have it again. and hans was going to make sure of it. 

he smiled at the way june held the journal and placed his hand over his heart, reminding him that he had his home here, and he would not lose it even if they lost this house. it was a physical manifestation of their home, but their real home had always been each other. he lifted his hand to stop a tear that threatened to fall, the bittersweet feeling leaning towards sweet than bitter. 

“someday, when they are old enough, they will know everything,” he agreed with a nod, pressing a kiss to sleeping julia’s forehead. “they will know our life before they arrived, how we fought to keep our family safe in our own way, and they will know that raising them was the best adventure we ever had.” 

his mind was becoming more and more convinced of their decision with every second, and as he looked around the room, at the quiet bodies that surrounded them, he knew it was time. “we have to put julia and arthur to bed,” he spoke, this time with the voice of a man with a plan. he turned to june and nodded, “and then, we will pack. just the essentials.” 

unlike that night they left the palace, they would have to pack more now, because essentials for the children also meant bringing some of their favorite toys they could never part with.

as much as hans did not want to have their children out of his sight, they needed to move. time was running out. as he started for the children’s bedroom, he sought his brother’s eyes and asked, rather meekly, “would you… look after them while we pack?” 

henry had been quiet all this time, but the soft look that registered on his face was unmistakable. hans allowed himself a moment to step in his brother’s shoes, how it would feel to be in the same room as two children he wished to have but could not, and the high probability that after tonight, he would never see them again. 

hans knew that the only way to make this the last time they leave their home was to make sure no one could contact them. not even henry. 

julia barely stirred as hans laid her down, with henry following behind to sit at the foot of her bed, just by the door. arthur’s bed was still a mess from their hectic morning, but hans watched fondly as june laid him down with the gentleness only reserved for his children. these were moments hans treasured, and for a moment he allowed himself to think that this was a regular night. they were putting their children to bed just like they always did. 

but eventually, he had to move and get to work. 

between him and june, they moved quietly but in sync—just like they always did. he knew what june would go for, and so hans knew which ones to prioritize when packing. 

the bags they had brought with them to town already had the essentials hans had packed beforehand. he made quick work of putting in more clothes for him and june, along with a few important documents about their family. when he asked himself what was important to him now as a father, these were what came to mind. 

the bags quickly filled up with snacks for the children and more clothes, knowing how quickly they got through them in a single day. hans couldn’t help but smile as he thought of how they had learned that the hard way when they brought henry to town when he was three and managed to pour an ice cream cone all over himself.

and then came the toys—hans picked the ones that julia still cried over, giving her some comfort despite her life being uprooted because of reasons she could not grasp just yet. 

arthur’s toys showed how quickly he was growing up now, his old ones discarded and replaced by a few he had watched june build for him. hans made sure there was room for them too.

minutes felt like hours as hans reminisced with each item, but soon there was no room to add any more, and he sighed. they would have to go soon. “i think this is everything.”

june reached for the journal with both of his hands, holding it like something sacred. his thumb brushed the edge of a page, eyes scanning over the familiar looking stick figures. he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. and then he laughed — quiet, breathy, almost a sigh. not out of amusement, but out of sheer awe that, even through the ache of this moment, even under the weight of what they were being asked to give up, hans had managed to bring him something real.

he sank down onto the edge of the couch and kept the journal open in his lap, staring at the sketch hans had shown him. julia’s curls drawn in wild loops. arthur’s smile lopsided and wide. june’s own figure had hans’ arm around his shoulders. the small family that they had grown out of nothing but stolen time and stubborn love. it was all here. all of it. “you always did write better than i did,” june murmured, tracing a little star hans had drawn above arthur’s head. “even your stick figures have a kind of… heart to them.”

he paused, turning the pages slowly, reverently. a birthday. the first snowfall. a night when the power went out and they ate marshmallows by candlelight. his eyes caught on a note scrawled in the corner of a page: she took her first steps today. fell twice. didn’t cry.

june swallowed hard. “you put everything in here.”

he closed the journal gently and looked up at hans. the sight of him with julia asleep on his shoulder, nearly undid june again. “you know,” he said, his voice thick but steady, “i think this might be the only thing in the world that could’ve quieted the fear in my chest tonight.” he rose slowly and stepped closer, placing one hand on the journal, the other over hans’ heart.

“it’s this,” he said. “you. the way you’ve held us together, through every season, every storm. you never let go of the life we wanted. not once.“ he pressed his forehead lightly to hans’, closing his eyes. “this isn’t just proof for her. this is proof for me. that we made something worth protecting.”

june leaned back just slightly, looking hans in the eyes. “let her see the truth for herself. let her see our life, not a rebellion, but as a choice. a choice to love each other. a choice to raise our children in peace.” his voice dropped low, and there was steel in it now, something unshakable beneath the grief. “she cannot take this from us. she can’t undo the laughter in these pages. she can’t rewrite the joy we’ve lived." june’s hand slid down to cup julia’s back gently, feeling her small breaths as she slept. then he looked at hans again.

he let the silence stretch for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on hans with nothing but quiet love, before continuing. “we’ll go wherever we have to. we’ll build something new again. and i’ll write it all down this time. every little piece. i’ll take turns with you.” then, softly: “and someday, when julia and arthur are grown, and they ask us why we left, we’ll show them this journal, and tell them because we loved you too much not to.”

[gottagetshiver]

I come bearing a dnf omegaverse drabble :)

The weeks leading up to Dream's heat are the worst weeks of Sapnap's year.

Every single time he floats the idea of heading out early, even if it means he has to stay in a hotel, and every time he's met with that's stupid from George and but this is your home, too from Dream.

George's halfhearted insults don't do much to dissuade him, but the sad eyes and dejected pout Dream wears always breaks down his walls. In the end, if Dream wants him there, he'll stay. That's his best friend, after all. His brother.

The first few days are usually tolerable; Dream gets needy and whiny alongside stinking up the place, and George lets out rumbly growls anytime he decides Sapnap is too close to his mate, but it's tolerable. they're already so abnormal about each other at the best of times, those few days are not really that different from how they usually are.

The worst of it begins as soon as Dream starts having the urge to nest.

Despite George being in the house, sometimes even in the same room, Dream behaves as though his lover has gone off to war.

He slips from room to room, silent on his feet yet the constant stream of quiet whimpers that spill from his lips and the wall of pre-heat scent giving him away, gathering up anything George has so much as brushed a finger over in the last fortnight.

George's old water bottles from the recycling bin, throw pillows from the sofa, even cat toys that George had thrown for Patches get whisked away to Dream's room and added to his nest.

Sapnap had once caught a peek at the nest through the open door and laughed, teasing Dream that it looked much more like a dragon's chaotic hoard than an omega's nest. Unfortunately for him, George had overheard and chased him out of the house, making him drive around aimlessly for several hours until he'd been forgiven and allowed to return.

It's not like Sapnap really cares, he knows that omegas need their alpha's scent around before and during their heat and that some are less selective of what they add to their nest than others. If it was just throw pillows and cat toys he wouldn't be bothered at all.

Except it's not just pillows and cat toys. It's anything George touches. Which, to Sapnap's dismay, often includes his own stuff.

"Dream, please," he says warily as he stands at the threshold of Dream's room with his hands held up to show he has no ill intentions; that he's not a threat. "I know it smells like him, but that hoodie is actually-"

Dream just growls at him, low and throaty from where he lays on his nest, his hands knotted into the base of it defensively.

Sapnap winces, taking a careful step closer. "I know man, I'm sorry, but it's mine and I really want it back. I'm out of other clean hoodies."

He gets halfway to the bed before Dream raises his head slightly, his growls getting higher in pitch.

"Shit," Sapnap hisses, scrambling backwards, "Dream, don't. Don't call him over here, I'm leaving, ok? you- you can keep the hoodie, I'll wear something else."

The smell of a protective alpha rolls into the room, thick and heady, and Sapnap grimaces. Man, he responded to Dream's call quickly. "Hey, George. I was, uh- I was just leaving."

"Yes," George says coolly, brushing by Sapnap to stand between him and his omega, "you were."

Sapnap backs out of the room, eyes down as to not anger George further, and retreats to his room. Today just turned into a laundry day, he supposes.

Later, with his freshly cleaned clothes still warm from the dryer, he tosses his hamper on his bed and gets to work folding everything.

A quiet knock sounds at his door.

"Hey," George says, scent still thick as he walks in, not bothering to wait for an invitation, "I need you to leave Dream be, alright?"

Scoffing, Sapnap rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Tell him no more stealing my clothes though, ok?"

George cocks his head to the side. "He only wants them because they smell like me," he says. "That's normal. It shows a healthy attachment to his alpha."

"Then stop touching my clothes," Sapnap grumbles as he gathers up all his socks into his arms and heads to his dresser. As he's dumping them into their respective drawers, George's scent floods his room. "What the hell are you-"

The words die on his tongue as he turns around to see George leaning over his bed, smug smirk on his face, and scenting every last piece of his fresh laundry. "You utter dick."

George shrugs as he stands up, dragging his scent glands over Sapnap's bedspread as he goes. "What?" he asks, faux innocence plastered on his face. "I'm just providing for my omega. He needs things to nest with, after all."

[scribbles97]

The Only Son

@womble1 you are entirely to blame for this after the suggestion of an AU where Scott is the only son in a house of girls... thank you so very much for the idea! Shamelessly stole @akiyta 's Girl!TaG names as I think they are excellent choices. Entirely unedited and scribbled down in half an hour before I fall flat on my face.

When Scott’s first baby sister had been born, he had been smitten from the moment he had set eyes on the little girl with a smattering of dark hair. The pair had been inseparable from that moment onwards, one tiny form protected by her big brother. 

That hadn’t stopped Scott from asking for a brother the second time he was told he was getting a younger sibling. 

By the time the third baby sister came around, Scott had been old enough to understand his parents weren’t explicitly ignoring his pleas for a little brother to play with.

When Alana had come along he simply hadn’t cared. A new sister to love and protect was all that had mattered. 

People had whispered, as they always would, but Scott’s parents had taught him to shrug off those whose opinions didn’t matter. He had walked through life with as much pride as their parents for each of his sisters achievements, and had always been the one to cheer them on the loudest. 

Then the avalanche had happened, and Scott’s cheers had been the only ones that had kept them all going. Virginia had stepped up, filling the gap where Mom should have been for girl things when the youngest two hadn’t wanted to talk to their big brother despite all he knew, but it had been Scott that had shepherded them through each day. 

Until a comment had been made, and a baseball bat had swung, and Scott had needed to explain to his father in the principal's office. 

Apologies had been whispered all round that night, to daughters that had missed their father’s hugs, to sisters that took so much of their mother it was sometimes hard to bear, and to a son that had tried to be everything to them all. 

Scott had still carried the baseball bat around school, a blatant threat to anyone that dared to hurt any of his family. 

When he had joined the Air Force, the bat had no longer been needed. 

Virginia had yelled at him about it more than once, ever persistent that she could look after herself and that she didn’t need her big brother to hover. He didn’t understand, she told him, because he was a boy. 

Scott did understand, he knew how the minds of the men that circled his sisters worked, and knew what they wanted. He read the comments sections on the articles as the business grew and their profiles gained attention, he heard the men at bars on his downtime. Dad worked hard to keep them all protected, but had long since given up on trying to convince Scott not to worry.

After his discharge from the Force, none of his sisters had complained about his protectiveness. 

At least, not until Dad had gone. 

Georgia had come quietly, familiar with the limelight after her Olympic Gold, and all too aware of how it could twist and warp words into something far more sinister than intended. 

Virginia and Jane had stood with Scott, strong and sure as he could have asked for, even as his legs had felt like crumbling beneath him. None of them had ever questioned each-others place, not with so much at stake with their world crumbling around them. 

It had been Alana that had screamed. 

Their little baby sister who had had a home and a life on the mainland, who hadn’t been willing to give up what little normality she had left in a world that had changed for them all over night. She had kicked and cried in a way Scott would have been proud of if she hadn’t led with the sucker punch to his gut. 

“You’re not Dad! You can’t make me!”

Every fiber of his being had hated that she was right but wrong all at once. 

He was her brother, not her father. 

But he was all she had left. 

He had known before the news had broken just what the tabloids would say, how it would all fall to him in the traditional way - even if society had mostly moved beyond the old customs that involved first born sons. Somewhere deep in his Kansas upbringing it still all rang true - Dad was gone, which left Scott as the man of the house.

Even though it had come sooner than anyone had anticipated, it had been an inevitable eventuality from the moment Virginia had been born. 

It was a reality Scott wasn’t sure he would ever get used to.

[pedge-page]

Say what you will, but my demisexual ass will always champion Friend's to Lovers trope.

Give me Best Friend!Frankie, who taught you to skateboard when you were 14, has a pack of pony tails in his glove compartment when you go out, and eats the leftovers from your plate when you don't finish. At some point, Benny asks if you're still single. And he jokingly says yes. Then the next week, Benny's got his arms wrapped around your waist and is kissing you, leaving Frankie frozen for the first time in his life. Because he didn't think you'd actually go for him.

Best Friend!Joel, who completely fell apart when Sarah's mom left after she was born. Without hesitation, you scrambled to fill the gap. Cared for his babygirl , raised her like her own mother and lifted Joel up by his bootstraps every day to keep going. You're already auntie to Sarah, and Joel wouldn't be here without you. Then the little make believe house fantasy he's been living with you comes crashing down when you decide it's time to move out and continue with your own life, and he's afraid to lose you.

Best Friend!Frankie who's always there as your rebound when you go through breakups, because it's the closest thing he'll have to being yours. Does NOT take well when you announce you're getting married out of the blue, and makes it his whole mission to sabotage it.

Best!Friend Joel, who figures out you've got a crush on Tommy for years but can't bring yourself to tell him, and the younger Miller is too oblivious. So Joel gets you "prepped" by having sex with him regularly to both fill the gap in your heart and satisfy the ache for his little brother. And the feelings he's developing for you feel within reach. determined to tell you the truth, he's at your doorstep with flowers ready to knock, when Tommy answers the door instead. And he quickly tosses the flowers as you approach, giddy and hanging off Tommy like he's your everything, big grins across both your silly faces. And Joel gives you a nod, letting you know he's happy you got what you wanted, despite a massive crater tearing right through his chest.

[blackcatxmagic]

Aris said he didn't talk too much, which made Ocean feel better even if he didn't believe it, but then he went back on that and said that maybe he did, which made Ocean sigh, looking down at the floor again. I knew it, he thought. Why can't you ever keep your stupid mouth shut? Ocean was so angry with himself, but Aris was trying to make a joke out of it, so maybe this was a flaw he was okay with - for now at least. "You have a brother?" Ocean asked. "What's his name? Maybe I know him." But Ocean was still thinking about what Aris had said, and he said quietly, "My ex used to tell me I was such a chatterbox, that I just spoke only to make noise and that I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut. 'No one cares what you have to say, Ocean.' Or maybe 'Everything that comes out of your mouth is stupid,' or especially 'You're better off being seen and not hear,' though if he busted that one out then he usually started criticizing my appearance. So I know I talk a lot, and usually it doesn't offer anything to the conversation." Ocean hadn't actually meant to say all of that, but already he found himself trusting Aris, which amazed him because of how little time they'd known each other. But then Ocean sighed, saying, "I'm doing it again, talking too much I mean."

But Aris still wanted to hold his hand. They were on their feet now about to leave the theater, and he held his hand out to Ocean. To Ocean. Despite everything that Ocean had done so far in this encounter, he hadn't totally ruined this. He's just being nice, one voice said, while the other whispered, He must have the patience of a saint to put up with you. But even so, Ocean reached out and grabbed Aris's hand, looking back up at him and smiling. "We don't have to call the, uh, Hand-Holding Board," Ocean

As they walked out together, Aris continued being nice to him, and Ocean appreciated his words even if he didn't believe them. "I'm not brave," Ocean protested, though he didn't push back too much, not wanting to ruin this. Instead Ocean leaned into Aris as they walked, grabbing his arm with his free hand. He actually laughed though, a genuine laugh, at Aris's joke. "Well I wouldn't want that, but I also want to be honest," Ocean replied, looking at Aris and grinning. For a moment, Ocean got lost in the man's eyes, which seemed to happen a lot, and then he said, "You're just...you're so handsome, Aris." Ocean really was in awe of it. Realizing what he'd said, Ocean felt his cheeks heat up, and instead he answered Aris, "I don't really think I can judge a movie I barely watched, but...I liked the rest of it. A lot. This is...um, this is my best day in a really, really long time. I know that's stupid. I probably shouldn't have said it. But it's the truth." For a moment, Ocean thought about what he wanted to ask but hesitated, and then finally he decided to just do it. "What about you?" Ocean asked. "What did you think about all of it?"

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Aris let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. Ocean’s fingers were still tangled in his when the lights came on, and he hadn’t let go. That felt… kind of unbelievable. Grounding, even. It reaffirmed Aris’s belief that he wasn’t a creep who just liked to grab people’s hands. He tilted his head slightly toward Ocean when he spoke, when he almost said something and then pulled back, that smile dimming just enough to make Aris want to coax it back.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You don’t talk too much,” he said finally, voice low, a quiet reassurance barely louder than the murmur of people filing out of the theater. He glanced at their still-linked hands, smiling. “I mean, you probably do,” he added dryly, that flicker of teasing slipping into his tone like muscle memory, “but I don’t mind it. Everyone talks more than I do.” He paused, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You should hear my brother.” His expression flattened at that, just picturing Copper. Then, with that, he thought, Should I tell him about today when I see him? His gaze shifted back toward Ocean, shifting in his seat to face Ocean a little more, still not letting go of his hand. Nah. I don’t wanna jinx this.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “What exactly were you thinking about, huh?” The grin reappeared on his face, and he finally peeled his hand away from Ocean’s, flexing his fingers once before planting both hands on his knees and pushing himself up to stand. There was a lightness to him now, something unspoken in the way he stood a little taller. Once on his feet, he turned and reached out a hand toward Ocean, waiting expectantly, palm open and steady. “C’mon. You gonna leave me hanging, or do I have to report you to the Hand-Holding Board for early release?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When the two of them walked out of the theater, Ocean said, “You know, you’re pretty brave.” His lips twitched faintly, then curved into something softer. “Letting some guy you barely know drag you to a movie and hold your hand in the dark like that. Ballsy.” He bumped Ocean lightly with his shoulder, casual but affectionate. “Not that I’m complaining.” Then, after a beat, and a little sheepish, he said, “So… Was it what you expected? The movie. The weird company.” He raised a brow. “The hand-holding.” A beat. “You can be honest. I promise I only take things personally on the inside where no one can see.”

[oswaldthatendswald]

I continue to rotate in my head the question of why Rocinante points his gun at Doflamingo, but does not shoot. The question, to clarify, is about both these actions. Why does he draw his gun; why doesn't he pull the trigger?

It's a really interesting bit of background characterization which is mostly overshadowed by Rocinante's speech and Law's panic. Rocinante draws his gun, and the members of the Donquixote crew react, but are stopped by Doflamingo. That's part of why I'm fascinated : Doflamingo lets Rocinante point a gun at him. Does he expect to be able to avoid a bullet? Does he think (correctly) that Roci won't shoot him?

Rocinante draws the gun, aims it, cocks it, but does not try to pull the trigger. Is it a bluff to make Doflamingo pay attention to him, and avoid any chance he might notice Law? Does he intend to shoot, but decide he's too likely to miss? Does he intend to shoot, and discover he can't bring himself to do it?

[larimared]

     benedict,   as   much   as   he   loved   his   brother,   does   not   offer   a   smile   or   any   sort   of   comfort.   perhaps   if   they   were   still   young,   arden   stomping   on   their   mother's   flowerbeds   to   be   able   to   talk   to   benedict   through   the   window,   benedict   would   have   reached   out   and   placed   a   comforting   hand   on   arden's   shoulder,   but   that   was   beyond   them   now.   they   were   not   the   type   to   care   for   each   other   in   that   way   and   benedict   was   positive   they   never   would   be   again.   it   did   not   bother   him   much   for   he   knew   deep   down   he   cared   for   his   brother   still   and   he   would   hope   arden   cared   for   him   as   well   despite   the   obvious   resentment   the   younger   man   held.      instead,   he   listens.   offers   arden   the   ear   he   know   he   does   not   have   and   never   really   did.   he   was   not   one   to   open   up   to   people,   neither   of   them   were   and   if   anything,   benedict   was   the   one   person   in   the   world   who   truly   understood   everything   arden   was   feeling.   perhaps   not   to   the   full   extent,   but   their   lives   were   carved   from   the   same   path   whether   either   wanted   to   admit   it   or   not.      benedict   cannot   help   but   shrug,   "maybe   you   are   right,   maybe   it   is   easier   to   be   the   very   worst.   people   always   remember   the   villain,   the   monster   they   tell   you   about   in   tales   or   the   one   that   lives   up   on   the   hill,"   as   he   references   himself   he   lets   out   a   small   laugh,   "but   do   not   confuse   whatever   you   have   built,   whoever   you   have   torn   down   for   power,   arden.   you   do   not   need   to   burn   every   bridge   just   to   prove   you   can   stand   on   your   own   two   feet."   there   is   strength   in   his   voice   as   he   says   it,   perhaps   a   bit   of   nostalgia   for   what   could   have   been   for   him,   "take   it   from   me.   i   have   no   one   left,   no   one   to   care   for   what   becomes   of   me,   all   because   i   pushed   away   every   good   thing   i   had   in   my   life   to   prove   that   i   was   not   what   the   ton   made   me   out   to   be   and   here   i   am,   being   just   that."      saying   it   out   loud   leaves   a   bitter   taste   in   his   mouth,   but   he   continues,   "you   do   not   have   to   listen   to   me,   you   can   still   continue   with   the   life   you   are   saying   you   enjoy.   you   do   not   have   to   do   what   is   right,   but   i   implore   you   to   live   your   life   for   yourself   and   quit   remembering   people   who   did   not   truly   care   about   you,   especially   our   parents.   what   they   say   means   nothing   now   and   should   have   never   meant   anything   in   the   first   place."

Years he had mulled over these sentiments, this hatred until it grew into a resentment far grander than the shadows casted by Benedict. It was his cloak behind the dull light of his brother, the honor he refused to give him after all this time. Under it, he had a place all his own— his own darkness, disappointment, mourning of his efforts to be great before he had to be greater.

Benedict offers him more and he cannot take it, not after all he has suffered to find a place here. The kindness he turned to manipulation, the smile into a smirk so cunning it dares to catch even him off guard with the teeth that show. It is not that he wishes to be alone, but he wished to be something instead of anything and all on his own. To defy expectations at the very least gave him a place that he did not have to share, and he did not have to give up.

But it is still lonely without him. Everything had been for Benedict, and while he despised that he had to act accordingly while his brother laid hidden away to do as he pleased, how could they be so different? Perhaps the monster on the hill he created, a spiteful way of ensuring his brother's immortality, was just to ensure they would always be the same. The creature of the night who lured and pushed away was him, too. To be seen as such, to sit in wavering shadows in his company, it finally weighs on him. His chest feels heavy and he knows better than to speak to quickly for the sentiment will reveal itself.

"And what if I do enjoy it? It is all my own, who no one else to reap what comes of it. Even without Sienna, it still stands," He says, but it's hardly as many words as he usually reserves for him. Speechless is not the word only because all he had ever wanted to hear, all he'd ever wanted to be understood is thrown into the small space between them.

He expected some ceremonious apology, a heavier weight off his back upon hearing his brother's sorrows but it changes nothing. Because Arden does not seek to change.

"It is easier to the very worst," He finally admits. "It does not take from you as they worried I would, when it finally did not matter what you could not do. Your abilities, that thick head of yours and all its wisdom, finally meant something and I did not have even an ounce of it. I was a trophy they'd thrown as far France. Years of doing what was right, and for a wife I adored but did not love. At long last I have all that is mine, and it still does not feel like enough but I intend to make it so."

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: violence mention / death mention / ]

Will never stop thinking about how Leo, all alone in an endless void and being beaten again and again and again by the only other living thing around, still finds comfort in that space. The situation he was in was completely hopeless, and in any other circumstances he would not have escaped, at least not fast enough to save him from permanent (or even fatal) damage, be it physical or mental.

And yet, despite the bleakness of his situation, despite the agony and helplessness, all he needs is one glance at a crumbled photograph, one glance to remember his family, and that’s enough of a reason for him to smile.

Maybe that’s why his powers center around manipulating space - because no matter how much space is between them, no matter how dire his own situation may be, just the thought of his family, alive and okay, is enough to give Leo hope.

[deadpoetsandlivinglegends]

Guys hear me out wait shhh guys listen listen reverse death anderperry like this poem but with Neil, Todd, and Jeff Anderson

[thenextlordthorpe]

With a deep, long, and almost dramatic sigh he turns to face her but does not match the formidable look in her eye. The events of everything had weighed on him and he was so tired by it. Everything she said about her struggles he had long saw in his youth, how women were a tool for a business arrangement, made to be the perfect way of increasing a families standing in the world by overbearing and ambitious mothers wanting to advance their station by doing it through their daughters. As controlled as he found his life at the hands of others, he knew as a woman Juliet had more pressure and tighter restraints than he could ever. From what she said, he could see she loved the butler, that was clear from their first interaction, and he could tell from her passionate recollections of her upbringing that acceptance was something she craved and received with him. “Your mother is cruel to you I don’t deny that and if your man is kind to you then I’m glad you have that.” It was the nicest thing he had said to her, he thought. “I know of similarities to such a thing. You lost your father; I lost my mother. From what I understand, both of us were unable to say a goodbye and it left us with the parent we didn’t want.” At the same time, he didn’t want his father dead in place of anyone. They did no see eye to eye and held an equal disdain for each other, one he felt so deep. No, he didn’t want his father dead because that would mean he would have no choice but to replace the man and be the Lord. His father wanted it, he didn’t. “You speak as if I don’t share the same experience yet I was forced back here by him to a home I don’t recognise, a place no longer my home and with a parent whose love I don’t have and do not want.” More and more similarities laid bare between them and even in his passionate rambling that matched hers, he found some of his anger quelling to a simmer at her. It was still there but not as intense. “What I had with him was more than a few months,” he says quicker than he could stop. “A year of close friendship after I saved his life that turned into something more and for years, we were together. Not whoring around like you see now, not hiding away for fear of society but together so I understand what it is like to have someone have an effect on you like that.” If she didn’t want the life of a lady to be married off, it matched his own lack of want for status.

“I know how much you love him; you’ve lamented that to me on every occasion we have been together and with every argument we have battled with each other. I don’t hold him in any disregard, and I believe I’ve said that to you. Jane has also spoke well of him so don’t worry, I’ve heard your pleas and hers most relentlessly. Telling my father to dismiss him was not because I was against him, it was because I was against you. Why this insistence on me calling his name? What I choose to call him or not should not register a concern from you.” His stubbornness getting in the way again. “Yes, I had a love like that but neither of us wicked in our natures to need the reassurance of staying as we are and not changing. As yours does, so did mine in accepting everything.”

Her dedication to her love was admirable. “You know I wouldn’t take it back when the very reason I want to leave is because of it. My father…he is a prideful man and I think because you kept it from him is what wounds him the most. He may not say it but that is what I think. He’s a man full of pride and worked at keeping his family in good standing but he adores you, probably still does despite all of it.” He scoffs at her instance of no support from his father. “I’m not saying he will give you money, but I don’t believe he will want you to suffer.”

Instead of some insulting variation on the title of brother, it was odd to hear his name out of her mouth that wasn’t some kind of insult. “You speak as if I have any power in this house when we can both see it is clear I do not. I can’t offer any protection, but I won’t want them hurt by his actions. I don’t think he will. He loves your mother and your siblings, even your cousins. They are more protected than even I am.”

Your butler. Juliet could not help but shoot an unprompted glare at her brother and a roll of her eyes. Perhaps he did not know Oliver Heywood, and that was fair. Perhaps it was up to Juliet to tell him, to let him know the mere butler that had captured her entire heart. Juliet moved forward on the couch, looking at him right in the eye, that formidable look that they both had in their eye. "That butler is the only kind man I've ever met that did not want something from me, like my money or virtue. Do you quite know that? I have been made to be sold off since the time I could scarcely remember - made to look and be utterly perfect. My maids would brush my hair for hours and my mother would still tell them it was not perfect. My coret would bleed underneath me from how tight she would tell them to pull it. Not a word of kindness, not a word of encouragement. Anger, disappointment was all I ever received while other little ladies were beloved and doted upon by their mother. She instead took turns either ignoring me or berating me, often in front of others my entire life - my mother." Her words were electrified, as tears fell from her eyes. "And my father, the only one who had ever loved me from a parent's view - died before I could even marry. I had no one and nothing left, not even time to mourn before my mother took your father's hand to lessen her own ruination and for my brother, not for me. I was forced to take a man's name I did not know, and forced to smile about it. Do you quite know what that is like, to be no longer in your home, but someone else's, to be told to forget the name you've known your entire life, and the parent who had ever loved you? No, you do not - unless your pirate did something to you like that." She paused, shaking her head, but making eye contact again, quite fiercely.

"And then - through all of the anguish, and all of the horror - there was Oliver Heywood - the butler. His red curls, his kind smile - and he wanted nothing from me, except myself. He scarcely just wanted me, and me alone, and took my bruises upon my corset and traced them most lovingly. He did not ask me to change for him - instead, he begged that I never do change. His arms were pillars of strength, of kindness, instead of rejection and anger - and he loved me despite the very wickedness of my own nature. That is who the butler is. Do you have a love like that? Did you ever? If you wish to continue any conversation with me, dear brother, I ask you now and finally to call him Mister Heywood, as he is the love of my love and one day will be my husband and child's father." Juliet shot back at him, before letting out a huffied breath, resting back against the couch to take a long pause.

"I disobeyed Lord Thorpe and I will be forever remorseful that a man who was quite kind to me found out through a terrible, cruel gossip, quite publically, but I cannot say I would take it back." Juliet paused again, her eyes looking away before she looked back at her brother. "Would you say the same about your love? Would you take it back if you could, dear brother - or would you love them despite it all, even though your father disapproves?" She asked, a thrumming curiousity underneath.

"I do not want his money - even if we are on the street, in a hovel, as you predict, I do not care. A sanctuary is not a sanctuary without Oliver Heywood." Juliet concluded, quite passionately, but still in a softer tone of voice, but let out a harsh laugh. "I will not allow it - but that does finalize my choices, does it not? I cannot scarcely have it all, but I choose love." She cleared her throat, playing with the ends of her sleeve, tears in her eyes.

"Fine, then I am not in your dreams, but no doubt in your hatred of hearts, hmm? I would expect no less. I half suspected you would have told your father - it does not matter." Juliet moved to the end of the couch again, to look at him, quite seriously, but this time - with tears in her eyes, tears of fear as she walked over to the chair he was in and knelt beside it, taking his hand, wildly out of character.

"You must promise me something then, Tobias, as a way of forgiveness for telling your father such a thing." She had spoken his name. "You must promise that you will protect my brother, protect George and Hunter - our sweet Emily as well, but also look out for Beatrice and Alistair. Your father would not hesitate to use them against me in his anger, I am sure - and I beg you to not allow him. Even my mother - do not allow her ruination, if he does threaten it. Please. I will not be here to protect them or in any position. You must promise me, Tobias. Promise me, please. You can hate me, condemn me all you like - but please do not allow your father to hurt them."

[thevelaryons]

I love that Addam is positioned alongside Corlys during the war, whereas Alyn remains by his mother’s side. Addam is fully engaged in his identity as a Velaryon and Alyn keeps himself at a distance. But in the end, Addam proves himself to take more after his mother (and is ultimately buried at Hull where she lives). Meanwhile, Alyn goes on to become Corlys 2.0 (right down to being buried in the sea).

The juxtaposition between them is such a great detail.

[saltwatersweets]

i just KNOW papa titan was shitting and sobbing when he watched king say this