#because i can do something. fix things. make a difference

[from-the-owls-nest]

mhm. what if you're too broken, in too tiny pieces, even the base too shattered to rebuild from. what if there's too little good left.

*swallow* that... that probably wasn't the most helpful answer. but I know what you mean. and I don't really have a fix or anything.

*drily, like, ironically* should probably clarify that the you in that first sentence meant me and just me. so. before you get any more ideas. because of course for Me that's Different! At least for my chaos brain tangles.

[ooc: Philosophy Below. idk brain ran away with thoughts call me if u find it /silly]

*silence, thinking over the words again* I don't know. All I can hope is that - that sentence from the movie Aria likes. When we can see no future, all we can do is the next right thing. the next little ray of sunlight. the next little moment of peace.

And if none of that is possible... Wait, and hold on, and look for them, and hope they come back soon. This is just my thoughts - my little agreement with myself. I gotta try the best I can, even if the best I can is a break from trying to recover. And then I'll know that Past Me did their best for me now and that I owe it to Future me to do my best for what they might become. Even if they weren't very successful. Like deciding that however I am right now is me too, and so I am all these things and parts, the good and the rough ones, and they all together make the full me. It's these nice little shortcut across the self blaming and infighting that take a long time to work out but help wherever they hold.

But like. I think I owe it my future self to hold on, and to get through the storms. Our past selves have come such a long way, and who knows where we'll go next, what our future selves and lives might be like. So like. I do think that new paths open up all the time, possibilities. Even if the ones now are all bad, who knows where we can still go. And the only way to find out is to try, and to do our best.

*they pull out their diary, and from the front a little calendar page* Look. I... It's one of these pages I'll keep forever and ever because I need the reminder, and give to others when they might need it. I don't know if it's right. I hope so. and I think the only way to find out is to try and hold on.

For me that's enough. That, little hopes, little good moments, even just the memory of warmth and hope and the knowledge that all that was once can come again - in different forms, maybe, but it can. *turning to lay it next to Will's sneaker*

*more silence* But. Well. That's really big thoughts, and hard to see when everything is so dark. Hm. okay just to throw some thoughts out. You don't have to tell me, you don't have to think about it, just... some ideas. Little windows into that maybe, whenever you're able to look.

what do the voices say? can they maybe be talked to, or be both a little right?

is there anything you wish wouldn't stop? or come back? any little thing. ignore realism and context all that. if you were playing make-believe, your own little world, what would it look like? if you want to we can take turns. I play that game regularly cause, well, bad memory, and i probably should start again.

and... does it have to be a *bad* hurt? like. yes. you're different. stuff happened, and it changed you, and that really really hurt. you might not be the same person as before. is that a bad thing? or, you said nasty. sure. right now it's raw and painful and doesnt fit yet. but... could all these little shards grow back together and become something scarred and mended, and different?

I hope they could. I'd really miss you - not you from before, you however you are right now and however you want to be. Idk doesn't make much sense but - people if they change are still that person, right? just... changed, by a situation or because they got to know themselves better or whatever. Like Butterflies. I'd like to see the next chapter, with you if you want or just knowing there was one for you.

Image Credit @thelatestkate and her website

Love love love characters that present themselves as emotionally open social butterflies but the more you see of them the more obvious it is that they’re the most closed off fuckers in the story. Sure, they want to help you with your personal problems and messy emotions, but if you turn that shit back on them, they’ll shut down or deflect every time. Why are you sticking your nose in their business anyway? It’s not like it matters. They’re not a person, they’re just a role being played. They’re the guy who fixes things and saves people. Please ignore the man behind the mask, he’s fine. Everything’s fine.

[twstfanblog]

hey, if your requests are open, could you write hcs for the dorm leaders with a reader who has generally long hair suddenly appearing with a short haircut? and maybe your own personal hcs if they’re more into long or short hair, maybe… really like your blog btw! :) keep up with the good writing 🫶

Boys react to a Haircut

Housewardens x Reader

Riddle

Did a double take.

Homeboy was stunned but complimented the new look. Riddle doesn't really care if your hair is long or short, so long as it's professional and neat in public settings.

He liked your long hair, but the short hair is just as nice. He will say he finds your shorter hair cuter than when it was long. But he said your long was beautiful. It's different.

Leona

Annoyed but would never say it.

Hair is a thing of personal expression. If it's not on your head, you don't get an opinion. Personally, though, he finds long hair to be more attractive than short. He just likes having things to play and tug on

He'll pout and huff at the change but he isn't going to tell you that. The short hair will grow on him. Just let him play with it while cuddling and he'll start liking it.

Azul

At first, assumed that something had happened that caused you to cut your hair. Once sure you did it by choice he compliments the new look.

I think he'd like long hair because that was the beauty standard in the sea. The haircut kind of upset him, but he wasn't going to bring it up

Azul's love language to me is gift-giving. And at the start of your relationship, he'd gift you a lot of hair accessories since that was common practice in the sea. So he'd be a bit pouty at the decrease of you wearing the combs and clips since your hair is much shorter now.

Kalim

Whined and cried a bit.

It's my own personal headcanon that Kalim WANTS long hair but it was deemed dangerous since it made him easier to grab. So he lived vicariously through you and Jamil for all his long hair wants and dreams.

Pouts for the longest time, but then he starts realizing it makes kissing you on the neck a lot easier.

Vil

What have you DONE!?

Feels partly responsible for the "hack job". He had made a comment on you having a issue with split ends, offering to trim your hair at a later date to fix them. Only for you to show up with nearly all of your hair gone.

He's more so pouting because he had couples outfits planned for your long hair. He thinks you look amazing with your short hair, but the outfit silhouette changes with short hair and its no longer working in his mind.

Idia

(Like this fucker would notice)

Jokes. But I dont think he'd really care about the haircut and not bring it up unless you do. Idia does think your short hair is really cute though

Personal headcanon is that while Idia CAN cut his hair, because of the magical properties of it, it's a long and annoying process to do. So he's happy you have th much easier option to cut your hair as you please. He just thinks you're cute no matter what alt you pick.

Malleus

A little surprised, but does compliment your new hairstyle.

Personal headcanon that haircutting in the valley is a weird thing. Like, routine trims are common but cutting off a large portion is a life-stage declaration. Like when he and Lilia cut their hair to attend NRC.

He isn't sure if he likes long or short hair more. While longer hair is what he's used to, shorter hair has a charm to it he can't place. So long as he can still run his fingers through your hair, he's fine with whatever style you choose.

[screamlet]

“I wish you would write a fic where…” Through whatever contrivance, Buck tries to woo Tommy back through trivia. Maybe he gets Tommy’s team in on it, or the emcee/host - but it’s all Tommy-themed questions because Buck is trying to prove he knows him. Does it work? Maybe it’s all surface level and it hurts Tommy as much as he appreciates it. Maybe he revealed more than he thought and Buck was listening, taking it all in. Maybe Tommy decided to participate against him and inadvertently reveals something or accidentally says he loves him or something. If you would like it, I humbly offer whatever you can do with this premise!

heeeeey it took one million years but here's something!!! i love shenanigans, i hope this lives up to them.

bucktommy fix-it, 2k

read on the ao3!

---

Tommy's not exactly kidnapped.

He's met in the parking lot at Harbor by Hen, Karen, and a couple of big smiles, and then shoved into the backseat of their car and driven off somewhere. 

"You know, it's been my experience that some people text when they want to hang out," Tommy says.

"So you did ignore my voicemails!" Karen yells. "I knew it."

"It's not personal!" Tommy says.

"I'm taking it very personal," Hen replies. "Like hell you're leaving the Christmas card list again." 

"I'll move."

"Not in this housing market."

Tommy groans because it's true. 

And see, that's a little crazy but a little fun, to know that they care enough to abduct him and take him out for the night. It's then not really surprising that Howie's waiting for them at the bar they used to frequent ages ago, when Tommy was still at the 118. 

"I got the cuffs," Howie announces, a pair of very-real looking handcuffs dangling from his fingers.

"Those better not be for me," Tommy says as Karen pulls him out of the car with shocking strength. 

"Don't worry, they're not LAPD property," Hen assures him. "They're Bobby's."

"Please stop making me learn things," Tommy says.

He's already handcuffed. Howie's living-with-a-toddler sleight-of-hand has gotten unreal. 

It's around this time that one shock wears off and another dawns: this is a scheme and Tommy is trapped.

"No no no no, whatever you're doing—"

"Chim, no!"

The bar's tables have been cleared from the center to make two long tables facing each other. Fine, cute, two teams, it's now clear to Tommy that he has to win Evan back or something with trivia. The difference, though, are the two chairs in the center, where Evan is already sitting (and handcuffed). He turns around, almost tipping the chair over except Eddie catches him. 

"Fine, whatever," Tommy says as he's sat in the chair next to Evan. To make things better/worse (because Evan's so fucking squirmy), their chairs are put back to back so they can be tied together, too. "Oh, we're going full Last Crusade, are we, Howie?" Tommy has to grunt because Athena ties a really, really good knot and again: he wishes he knew less. 

"If you had answered your phone," Bobby says coolly. "If you had bubbled less and texted more—"

Tommy whips his head around and smashes his skull right into Evan's. "Goddamn—you saw that? Why didn't you text, if you were just sitting there watching me type?"

Evan struggles against everything keeping them together, then finally says, "Because you left and you didn't want me! If you wanted me, you would have called! And now we're—" One more hard thrash that gets Tommy in the shoulder. "Kidnapped and this is your fault."

"It's my fault? You wanted me to give up—"

"No I didn't! I said something dumb and you walked out before—"

"No, no, no, we can talk later," Eddie says. "It's time for Buckley-Kinard Family Feud."

Tommy and Evan turn their heads at the same time. "The hell are you talking about?" Tommy asks. 

"It's time to draft your teams," Hen announces. "I'm hosting, so I'm removing myself from the pool."

"This isn't fair! It's Buck's family—"

"You didn't just call me that in front of everyone," Evan hisses. 

"It's Buck's family against me, I don't have anyone—"

"I'm drafting myself," Howie announces. "Buck, your turn."

"Fine, I pick Maddie," Evan replies.

"Don't sound too thrilled," she replies. 

"Your next pick?" Hen asks Tommy.

"I told you, I don't—"

Bobby comes over to his side.

"You're insane," Tommy says. 

"That's not fair!" Evan yells.

"I met him first, Buck," Bobby says placidly. 

"Yeah, but—ugh, fine, then I pick Athena." Evan turns his head and bumps into Tommy's again. "You better not pick Eddie."

"I'm picking Karen," Tommy says. "She's my friend who's a lesbian—"

He can feel Evan tense against his back, probably out of frustration and a deep, deep desire to slam his skull into Tommy's again. He doesn't know how Evan resists.

"I've been bisexual for like, nine months, could you cut me some slack?" Evan asks.

"You spent an entire afternoon reading me articles and watching videos about the three-body problem and you couldn't fucking bother—"

"Because then I'd know," Evan yells. "I'd know that you and me were too good to be true, and I'd know that it was just temporary, and I'd know that you can't live your whole life one way and suddenly a guy kisses you and everything, everything is different, and your life's completely changed! I'd find something that would tell me it can't happen, it's probably not real, and then I'd realize I was wasting your time because I can never really change. If I looked at us too hard, I'd know it was just—"

Tommy's so overwhelmed, his chest so tight, that all he can manage to say is: "Yeah, it's called biphobia, and if you had asked, I don't know, one of the three gay people in your life—"

"I didn't know what to ask, Tommy! Fuck!" Evan tries to struggle out of their bindings again, but then he stops. "Apologize to me for being such a dick about this." 

The room is tense and quiet, eerily quiet, until Tommy finally says, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? You're right and I'll stop throwing that at you. It's really unfair. It's unfair of me and unfair of, I don't know, the whole world, that made you think this could never be for you."

"That you could be it for me," Evan corrects.

"Sure, whatever." Tommy's voice is nowhere near as light and bitchy as he meant that to sound. "So are we gonna play this game or what? Now that we've got some teams of dubious quality?"

Bobby takes a seat at what is now, apparently, the Team Tommy table. "I know you like fresh pasta because then you can have soft pasta and no one will call you a heretic for not liking it al dente." 

"That's psychotic," Tommy says. "And no one cooks it true al dente, it's always just barely cooked and I shouldn't have to chomp on pasta like a horse to enjoy it!"

Evan says, "And all of you said I was the weird one and he was the normal one."

"Literally no one said that, Buck," Eddie says. "You're both absurd, that's why you're perfect for each other."

"Well," Evan says, "I know you were thinking it."

"You were thinking it, and sometimes thoughts have to make it out of your mouth for people to hear them," Tommy snaps.

The entire room bursts into an uproar and Tommy tries to struggle out of his chair again. "Fine, fine, I'm a huge hypocrite, can I get a point for admitting it!" 

"Yes, just one," Hen says. "Alright, gather up, teams. Bobby and Maddie, you're up first."

"This is a nightmare, this is a nightmare," Tommy whispers to himself. "I crashed my helicopter and this is hell."

"Hey, Mr. Keeping Your Thoughts Inside, we can't hear the question," Howie says.

"You're on my team, you have to be nice to me!"

Howie dramatically pops his piece of gum and says nothing.

"This first question is in the category of fashion," Hen reads off her phone. The TV over the bar has turned on to show a Family Feud style board with four options and Tommy can't believe his vision of hell is this detailed. It's impressive. "Name one novelty apron belonging to either Buck or Tommy."

Bobby slams his hand on the buzzer that someone brought for the occasion. "Tommy has one that says Warning: Fowl Language and it has a rooster on it." Bobby points at Tommy and says, "Sal gave it to you for your fake birthday, which is June 13, but your real birthday is in November."

The room is quiet again.

"You had a fake birthday?" Evan asks.

Tommy looks up at the ceiling. This means that he and Evan's heads are touching and he can't help but lean into it a little. He doesn't go any further, though. "Did I mention I'm like… that there's a lot of things wrong with me?"

"Yeah, these are really struggling to stay in the quirks category," Karen says. "But hell yes, one point! Let's go, Bobby!"

Bobby rejoins the team and Hen strolls down to their side of the room. "Now, Karen: can you name another apron that Tommy owns?"

Karen winces. "Okay, this can be any apron?"

"Any apron," Hen agrees.

"Alright, then I'm gonna say… a plain, utilitarian grey apron that he wears because he doesn't want to use the nice ones." 

Hen says, "Show me boring!"

The word charcoal appears on the board with a (2) next to it.

"Two charcoal ones?" Maddie asks. "Tommy, love yourself."

"Yeah, I think that's the point here and I hate it," Tommy replies.

"Alright, Chim," Hen says. "Name another apron in Tommy's kitchen."

"I think we all saw Buck's lockscreen this summer," Howie says. "Tommy in a sleeveless shirt with a black apron that said Flippin' Awesome and had two spatulas crossed on the front."

"Show me spatulas!" Hen calls out. Another point. 

"Cheap shot," Tommy says. "Evan gave me that, of course you knew that."

"Hey, genius, how do you think people learn things about each other?" Howie asks. "Hen, take it away." 

"Alright, Team Buck," Hen says, wandering over to Maddie. "Name an apron you can find in Buck's kitchen." She turns her head and says, "And don't think we didn't notice he's Evan again."

Tommy turns his head away and whispers to Evan, "Can you make them stop? Please?"

"Sorry, do you think I wanted to be tied and handcuffed to you tonight?" A beat. "Okay, that's not—whatever, I'm suffering here, too."

"Are you?"

Evan huffs. "I'm tired of chasing after people who don't want me, and you don't want me." 

Tommy stays quiet as Team Buck racks up bonus points for Evan's punny apron collection. 

"I thought you'd call or text, or come over," Evan says, voice quieter. "You said, no matter how bad I want to be, so I thought… I don't know. I waited, Tommy. That didn't feel like the end. And you never answered my voicemails, so."

"I haven't checked my voicemail in five months," Tommy admits. "I saw you left a couple the week after and I just—I couldn't. I knew I'd—I'd press play and before you'd even said Hey I would be in my truck on my way to you."

"And would that have been so bad?"

Tommy drops his head down. "I wanted a clean break so we could both walk away." 

"Tommy," Evan whispers. "No matter how bad you want that to be true… it's not."

Tommy nods to himself. "I'm sorry."

"I should have come after you," Evan says. "I should have broken down your door or, I don't know, hung onto your helicopter like Captain America."

"Yeah, good luck," Tommy laughs. 

Between them, Evan's fingertips reach for Tommy's. They cling the best they can, and Tommy—he clings back. 

"Do you mean it or do you just want to get away from everyone?" Evan asks.

"Well, apparently I can't get away from them." Evan laughs dryly, so Tommy clutches his fingers again. "I mean it. Both of those things. If they take the cuffs off, I won't run. Will you?"

Evan laughs. "Only if you'll follow."

"Then we should make a break for it."

"You got it."

---

read on the ao3!

[flymetosnarryland]

We have a problem...

There is only one person you can ask for help when Harry disappears, right?

I'm stressed, super tired and in pain, so… going to vent a little, because feeling a bit helpless, eh. The thing is, I have this nasty cough and I have it all my life. 30+ years of endless months of freaking cough that no doctor knows why I have it and how to fix it. I know people have worse health problems, so I'm not complaining. I'm just living with it, even if it's really hard sometimes, because my body is too tired to deal with it. Imagine coughing every day for couple months in a row like you spit your lungs and other inside stuff out. Your throat is sore all the time. You have hoarse and your chest muscles are on their limits, everything just hurts. Every time it ends, I'm feeling fucking blessed. Now it's going for two months after a month or so break and I'm pretty sure one of my chest muscles tore up or something. The doc I went to, said by hearing what I feel, that it's some in between ribs nerve issue. She gave me some fat painkillers and say goodbye, heh. (They works half way though) I hate to take pills and trying to avoid it as much as I can. But I started this year with different pills for different shit and I just want… I want this cough to stop. I want to be free from other not fully understood health issues than was born from that stupid flu and go back to my good, free from stress life. It was so good before, eh. I just cross my fingers that the lungs specialist I have a visit at Monday will not treat me like a pest and actually will be able to help solving some of the 30 years old cough's mystery. I'm not dying or something. I'm happy, because I'm pretty healthy in general. But I'm so freaking and dead tired because of stupid, neverending cough and can only cry. Just cry, cus can't do a shit with it. Normally I was swallowing it all. It's a shame to talk about something such trivial like this, isn't it? But as my psychologist said, I shouldn't ignore things that makes me feel really bad. And to be honest, talking about it, venting here and even crying, eh, it helps. Next day is a little bit better. Every time. And I'm really happy and grateful for having something to do. To be able to draw at least, since I'm slow with writing cus of the pain. But Snarry truly is my comfy blanket and helps me a lot dealing with stress.

Whoever managed to read that wall of cry, thank you. Hopefully you will not count me as stupid, heh. It's hard as fuck to share personal stuff for me. Especially knowing that other people have bigger problems... mines sounds silly compare to others. I know...

[hsnlv]

strawberry lemonade | s.jy

pairing: bestfriend!jake x reader

teaser: “have a pack?” you ask, cocking your eyebrow at him. jake is confused, utterly. a pack of what, exactly? but the question in his head is quickly answered by you. “cigarettes.”

warnings/others: suggestive!!!!, mentions of smoking and vaping (and the actual action of doing it too lol), smoker!jake agenda (?) somehow…

wc: 1.3k

a/n: pls enjoy this hello?? my chest feels so warm (not in a cute way) when i wrote lmfao!! comments are reblogs are highly appreciated! anyways, happy reading lovelies🎀 here’s my masterlist!

"this movie is shit," you groan, letting your head fall back against the leather couch in jake's living room.

you don't know what's worse-the absolute trainwreck of a film playing on the screen or the fact that you and jake's science project is an utter failure. either way, both are enough to drive you insane.

beside you, jake chuckles softly, the sound sending a flicker of irritation through your already sour mood.

“have a pack?” you ask, cocking your eyebrow at him. jake is confused, utterly. a pack of what, exactly? but the question in his head is quickly answered by you.

“cigarettes.” you reply with a well-no-duh tone, as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world to ask about. but jake’s confusion turns deeper when he heard you.

"you smoke?" he asks, head tilting just slightly.

oh, fuck. why is that hot?

everyone tilts their head when they're confused, but jake? it's different. there's something about the way his sharp features soften just a little, the way his glasses slide down his nose ever so slightly, the way his dark eyes fix on you with pure curiosity-it's almost infuriating how attractive he is.

you've always thought so. al-fucking-ways! the feelings you have for him-buried under layers of playful teasing and feigned indifference-have been there for as long as you can remember. and seeing him now, with that confused yet intrigued expression on his face, does nothing to help the situation.

"yeah, sometimes," you say, shrugging like it's nothing. "only when i really need it."

jake swallows, and you don't miss the way his throat bobs. his mind is running wild, you can tell. maybe it's the contrast of it-you, the one who always nags about health, casually revealing this habit. he doesnt take you as someone who particularly smokes.

he still remembers the night where you would clean the overall of his room before you slept on his bed because you said “boys are dirty and disgusting” but in reality, you did it because the thought of sleeping in the same bed as him freaked you out —or turned you on—and you just wanted something to somehow distract you from the pooling heat on your panties. spoiler not so spoiler alert: it failed!

he clears his throat, breaking the brief silence. "i don't have any."

he can feel his throat goes dry at the mental image of you puffing out the white puff from your mouth. oh oh, sim is in trouble!

his reply makes you sigh against the couch. and as if you hear the bell of the ice cream truck, you excitedly sit up from the couch, remembering that you always carry a disposable pod with you.

quickly, you dig into your bag, fingers brushing against the smooth plastic before you pull it out. a small, pale pink device. a guilty pleasure. something you keep just in case you need one. and that ‘just in case’ happens to be now.

you flick it on, settle back into the cushions, and take a slow, deliberate inhale. the sweetness of the flavour fills your mouth and lungs, smooth and almost intoxicating.

strawberry lemonade.

you hum in satisfaction, tilting your head back as you release the thick, milky cloud of vapor into the air. it feels good-too good.

but what feels even better is jake's reaction.

his eyes are darker now, hooded as they watch you. his breathing is slightly heavier, his lips parted just barely and his cheeks flushed. you can see the way his fingers twitch, like he wants to reach for you but is holding himself back.

you lift the pod, offering it to him. "want some?" and your voice clicks him back into reality. he replies with a soft ‘yeah, sure’.

maybe it’s the stupid nicotine that messes up with your brain or maybe you’re just purely stupid when you take another long drag, letting the vapor sit on your tongue as you crawl up to him.

slowly, you shift, climbing into his lap and straddling him with ease.

jake stiffens under you, his hands instinctively finding your waist, fingers digging in slightly as you settle against him. his breath is shaky as he mutters a soft yet whiny ‘shit’, his eyes wide, and when you lift a hand to tap gently at his cheek, signaling him to open his mouth, he obeys without question.

you lean in, closing the space between you both, lips hovering dangerously close to his as you part yours, exhaling the white cloud into his mouth, your lips almost touching his.

and fuck, that almost makes his heart bursts— so does his growing dick!

his lips wrap around the vapor, drawing it in, and fuck-he groans. it's quiet, barely there, but you hear it. feel it.

his grip on your waist tightens. his head falls back against the couch, his adam's apple bobbing as he exhales, savoring the feeling, the taste of the sweet strawberry lemonade, and the intensity of the moment.

and god, the sight of him like this-his chest rising and falling, his jaw clenched, his lips slightly swollen-sends a rush of heat straight between your legs.

he gently lifts his head up back again, cocking an eyebrow at you, his gaze calling you in.

and before he can speak, you do it again.

another hit, another lean in, another slow, intimate transfer of smoke.

but this time, jake doesn't let you pull away.

instead, his hands slide up your back, firm and sure as they press against you, keeping you close. and then-he kisses you.

it's slow at first, exploratory, lips brushing over yours in a teasing, featherlight way that makes you whimper before he deepens it.

his tongue traces the seam of your lips, tasting the sweet remnants of strawberry lemonade before slipping inside, tangling with yours.

it's intoxicating. dizzying. the way he kisses— deep and consuming, like he wants to devour you whole-makes your head spin.

they should make flavour that tastes as sweet and as good as him and named it “jake”. because hell, how can someone taste this good?!

his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, brushing against your thighs. and yours are no better, fisting the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, pressing yourself against him, needing more.

a quiet moan slips from your lips, and jake groans in response, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you down harder against him.

you can feel him. every bit of him.

the realization sends a shiver down your spine, and when you rock against him ever so slightly, he curses under his breath, hands tightening their hold on you.

"fuck," he murmurs against your lips, his voice breathless, needy.

his hands shift again, one sliding up to cup the back of your neck, the other pressing against your lower back, holding you firm against him as he kisses you deeper, harder.

it's too much. not enough.

your fingers thread into his hair, tugging slightly, and the groan he lets out is nothing short of sinful.

he's losing control.

and you love it.

but then-he pulls back, panting, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

his eyes flicker open, dark and filled with something you can't quite place.

without a word, he moves.

slowly, effortlessly, he shifts, standing up and lifting you into his arms with ease.

you yelp softly, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck, legs around his waist as he carries you.

"jake-"

"shh," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. "just let me have you, please?”

his voice is soft, but there's a hint of desperation behind it. and how can you say no?

instead, you let him carry you, let him press gentle kisses to your skin as he walks, let yourself melt into his hold.

and when he finally reaches his room, gently placing you down onto his bed, his eyes filled with nothing but want and adoration-you know it’s going to be a long night.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv | 2025

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hello hello! you're writing tips have been so helpful and i wanted to ask for help on how to write hypocrite like characters. thank you!!

Writing Notes: Hypocrisy

Hypocrisy - a feigning to be what one is not or to believe what one does not; behavior that contradicts what one claims to believe or feel, especially: the false assumption of an appearance of virtue or religion

Hypocrisy is a special case of cognitive dissonance, produced when a person freely chooses to promote a behavior that they do not themselves practice.

Cognitive Dissonance Theory. Has a long and esteemed history in social psychology. As originally formulated (Festinger, 1957), cognitive dissonance is induced when a person holds two contradictory beliefs, or when a belief is incongruent with an action that the person had chosen freely to perform. Because this situation produces feelings of discomfort, the individual strives to change one of the beliefs or behaviors in order to avoid being inconsistent.

Hypocrite Trope

People — particularly those with authority, be it moral or political — are expected to act in accordance with the ideals they espouse. That is to say, they should practice what they preach. Those who don't are hypocrites.

The dichotomy here is that they may fervently and honestly believe what they say is right and good… they just don't have the moral strength or willpower to consistently live up to their own high standards. (Unless, of course, they're outright liars with no intention of living up to said standards.)

it's possible to be hypocritical and a good person at the same time, whether that would be a "Jerk with a Heart of Gold" or a full-blown "Nice Guy" character trope, and it depends on how severe the hypocrisy is (and the hypocrite's level of self-awareness). This, in return, is what makes hypocrisy mainly considered to be a minor form of jerkassery by default.

It depends on whether this is intentional or not.

One writer would do this intentionally so the character would go through a Jerkass Realization.

Hypocritical Humor is a minor degree of this, when Played for Laughs.

Another writer may make a character or do something but then forgot about it later on, then making them do things that contrast with earlier claims.

It usually takes fans or other writers to point them out, and it’s up to the writer to fix it or leave it like that.

Some Subtropes

Arbitrary Skepticism: Characters who deal with the strange and bizarre on a regular basis are skeptical when they run into something strange and bizarre.

A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing: A character pretends to be harmless or friendly to hide their actual self.

Broken Aesop: When a story itself doesn't mesh with the ideals it promotes.

Devil in Plain Sight: When someone who is Obviously Evil isn't seen as such by a general populace that is surrounded by other evils who are obvious, but only a minority can see it.

Doublethink: AKA cognitive dissonance; when one believes in two mutually exclusive ideas at the same time.

False Prophet: Someone claiming to be a messianic figure is actually deceiving their followers.

Knight Templar: A person who firmly believes their own cause to be just and righteous, even when it isn't.

Tautological Templar: Somebody who believes that they are good, and that makes everything they do good by default.

The Horseshoe Effect: The extremists on one side aren't that different from the extremists on the other side.

You Are What You Hate: People hating others for the same traits they themselves have or what they would eventually have.

Examples

Geryon, a monster from The Divine Comedy who guards Eighth Circle of Hell, is the biological manifestation of fraud. It may have the face of a beautiful man, but behind that face is the body of a massive winged serpent with a tail ripe with venom.

Gone with the Wind: Gerald O'Hara fled Ireland, where foreigners had taken over the country's lands and exploited an underclass to work them so the new landowners could become rich. He then immigrated to the United States and became a wealthy, plantation-owning slaver.

Merlin: A deliberate and fascinating example is King Uther. The reason he hates magic in the first place is that he made a deal with a sorceress to conceive a son with his barren wife. Furthermore, he describes his deceased wife as "my soul" and yet we later find out that he had an affair with his best friend's wife, and that (as he says to his son) "I know about the temptations of serving girls."

In Spirited Away, Yubaba refuses to accept Chihiro into her bathhouse because in her words, Chihiro is a "spoiled, lazy crybaby [with] no manners". Shortly afterwards, Yubaba is interrupted by her baby, who she immediately coddles and pampers, and who fits Yubaba's description of Chihiro perfectly. Furthermore, she criticizes her employees for being greedy and attracting the wrong customer when Greed is one of Yubaba's defining characteristics.

Tangled: Mother Gothel lectures Rapunzel about the dangerous selfish evil people of the outside world… when she's the one who kidnapped Rapunzel as a baby for her own selfish reasons. Rapunzel is quick to point this out when she discovers the truth.

Smerdyakov in The Brothers Karamazov is really just thought of as a scullion who has airs of intellectualism about him, and who carries blasphemous notions about religion. He's also thought of as pathetic to others because he suffers from epileptic seizures. The idea of him being the murderer is absurd to everyone in town for these reasons, yet he is. Only the protagonist seems to have any deep misgivings about him.

The Divine Comedy: According to Dante's Inferno, those guilty of hypocrisy are forced to march in monk-robes made of lead in the 8th Circle of Hell, the robes symbolic of the weight of their falsehoods. Special mention goes to Caiaphas, the High Priest of Israel under Pontius Pilate who advised him to crucify Jesus for "societal good", who is crucified to the ground and trodden upon by the other hypocrites like a literal doormat.

The Handmaid's Tale: In "Milk", Steven laments the fact that Handmaids are used as sex slaves, but he has no problem trying to extort sexual favors from Janine and June in order to let them stay.

The Last Supper: Judas is covered in shadows, actively leaning away from Jesus, and spilling salt (an evil omen) all over the table, yet no one else at the Last Supper even begins to recognize Judas as the traitor Jesus has just revealed is in their midst.

In The Lord of the Rings (as explained outright in Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth), Saruman openly berates Gandalf for his use of tobacco, but in private, in an attempt to imitate Gandalf, becomes addicted to pipeweed himself. In the movie, Saruman says, "Your love of the halflings' leaf has clearly slowed your mind" but Merry and Pippin find several large barrels of tobacco in Saruman's home later on.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hi, thanks so much, appreciate your kind words! Consider these references and choose which ones would work best to incorporate in your story. Do go through the sources as well for more subtropes and examples that might serve as inspiration.

[genericpuff]

Hey y'all, Episode 67 will be out as soon as it's ready. I'm not gonna lie, coming off the back of a crazy holiday season, I was hoping things were gonna get back on track with the update schedule, but the last 2-3 weeks have brought about a whole new whirlwind of issues:

I took our cat to the vet a few weeks ago to get him checked out (esp because he wasn't eating as much as usual and we wanted to make sure he wasn't sick). The usual vet we go to has become a shithole, the doctor we got was extremely unhelpful and every interaction I've had with other members of staff there has been confusing and unpleasant. After an hour of an appointment that was more uncomfortable than it should have been, we were out $700 which was absurd, even for usual vet fees. After I shared the more detailed version of this story with friends IRL, some of them mentioned that apparently this particular clinic (among others throughout Canada) was bought by an American company. So that certainly explains a lot -_-

Car broke down and that cost like $800 to fix. Thankfully wasn't as expensive as the fucks at Canadian Tire quoted us, but it was still another huge expense on top of the vet bill.

Our shop moved locations this weekend, which took a lot of time to both prepare for and finally pull off over the course of the last few weeks. My new booth is at least set up enough to tattoo but there's still a lot left to do to make it comfortable.

Now my cat is potentially developing jaundice (sign of liver failure) which lines up with his blood test results from the vet showing increased liver enzyme levels or something like that (but they were apparently not enough of an emergency for the vet to actually do anything about it). I booked with a different vet clinic but they can't get us in until the 20th. So I booked an appointment for today with the emergency vet up the road. I'm terrified for him, he's an old cat so it was inevitable that his health would start to turn, but other than his increasingly picky eating habits and signs of jaundice, he's still acting like himself and it's breaking my heart that he could be hiding his own symptoms. I really just do not need a pet death on top of everything else that's going wrong right now.

As for the episode itself, it's not even that long, but the set design is pretty detailed and in our attempts to create some 3D models for ourselves, it resulted in bugs that had to be fixed on the fly. Thankfully I think we've finally got it down (and it's a recurring location so it's not like it won't be useful to have again in the future) but overall the episode production just hasn't gone as smoothly as it could have compounded by everything else mentioned above.

None of these are excuses, just reasons that have justifiably required my attention. Depending on how the vet appointment goes, I'll try and stream later tonight so that folks can at least watch some of the drawing progress for this episode. Episode 67 will be out by next Saturday at the latest, assuming I'm not able to get it out in the next day or two.

I know I'm a broken record at this point, but I'm incredibly sorry for the wait and I appreciate your patience with me. I'm begging for things to calm down soon.

[shortbcofkoffee]

CW: Cursing, child abuse via parentification

Bruce didn’t cry. He never cried. Bruce whined and sulked, but he never cried. Tim hated it when Bruce whined and sulked. He hated when Bruce acted like a kicked puppy because he had to take care of him. Tim thinks Alfred is happy he doesn’t have to do it anymore. Bruce is well into his 40s; he shouldn’t need this. Either way, Tim is closing Bruce’s bedroom door behind him and turning to the man in bed.

“Alfred wants you to come to dinner.” Tim sits on the foot of the bed, placing a hand on Bruce’s calf. The man is facing away from him, lying down but not pretending to sleep.

“I’m fine.”

Tim sucks his teeth and furrows his brow. “What’s wrong?”

Bruce shrugs and curls into himself. 

Tim purses his lips. “C’mon, chum. You can tell me.” Tim swallows and his stomach twists. He tells himself that it feels numb on his lips. He’d says he’s long past feeling gross, disgusted with himself, as he gently runs his thumb back and forth over Bruce’s calf. Bruce needs this, he reminds himself. He needs me.

“It’s nothing, I just-... It’s nothing.”

Tim frowned, Bruce wasn’t usually one to share but still. “Is it a case?” He knew Jason had mentioned one. Something about a seemingly normal family leaving their kid with the Falcones before the parents were murdered. It wasn’t the type of thing to stress Bruce out but it was the only one Tim could think of. Bruce didn’t answer. “Okay, well, you don’t need to tell me. But let's get some food in you, yeah?”

Bruce shifted but made no attempt to get up. Tim sighed.

“Alright, chum, I’ll bring dinner to you. Just wait here.” Tim patted his leg and stood up.

“Thanks, Dad,” Bruce said as Tim reached the door.

His eye twitched. “Anytime.”

When he steps out of the dark bedroom, he’s Brother Tim, the Tim the rest of the Waynes like. He makes his way to the dining room where everyone is filing in. Luckily it wasn’t everyone tonight. Just Tim, Dick, Cass, Jason, and Damian. They all sat at the table in their unofficial spots. Tim usually sat between Bruce and Dick with Cass right across from him. He eyed his seat, thinking maybe he could ask Alfred to bring the plate. He wanted to sit down and eat. Dick raised an eyebrow as Tim passed his chair.

“You’re not gonna sit down?”

Tim shook his head. “I will in a minute, Bruce isn’t coming down so I’m bringing him food.”

Jason scoffed. “Why do you need to bring it, ask Alfred.”

God, he wanted to. “Alfred does enough, I’ll do it.”

He could feel their eyes as he quickly moved past them to the kitchen. Alfred is there, garnishing a casserole. The Butler meets his eyes and frowns.

“I assume Master Bruce has elected to stay in his room?”

Tim nods. “I’m gonna fix him a plate.”

Tim thinks Alfred knows because Alfred somehow knows everything. Maybe he doesn’t know how far it’s gone, but he knows. He also needs Tim, but not for himself like everyone else. He needs Tim for Bruce. 

Alfred hums. “Master Timothy, please come here. I want to show you something.” Tim stepped closer, watching as Alfred cut a perfect square out of his casserole. “Master Bruce has a very particular way he likes to be served. You’d do well to memorize it. All foods must be separated by one-third of an inch, vegetables should be opposite the meat. He drinks milk right after his water, if he plans to sleep right after dinner crush two valium pills and mix it well into his milk. If they’re fully dissolved he won’t notice the difference.”

Tim nodded along. God, this was so final. He already knew most of this but Alfred never took the time to actually teach him. It took the butler less than a minute to finish Bruce’s plate, he placed it on a tray with two glasses of milk and water. He handed Tim the tray and sent him on his way.

Tim felt eyes on him again as he passed back through the dining room. There’s a pang of anxiety in his chest telling him they know, they know. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they did. They’d be disgusted, disgusted with Tim for going along with this for so long. They’d think he’s a freak, that somehow he enjoys this. Tim doesn’t know how he’d handle it. 

The walk to Bruce’s room was quiet, the whole manor was quiet. Tim had mixed feelings about long, quiet halls. It meant he was alone; either for the moment or months on end. It was lonely but there was a freedom in that emptiness. He didn’t have responsibilities, he could do whatever, whenever, however. No one was watching him, he didn’t need to be anyone. Tim took a deep breath in. As long as he was in this hallway, he’d be fine. Unfortunately, he was only a few yards from Bruce’s door.

He balanced the tray in one hand and opened the door with the other.

“I’m coming in, chum.”

Bruce turned over in his bed and sat up. “What did Alfred make?”

“Hamburger casserole, broccoli, and turmeric rice. If you want dessert, though, you’ll have to come downstairs.” Tim placed the tray on Bruce’s lap. “Spend time with your kids.”

Bruce stared blankly at his food. “What’s for dessert?”

“Tiramisu, I think. Your favorite.”

Bruce nodded and started to eat. 

Tim ruffled his hair, letting Bruce lean into his touch for a moment. It’s… a lot. “Come down when you’re ready.”

Tim was two steps from the door when Bruce spoke again.

“Wait. Dad…”

Tim turned around and shifted his weight onto one leg. “What’s up, bud?”

Bruce didn’t meet his eyes and poked the food. “Recently I was made aware of… a situation.”

“Uh-huh.” Tim walked back to the bed next to Bruce.

“Jason has let me know about a development in a cold case involving the Falcones.” So he was right. “There was a child involved. I found him, he’s… traumatized. He saw them kill his parents, he told me and I just- I… He doesn’t want to leave the Falcones. He told me he loved it there, they were nice to him. And I just left him. He wouldn’t come with me, he fought so much, I left him.” 

Tim pouted. “I’m sorry that happened, bud. You think you’ll go back for him?”

Bruce leaned onto Tim’s shoulder. “Jason said he’d deal with it. I just wish I did some more. I could’ve, I can, I just. It’d be encroaching on Jason’s territory. Where they’re keeping him. I should do something. I can.”

Tim wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulder and scratched his scalp. It felt weird, warm. Bruce had probably washed it earlier, poorly, but at least it was washed. “Yeah, Jason has been on edge with you hasn’t he?” Bruce nodded. “It’ll be alright, bud. Jason can handle this, and besides, this case could be a lot for you. I think you should sit this one out instead of beating yourself up about it.” Tim unwrapped his arm. “Okay?”

“Alright.”

“Good. I’m gonna go eat dinner, you can come down for dessert.”

Tim finally got away, slipping off the bed and out the door. When Tim steps outside the room again and walks a few feet before leaning against the wall. He pressed his forehead against the red wallpaper and placed a hand over his stomach. He doesn’t want to touch anyone ever again. His stomach is churning with that familiar weird feeling. It’d go away soon, a few minutes to a few days, but it’d go away. This wasn’t weird. This isn’t- Bruce needs this, he needs this. As long as Bruce needed him, Tim would be there. He couldn’t just abandon Bruce. His hand gripped his shirt and he took a deep breath. He was okay. Tim stood up straight and walked back to the dining room.

He slid back into his seat next to Dick and Bruce’s empty chair. Alfred already put his plate out, just how he liked. Tim looked around the table at the subtle differences on the other’s plates. He wondered if they noticed and if this would be his life from now on, learning the specific ways he needed to care for everyone. If it’s like that he’s happy only Bruce needs him. He was prepared for a few questions, it’d be weird if he didn’t get any. Bruce’s kids would be worried about him even if they hated to admit it.

“You’ve been fussing over the old man a bit much lately,” Jason started.

“I guess,” Tim shrugged as he began to eat. Had it been more than usual lately? It felt a little less frequent. 

“Is he okay?” Dick asked.

Tim frowned. “He’s upset about a case.” He nodded at Jason. “One of yours, actually. About the kid with the Falcones. He’s eating himself up because he wants to help the kid but he doesn’t want to piss you off. I told him you could handle it.”

“Thank God,” Jason huffed. “That asshole keeps straining my alliances every time he steps foot in the alley.”

“How old is the kid? We don’t need him trying to take another kid in,” Dick joked.

That seemed to satisfy the table as they all went back to eating and their individual conversations. Mainly small talk and meaningless arguments, Tim wanted to contribute but he still felt weird. He felt awful. The food didn't settle the churning in his stomach, unfortunately, the feeling was here to stay. Begrudgingly, his thoughts wandered back to Bruce. What would he need next? When? He could feel the man’s hair on his hand still. It was warm and a little greasy from product that hadn't been washed out. Tim roughly swallowed. He didn't like this feeling. He should be grateful, if it wasn't for this he wouldn't be needed here. Of course, he was CEO of Wayne Enterprises but his professional relationships weren't fulfilling enough to replace personal ones. He needed Bruce to feel useful. Bruce needed him to feel better. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t disgusting. Tim was okay with it.

He didn't want to finish his dinner. He didn't want to be here when Bruce came down for dessert. Oh God, he’ll probably have to put him to bed if he’s still upset after dinner. He stood with his only half-empty plate and started to the kitchen. Cass grabbed the back of his shirt and tapped him twice, asking where he was going.

“Ah, I'm done eating. Wasn’t too hungry anyway.”

Cass frowned but waved him off but Dick stopped him too. 

“Hold on, Timmy, dude, you barely ate.”

“I'm not hungry,” he reiterated. “And besides, I have a meeting with some shareholders tomorrow, I need to prepare.” A lie so quick it surprised even him. “Do you want my food?”

Before Dick could answer Damian slammed a hand on the table. “Drake! Give me your vegetables!”

Tim quickly dumped his food on Damian's plate and walked to the kitchen. Alfred was still there, preparing dessert, and to Tim’s luck, it was actually Tiramisu. So now he didn’t accidentally lie to Bruce. 

“Should I throw this out or keep the leftovers?” He asked Alfred.

The old man looked between him and the plate a few times. “You only ate one thing.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Just place it on the counter, I’ll deal with it.”

Tim muttered a thanks as he did and left. Unfortunately, always unfortunate for Tim Drake-Wayne, Bruce was there. Smiling at his kids, carrying his tray to the kitchen. Tim didn’t have to look closely at Bruce anymore. Every line crinkle was there whether he liked it or not. He could read Bruce’s face better than anyone he knew and he hated it. Bruce’s smile faltered a little when he was Tim but no one seemed to notice. It wasn’t weird , he reminded himself. He brushed past Tim with a “hey.” The interaction was short and impersonal but it didn’t make the feeling go away. Tim left the dining room. Bruce would probably go to the cave tonight, to look over whatever he’s working on. By tomorrow morning only Dick would be back in Bludhaven and Cass and Jason would be back at their apartments. Tim hoped he wouldn’t have to scold Bruce for staying up too late. 

Tim’s lungs felt light like the air was barely tickling them. He wanted to sleep, he’d set an alarm for three and if Bruce was still up he’d drag him to bed. Soon enough he was in a quiet hallway again. Just alone with no one watching. He jumped as high as possible, fingers barely touching the high ceiling. Tim liked being alone for these small bits of time when he felt like this. It gave him just a little release when he did little things with no one else around. He jumped again. He wants to go on patrol. He wants to jump from building to building and breathe in the night air. He should do it soon, tomorrow maybe.

Tim reached his room, set his alarm for three, and let himself relax into his pillow. Bruce has been better lately, this case was gonna be a huge setback, especially if it involved Jason. Tim hated to say it because it wasn’t true but every problem he had with Bruce was because of Jason. Tim knew it wasn’t fair to blame him, he had no stake in how Bruce would mourn him, but if he never died in the first place… That was so unfair. It made Tim feel disgusting for even thinking that. Bruce wasn’t entirely to blame either, no one is how they mourn. Tim took the role of caretaker quickly and easily, it was a lot, especially for a thirteen-year-old, but Tim could take it. Tim could take everything. He did and will.

Tim didn't know when he fell asleep or if he had a dream but the alarm clock on his bedside table was screaming. Tim groggily rolled over and hit it off. If Bruce wasn't in the cave Tim could go back to sleep sooner. If he was, Tim would have to drag him to bed. Bruce needed as much sleep as possible, the holidays were coming up and that always put Batman on overtime. Tim got out of bed and dragged himself over to Bruce’s room, but of course, he wasn't there. Tim groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He found his way down to the cave and followed the sound of typing to the Batcomputer. 

“It's late.” Tim came up behind Bruce.

“I'm working.”

“And you'll have time to work tomorrow. The sooner you sleep, the sooner you wake up.” He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “C'mon let's get you to bed.” 

Bruce made no effort to move and Tim leaned on his shoulder. 

“I’ll go to bed soon.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Listen, bud, I’m not going to sleep until you do. And I’m tired.”

“No one is asking you to do that.”

“I know you’re tired too. You’re not at your best when you’re tired, you could slip up and miss something.”

“I won’t. I slept yesterday, I’ll be fine.”

Fair, Bruce could easily stay awake for three to four days without shutting down. Unfortunately, with the aforementioned holidays, sleep would be few and far between. “Yeah, well I’m not asking. We’re going to bed.” Tim looked up at the screen. “What are you even working on?”

“I told you. The case with the Falcone kid. I haven’t updated the report yet.”

“I thought I told you to let Jason deal with it.”

“I can help.”

“He doesn’t want your help.” 

Bruce paused his typing for a moment before resuming. “Did he tell you that?”

“I told him that I told you to let him deal with it. He didn’t thank me but he was appreciative.” Tim pulled away from Bruce’s shoulder making the man twitch. “Besides, I don’t want you working this case. It won’t be good for you.”

Bruce just grunted, an unintelligible one that meant he was acknowledging but ultimately ignoring you. It’s like a toddler throwing a quiet tantrum.

“You know I’m right. C’mon, chum, let’s go to bed,” he tried again. The man didn’t answer. “Okay?” He said with more force. Bruce silently saved the report he was working on and logged off. “Thank you. See that wasn’t so hard.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Bruce grumbled. 

“Mm-hm.” Tim held out a hand and pulled Bruce from his chair.

Bruce held onto his hand as they started to walk, he seemed like he needed it. He didn’t let go until they were halfway to his room. Bruce, for someone who craved it so much, hated physical affection. He only accepted it from certain people. Alfred was one since he raised him practically by himself. His kids, obviously, he’d never turn down a hug from one of them, he actually hoped for it. Though Tim had never personally seen it, according to others Bruce didn’t seem to mind being touched by Clark Kent. Lastly, there was Tim. Tim was the only person Bruce reached out to first for affection. Usually just a hand on his shoulder or arm but sometimes Bruce wanted a hug or a hand to hold. It was always over quicker than it happened when Bruce acted first. 

Once he got Bruce to his room it was 3:14. He could still get a good amount of sleep and still be good in the morning. He yawned as he walked the dark halls back to his room. Sleep would be good, Bruce was exhausting. TIm just wanted to melt into his pillow and disappear forever. Tim jumped, almost yelped as he turned a corner and came face to face with a mop of white and black hair. Jason stared at him quietlywith his jaw locked in anger. Neither of them spoke but Jason nodded in the direction of the library. Jason was here, why was he here? Tim hadn’t noticed him come in so it must’ve been when he was dealing with Bruce. 

Oh, God, had he seen him with Bruce? The seeing wasn’t the hard part Tim knew how to lie and deflect. He could say that he asked Bruce to hold hands. It wouldn’t explain why it looked like he was guiding Bruce but it was a start. The hearing was the bad part. If Jason had heard the end of their conversation Tim doesn’t know. An inside joke maybe? That was the only thing Tim could think of at the moment. He bit his lip nervously. The disgusting feeling was back. His hands and feet felt heavy. Tim was tired, he just wanted to sleep.

“Why are you here?” He asked nervously.

“Left my commlink in the cave. Came back to get it,” Jason said.

“Ah.”

So he was in the cave. When they entered the library Jason sat down in one of the lounge chairs and motioned for Tim to sit across from him.

“The fuck was that?” Jason started.

“What was what?”

Jason leaned forward and sighed. “Okay. Are you… okay?” He asked through gritted teeth.

The question felt weird coming from Jason. “Fine. Why?”

“I heard you talking to Bruce.”

Tim is pretty sure all the color left in his face drains. He’s pretty sure Jason noticed it too. “Oh.”

“So are you okay?”

Tim pinched his fingertip with the opposite hand. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just- just forget what you heard, okay? It’s nothing weird, just an inside joke, y’know?” Tim feels a little stupid for deflecting immediately. He could’ve played it off better, but the mental exhaustion was getting to him.

“It didn’t sound like a joke.”

Tim pinched harder, sinking his nails into his skin. “Then you misread the situation.”

Jason leaned back, splaying his arms over the back of the chair. “Alright humor me. What’s the joke then.”

“If I explained it it wouldn’t be very “inside” anymore. It’s private.”

“Kay, so how long have you and him had this private “joke.””

Tim grimaced. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not. Just answer.”

Tim scoffed. “Why do you care? It’s a joke me and Bruce have, that’s it.”

“Why do I-?! Why do I care?! You know I kill abusers?”

Tim took a deep breath in and rolled his eyes. “Don’t call it abuse just because you think it’s weird. I get it, you don’t buy the joke thing but that’s all it is.”

Jason was quiet for a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh my God, is that why he listens to you? Because you have this dad thing going on?”

Tim’s stomach churned. God, he wanted to throw up. He wanted to run away and hide under his cover until this was all over. “Nothing’s going on, leave it alone.”

“Listen, I’m trying to help you.”

Jason? Help Tim? When he was the reason for this in the first place? Tim couldn’t help but smile at the irony. “Yeah right. I don’t need any help, it’s fine. If it makes you feel better, I started it, not Bruce.”

“So, what, you started calling Bruce “ chum” and shit.” Tim almost gagged. “And he just went along with it?”

“It’s complicated, okay? Bruce needs someone to deal with him.”

“Why not Alfred? That’s literally his job.”

“It’s different-”

“Is it? Alfred’s practically raised him and I don’t see Bruce calling him dad.”

“It’s different,” Tim repeated. “You weren’t there, you don’t know.”

“Okay then explain it. I’ve got all night.”

Tim clenched his jaw and glared at Jason. “I’m going to bed.” He started to stand but a throwing knife stuck into the bookshelf behind him, barely missing his head.

“Sit. Explain.”

Tim sat back down. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“When did this start?”

“Four or five years ago.”

Jason hummed. “That’s what you meant by I wasn’t there. Alright then, why is he calling you dad?”

That one was loaded. Tim wasn’t a psychic, he couldn’t read Bruce’s mind. He only had his best guess. “He likes to be parented. Talking to him like he’s a teenager sometimes helps when you need him to do something. Like shower or eat.”

“So… you act like his dad because he’s an overgrown teenager.”

“No. He only acts like that when he’s depressed, or stressed, or wasted.”

“Bruce doesn’t drink.”

“Not when you guys are around. He used to drink himself stupid after you died. That’s also why it’s me and not Alfred. Alfred was grieving too, Bruce wasn’t something he needed to deal with.” 

“So you took Alfred’s place.”

“Only when he needed it.”

“But it never stopped. You’re still doing this weird shit just to make him feel better.”

“He still needs me. I can’t abandon him.” Tim shifted uncomfortably.

“Tim, you’re 17, Bruce isn’t your responsibility.”

“He is. I need to take care of him. You don’t understand, you don’t get how bad he needs me.”

“You’re right, I don’t. He’s grown, he doesn’t need you.”

“Well he does, okay? And I’ll do it until he stops needing me.”

“Do you think of him as your son?”

Tim was silent. He didn’t like to, it made him feel gross to say it so he’d never actually verbalized it before. “It… can make it easier.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t get you. Both of you know how fucked up this is, you kept it a secret this whole time. You’re clearly feeling shitty about it, you just never said anything. He’s not threatening you, is he?”

“He’s not threatening me, I just… He needs me. That’s all there is to it.” Tim was tired. He wanted to go to bed. “We didn’t tell anyone because we knew you would react like this. You’d think it was weird.”

“It is.”

“You’re not even making an effort to understand. You don’t get it.”

“Oh, believe me, I get it. I get all there is to get. Tim, I’m sure you know this, but I don’t like you. I think you’re a stain and you never should’ve been Robin. But I’m on your side, I’m trying to help you . Because I’m supposed to protect people like you.”

“I’m not a victim, Red Hood, I’m telling you, I’m just taking care of him.”

“You don’t need to.”

“We’re talking in circles. It’s fine if you don’t get it, just don’t tell anyone and keep it alone. Me and Bruce are fine, this has worked for years. If I left Bruce wouldn’t be able to pick himself up again. I can take care of him as long as he needs me.”

“Do you want to?”

Tim rubbed his arm. He didn’t, he liked feeling needed but he didn’t want to do this. But that’s how it was, it was how Bruce needed him. Since he couldn’t, he wouldn’t change a thing. “Yeah.” He felt disgusting.

Jason raised his hands in surrender. “Then I’ll leave it alone. But if I find out something I don’t like, I’ll act. Trust me, I will.”

Tim finally pushed himself out of the chair. “Thank you. I’m going to bed, it’s late.”

Jason stayed behind in the library leaving Tim alone in the long dark hallway. He was alone again, he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding before his chest sank again. Oh God, someone knew. Jason knew, probably the last person Tim wanted to know. Jason had called Bruce an abuser and threatened to kill him. That’s the last thing Tim needed. He wanted to sleep, he should sleep.

.

Read the rest here and read the fic that inspired it here

[puttersmile]

Heart & Sol Month Days 9 & 22

Prompts: Shared Secrets and Under the Stars

A short story comes with this one!

A Lonely Kind of Cheer

The town square glowed with twinkling lights, festive garlands draped across every storefront. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, settling on the cobblestone streets like tiny, frozen stars. It was the kind of picture-perfect winter evening that should have felt magical.

But for Dogday, it felt heavy.

He leaned against a lamppost near the bakery, watching the towns-critters bustle past, their arms full of wrapped gifts and baskets of sweets. Everywhere he turned, someone was laughing, smiling, embracing the season. And every time someone waved at him—called his name—he waved back, flashing that effortless grin of his.

Just keep smiling. They expect you to be happy.

The thought sat sourly in his chest.

It hadn’t always been like this.

In the past he had thrown himself into the holiday rush—helping neighbors hang their lights, hauling trees into living rooms, carrying more bags of flour and sugar into the bakery than Bobby could count. If he kept moving, kept helping, kept making himself useful, maybe he’d find the warmth of the season that everyone else seemed to feel so easily.

But this year was different.

The cold months were a drain. The long, sunless days left him exhausted before he even got out of bed. The thought of lifting another box, decorating another tree, or forcing another grin made his limbs feel like they were weighed down with rocks.

The exhaustion was deeper this time. And worse—this year, he didn’t have the energy to ignore it.

“Dogday!”

He turned at the sound of Bobby’s voice, and for a split second, his exhaustion faded. There she was, bundled in her favorite holiday sweater, a tray of steaming pastries balanced effortlessly in her hands. She looked as warm and bright as the holiday itself.

“There you are! I was hoping I’d run into you.” She beamed, offering him one of the treats. “Fresh out of the oven! Tell me that doesn’t make you feel at least a little festiiiive!"

He took the pastry automatically, but his stomach twisted at the forced cheer in her voice.

It was too much.

Her eyes were too bright. Her voice too eager. And the way she moved—it was as if she was trying to keep pace with the world around her, not allowing a single moment of stillness.

Dogday had known Bobby long enough to recognize when something was off. And right now, beneath all that sparkle, he could see it—something strained.

Something painfully familiar.

“You ever sit down this time of year?” Dogday asked, keeping his voice light.

Bobby huffed a laugh. “Not if I can help it. Too much to do! So many cookies to bake, decorations to fix, last-minute gifts to wrap—”

“Sounds exhausting,” he cut in.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second—so quick that anyone else might have missed it. But Dogday didn’t.

Then she laughed again, waving him off. “I like being busy.”

That was truth but with a hidden lie. He knew it.

But what was he supposed to do? Call her out? Tell her he knew exactly what she was doing because he did the same thing?

Because he used to overcompensate, too—rushing to help every critter with their Christmas plans, throwing himself into the holiday chaos just so he wouldn’t have to sit with the weight pressing against his chest?

Because if he didn’t, people would see what was underneath—and that scared him more than anything?

The thought made him feel sick.

Instead, he took a bite of the pastry, chewing slowly. Strawberry, it was delicious. Of course it was.

“You know,” he said carefully, “you don’t have to do all of this.”

Bobby’s smile faltered, just a little.

“Oh, I know,” she said quickly. “But I like doing it. Really. Makes everything feel…” She trailed off, gaze flickering away. “I dunno. Full.”

Dogday exhaled softly, feeling that sourness rumble in his chest.

“Hey…Bobby,” he said softly. "I want to tell you something. A-a secret."

She looked at him then, her usual confidence cracking just enough for him to see something raw underneath.

For the first time all season, she wasn’t grinning.

And for the first time all season, Dogday didn’t force a smile either.

“I hate Christmas,” he admitted.

The words hung between them, suspended in the cold night air. Bobby’s eyes widened, and for a long moment, she didn’t say anything.

Then, very quietly, she whispered, “I hate being alone.”

Dogday’s breath hitched.

The weight of the season didn't lift. But it had shifted.

They had spent so long pretending, so long trying to convince the world (and themselves) ñthat they were fine—that Christmas didn’t hurt.

But now, standing here, facing each other, there was no more pretending.

“…Guess we’re a mess, huh?” Dogday said, voice thick. Despite himself, there was still a smile.

Bobby let out a breathy, teary laugh. “Yeah.”

Then, before he could react, she reached out and hugged him. A real hug—not the usual playful, squeeze-the-air-out-of-you kind she usually gave. This one was different. It was slow. Careful. Steady.

Dogday hesitated only a second before he hugged her back.

For once, neither of them had to fake anything.

They didn’t have to act.

Maybe they weren’t as alone in this as they thought.

End.

Headcanon: Dogday gets winter depression.

And its likely "canon" Bobby has bad seperation anxiety.

I did use shipping tags but I think a moment like this would happen before they are a couple.

[corviiids]

sparknotes for "fix your eyes" the 2/2 akeshu fic

as always dont read this if you havent read the fic it wont make any sense, also p5r spoilers obviously but i think the boat's sailed on that one. happy 2/2, the holiday where goro akechi dies and i celebrate by killing ren. fuck yeah.

i guess the overarching question in this fic is whether ren is real, or, like to what degree he is real? to an extent i want to leave it up to interpretation, but it's not nearly as ambiguous as i left it in my death note fic telltale. you can have your own take on this but fwiw my take is that ren is as real as goro is in canon third sem, which is to say he's real. he's behaving as himself. maruki isn't influencing his behaviour. (at least that's my intention.)

the main mirror to canon w this au is like... okay so in canon, akechi sacrifices himself for the thieves and then is brought back, and ren's big challenge is whether he can stand to lose akechi a second time. it's worse for ren because ren is the Hero, you know? so not only is akechi someone he failed to save, akechi is someone who gave himself up specifically so REN could live, something that ren (who likes to sacrifice himself for others) really struggles to live with. the idea of allowing akechi to sacrifice himself therefore becomes a huge problem for him.

in THIS fic though, akechi killed ren himself. so it's a different question. the actual choice is not between killing ren vs keeping him alive--it's that in november, akechi made the wrong choice. he did something he regrets. so now the onus is back on him, again, to choose again, and figure out which choice is right. killing ren was obviously the wrong thing to do by ren. now, although ren doesn't offer a view one way or the other, the implication is that ren does not want this reality, given ren was fighting maruki all month knowing he was dead. so the right thing to do arguably is to allow ren to die again, even though his death was a wrong that occurred already. this is the more painful choice for akechi to make because it's something he actively wishes didn't happen, but it would be the right thing by ren--so akechi's challenge is whether he can make the selfless choice this time having done wrong before.

that's why akechi in canon and ren in this fic react so differently. akechi has been robbed of his agency all his life, so he impresses his wishes very forcefully on ren: he refuses to live like this, so he insists that ren choose to let him die. whereas ren in this fic was robbed of his life by akechi choosing his fate for him. he knows akechi is now struggling with regretting his decision, so telling akechi to choose one way or the other would actually be more merciful. telling akechi to let him die would make it easier for akechi to do it, and ren refuses to take the burden off him. ren's saying, you chose for me last time and you chose wrong, so now im forcing you to choose again. and this time get it right.

i had a really fun time with akechi's voice in this fic because he's so unstable and just really irritable. he is not having a good time, and he's really unreliable as a result. i think he's really been at sea since he killed ren. sometimes you get everything you always wanted and it just fucking sucks. the whole time he's struggling with how much he wishes he'd failed. he wants ren back, doesn't deserve to have him back, want to spend time with him now that he is back and is also struggling with guilt and bemusement that ren is spending time with him at all. he manifests all of this as irritability because he's just not good at regulating himself.

one of the big things also is that akechi's internal narration calls ren 'amamiya' for almost the entire fic, because they just never got that close. more precisely, akechi doesn't feel he's able to consider ren that closely.

ren's behaviour in the fic is pretty inscrutable. like, it really doesn't make sense for ren to want akechi at all. i guess im making kind of a meta point with this more than i am making any point about ren's internal world. the point is mostly just to emphasise how little goro understands what's going on with ren here. this is a very unreliable narrator fic, something goro comments on himself.

(btw, the joke here is that latin is a dead language........ lmao)

shows thru in parts like this also, where goro kind of technically has a point and yet if this is the entirety of your worldview it's not only jaded it's also just kind of... incomplete. like, it's not wrong? ren's confidants are all like this, basically. and goro does then go on to say that though relationships START like this, they can't stay that way. but more than that, it shows how brittle goro's perspective is on social relationships. his distortions are pretty clear.

he also has this repeated refrain of nihilism the further it goes along lol

there are also a lot of these moments where ren clearly indicates he knows something is up, but akechi just misses them because he's so wrapped up in his own shit.

oh also backtracking a bit

the idea here being that kind of like how akechi will wait in kichijoji in third sem, ren's kind of become the kichijoji confidant and akechi's become the protagonist.

btw initially i had planned to write a more closed ending, or potentially a CYOA style double ending depending on which choice akechi makes? but ultimately i decided to leave it ambiguous.

i feel like there is definitely other stuff i wanted to say but i forgot it so i guess ill just add onto this post later if i think of it. anyway! thanks for reading! happy 2/2! <3

[realtapiocafan]

The way people talk about black NFL players always has me side eying 😭😭😭 some of the comments I’ve seen about Ja’marr today have been crazy

Ok, incoming rant. Please do not read if you're uncomfortable with discussions of racism

Wow, I was just looking in the insta comments of ja'marr signing shit for fans and omfg, i couldn't believe my eyes. 'Show a little excitement' 'look like you care a lil' 'don't look away while you're shaking someone's hand' well what if i shake in RAGE. like he stopped and signed the jersey and he took a picture, what. 'smile' GIRL THE CAMERA ISN'T EVEN POINTED AT HIM. and like you compare that shit to joe signing shit yesterday (in which joe didn't smile either) and it's all 'oh thats my qb' 'making a diff in the young generation' 'so compassionate'. The sheer difference in perception is just... 💔

The thing is: there's a lot of racism in the NFL.

Like, just as a whole, we're watching a predominately black population fight each other for our entertainment. Yes, NFL athletes get paid, but for the longest time, the main argument for NIL was that colleges were benefitting from the free 'labor' of student-athletes, who were basically putting their bodies and futures on the line (it's been proven you can get CTE from even youth football which. yikes). It's not

Don't get me wrong, the NFL has gotten a hell lot better with coaches. Like a couple of years, there was just one black head coach (which is another rant bc the racial makeup of the league was even more skewed in past years), and this year there was nine. So it's... progress? The thing is: I get the Rooney rule, I do. But interviewing for a job that you know you aren't getting... I don't know. Considering someone for an interview and considering someone for a job are two entirely different things. I don't know how to fix it, it's kind of a microcosm of the whole DEI debate. On one hand, African Americans are at a historical and thereby structural disadvantage, but teams are still gonna hire who they think is best (and surely it's just a coincidence that 'who they think is best' is white).

And there's a lot of just casual racism. There's a common myth that black athletes tend to be faster. No one likes to acknowledge it, but it's basically entrenched into our society. And that myth permeates through the NFL and football in general.

There's a reason why you never see black centers and we're only recently seeing black qbs. Those are the 'thinking' positions, the leadership positions, arguably the most important positions. And there's a reason why so many WRs and corners are black. Those are the 'athletic' positions. (There's also the fact that wide receiver and corner are positions far more prone to injury than qbs or centers or kickers but that deserves its own rant).

In large part, the racial segregation can be traced to youth/college football, where black players are predominately pushed to the athletic positions. Black players are perfectly able to play qb thank you very much -it's that their coaches and agents and whoever switch them to WR or corner.

There are a lot of stories about how people were trying to convince Lamar to become a RB -and that's still a common insult for Lamar (oh he's just a glorified RB). And that's basically reducing Lamar to just his athleticism, completely ignoring the FACT that he's an elite passer. Like fuck right off with the 'he's not intelligent enough' argument (which some people still say). The discourse around black quarterbacks, as a whole, is still very much centered on 'oh it's just their athleticism', always praising their 'two-way threat' and that just. Ugh.

And also running backs! The current devaluation of running backs, considering that most rbs are black... there's something disturbing about just how much of the discourse around rbs is centered around how easily they can be replaced. How they're seen as commodities and things, rather than people. This can be extended to all players, because of how profit-oriented the NFL is, but it's especially applicable to rbs and I don't think the fact that most rbs are black, is a coincidence.

Back to WRs. The media loves to just toss the label of 'diva' on wide receivers. And like those hand-wavy comments, 'oh that's just the diva gene'... Again. Most WRs are black. The correlation between accusing overreacting with race is... it makes me uncomfortable. Racism isn't about calling people slurs, it's stereotyping a whole group of people and in this case, there's a long history accusing black people of overreacting. When people call Ja'Marr a diva for wanting to be paid his worth, yea, I do think there's racism there.

[keeper-of-sparkly-things]

swr wof crossover au

Exactly five people have shown interest so i have taken that as permission to talk about this a little

(All of the art is not mine, its commissioned from my sister who does not have a tumblr, heres her youtube instagram and deviantart if you want to look at more of her stuff)

Anyway this idea spawned in discord when me and my friends were talking about how there are too few mythical creature aus of starwars and especially rebels and so i jokingly mentioned that someone could do a wings if fire au. It has since consumed my brain. Have some thoughts

Spectre 1, Kanan Jarrus

This guy is a leafwing. Thought process was “He’s green. Connected to the living force. And it would be cool” He is an animus, like all jedi will be in this au. He is one of very few pantalan dragons that have ever been an animus. His backstory isn’t that much different in canon, he ends up in the scorpion den with Hera. He also happens to have fairly strong leafspeak, though it doesn't see much combative action in the desert. At the time rebels starts he is about 11 dragon years old, at the time the empire rose he was 6 dragon years old.

Spectre 2 Hera Syndulla

Hera is a silkwing/sandwing hybrid. Since silkwings were almost entirely slaves or something similar in arc 3, and since twi’leks are the most slaves in starwars, i decided to make her a silkwing, and also because shes pretty. However, a friend said she had strong queen Thorn vibes and so now shes a hybrid sandwing who happens to work with the rebellion in the scorpion den. She has regular silk and also a tail barb, though it is smaller than other sandwings, but its still just as dangerous. Around the time rebels starts she is a little less than ten dragon years old, when the empire rose she was almost 5.

Spectre 3 Chopper

He is actually a little animus enchanted wooden octopus. Basically a while ago an animus decided animus’s were too powerful and purposefully nerfed the entire system, including things like you can enchant living things including the spellcaster, as such, animated carvings and such became fairly common, as they were technically nit alive but could still move as if they were. Think Blob from darkstalker except chopper has the side effect of being much more violent since he was separated from his creator. Hera found him in some ruins during the clone wars. No one knows how old he is.

Spectre 4 Garazeb Orrelios

This guy is just a normal icewing because theres a sad lack of purple icewings in wof canon. And also icewings and nightwings have had a rivalry since forever (i know that was supposed to be fixed in arc two but i needed a reason for a nightwing king to be willing to wipe of a large chunk of a tribe and palpatine in nothing without his ability to hold grudges over things he wasn’t even alive for that dont matter anymore) in this au he is still a captain of a guard, but it isn’t The royal guard (since theres only ten dragon tribes but hundreds of starwars species so we cant just entirely eliminate one dragon tribe with it being a much bigger problem than just the lasat) It is the biggest city besides the one where the royal family lives, and a lot of lesser nobility and a fair chunk of the icewing army, including where they train the new recruits is there. After it gets destroyed (there were Rumors that the nobility of the city were in league with rebellion, so if course the empire decided to go to the extreme and kill literally everyone who lived there) Zeb then goes into hiding in the Scorpion Den, thinking the desert would be the last place they would look for a reputable icewing, and there he meets kanan and hera. They recruit him by fighting imperials together and saving him from death by dehydration. He would have been 20 when the empire rose and 25 by the start of rebels. (@kanerallels has actually made this fic of him meeting kanan and hera go check it out if you haven’t please)

Spectre 5 Sabine Wren

Shes a rainwing. In Darkstalker and in the guide to a dragon world, they are mentioned to be widely feared assassins. Queen Glory wanted the rainwings to not be useless in a fight so she taught some of them to fight. The group that learned to fight took it too far and became the mandalorians, and sabine having been a bounty hunter at some point in canon, and also liking to express herself through her outward appearance, this is what i landed on. All her armor is enchanted by kanan to blend in with her scales when shes trying to be stealthy. This is what eventually persuaded her to join them. She was 1 when the empire rose and is 6 when rebels starts.

Spectre 6 Ezra Bridger

He is a silkwing hivewing hybrid. In the books these tribes seem to be more purposefully agricultural than the other tribes, being the only ones (i think) that have gardens for food instead of decoration, and they also have greenhouses, and lothal is a farming planet. Pantala is also a good out of the way grassland that doesn’t immediately have the attention of the empire, which is very convenient for him since he’s basically the most illegal person to ever exist. Unregistered child (illegal under the empire) who is also a hybrid (also illegal) descendent of a flamesilk (illegal when unregulated) and an animus (illegal period under the empire) and happens to have both abilities(because hes my favorite and i can do whatever i want), as well as a tail barb meant for paralyzing others, though both his flamesilk and his tail barb are significantly weaker than the average because of hybrid genetics. (His tail can barely paralyze tiny dragonets and prey and doesn’t work on bigger things without enhancement, and unless he purposely uses his hottest silk its not hot enough to actually burn most dragons) his parents did work with the rebellion on pantala, but because an emergency they traveled to pyrrhia and brought ezra with them because he was to dangerous to leave alone but were attacked and imprisoned halfway across the ocean, leaving ezra alone, and being like 2 years old at the time, lost his sense of direction and wandered to pyrrhia instead of pantala (bridges were built at some point connecting the continents by the islands) it should be known that he has no idea hes an animus at this point and thinks hes just really good at disguises and everyone else is just very dumb, when in reality hes like enchanting a poncho to make him look like a non hybrid and other accessories to make him look different by accident. He eventually wanders over to the scorpion den and causes a LOT of chaos which led to the ghost crew finding and adopting him. He was born on the first empire day and was about 4.5 years old when rebels starts. (If you want some angst he grows his wings right after malachor and kanan completely misses it)

[loquaciousquark]

you have been my #1 favorite fanfic author of all time for like 7-8 years now for your fenhawke and ive always thought "god i would give anything for quark to write solavellan" but i respected that it wasnt your thing. so imagine the pure unbridled euphoria of checking in on your blog this week to see that he finally got to you. i actually screamed. whatever you come up with i know it is going to absolutely change my life and i am so excited <3

i’m so. sad. i'm SO sad. i was so happy for a decade just being mildly annoyed every time he crossed my dash and now i am having feelings and opinions and i don’t WANT THEM and the only way to get rid of them is to write them out of me, this is why i don’t love fenris or astarion at all anymore obviously

and like, I still don’t love Solas! I still think some things he does and some goals he has are really, really stupid! but this character I created to love him really loves him, and I really love her and want her to be happy even though she lives only inside my head, and that means I need to lay down some structure around her romance to get the shape of it, to build something I can make sense of. I may not love him, but I like him much more than I did, and I certainly understand him better than I did the first time around.

And to be honest, there’s a part of me glad I’m coming to it as late as I have. I don’t think I’ve ever read a single Solavellan fic in my life (I actually had to pause here to check the spelling). I have NO idea what tropes are popular with him or what interpretations are the biggest. I have a lot of opinions on how his personality and identity work in a romance with this particular character I’ve created, but because I’ve been so siloed I have no idea if I’m bucking the grain or not, which is fine by me.

Plus, it helps I’m not going to have ten years to build up a lot of personal headcanons and jossable thoughts before playing the new game. I’m not someone who easily ignores canon when it clashes with my imagination for the major things, so I think this will (hopefully) keep me from major disappointments.

It's kinda funny; earlier today I was going back through my DAI tag and reminding myself of all my impressions from the first time I played the game. Some of them I definitely still stand by; others have completely changed. I even said twice that a Lavellan/Solas romance would be my next playthrough, which was true if ten years late.

But it's things like: apparently the first time through I loved Solas and Sera, both of which certainly were not true going into this replay. (I barely even have a memory of Solas and Priory ever being in the party together, though the historical records say I took him to Adamant.) I apparently had a lot of hopes Gideon Emery would be voicing Fenris. I originally thought Priory was going to romance Bull, which is very ?????? after all this time. (I did still, even then, know Here Lies the Abyss completely broke her as a character, and ten years on I never could fix her for good.)

I really did not expect to change my mind on Solas going into this replay, I guess is the point. I replayed because knowing the story of DAI and Solas, I felt it was a story most personalized to elves and specifically a Solas-romancing Lavellan, and that was the worldstate I wanted to take into the new game. I played it out because that's the kind of person I am (I can't just invent characters wholesale in my head) but I really thought it was going to be a perfunctory playthrough as a stepping stone to a different game and a different PC and (presumably) a different romance. I didn't expect to love this character as much as I do, and even if I don't have ten years to write her out the way I did Hawke, I feel like I still owe it to her & her doomed romance to give her a little time in the spotlight. Lucky girl!

[00valentina-writes00]

Abby w reader with ocd?

✞⛧ Abby with a girlfriend that has OCD ✞⛧

Warnings: I don’t have ocd, so if I got smth wrong or it’s offensive please tell me-

✞⛧ Abby notices before you ever say anything. The way you check the door multiple times before leaving, how your fingers hover over objects like you’re making sure they’re just right, the way your breathing changes when something feels off. She doesn’t say anything at first—just watches, takes note.

✞⛧ She doesn’t think it’s inconvenient, just… something to understand. Abby’s all about problem-solving, so when she realizes this isn’t something she can just fix for you, it frustrates her—not at you, but at how powerless she feels when she sees you struggling.

✞⛧ At first, she’s not sure what to do. She’s used to tangible problems—wounds she can stitch, enemies she can fight. This? This is different. But she’s patient. She listens. She learns.

✞⛧ Abby never gets annoyed at you. She gets annoyed at the way the world isn’t built for the way your mind works. When people rush you, when they make careless comments—that’s when you see her jaw clench, her grip tighten.

✞⛧ She figures out pretty quickly what makes things easier for you. If you have to check the door before leaving, she stands next to you, silent, never rushing. If things need to be in a certain order, she respects it. If she moves something by accident, she fixes it before you even notice.

✞⛧ If you have compulsions that hurt—scratching, picking, repeating actions until your skin is raw—Abby’s hands are right there to stop you, firm but gentle. She never shames you for it, just takes your hands in hers, rubs slow circles into your palms, reminds you to breathe.

✞⛧ She gets really good at grounding you. If you’re stuck in a spiral, she doesn’t say stop—she gives you something else to focus on. “Come here,” she’ll say, pulling you against her. “Tell me three things you can hear. Two things you can feel.” She keeps her voice steady, calm.

✞⛧ When you apologize—because you always do—she shakes her head. “Don’t. You don’t have to be sorry for this.” And she means it.

✞⛧ She hates when people treat you like you’re difficult because of it. If someone makes a snide comment about how long something takes, Abby’s right there with a glare that could shut down an entire conversation.

✞⛧ If routines help you, Abby builds them into her life like it’s second nature. You eat the same breakfast every morning? Guess who’s making sure it’s stocked. You need to wash your hands a certain way? She learns the pattern, does it with you sometimes.

✞⛧ When she catches you trying to hide it—masking, forcing yourself to act normal—it kills her. “You don’t have to do that with me,” she tells you one night, voice softer than usual. “You don’t have to pretend.”

✞⛧ If a compulsion is making you late, she doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t sigh, doesn’t roll her eyes, doesn’t make you feel guilty. She just waits. If you’re gonna be late, she figures, then you’ll be late together.

✞⛧ The first time she sees you have a breakdown over it—when the frustration, the exhaustion, the sheer weight of it all crashes down on you—she just holds you. Doesn’t try to fix it, doesn’t try to rationalize. Just lets you be.

✞⛧ She picks up on the things that trigger you before you even have to say them. Clutter? Uncertainty? The wrongness of something being out of place? She notices, and she does something about it.

✞⛧ If intrusive thoughts hit you hard, she’s the one grounding you back to reality. “It’s just a thought,” she reminds you, voice steady. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

✞⛧ When she learns that reassurance-seeking is part of it, she doesn’t mind repeating herself. “Yes, I locked the door.” “Yes, you turned the oven off.” “Yes, I love you.” She’ll say it a hundred times if it helps

✞⛧ She understands that it’s not just about being “neat” or “particular.” It’s not a quirk. She gets that. She takes it seriously.

✞⛧ If something feels wrong to you, she doesn’t dismiss it. She doesn’t say “it’s fine” or “just let it go.” If it matters to you, it matters to her.

✞⛧ She lets you explain things in your own time. She never pushes. Just listens. Always listens.

✞⛧ If you ever start spiraling in public, she subtly shifts into protector mode. Keeps you close, blocks out the noise, finds a quiet place if you need it.

✞⛧ She makes an effort to understand the science behind it. Reads about it. Asks questions. Not because she thinks she can fix you, but because she wants to know you.

✞⛧ When you feel like your mind is your worst enemy, she’s the one reminding you that you’re so much more than this.

✞⛧ She knows when you need space and when you need her. She never takes it personally if you need to be alone for a while.

✞⛧ She has this way of making you feel safe in your own head, even when it’s the last place you want to be.

✞⛧ If you get stuck in a loop, she finds little ways to break it—changing the subject, cracking a joke, touching you. A hand on your back, a thumb brushing over your knuckles, something to pull you out of it.

✞⛧ She never lets you think you’re a burden. Not once. Not ever. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she tells you, and she means it.

✞⛧ Abby doesn’t love you despite your OCD. She just loves you. All of you. The way you think, the way you are. And if the world makes things harder for you? Then she’ll stand between you and the world, teeth bared, always.

[lillxart]

Sujamma Sundas!

Thank you for the tag @theoneandonlysemla

Tagging: @dirty-bosmer @firefly-factory @illumiera @thequeenofthewinter @hircines-hunter @ladytanithia @pocket-vvardvark @sanza-17 @ijiwaruuma @sulphuricgrin @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @fujisakisan @skyrim-forever

Don't have to participate if you don't wanna :p

Topic: This week, Sujamma wants to know about YOUR OC's special someone. What makes their relationship special? How did they meet? Were they enemies to lovers? Lovers to enemies? Lovers AND Enemies? Are they romantic or platonic? What's their favorite way to cuddle? Favorite date night? Anything and everything you can think of 💕

WHO DO I CHOOSE?

Ondolemar or Hi'rem?? -3- hmmmmmm~

I'll go with Ondolemar!~

Snow White's first ever true love is Justiciar Ondolemar! :P He's her first hubby and they get married in the forests of Riften in secret.

What makes Snow White's relationship special with Ondolemar is he's very patient and loving with her and doesn't berate her for how childish and niave she is, or how differently her brain works. Instead of calling her an idiot (though he did used to do that) he redirects her and shows her the right way to go about something, and also helps her verbalize her emotions and communicate properly when she's having a hard time doing so herself.

They met in Markarth. Snow White heard about the infamous murder capital and thought it would be a great chance to get some money since she's always broke. They crossed paths with each other and for Snow White, it was love at first sight. "You have the privilege of speaking to the Thalmor, bask in it!" That was IT for her. Snow White doesn't know it, but she has a thing for men with enormous egos. XD

I wouldn't call it enemies to lovers, but it was definitely a 'Annoying-fly-that-never-leaves-me-alone to lovers' at least, on Ondolemar's end.

100% Romantic, they get mushy with each other and everything.

Snow White will cuddle with Ondolemar litterally anywhere, she will cuddle with him in Black Reach if the need arises. No Falmer, just cuddles. For Ondolemar his favorite place to cuddle Snow White is on the couch at Vlindrel Hall after eating a lovely dinner. Favorite date night to Snow White would be exploring a crypt together, for Ondolemar it would be walking through one of Alinor's beautiful flower gardens.

Some extra facts~! When Snow White throws a fit Ondolemar normally waits until she tuckers herself out then gives her a glass of warm milk to help her calm down. Does the trick every time.

At first Snow White's toddler-like behavior infuriated him but after he accepted he was in love with her and got closer Ondolemar realized he is literally no better. He goes into a blind rage whenever he hears Talos worshippers speak their nonsense or when Nords go out of their way to make his life difficult. The difference is that Snow White is the way she is by no fault of her own and she actively recognizes the problem and tries to fix it. Ondolemar, however, is not only older than her but wiser, and as an esteemed mer he has absolutely no excuse for his own 'fits'. Hence why her temper tantrums don't faze him anymore.

Ondolemar loves how absolutely ready Snow White is to drag him into some mischievous scheme, just slotting him into her whims like he's supposed to be there. Gives him a chuckle and makes his life more interesting. His favorite so far has been "Let's have sex in Jarl Ulfric's bed! :D"

When Ondolemar is having a bad day Snow White will lay on the floor by his desk and write or journal or color or just do something. Her being in the general area relaxes him. When he starts drumming his fingers against the desk or gets a little too aggressive with his pen strokes she'll get up and hug him from behind, silently letting him know that its time to take a break, or gives him room to vent his troubles.

Snow White will hide underneath Ondolemar's bed and pretend she's a monster. Partially because she thinks its funny, and partially because being underneath Ondolemar's bed makes her feel safe. Surrounded by his scent. She feels loved that way, that she's allowed to be under there and know that Ondolemar will let her stay under there as long as she needs.

[funnier-as-a-system]

Big decision making has made me decide to try ADHD meds. My psychiatrist is awesome and she assures me that none of the effects are permanent and if I don’t like them, I can stop and go back to how I was before.

But my question is…what do I do if the meds cut off communication between me and my headmates? I’m not sure we know how to function completely independently from each other. Some of us don’t, definitely.

What advice can you give and what do you know about ADHD meds and the impact they have on headmates?

Might it go in the opposite direction and make communication EASIER? And CLEARER? And make us work more efficiently as a team?

I know the number one thing people taking them say is it makes your brain “go quiet” and I don’t like the sound of that. I’m not prepared to only have one train of thought and I’m a bit nervous about how I’ll react.

There's no one certain way that ADHD meds will impact your internal communication. Some say it makes communication more difficult, others say they make it easier, still others report no difference at all; for some, their brains "going quiet" can include not hearing their headmates as much, but for others, their brains "going quiet" can just mean that their brains calm down enough that their headmates' voices are clearer. So, unfortunately, this is something that won't make its effects obvious until you're on the meds for a while.

But even if meds make communication more difficult, it's unlikely that it will just stop entirely. In addition, you can practice external communication if that sounds like it might be helpful – things like keeping a journal, leaving each other notes, and co-fronting or proxying* to write messages back-and-forth without having to switch (you can even hold entire conversations this way, though it may take some practice).

* I'd recommend asking other system blogs about this, because I don't feel that I can give a good explanation and description of proxying.

At the end of the day, your psychiatrist is correct that you can stop taking ADHD meds if that treatment doesn't work out, which includes if the meds impact your internal communication badly enough that it's not worth taking them. If this happens, perhaps bring up the possibility of short-term meds that you only take when you need to focus on something, rather than daily meds (which I assume you'll be trying out). We tried out ADHD meds, and the negative side-effects outweighed the positives, so we stopped taking them. If worst comes to worst, you can do the same and look for alternative treatments.

You don't have to just wait for results to appear before you take action, though. By recording how you feel and what's going on within your system each day, you can track symptoms, positives, and potential problems as they appear. If you start now, you'll also have records of how you are when you're not taking any meds, so you can compare later down the line if needed (or just wanted, if you're ever curious). Keeping your own records to refer to can also help your psychiatrist know what the effects of this new treatment are, when they appeared, and how things are likely to develop in the future.

In short: things might go better than you expect, if things go poorly they can be fixed and new plans can be made, and in the meantime, you can keep a personal record of your internal and external functioning to help keep track of things and catch any problems you might face early.

Wishing you the best, anon!