#but back to the main point i do think forming an immediate attachment to any one of the characters (or several) is very easy

[roobylavender]

wait omg i didn’t know you were an aftg fan ,,, do tell me ur thoughts on it

idek what i would say really.. it's a terrible series.. highly unrealistic.. several health code violations.. minimal understanding of how a psychiatric hospital probably actually works.. there's a flirtatious bordering on sexual harassment gay stereotype.. the only characters of color are likely also written with some racial stereotypes in mind.. the ableism displayed by the mc is insane in retrospect.. you could probably argue it's trauma porn.. i don't think the love anyone has for aftg can be even remotely rational like we all live knowing this is garbage and that we ate it up anyway bc the characters were so straight up bitchy every moment felt nothing short of exhilarating

[rizzanon]

07-1 | PARANOIA AT ITS FINEST

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“I can’t believe you’ve actually roped us into this.”

Caitlyn’s voice cut through the soft hum of chatter filling the orphanage’s main hall, carrying that distinct tone of exasperation she reserved for situations she swore she wouldn’t get involved in—but inevitably did anyway. Her arms were crossed, her stance one of feigned reluctance, but the way her gaze flickered to the children running past, the small, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips as one of them called out her name—it told a different story.

Adrien snorted beside her, nudging her side. “Oh, please. You say that like you’re not already attached to half these kids.”

Caitlyn scoffed, glancing away as if that would somehow disprove his statement. It didn’t.

It had been a week. A week since you first suggested volunteering here. A week since you first stepped into this building and felt something settle beneath your skin—something quiet, something wrong.

And yet—

Nothing.

There was nothing.

No alarms. No leads. No proof. No reason to feel this way.

Even after you snuck into the cave to tap into the Batcomputer—timing it precisely for when no one would be around, combed through records, permits, reports, and analyzed every file you could find that could tell you that this place wasn’t what it seemed—nothing. The orphanage was clean. The reports were routine. The funding sources checked out.

And that was what upset you the most.

It should have been a relief.

But it wasn’t.

Because you still couldn’t shake that feeling. That deep, gut-wrenching sensation that something was staring you in the face, something was waiting just beneath the surface, something was wrong.

Because you knew—you knew—you were missing something.

But what?

You stared across the room, watching the way the children moved, how the staff interacted with them, how everything seemed so perfect. Too perfect. The kind of perfect that made your stomach twist, that made something cold crawl up your spine because nothing in Gotham was ever truly perfect.

You crossed your arms, fingers digging into your sleeves, tension knotting itself between your ribs.

You could really use Tim’s smartness right now—

The thought barely formed before you crushed it.

No.

You weren’t going to burden him with this.

Things were still… complicated. You had distanced yourself for a reason. Bringing him into this would only drag up all the messy emotions you weren’t ready to deal with.

Maybe—maybe this really was just you overreacting.

Maybe you were seeing ghosts where there weren’t any.

Maybe that “vision” you saw was something made up in your head.

But that doesn’t explain why it was so vivid. Why it felt so raw, so real—

“You’re doing that thing again.”

Caitlyn’s voice pulled you back, and you blinked, finding both her and Adrien watching you with unreadable expressions.

“What thing?”

“You always get that look,” Adrien added, arms still crossed but his smirk growing. “Like you’re five seconds away from spiraling into an existential crisis.”

“I do not—”

“You do,” Caitlyn confirmed immediately. “You get all quiet, and your face does this thing where you look like you’re trying to solve the world’s biggest mystery when, in reality, you’re probably just making stuff up in your head.”

“I do not.”

Adrien huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? Then what were you just thinking about?”

You opened your mouth, then promptly shut it, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

Caitlyn gave you a knowing look. “That’s what I thought.”

“Can we focus on something else?” You huffed, shifting your weight to one side. “Like the fact that you two are terrible influences?”

Adrien snorted. “You’re the one who dragged us into this.”

“You didn’t have to come,” you pointed out.

“You think we’d actually let you volunteer at an orphanage alone?” Caitlyn raised a brow. “Be real.”

You exhaled through your nose, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“You should be thanking us,” Adrien added smugly. “Especially since we’re the ones keeping you sane.”

“You call this sane?”

“Well,” Caitlyn starts, “you haven’t completely lost your mind yet, so I’d say we’re doing a decent job.”

Before you could respond, a familiar weight latched onto your side, small hands gripping onto the fabric of your sleeve.

Elliot.

You glanced down, only to be met with the boy’s wide, expectant gaze.

Elliot had latched onto you like a baby duck the second you stepped foot in this place again, and over the past few days, he had only gotten more attached. He followed you everywhere, immediately sought you out whenever you arrived, and if you so much as moved an inch away from him, he was quick to close the distance again.

And truth be told—you weren’t used to this.

This kind of closeness.

Not really.

Of course, you had experience closeness with Caitlyn and Adrien.

But Elliot—

Elliot was different.

Elliot didn’t hesitate.

Elliot didn’t keep his distance.

Elliot clung to you like you were something safe.

And you didn’t know how to handle that.

Not when you didn’t even feel safe with yourself.

“Aren’t you gonna play with us today, (Name)?” His voice was soft, hopeful, like he had already decided that whatever you answered, he wasn’t going to accept a no.

You hesitated, opening your mouth—only to stop when he gave you that look. The one you were slowly realizing was his greatest weapon. The one that made your defenses crumble.

The wide-eyed, unblinking stare.

The slight, pleading tilt of his head.

The tiniest wobble of his lower lip.

It was lethal.

And the worst part? He knew it.

“…Yeah,” you found yourself saying before you could even think about it. “Yeah, okay. Just give me a minute, okay?”

Elliot beamed.

If you had even an ounce less self-control, you might have visibly melted.

You watched as the boy ran off towards where the other kids were playing.

“Oh my god,” Caitlyn whispered dramatically.

“Precious,” Adrien added, looking between the two of you like he had just discovered his new favorite thing in the world.

“You two need to get a grip.”

“It’s cute,” Caitlyn commented. “You’ve basically adopted him at this point.”

“I have not.”

“You so have,” Adrien smirked. “It’s adorable.”

“You two seriously need hobbies.”

Caitlyn just grinned. “Says the person who dragged us here for no apparent reason.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell them it wasn’t for no reason, that there was something wrong with this place—

But then the air shifted.

The room didn’t go quiet, not really. The children were still playing, voices still carrying, footsteps still echoing against the floor. But something in the atmosphere changed, something subtle yet immediate, something that made the back of your neck prickle.

Something you felt more than saw.

A presence.

Mrs. Cole.

She entered the hall with a soft, pleasant smile, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, her posture calm, collected, perfect.

And yet—

Something in you immediately recoiled.

It had been this way from the beginning. The first time you met her. The first time she spoke to you. That deep, instinctive discomfort—the kind you couldn’t explain, the kind that settled beneath your skin and refused to leave.

And the worst part?

You were alone in that feeling.

Adrien and Caitlyn greeted her like normal, their smiles easy, their voices light. The other volunteers, the staff, the children—they all liked her.

But you—

You just stood there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And that gnawing feeling of unease only grew stronger.

Because something was wrong.

But you just couldn’t see it.

Mrs. Cole approached with the same composed, effortless grace she always carried—her steps measured, her smile gentle, the kind of expression that made it impossible to distrust her. She looked at ease, radiating a warmth that made people lean in instead of pull away.

But you didn’t lean in.

You were staring.

“Ah, there you all are.” Her voice was warm, measured, like honey drizzling over words that had been carefully chosen before she even spoke them. “I was just telling the staff how lucky we are to have such dedicated volunteers.”

Caitlyn beamed. “Well, it’s been great so far! The kids are all super sweet.”

You were watching.

Mrs. Cole’s reaction came exactly when it should. A gentle smile, an approving nod—textbook-perfect in a way that sent something unpleasant curling in your stomach.

“You’ve been wonderful with them,” she said smoothly. “They’ve taken quite a liking to all of you.”

A normal thing to say. A reasonable thing to say. And yet—

Something about it snagged in your brain, like a thread pulled too tight.

They’ve taken quite a liking to all of you.

Not “you’ve made a great impact on them.”

Not “they enjoy having you around.”

The wording was… off.

Why was it off?

You barely noticed Adrien chuckling beside you. “Well, Caitlyn’s the favorite, obviously. The girls follow her around like ducklings.”

Caitlyn nudged him. “Please. You’re the one they treat like a jungle gym.”

Mrs. Cole gave a small, polite laugh, like she was indulging their banter rather than truly engaging in it.

You noticed that.

You noticed everything.

You noticed how detached it felt, how it landed exactly where it needed to but carried no real weight.

The way her shoulders never fully relaxed, despite her friendly demeanor. The way her eyes lingered just a second too long before moving on. The way her responses never carried the slight unpredictability that came with casual conversation—everything was too smooth, too well-placed.

You noticed that.

And then—her eyes flicked to you.

There was no shift in expression, no telltale sign that she had noticed you just staring, analyzing every micro-movement, every carefully placed word. But the second her eyes met yours, you felt something in you go rigid, your body instinctively preparing to mask whatever she might have caught.

Which, ironically, felt unnatural.

Because you couldn’t let her see that you were suspicious of her.

“And you,” she said, the warmth in her tone undisturbed, like she hadn’t just caught you in the act of scrutinizing her. “Elliot seems especially fond of you. It’s lovely to see how much he trusts you already.”

You ignored the way Caitlyn and Adrien both smiled knowingly at the mention of Elliot’s attachment to you.

You knew you should say something pleasant. Something easy. Something neutral. Something normal.

Instead, the words that came out were flat, toneless.

“Yeah. He’s a good kid.”

An awkward pause.

Too short to be obvious, too long to go completely unnoticed.

Caitlyn’s smile faltered slightly. Adrien shifted beside you, like he could feel the weird tension in the air but wasn’t sure if he should acknowledge it.

And Mrs. Cole?

She didn’t even blink.

She absorbed the bluntness of your answer like it didn’t affect her at all, her expression remaining perfectly composed, perfectly pleasant, as if she hadn’t just been met with a wall.

“That he is,” she agreed, gracefully moving past it, as though she hadn’t just walked into a conversational dead end. “Well, I won’t keep you from the children. Thank you again for all your help.”

She excused herself with the same quiet ease she always carried, stepping away to tend to the other kids.

The second she was out of earshot—

Adrien whirled on you. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

Caitlyn groaned. “God, could you have been any drier? That was painful.”

You exhaled sharply. “I answered her, didn’t I?”

“You barely did,” Adrien shot back. “You sounded like someone forced you to acknowledge Elliot at gunpoint.”

Caitlyn smacked your arm lightly. “Dude, what’s your deal with her?”

You crossed your arms. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s definitely not nothing,” Adrien shot back. “You’ve been like this since day one. What is your deal with her?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it.

How were you supposed to explain this?

What were you supposed to say?

That something about her felt wrong, but you couldn’t prove it? That every interaction with her left you feeling like you had just missed something? That her presence made you instinctively wary in a way you couldn’t rationalize?

That no matter how hard you looked, you still couldn’t find anything to justify it?

“…I just don’t like her,” you muttered.

Adrien scoffed. “Yeah, no shit.”

Caitlyn and Adrien weren’t going to let this go.

You knew it from the second Caitlyn narrowed her eyes at you, that sharp stare she always gave when she smelled something off—when she knew someone wasn’t telling the full story. Her arms were crossed, her weight shifted slightly onto one foot, but there was a tension there, like she was waiting.

Adrien was the same. Standing beside her, his arms folded, his brow raised in quiet expectation. He wasn’t impatient—not yet—but he was watching you, like he was giving you the chance to explain yourself before he dragged it out of you.

You didn’t give them anything.

Adrien broke the silence first. “Okay, seriously. What is your problem with her?”

“I don’t have a problem with her,” you replied immediately.

Too fast. Too sharp.

Adrien scoffed. “Right. You just happen to tense up like a goddamn statue every time she’s around.”

Caitlyn gave a dramatic huff. “You act like she personally wronged you in another life. Or murdered your dogs or something.”

“Titus and Ace are fine…” you muttered.

“Exactly!” she said, exasperated. “That’s what makes this so weird! There’s no reason for you to act like this!”

You didn’t respond.

But Adrien wasn’t done. “Look, if she said something to you, if she did something—”

“She didn’t.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

Another lie.

But you said it so smoothly, so effortlessly, that it almost sounded convincing.

Almost.

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked over your face, sharp and discerning, scanning every microexpression, every flicker of something that might betray you. Adrien wasn’t even trying to be subtle about his suspicion anymore.

Yet, you still didn’t give them anything.

You were stubborn. Tight-lipped. Unyielding.

Because you couldn’t tell them.

Not yet.

Not when you still didn’t know what was wrong.

So instead, you acted.

Acted like everything was fine.

Like you weren’t uneasy.

Like you weren’t drowning in the feeling that something was slipping through your fingers.

Your gaze drifted past them—toward Mrs. Cole.

She was across the room, surrounded by children, laughing at something one of them had said. She knelt slightly, leveling herself to their height, hands gentle as she adjusted the collar of one child’s shirt. She was warm, present, soft-spoken—exactly what a warden of an orphanage should be.

And yet—

You couldn’t shake it.

That feeling.

That deep, gnawing unease that clung to your ribs like a second skin.

You watched her closely. The way she spoke, the way she smiled, the way her hands moved as she patted a child’s head. Everything was measured. Natural.

But was it?

Or was it too natural?

Too perfect?

Her movements were fluid, seamless, her expressions genuine. Nothing about her demeanor was off. Nothing about her gave you any reason—any reason at all—to feel this way.

And that was what unsettled you the most.

Because there had to be something.

There had to be a reason.

You just couldn’t see it.

Gotham was shifting.

Bruce could feel it.

It wasn’t something obvious—no, this was something far more subtle. A change beneath the surface, insidious and creeping. It was the kind of shift that haunted the shadows, leaving behind nothing but the unsettling sense that something was on the brink of happening. Bruce had learned to trust that feeling, that gnawing instinct that had saved Gotham more times than he could count. And right now, it was telling him that something was very, very wrong.

Another murder. A woman in her early twenties, found in a dark alley just outside a prestigious club.

Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, his fingers hovering over the keys, eyes tracing the same reports for the hundredth time.

This was the third this month.

There was nothing connecting the three victims, other than the fact that they were all young Gotham socialites.

But there was something else.

The way they were murdered. Stabbed and slashed. And the slashes—those markings—they were unmistakable.

They all had markings from a Talon. Meaning—

The Court of Owls.

Gotham was shifting, sliding beneath the surface like a shadow.

And he knew that feeling.

He had felt it before.

It wasn’t paranoia. It was an instinct.

An instinct he’d developed after all these years, after all the lies and manipulation, after the near-destruction of Gotham.

He couldn’t afford to let it happen again.

The last time the Court of Owls made their presence known, it was a brutal awakening.

The Court had been quiet for months since then. But the stillness only made him more wary. He knew how they worked—silent, methodical, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And now, with another death on his hands, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Court was making its move again.

And then, as if Gotham’s problems weren’t enough, another report came through. The Riddler had escaped Arkham. Again.

It had barely been two weeks since Riddler’s last stunt. Arkham had barely contained him long enough to let the city breathe before he escaped again.

Bruce could feel the weight of both issues pressing down on him, the combination of old ghosts and new ones tangled together in a knot that was suffocating.

He rubbed his temples, trying to block out the noise, the weight of it all. Gotham was shifting, and every move it made felt like it was slipping further out of his control.

And Bruce had no doubt—Nygma had already set the board.

His fingers moved across the keyboard, cycling through city surveillance, tracking movements, patterns, anything that might give him a lead. There was always a pattern with Riddler. Always a thread to follow. But right now, with the Court making their move from the shadows, Gotham couldn’t afford another high-profile attack.

He needed to tackle this immediately.

He rubbed a hand over his face, then ran it through his hair. It was too much. Too many pieces of the puzzle scattered in front of him, too many possibilities. But there was no time.

His gaze focused on the web of information splayed across the massive screen—patterns, reports, whispers of activity. Pieces that didn’t quite fit yet, but he could see the shape they were forming.

Behind him, Dick leaned against the table, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He was here. He was listening. He was doing everything Bruce had asked of him.

But Bruce could tell.

He was distracted.

Not in a way that was obvious. Not in a way that would compromise the mission. But it was there.

A slight delay in his responses. The way his gaze lingered on nothing for a second too long. The tension in his posture—not the kind that came from exhaustion, but from something else.

Bruce had seen it before.

But this time, he didn’t know what was causing it.

Not exactly.

He’d been watching him for days now, and every time they spoke, it felt like Dick wasn’t really there. His focus was on the case, sure, but it wasn’t complete. There was something else pulling at him. Bruce had tried to push it aside—he couldn’t afford to get distracted by personal issues, not with Gotham at risk—but it was hard to ignore. Dick wasn’t just distracted. He was withdrawn. And Bruce had seen that behaviour before. He knew that behaviour.

It was the way Dick stood, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched, his eyes never fully meeting Bruce’s. It was the way he moved through the cave like he was running on autopilot. Like he wasn’t really present. Like he was fighting something inside of him. And the longer Bruce let it go unspoken, the more it gnawed at him. Because Bruce knew Dick better than anyone. He knew when something was eating at him. And he couldn’t let it fester.

Not now.

“What’s on your mind?”

Dick blinked, looking up from where he had been staring at the ground. “What?”

Bruce glanced at him. “You’re distracted.”

Dick huffed out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not distracted.”

Bruce didn’t say anything. Just watched him.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little distracted.”

Bruce didn’t push. He just waited.

For a second, it seemed like Dick wasn’t going to say anything else. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and Bruce saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. It was that familiar look—the one Dick wore when he was trying to hold something back. Bruce could see it now. The weight he was carrying, the quiet frustration. He could see it, feel it, radiating off of him in waves. He shifted, arms tightening around himself. Then, finally—

“It’s (Name).”

Bruce’s shoulders tensed.

Of course.

He had heard bits from Alfred. How you were avoiding Dick, the way he had been silently carrying the weight of your distance. The way you hadn’t been talking to Dick the way you used to.

Bruce could feel it too.

Alfred had asked him to check on you. It shouldn’t have been that hard. Except, for some reason, he could never find a moment with you.

Not really.

Had it always been this hard?

No. That wasn’t right. He would’ve noticed if it had been.

Wouldn’t he?

But now Bruce was thinking, really thinking.

The last few weeks. The subtle shifts in your behavior, the way you had started slipping through the cracks before he could catch you. The way Alfred had gently suggested—more than once—that he should talk to you. The way you never seemed to be in the same room as him anymore.

The way he couldn’t remember the last time you had really spoken to him.

Not since you decided to quit being Batgirl.

Ah.

Was that what this was about?

Him letting you quit?

He had given you space because that was what he always did—he never pried, never pushed, never asked for more than you were willing to give.

But what if that was the problem.

What if he had let you drift too far?

His fingers curled against the edge of the desk, a slow, controlled movement. He hadn’t wanted to think about it before. Hadn’t wanted to believe it. Because the idea of you avoiding him—

It wasn’t possible.

Was it?

Bruce’s throat felt tight, and he didn’t understand why.

Dick exhaled sharply beside him, running a hand through his hair. “She barely looks at me anymore.” His voice was quiet, resigned. “But you already knew that.”

Bruce swallowed.

No. He hadn’t. Not really.

But if he admitted that you were avoiding Dick, then he’d have to admit that you were avoiding him too.

And he couldn’t accept that.

He wouldn’t.

He wasn’t sure why the thought unsettled him as much as it did. People had walked away from him before—people he had cared about, people who had once looked at him the way you used to. And he had let them go, because that was what he did. He didn’t hold onto things that weren’t his to keep.

But this was different.

Because it was you.

You. His daughter.

His flesh.

His blood.

Bruce exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch between him and Dick. He wanted to ask—wanted to know just how far this distance had spread—but he wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer.

Dick, however, wasn’t finished.

“I don’t even blame her,” he admitted, his voice quiet, restrained, like he had already gone over this a thousand times in his head. Maybe he had. “She has every right to be pissed at me. I just—” His voice faltered for a second before he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s different now. She doesn’t look at me the same way. I don’t think she ever will again.”

Bruce studied him carefully. He could see it—the guilt, the regret that had been eating at him.

But what unsettled Bruce the most wasn’t Dick’s regret. It was the realization that he had assumed this was only about Dick.

That it had never once occurred to him that you were avoiding him too.

The thought lodged itself in his chest like a shard of glass. A slow, cutting thing that he couldn’t pull free.

No. That wasn’t—

You weren’t avoiding him.

You wouldn’t.

Would you?

If it was true, if you were avoiding him, it was just—just a misunderstanding. Just—

His jaw tightened.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not with you.

Of all the people he had failed, of all the people who had ever walked away from him, you were the one person he thought would never do that.

But had you?

Had you already left, and he just hadn’t noticed?

Bruce didn’t react. Not immediately, at least.

But Dick saw it.

The shift. The way Bruce’s shoulders tensed just slightly, the tightening of his grip against the edge of the console, the way his jaw locked. To most people, it would’ve looked like nothing. Just another one of Bruce Wayne’s unreadable silences. But Dick had spent too many years watching, reading between the lines, noticing the things that no one else did.

Bruce’s silence was never empty. It was full. Full of things he didn’t say, things he wouldn’t say.

And right now?

Right now, Bruce wasn’t just listening. He was realising something.

Dick exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what I thought.”

He hadn’t meant to bring you up—not like this, not here. But Bruce had called him distracted, and, well… he wasn’t wrong.

You had been stuck in his head for days. Weeks.

Every unanswered call. Every delayed text. Every excuse you made to get away from him as soon as possible.

Dick had tried. God, he had tried.

That lunch a few days ago—he had been hopeful, maybe even stupidly so, thinking that things could be… normal. That he could talk to you without feeling like there was a wall between you both, that you wouldn’t keep him at arm’s length.

But the moment you saw him, you were already looking for an exit.

You barely stayed long enough to eat. Said you were busy. That you had somewhere to be.

And Dick had let you go.

What else could he have done?

You had every right to do this. To be mad, to resent him, to ignore him, to pretend like he didn’t exist.

He deserved it.

Especially after what he did.

Especially after what he’s been doing for years now.

It’s not like he didn’t understand your anger towards him. He did.

He knew what it was like to feel replaced, he experienced it first-hand. He should have understood what he was doing the moment he benched you. He should have known how it’d feel like to you.

He should have handled it better. Especially since he knew at the time, you were still grieving.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. That this didn’t hurt.

But… this wasn’t just about him benching you, was it?

No.

This wasn’t the first time he made you feel like this, was it?

This wasn’t the first time he’s made you feel like you didn’t belong.

Like you were something temporary—something easily set aside.

Maybe that was the worst part.

How long had it been like this?

How long had he been like this?

He swallowed hard, staring blankly at the Batcomputer screen, but his mind was already somewhere else.

The first time he saw you, you were a baby.

He hadn’t even really processed it at the time.

Everything had been a blur—his parents were dead, his life had been turned upside down, and now he was in some massive, unfamiliar mansion with a man he barely knew and a butler who spoke to him with a kind of patience he didn’t know how to handle.

And then there was you.

You’d been brought to the manor not long after he had arrived.

A tiny thing, barely able to walk on your own.

He remembered that moment, the moment Alfred brought you into the manor. That moment burned into his memory in a way he never really questioned before. Maybe because it had been one of the only stable things in those early days, when the ground had been ripped out from under him and his life had been shattered beyond repair.

He hadn’t thought much about you at first.

He hadn’t thought much about anything except the overwhelming, gut-wrenching anger that had settled in his chest, the grief that was still raw and sharp, the sheer, desperate need for revenge that burned beneath his skin.

So he ignored you.

Or at least, he tried to.

Because you didn’t ignore him.

It didn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter.

But time had a way of changing things.

Little by little, your presence became something else.

He didn’t know when it started. When you stopped being a stranger and started being—

Well.

You were way younger than him, but that never stopped you from being stubborn, from trying to talk to him, from wanting him to be happy. And maybe that was what got to him the most.

That innocence. That kindness.

You just wanted him to smile.

And, somehow, eventually, he did.

He hadn’t known how to deal with you.

You weren’t annoying, exactly.

You were just—

There.

Soft and small and persistent, constantly hovering on the edges of his grief, constantly reminding him that there was still something else in this house besides darkness and vengeance.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

Because somewhere along the way, things changed.

He wasn’t sure when.

Maybe it was the first time you climbed onto the couch beside him and fell asleep against his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it was the first time you grabbed his hand and pulled him outside, insisting that he chase you around the garden, that he play with you, that he let himself just be a kid, if only for a little while.

Maybe it was the first time you hugged him, your tiny arms wrapping around his waist, telling him that you loved him in the simple, easy way that only children could.

Whatever it was, it had stuck.

You had become his family.

His little sister.

His responsibility.

Dick didn’t know how much of who he is today had been shaped by you, but it was more than he’d ever admit.

And maybe that was why he wanted to keep you away from the truth for so long.

From the pain, from the violence, from the endless cycle of grief and vengeance that had become his life.

He didn’t want to ruin that part of you.

Didn’t want you to know about the things he did at night. Didn’t want you to see the kind of world he and Bruce lived in.

So he never told you about Robin.

Not at first.

Not for a long time.

Not when he went on to build a new name for himself.

Not when he left Gotham and became Nightwing.

You didn’t need to know.

You weren’t supposed to know.

You were supposed to have a normal life. A safe life. One that wasn’t filled with violence and blood and pain.

That was what Bruce had wanted for you.

That was what he had wanted for you.

That was why he hadn’t told you.

And maybe—maybe, that had been a mistake.

Because when you had found out that day—

When Tim sought him out, asking him to be Robin again. When he had come to Dick with that relentless, unwavering certainty that he needed to be Robin again. That Batman needed a partner. That Gotham needed balance.

After Jason’s death had fractured something irreparably in Bruce, in Alfed, in you, in him—

God, Jason’s death.

The guilt gnawed at him, relentless, insidious, something he never let himself think about too long.

Because Jason had died wearing his colors.

Jason had died playing the role Dick had walked away from.

Being Robin. And being your brother.

Jason had died, and Dick hadn’t even been there.

Not for Bruce, not for Alfred, and not for you.

Dick hadn’t been there to stop him from taking on the job, he had not been there to stop him from going to Ethiopia, hadn’t been there to—

He just wasn’t there.

And you—

You didn’t even know the true cause of Jason’s death.

You had to find out the truth about Jason’s death—

The truth about the lives he and Bruce led—

From some random kid who somehow knew the truth before you did.

Instead of hearing it from him. From Bruce.

God.

He still remembers the way you looked at him on the day you found out the truth.

The moment you stepped into the cave that Bruce had hid from you for years.

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your expression unreadable—except for your eyes.

Your eyes were always so damn expressive.

And that day, they had been filled with something that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Betrayal.

Dick could feel Tim watching from across the cave.

He wasn’t saying anything—wasn’t even moving—but he was there, standing next to Alfred at the bottom of the stairs, barely in the shadows.

Dick almost felt sorry for the boy, for having to witness some family drama he wasn’t apart of unravel before him. But then again, he walked himself into this the moment he went to find him.

“…How long?”

Your voice was steady. Controlled.

But he knew you. Did he?

Knew how your hands clenched subtly at your sides when you were trying to keep yourself from shaking.

Knew how you bit the inside of your cheek when you were trying not to cry.

You were trying not to cry.

And it’s all his fault.

“…How long have you been lying to me?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

Didn’t know how to explain that he had never wanted you to find out like this.

Didn’t know how to justify the years of secrecy, the years of letting you believe he was just your older brother, just the normal, easygoing Dick Grayson who had left Gotham to make a life for himself aside from being Bruce Wayne’s ward.

The years of letting you believe that he didn’t hide anything from you.

But the silence stretched too long.

And that was an answer itself.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head.

“You were Robin.” you said, and it wasn’t a question.

It was a fact.

A truth you had just put together, piece by piece, and now it was unraveling everything you thought you knew.

Dick swallowed.

“…Yeah.”

You blinked, staring at him like you didn’t recognize him.

Like you weren’t sure if you ever had.

“Our father is Batman.”

“Yes… he is.”

“And Jason?”

Dick’s breath caught.

He looked away.

But that was answer enough, too.

Your expression twisted, something like realization dawning on your face.

“That’s why—”

You cut yourself off, exhaling sharply.

“That’s why he died? He died because he was Robin too..?”

The words hit him like a gut punch.

Dick could barely breathe.

You were staring at him, waiting for an answer, but he didn’t have one that wouldn’t make this worse.

Jason.

Jason, who had died in his colors. Jason, who had been Robin because Dick had left. Jason, who had never gotten the chance to grow up, to get out, to become something more than just a ghost haunting all of them.

Jason, who you had mourned, who you had cried for, who you had spent weeks asking Bruce about only to get nothing in return.

And now you knew the truth.

You knew everything.

And Dick felt sick.

“I—” His throat was tight. Dry. He forced himself to swallow. “It wasn’t—”

But you had already taken a step back.

Away from him. And for some reason, that single step had hurt more than any punch he’d ever taken.

“How could you not tell me?” you asked, voice sharp with something between betrayal and disbelief. “How could you just—just let me think—” You exhaled, shaking your head, hands clenched into fists. “I grieved him, Dick. I stood at his grave, wondering how he could just die like that, and you—” Your voice broke. “You knew. You knew the whole time.”

Dick winced. He wanted to reach for you. To fix this. To explain.

But what was there to explain?

That he hadn’t wanted you to know? That he had convinced himself that if you never found out, you’d be safe?

That it hadn’t mattered, because Jason was dead either way?

That was worse, wasn’t it?

So he stayed quiet.

And that silence was answer enough.

You let out a shaky breath, your expression twisting. “So that’s why you were always busy, huh? Because you were Robin. Because you’re Nightwing now. You always had something to do. Something more important.”

Dick’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was—”

“You were lying,” you cut him off, and Tim could see the way that made Dick flinch. “You were always lying, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t want you to get involved in this life,” Dick forced out, his voice tight, defensive in a way he hated. “I couldn’t let you—”

“Oh, right, because lying to me was so much better,” you snapped. “Keeping me in the dark was so much better—”

“I was protecting you!” Dick snapped back, his voice louder now, sharper than he meant it to be.

It echoed through the Batcave.

Tim flinched slightly in his peripheral vision.

Alfred didn’t move.

You let out a bitter laugh, something short and humorless. “Protecting me?” you echoed. “Jason is dead, Dick. And you want to talk about protection?”

Dick clenched his jaw.

You weren’t wrong.

And maybe that was the worst part.

“Why?” You took a step forward. “Why, Dick? Why wouldn’t you tell me? I thought—I thought maybe, maybe, if you didn’t have time for me anymore, the least you would do is not lie to me. That you wouldn’t keep something this huge from me.”

Dick’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

That was what did it. That was what ruined him.

He had nothing to say, because you were right.

“I just wanted to protect you,” Dick finally said, and it was almost desperate, like he was trying to hold together something that had already cracked beyond repair.

“And you thought lying was the way to do that?” Your voice was shaking now. “You—you let me believe you just didn’t care anymore. I was so naive that you could just continue to lie to me for years, isn’t that why?”

“That’s not true,” Dick said quickly, stepping forward, but you stepped back just as fast.

You inhaled sharply. “I just want to hear you say it.”

Dick stilled.

You swallowed. “Tell me that you didn’t want to keep it from me. Tell me that it was Dad. Tell me this wasn’t your choice.”

Dick clenched his jaw.

And for a second—a brief, terrible second—you saw it.

The truth.

The answer before he even said it.

His shoulders squared, his expression unreadable, and then—

“I didn’t want you to know.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

You took a step back, blinking.

“What?”

Dick’s face was set, his voice firm. “Bruce told me not to tell you, but I didn’t want you to know either.”

You stared at him, uncomprehending.

“You—” You swallowed hard, your throat burning. “You didn’t want me to know?”

The betrayal was sharp, almost dizzying.

Dick flinched.

“I had to find out from him,” you suddenly snapped, pointing directly at Tim, who stiffened, eyes going wide.

“I had to find out from some random kid that has nothing to do with this—”

Tim opened his mouth. “Uh—”

“And not from you—my brother..!”

“This isn’t how you were supposed to find out,” Dick said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Well, then how exactly was I supposed to find out then? Were you even planning on telling me the truth?”

“(Name)—”

“Or were you going to keep this from me ‘til the day I die?”

Dick took a step closer. “Please, just listen—”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “I can’t do this.”

Dick froze.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel and heading for the exit.

“Wait—”

But you were already gone.

Tim hesitated, looking between the empty space where you had been and the absolute wreck that was Dick Grayson standing there, unmoving, like if he did, he might actually collapse under the weight of the argument that had just happened.

The silence stretched.

And then Alfred stepped forward.

“Master Bruce is still pursuing Two-Face,” he said evenly. “I will go check on Ms (Name).”

Dick exhaled slowly, rubbing his face.

Right.

There were more pressing matters.

And they weren’t going to wait.

Dick doesn’t even know what happened after that. You two just… avoided each other.

Avoidance wasn’t new between you two, but that time, it felt different. Alfred had told him you weren’t just avoiding him—you were avoiding everyone. That should’ve made him feel better, knowing he wasn’t the only one left out in the cold. Instead, it only made the weight in his chest heavier.

For a while, he didn’t know how to fix things. Didn’t even know where to start.

Maybe that was the problem.

Then and now.

It had always been you who stepped up first, the one who reached out, patched things up, and smoothed over the cracks in whatever had fractured between you. Even back then, after weeks of avoiding him, it was you who sought him out first—apologizing for your outburst, telling him you wanted to be Batgirl.

He hadn’t been happy about it.

Of course, he hadn’t.

The last thing he wanted was for you to get pulled into this life, the same way he had, the same Jason had. But at the same time… he didn’t want you to think he didn’t trust you. Because he did.

Didn’t he?

Maybe he should’ve helped more. Trained you. Guided you the way Bruce had done for him, the way he had done for Tim. But things had been complicated—Bludhaven was drowning in corruption, Blockbuster was tightening his grip on the city, and Dick had been stretched too thin to be what you needed.

Maybe that was why things had always felt strained between you.

Why things always felt off with you and him.

He hadn’t been there for you—not the way he had been for Tim, who had started out at the same time you did. And now, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering: Was it because Tim was Robin while you were Batgirl? Was it some misplaced instinct, some part of him that thought Barbara could help you better just because she had worn the mantle first?

Or was it just him? His failure?

Dick has many regrets.

And you—you are one of them.

Not because of who you are, but because of how he handled you.

Or rather, how he didn’t.

How he stood by and watched, too consumed by his own battles, by his own pain, to see you needing him. How he told himself it was okay, that you were strong enough to handle it alone.

And maybe you were. But that doesn’t excuse him from not being there when you needed him most.

And now, for the first time, you aren’t the one bridging the gap between you.

And he hates that he’s only realising this now.

He could have fixed this—maybe. If only he’d made the effort sooner. If only he’d found the courage to do something. To make up for what he failed to do. But now, everything feels too fractured, too far gone.

And that’s what hurts the most.

The fact that you don’t seem to need him the way you once did. That maybe, just maybe, you’ve moved on from him.

The thought suffocates him.

He wants to fix it. He wants to scream at the walls, to do something to make it right, but he’s frozen. Because what if it’s too late? What if you’re done with him? What if you’ve already written him off, already decided you don’t need him in your life anymore?

The overwhelming guilt twists tighter, leaving him suffocated, alone in his own mind.

You’ve stopped waiting for him.

And it kills him.

Dick knows he’s running out of time. And for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

Not when you were avoiding him. Not when everyone he’s asked tells him to give you space, to leave you alone.

But how long more can he continue leaving you alone? When that was the exact reason you two were in this position?

His instincts tell him to give you time, let you breathe, to let the air clear before trying again. But that voice in the back of his mind screams that it’s too late. That if he waits too long, if he doesn’t move now, this—this—will be the end of whatever was left of your connection.

And the thought terrifies him.

He’s not sure if it’s pride or fear that holds him back now. Maybe a mix of both. Because even if he did try, what if you didn’t want him as your brother anymore? What if you didn’t need him in the way he still needed you?

What if the space you wanted from him was one he could never fill again?

What if it’s too late?

The coldness in the way you’ve pulled away, the way you’ve stopped needing him… he’s afraid that’s the reality.

And maybe that’s the hardest pill to swallow: that he’s powerless here. That even with all the skills, all the experience he’s had, this is one thing he can’t control.

This feels wrong. It feels so wrong, and he can’t shake the feeling that something is slipping through his fingers, something irreplaceable. You’re not just anyone. You’re his sister.

You are his little sister. And that’s why this hurts so much more.

The space between you isn’t just the distance of an argument, or a fight that can be fixed with a few words. It’s a gap between family—between two people who were supposed to always be there for each other, no matter what. And somehow, he let it slip away. He let it stretch farther and farther, until now, when it feels like he can’t reach you.

He hates this.

He hates feeling lost, unsure of how to fix something that should be simple. He’s always known what to do, always known how to make things right with his team, with anyone—everyone—but not with you.

Not now.

The years of you looking up to him, trusting him, believing in him… and now, you’re turning away. And it’s because of him. Because he wasn’t there when you needed him, and because now, when everything has broken, he’s just letting you walk away.

His thoughts spiral, each one heavier than the last. He should’ve done better. He should’ve noticed the small things—the moments where you tried, where you reached out, when you needed him to show up. He should’ve noticed everything.

But he didn’t.

It feels like too much to fix now. How can he bridge this gap? How can he even begin to make things right when you’re already gone from him, retreating, pulling away from the only person who was supposed to be there for you through everything?

How can he let you go?

He can’t. He just can’t.

Because you’re his sister. And no matter what’s happened, no matter how much space you need, he can’t just let this be. He can’t let you slip away from him, not when he still loves you so damn much, not when he’s still your brother.

Dick hates that even now, it feels like he’s still not prioritizing you. Not when Gotham is on the verge of chaos, when everything is unraveling faster than he can keep up with.

Bruce needs him—Gotham needs him. And he hates himself for thinking this, but it almost feels easier to focus on the city, on the madness, on the constant fight to keep everything from falling apart, than to face what’s happening with you. He hates that he can’t just put his focus on you without it feeling like he’s failing the entire city.

Not when the Court of Owls is seemingly starting to creep back into the shadows, when they’re pulling strings from behind the scenes. Not when Riddler is out again after his bombing less than two weeks ago. The city feels like it’s shifting into new, terrifying territories, with danger lurking in every corner.

It’s easy to justify the exhaustion, the endless grind, when the city’s on the line. But it doesn’t make the guilt disappear.

The guilt that he still hasn’t gone after you. That he still hasn’t made things right yet. Not when Bruce needs him for this, not when Gotham seems to be shifting into unknown territories.

He tried to shove it down—tried to bury the guilt—and just focus. Focus on the bigger picture.

But it’s hard.

It’s so hard.

Every time he tries to focus on something else, his mind inevitably goes back to you. He hates it.

Bruce’s brooding presence is a constant reminder that there’s always something more pressing—always a new threat looming. And yet, Dick can’t seem to escape the nagging pull of you.

“Bruce,” Dick snaps suddenly, his frustration slipping through. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to bring you up again, but he needs something to clear his head. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean to bring her up. Let’s get back on track.”

He barely registers the way Bruce’s gaze sharpens, the way his lips tighten in a fleeting moment of something—concern? Worry?

No, it looked more like… guilt.

But Bruce doesn’t voice it. Instead, there’s a brief pause, and then, a subtle shift in his eyes. His entire demeanor falters for the briefest second, and Dick feels it, like a change in the air, as though Bruce is about to say something.

But Bruce just sighs, a deep, tired sound, and mutters, “Alright.”

The conversation moves on, like it always does. The case file is opened again, the details of the recent murder presented to them both, as if nothing’s changed, as if everything’s fine.

But things definitely weren’t fine.

And it wouldn’t be for a long time.

Damian wasn’t one to get caught up in things that didn’t concern him. That’s what he told himself. But when it came to you, he doesn’t know why things are different now.

It wasn’t that he cared. Not really.

He was Damian Wayne, after all.

He was above things like worry, like caring too much.

But when he started noticing how you’d been waking up earlier and earlier to bake things—treats, he noted with growing curiosity—and then leaving for school with them in tow, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You weren’t just baking for no reason. You weren’t baking for yourself, like he had first assumed. No, you’d been bringing them to school, and that… that didn’t make sense. You weren’t that kind of person. Unless you were making it for your schoolmates.

No, that was certainly beneath you. You had to know that.

But then you started coming back late. Very late. Far later than what could be excused by a few extra-curriculars or staying after school.

That was when Damian decided to… observe.

He wouldn’t call it stalking, no. Stalking was a bit too… intrusive, in his opinion. He preferred to call it a ‘careful examination of your recent activities.’ That was much more appropriate. And so, with his usual precision, he followed you, quietly keeping his distance, ensuring you never knew he was there.

It wasn’t as if he cared. He didn’t care at all. Obviously.

But he was curious, and he wasn’t about to admit to himself that he was starting to care a little more than he should.

And that’s when he saw it.

You and two other people—a blond guy and a brunette girl—heading towards an…. orphanage?

Damian’s sworn he’s seen the blond guy somewhere, but he can’t place a finger on it.

The place wasn’t far from the manor, but it wasn’t somewhere he expected you to be.

He kept his distance, blending into the shadows as he watched you hand out the treats you’d baked to the children there. So that’s who you were making them for, he thought, his mind almost too sharp for his own comfort.

From where he stood, he observed the way you moved among the children there, your every action contrasting with the other two people you came with. Your friends, as he had identified them, were lively, and they were running around with some of the kids, laughing, playing. But not you.

No, you sat back. You were content just to watch. You were curled up on the grass with some of the other children around you, reading them books.

Books?

Damian frowned. Was that really you?

The same you who never seemed to have time for things like that? The one who always preferred to be out in the field, out on patrol with the rest of the family?

He couldn’t recall a time where you’d ever been the type to sit and do something so mundane. Yet here you were, doing it effortlessly, surrounded by the kids.

And then, of course, there was him.

A little brunette boy. Always near you. Always by your side. Clinging to you like you were his only source of comfort.

Damian’s fingers tightened into fists. His jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed on the boy. For some inexplicable reason, he hated how close he seemed to be to you. How you didn’t seem to mind. No, you were indulging him—letting him climb all over you, laughing at whatever he said.

Damian hated it.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand why this bothered him so much. Why the sight of some random, orphaned kid getting your attention like that twisted something inside him.

He now watched as you and the same boy were sitting off to the side, away from the others, in a quiet corner of the yard. The kid was holding up a stuffed animal, trying to make it talk in a high-pitched voice, and you—you—were playing along, mimicking the voice and laughing as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. Damian’s gaze never wavered. He could see it—the way you were smiling at him. At him, not at anyone else.

Damian didn’t get it. What was so special about this kid? Why did he have to be so attached to you?

And why did you seem so attached to him?

Why were you so at ease with a kid you barely knew for more than a week at most?

Damian hates the fact that he’s feeling like this, that he’s thinking such stupid thoughts.

He watches as the kid tug at your sleeve, saying something in your ear. How much more were you going to indulge this kid?

“Hey, (Name),” Elliot asked in his little voice, “why’s that kid just standing over there, staring at us?”

You blinked, and without thinking, your gaze followed his.

And there, standing by the fence, was Damian. His figure was stiff, unmoving, his gaze intense and unwavering as it locked onto you. His eyes were cold.

Damian’s heart skipped a beat when he saw you look up, your expression morphing from confusion to realization as your gaze fixed on him.

Damn it, he thought.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

You knew.

You knew he had been watching.

You didn’t say anything, but he could tell. And the worst part? He didn’t even care that you caught him. He didn’t care that you’d seen him there. What bothered him was the way you’d stopped laughing, the way you’d looked away from him. That distant, almost guilty feeling he got from you.

It was clear. You were aware now.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You groaned slightly, already knowing what was coming. It wasn’t like you hadn’t expected him to follow you; it was just… typical. Rolling your eyes, you’d excused yourself from Elliot, and made your way toward the edge of the orphanage, where Damian stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the railings. The only thing separating the two of you was the metal bars, but that didn’t seem to stop him from making his presence known.

You stopped a few feet away from him, taking in the sight of his usual stubborn posture. “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, keeping your tone casual, though there was a sharpness beneath it.

Damian’s response was as expected. “Just passing by,” he said, but you could tell it was a lie by the way his eyes darted, refusing to meet yours directly.

You deadpanned, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “Really? You’re just ‘passing by’ on this side of town? When’s the last time you took a stroll over here, hmm?” you remarked, giving him a knowing look. The whole situation screamed of him being here for some other reason.

Damian scoffed, clearly not fond of being caught. He straightened up, trying to act casual, but you weren’t buying it for a second. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “You’re so stubborn, it’s exhausting,” you muttered, turning to walk towards the entrance. You glanced over your shoulder, your voice softer but more commanding now. “Come inside. Stop standing out here like a loner. It’s an orphanage, not some shady alley.”

Damian shot you a look of annoyance, but instead of refusing, he followed you, clearly annoyed by your comment. “I’m not a loner,” he muttered under his breath, but you could hear the bitterness in his tone.

You smirked, knowing you had won this one. He didn’t even try to argue as you dragged him inside, making sure to ignore his huffing and groaning. Once inside, you immediately caught Caitlyn and Adrien’s surprised expressions when they saw Damian lagging behind you.

Adrien was the first to speak, his jaw nearly dropping. “Is that Damian freaking Wayne I see?” he asked, a cheesy smile on his face.

Damian stood with his usual unimpressed look, glaring at Adrien like he had just been asked the dumbest question in the world. “Is he an idiot or just plain stupid..” he muttered, not in the mood for any more attention.

Caitlyn turned to you, a hint of confusion in her voice. “You invited your brother?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“More like he invited himself,” you replied, giving him a side-eye.

Damian just scoffed, his expression unreadable. “I’m just making sure she’s not getting herself involved in some shady business,” he muttered, clearly irritated, and yet somehow still reluctant to admit he had followed you because he wanted to.

You laughed quietly, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”

Before Damian could open his mouth to retort, one of the staff came in, calling the children for their meal time. You glanced at Damian, who looked like he was trying to figure out how to stand still without getting involved, but then you pulled him over to the table where everyone else was sitting.

Damian was unceremoniously slotted between you and Adrien, who immediately started up a conversation, not sensing the tense atmosphere Damian was giving off.

Adrien, the chatterbox that he was, began asking Damian a series of ridiculous questions, which only made Damian’s discomfort more apparent. “So, Damian, heard you were homeschooled before? How’s it like going from staying in the comforts of your home to having to mingle with us commoners?” Adrien asked, his voice full of that teasing nature you were used.

Damian’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he gave nothing away. “Tt. None of your business,” he muttered, though his tone was less sharp than usual.

You couldn’t help but watch the interaction unfold, noticing how Adrien kept talking, seemingly without stopping for air, while Damian remained his usual, stoic self, barely responding but still staying present.

It was…endearing in a strange way. You had always known that Damian wasn’t someone who opened up easily, but watching him with Adrien was oddly satisfying. Adrien was persistent, and though Damian was clearly trying to distance himself from the conversation, there was a shift.

In the midst of the lighthearted banter, you caught yourself smiling a little. You knew it would take time, but somehow, Damian was warming up to Adrien’s constant energy. You knew that Adrien probably reminded him a bit of Jon—always asking questions, always talking. And now, somehow, the two of them were starting to get along.

You glanced over at Damian, his brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and frustration, and you chuckled to yourself.

Yeah, he’ll get used to him, you thought, enjoying the rare moment where your brother was forced to interact with one of your dear friends. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

As the kids were digging into their meals, the conversation around the table shifted, like it always did at some point—towards superheroes. One of the younger boys, Marcus, piped up with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, “Who’s your favorite hero?”

The question quickly spread like wildfire, and before you knew it, the whole table was eagerly waiting for an answer from you, Caitlyn, and Adrien. Caitlyn and Adrien exchanged glances, clearly excited. You, however, already knew where this was going. The answer was obvious.

“Don’t say Batman,” you interjected quickly before either could open their mouths. “That’s such a cop-out answer. Everyone knows Batman’s the go-to.”

Caitlyn looked at you with a mischievous grin. “Well, I wasn’t even going to say Batman anyways,” she huffed out. “Mine’s definitely Nightwing.” She leaned back, resting her arm on the back of her chair, eyes gleaming with a grin. “I mean, come on. He’s hot as hell. And have you seen that ass? Dude’s got the whole bakery goddamn!!”

You froze, your eyes wide for a split second, doing everything in your power to avoid crashing out at that. Did she really just—?

Oh god.

Damian’s gruff voice came from beside you. “Tch.”

You nudged him sharply, hoping he’d keep quiet. “Shut up,” you muttered under your breath, trying to maintain some composure, but you could feel Damian’s growing annoyance from the side of your vision. He didn’t even bother looking at you when he responded.

“What.”

“Don’t react.” You said, your voice quiet but firm.

“Richard wouldn’t like what your friend is saying.”

“Hah, if anything, he’d be honoured.”

“No he wouldn’t.”

Your friends glanced at each other, confused by your hushed but tensed conversation with your brother.

And you didn’t blame them.

After all, Caitlyn had no clue that Nightwing was your older brother, Dick Grayson, and that’s exactly why you were doing your best not to let it show. You weren’t about to explain that you didn’t want to hear her gush about his freaking butt during a nice and peaceful meal.

Adrien, always the oblivious to these things, shifted his focus to the conversation. “Well, I didn’t really mess with him before, but Robin is cool as hell. I mean, come on, he practically saved my life. Got to give the lil guy props for that.”

Damian’s posture straightened a little at that, clearly pleased by the compliment. However, he scowled the moment Adrien added, “the lil guy.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, and he muttered under his breath, “Robin’s not little.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Oh really? Well, he’s about…” He trailed off, glancing from Damian to you before continuing, “…about your height, actually.”

You almost choked on your drink, your eyes going wide.

Oh no.

Was he literally about to connect the dots—

“What a coincidence. Maybe you should cosplay as him sometime.”

Oh.

At least Adrien’s blondness is still going strong.

Damian’s answer came with no hesitation, voice completely unbothered. “Sure.”

You sighed with relief, though internally, you were in full panic mode.

Thank god that’s over.

One of the little girls, Emma, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, raised her hand excitedly. “I like Batgirl a lot!” she said with a beaming smile.

Or not.

Caitlyn turned to her, a playful glint in her eye. “Oh, really? Which one?”

Emma blinked, confused. “There’s more than one?”

Caitlyn laughed, shaking her head. “Of course! There’s the original Batgirl, then there’s… the replacement, then the ninja one that came out of nowhere, and now the really nice and friendly one.”

You frowned slightly when Caitlyn called you—or well— the former second batgirl, the replacement. But she wasn’t wrong. You had been a replacement. But you had tried making it your own, hadn’t you? That should at least be recognised, right?

You watched as Caitlyn went off into a long rant, detailing the various Batgirls from across the years. Emma and all the other girls looked wide-eyed, clearly taking it all in, though you were sure half of what she was saying was going out the other ear.

You couldn’t help but shake your head, muttering under your breath, “There’s only one right answer.”

Caitlyn, not missing a beat, grinned. “Yes, and that’s obviously the OG!!! I miss her. I wonder what happened to her. She just stopped showing up for years now.”

Oh.

You grumbled, unable to refute the fact that she was right. The OG Batgirl was the best, no question. Barbara created Batgirl on her own. She owned it. But…come on, you had to back yourself up here.

Adrien piped up, “Nah, the blonde one’s the best. She’s cool and real fun.”

You deadpanned at him. “You’re kidding, right? That’s your pick?”

“What? Am I wrong?” Adrien asked, genuinely confused.

You huffed, leaning back in your chair. “Very.”

“You’re both wrong.”

At that moment, Damian’s voice broke through, and everyone turned to look at him.

You glanced at him, not sure if you had heard him correctly. “What did you say?”

Adrien looked at Damian, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Who is it, lil guy?”

Damian’s gaze shifted to the table, his voice as steady as ever. “The best Batgirl is obviously the third. She’s the most proficient and the best fighter.”

You stared at Damian, deadpan.

Of course he picked her.

Of course, he’d back the best fighter—always.

For one fleeting second, you actually thought he was talking about you.

But of course he wasn’t.

You didn’t know why you even entertained the possibility of him choosing you. For half a second, you thought—just thought—that maybe, just maybe, he’d acknowledge you. But no. Obviously not.

You should’ve known better.

“What?” Damian asked, noticing your stare.

“Nothing,” you muttered, though the way you immediately crossed your arms said otherwise.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was mild irritation mixed with some very well-earned pettiness. It wasn’t like you expected him to say you were the best Batgirl, but still! You’d think your own brother would at least pretend you were a contender! For a moment, you really thought Damian would pick you.

But of course he didn’t. You weren’t even in the running.

Fine. Fine.

If Damian was going to be like that, you weren’t going to let him off easy.

“You know who’s not the best?” You paused for effect. “The current Robin.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Adrien and Caitlyn both turned to you, looking confused. Meanwhile, Damian—oh, Damian froze. His head snapped toward you, expression shifting in real time, his usual blank stare morphing into something far more hostile.

“What did you just say?” His voice was calm. Too calm.

You leaned back in your chair, feigning nonchalance. “I said the current Robin is overrated. He’s fine, I guess. But people act like he’s some unstoppable force of nature, and honestly? I don’t see it.”

Damian’s eye twitched.

Adrien let out a short laugh, glancing between you two. “Wait, why does it sound like you personally hate him?”

“I don’t,” you said. “I just think he’s too aggressive. Like, okay, congrats, you were probably trained since birth, but does that really mean you have to act like everyone else is beneath you? Maybe try teamwork sometime.”

Damian scoffed. “Tt. You mean like how the second Batgirl worked with her team? Oh, wait. She didn’t even have one.”

You stiffened slightly. “Excuse me?”

“She was reckless,” Damian continued, now fully engaging in the argument. “Unrefined. She relied on brute force and emotion instead of strategy, which is exactly why she never measured up to her predecessor.”

Your eye twitched.

Oh. It’s on.

“Well, the current Robin acts like he’s the smartest person in the room,” you shot back. “Always belittling everyone he works with, always convinced he knows best—”

“Because he does,” Damian cut in smoothly, sharp.

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, please. Batgirl was just as skilled—”

“Skilled?” Damian repeated, looking almost offended. “She was a brute. She had no tactical foresight, no patience, no discipline—”

“She gets the job done,” you interrupted.

“And leaves chaos in her wake,” Damian countered.

“Oh, because Robin doesn’t leave a mess?”

“At least his messes serve a purpose.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And at least she wasn’t a condescending little—”

“Okay, wait, wait, wait, pause,” Caitlyn suddenly cut in, raising her hands. She and Adrien were staring at you two, completely baffled. “What is happening right now?”

Adrien tilted his head, looking between you and Damian. “Yeah, why do you two sound like you’ve got some kind of personal vendetta against Robin and Batgirl?”

You and Damian both froze slightly, suddenly realizing just how heated this was getting.

You coughed, quickly forcing a neutral expression. “No, definitely not.”

Damian straightened his posture, clearing his throat. “Tt. Of course not.”

Adrien and Caitlyn exchanged a look.

“…Right.” Caitlyn tilted her head. “You sure you guys don’t secretly have some grudge against them?”

Adrien hummed in thought. “Or maybe they just don’t like heroes who remind them of themselves?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You and Damian both turned to glare at Adrien, who just retreats behind Caitlyn.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Whatever. The current Robin’s still annoying.”

“And the second Batgirl is too stubborn.”

Caitlyn frowned, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know…I always thought the second Batgirl and Robin actually worked well together. Like, whenever they were seen in the same place, their fighting styles just fit. Like they just got each other’s back, you know? At least, from what I’ve seen.”

Your jaw tensed. You pointedly avoided looking at Damian, and you knew he was doing the same.

Caitlyn’s words echoed in your head, looping over and over again like an intrusive thought you couldn’t shake.

“I always thought that Batgirl and Robin worked well together. Like, whenever they were seen in the same place, their fighting styles just fit. Like they just got each other’s, you know?”

No. No, you didn’t know.

Because that wasn’t true.

It couldn’t be true.

Because if it was true, then—

Then what did that mean?

If you and Damian worked well together—if your fighting styles “fit”—if you “just got each other”—then why hadn’t it been enough?

Why hadn’t it felt enough?

Why hadn’t you been enough?

Why had it felt like you were always fighting for validation?

Why did it still feel like Damian only ever saw you as a burden on the field?

If you had actually worked well with him, then why hadn’t he said anything back then? Why hadn’t he—

You exhaled sharply, shoving the thoughts away.

No.

Caitlyn was wrong. She had no idea what she was talking about.

“You’re giving them too much credit,” you said, shaking your head. “They didn’t work well together.”

Caitlyn blinked. “What? No, they totally did.”

You scoffed. “They barely tolerated each other.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, tilting her head. “They just… understood each other. You could see it in the way they fought. Like, Robin always knew where that Batgirl was gonna move next, and vice versa. It’s like they were in sync without even needing to say anything.”

Your fingers curled slightly.

No. That wasn’t—

That wasn’t—

That was just necessity.

That was pattern recognition.

That was forced proximity because you had no choice but to move together or risk getting each other killed.

That didn’t mean you worked well together.

It didn’t mean Damian saw you as an equal.

It didn’t mean—

“I suppose the second Batgirl is not… entirely incompetent.”

It was barely more than a murmur, but it was enough.

Enough to make the conversation still. Enough to make all of you turn.

Damian’s eyes flickered downward, arms crossed, his expression a mask of impassivity.

But that sentence. That one hesitation.

It meant something.

Your brain stuttered.

Of all things—that was what he said?

Damian Wayne—the boy who had no patience for weakness, who barely tolerated most people, who was damn near incapable of giving credit where credit was due—just admitted that?

And then—

Then he kept going.

“She’s… effective,” he admitted, as if the words physically hurt. “Her combat style is instinct-driven, but adaptable. It lacks structure, but it’s—tt—unpredictable. It forces opponents into a rhythm they’re unfamiliar with. It’s inefficient, but it works. Works for herself. And works for Robin too.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t just some throwaway comment. That wasn’t just begrudging approval.

That was acknowledgment.

You had spent years training. Learning to move, to fight, to make up for every weakness you had. You wanted someone to see that. Your father, Dick, Barbara—hell, even Jason. But you’d never expected him to see it. To notice.

Much less appreciate it.

And yet, here he was, admitting that you were—what? Unpredictable? Capable?

Your mouth opened slightly, but the words never came. You just stared, feeling something unfamiliar twist in your stomach.

You weren’t used to this.

Weren’t used to this at all.

Definitely not from Damian. After everything—

Caitlyn sighed, leaning back. “Yeah, I suppose so. A lot of people in the East End like her, from what I’ve heard.”

The weight of Damian’s words still lingered, but Caitlyn’s casual addition made something inside you shift again.

“But I haven’t exactly seen her in the past few weeks. Wonder what happened?”

And just like that—

That fleeting warmth vanished.

Your body tensed, fingers curling into your palm so tightly that your nails dug into your skin.

“She quit,” you said before you could stop yourself.

It was too sharp. Too final.

You knew it the second it left your mouth.

And it showed.

Adrien and Caitlyn turned to you, their confusion immediate.

They weren’t just confused by the statement itself.

They were confused by how you said it.

By how certain you sounded.

Realizing your mistake, you scrambled to correct yourself, forcing your voice into something lighter. “I mean, I heard she quit. I guess.”

There was a beat of silence.

Caitlyn hummed thoughtfully. “Oh. What a shame.”

And then—

“It’s a load of bullshit.”

Damian’s voice was edged with something sharp.

You turned to him, frowning. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Damian exhaled sharply, arms still crossed. “That Batgirl—assuming she really did quit—is an idiot.”

Your jaw clenched.

“She wouldn’t have quit if she didn’t think she was making an impact.”

“But she did,” Damian said, tone clipped, like it was obvious.

Your breath caught.

“She made an impact. Gotham is worse with one less hero. But she’s too dumb and socially inept to realize that.”

The words slammed into you like a brick wall.

It wasn’t mockery. It wasn’t insulting for the sake of it.

It was genuine frustration.

Damian was angry—not because he didn’t like her—but because she left.

You left.

Because you gave up.

As if you didn’t see what you were to Gotham.

But did you even mean something to Gotham?

Your lips parted slightly, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because what were you supposed to say?

What were you supposed to do with the fact that Damian cared?

That he was fighting for her—for you—when you had convinced yourself no one would?

Damian never defended things like this. He never cared enough to.

But here he was, riding this hard.

For Batgirl.

For you.

And you—

You didn’t know what to do with that either.

The air was too thick. Too heavy. The tension sat like a weight between you both.

You turned away, pressing your lips into a thin line. Damian did the same.

And you could feel your friends shift uncomfotably in their seats after that awkward conversation that they got lost in.

“I like whoever (Name) likes.”

Elliot, small but absolute in his convictions, piped up with the kind of unwavering certainty that only kids had.

You barely had time to react before something in your chest tightened, an ache so unfamiliar that you almost mistook it for something else.

Fondness.

You ruffled Elliot’s hair gently, watching as he beamed under your touch, his loyalty so simple, so unquestioning.

“At least someone knows who truly is the best,” you said, your voice soft but amused.

Adrien, clearly irked by the favoritism, complained, “Hey, no fair! That lil guy just goes along with whatever you say. That’s not counted.”

The words were playful, but they settled something in you—if only for a moment.

A brief, fleeting peace.

You risked a glance at Damian, but found his expression unreadable.

And that made you tense even more.

Because how did one conversation just destroy whatever rapport you’d built with him over the last few weeks?

You opened your mouth to say something but—

“Oh! Looks like you’ve brought along another person.”

And just like that—

Everything in you froze.

Your breath stilled.

Your fingers twitched.

Something cold wrapped around your ribs, tightening.

Mrs. Cole.

She moved toward your group, all warm smiles and polished perfection. But you knew.

You knew better.

The warmth didn’t reach her eyes. The perfection was too smooth, too calculated.

And yet, your friends didn’t see it.

They didn’t feel it.

They didn’t feel the unease sinking into your bones, clawing its way under your skin.

You straightened instinctively, every nerve in your body suddenly alert.

You felt your jaw lock.

And you just stared at the old woman standing in front of you and your friends.

When you didn’t move to introduce Damian, Caitlyn, ever polite, started to do it for you.

“Oh, this is—”

“Damian Wayne,” Mrs. Cole interrupted smoothly, smiling. “Son of Bruce Wayne. Of course, I know him.”

Then, with a turn of her head, her gaze landed on you.

And despite the kindness in her expression—

Something inside you shrank.

“I apologise,” she said gently. “I should have realised earlier that you were, in fact, (Name) Wayne. I hope you weren’t too offended.”

Every syllable was measured. Smooth.

There was nothing wrong with what she said.

But your mind churned.

Something in you twitched.

Something itched beneath your skin, something you couldn’t place.

A meaningless pleasantry? Or a subtle dig? A test? Did she expect you to be offended? Was she gauging your reaction?

Your eyes flickered to her face, scanning for any indication of intent. The tiniest shift in expression. A microsecond of amusement. A twitch of satisfaction.

A crack, a slip—anything.

But there was nothing.

Just polite words and a soft tone.

Just surface-level kindness.

Not a misstep. Not a single crack in her perfect facade.

It made your stomach turn.

Your thoughts tangled, looping over themselves, spiraling deeper into your own paranoia—

And then you realized you had been silent for too long.

Too long for it to be normal. Too long for it to be anything but weird.

You scrambled for a response, grasping for something, anything—

“It’s fine.”

It came out rough. Stiff. Completely unnatural.

Like a person forgetting how to be a person.

Mrs. Cole only smiled. If she noticed your awkwardness, she was far too polite to acknowledge it.

Adrien and Caitlyn, however, were not.

You saw it immediately—the way Caitlyn pressed her lips together to keep from groaning, the way Adrien squeezed his eyes shut like he had just physically felt secondhand embarrassment.

Yeah. Yeah.

That was bad.

You wanted to fling yourself out the nearest window.

Mrs. Cole, as if unfazed, turned back to Damian.

“I hope everything here has been to your liking.”

Damian regarded her for a moment before giving a clipped, formal response. “The conditions appear satisfactory.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she replied easily. “We do our best to provide a safe environment for all the children under our care.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

Just listened.

You tried to read him.

Tried to see if he felt it too.

If he sensed that something was off with Mrs Cole.

But—

Nothing.

Damian’s expression was unreadable, sure. But that wasn’t new.

What was new was that he didn’t seem to think anything of her at all.

“Well,” Mrs. Cole finally said, brushing nonexistent dust from her sleeve. “I have other matters to attend to. It was lovely meeting you, Damian.”

She smiled, nodding at Caitlyn and Adrien before turning back to you.

“And you, of course, (Name).”

Then—

She was gone.

Moving seamlessly through the orphanage, weaving between staff and children like she belonged there.

You exhaled shakily.

You had overanalyzed every movement, every syllable. Had searched for something.

And yet—nothing.

No proof. No reason for this unease gnawing at your ribs.

And yet, it didn’t go away.

It never went away, no matter what you did.

No matter what you tried convincing yourself with.

And as you sat there, stiff and silent—

You failed to notice the way Damian was watching you.

Expression unreadable.

Eyes sharp.

Like he had seen something.

Something off.

Something he couldn’t quite place.

long awaited chapter 7 lol… did you guys miss me 🥰🤗 also ramadan mubarak to all my muslim homies and girlies 🫶🫶part 2 here in a few hours after posting this, will answer my asks after posting part 2 <3

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[classicfilmblr]

DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS in THE BLACK PIRATE — 1926, dir. Albert Parker The most celebrated sequence of the film, and perhaps of Fairbanks's entire career, is the moment in which the Black Pirate, when capturing a galleon single-handedly, slashes a line with his knife, catches the end of the mizzen, and swings upward with the wayward sail to the main topsail. He then plunges his knife in to the canvas of the topsail and slides down the sail, supported by the hilt of his knife as it severs the canvas in half. He rends the mainsail in the same manner. The feat is so spectacular that Fairbanks repeats it once more with the fore topsail, rendering the ship powerless. The Black Pirate swings through the lines to the forecastle, swivels about a pair of cannons he has commandeered, and holds the crew as helpless as the galleon itself.

The sliding down the sails is a grand stunt, building on Robin Hood's celebrated descent down the enormous drapery in Robin Hood [1922]. The 43-year-old showman is in top physical form, and the appearance of effortlessness, the breathtaking arcs of movements, and the sheer joy with which he accomplishes the impossible are ample demonstrations of Fairbanks's kinetic genius.

The sequence was achieved with separate sail sets engineered by Robert Fairbanks on the back lot, apart from various ship settings, and erected on an angle away from the cameras (which were also on an angle). The sails, according to Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., were "pre-sliced and then stitched up invisibly. . . .The knife was rigged with piano wire, pulley, and counterweight. . . .He would thrust his knife into the sail and there would be a quick cut. The next cut would be of him holding the special knife connected to the hidden pulley and counterweight."

Airplane propellers behind the canvas provided the billowing effect for the sails. As with all of his stunts, Fairbanks wore a wire harness, and his arms and legs were taped to prevent friction burns. Although no one doubted at the time that he performed the stunt, William K. Everson later maintained that Fairbanks did not do so himself. But the accounts of Albert Parker, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., and Chuck Lewis and the surviving outtakes from the scene itself dispel any claim that Fairbanks did not perform his most famous feat. Fairbanks's bravura stunt was subsequently pirated by a stunt double for Errol Flynn in Against All Flags (1952) and by Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest (2006).

One of the immediate effects of the famous sequence was all the injuries sustained by impressionable children imitating their screen idol. Edward Wagenknecht wrote, "One shudders to think how many broken arms and legs he must have been responsible for among the children of America during the years of his vogue." Robert Parrish, a future director and film editor, was one such child. He recalled having seen The Black Pirate in his hometown of Columbus, Georgia, and immediately wanting to emulate the spectacular Fairbanks stunt:

"As a seven-year-old, I had seen Douglas Fairbanks in The Black Pirate plunge a knife into the sail and riding the knife down to the deck. I tried the knife stunt myself that afternoon with a borrowed linen bed sheet. Some friends and I attached it to the limb of an oak tree about ten feet off the ground. I climbed the tree with a butcher's knife in my mouth trying to smile like Fairbanks—I soon tasted blood in my mouth—and pointed the knife at the sheet and jumped. The sheet crashed down upon me like a deflated parachute and the knife flew out of my hand. I landed on the ground with a broken arm, the wind knocked out of me, and blood running from my Fairbanks grin."

[intimidating-fettuccine]

hiii! i hope you have are having a good day/night! can i request a reader with extreme trauma with physical touch, to the point where they refuse to be touched and some days physical touch actively hurts. if you could write for jeff, ej, and kate with how they would work around/accommodate in a relationship?

thank you! 🌀 anon

I hope I did okay on this and that you enjoy, I tried to be realistic for it, as Jeff and Jack wouldn't be the best match for someone like this. I apologize if it's not enjoyable ^^'

Jeff:

Jeff does his absolute best to avoid making you uncomfortable in any way, but it's going to be incredibly difficult for him. Jeff is someone who thrives on physical touch in a relationship, and so not being able to be very physically affectionate with you could possibly lead to insecurities forming in the back of his mind because that's the main way he shows affection and love. To make up for this, you're both going to have to be VERY vocal in your love for each other so Jeff is reassured that you want him there as much as he wants you there. Jeff is going to make mistakes, nobody is perfect. There are going to be times, despite his best efforts, when he will absentmindedly touch you on accident—wrapping his arm around you as he plops down next to you, reaching for your hand when you're walking side by side, scooping you into a hug when he hasn't seen you in a very long time. He ceases all affection once he realizes he's done it, and he apologizes immediately, feeling extremely guilty for having done it in the first place, but it's going to start to wear on him mentally not being able to touch you. You're going to have to be in therapy or have some other way to work on improving your trauma, or this relationship isn't going to work out in the long run. Jeff will do anything he can to help you work on your trauma, like gradually helping you get used to touch if he can, but he can't go the rest of his life without being able to be affectionate. You will have to work with him, and so long as you also want to be affectionate with him one day, he will stay by your side for as long as he needs to help you get to that point.

EJ:

This is going to be most difficult with Jack, I'm going to be completely 100% honest with you, I do not know if he could ever handle being in a relationship like this, and I don't know if it would be healthy for him. My Jack is blind. He can see in heat signatures, but he can't SEE you, not really, just your shape. Due to this, he really needs to be able to touch his partner. It allows him to feel you, to feel out your appearance, to know you're there, and that he can familiarize himself with you. So, to not be able to freely touch you as he needs to so he can grow familiar and comfortable with you is going to be exceedingly difficult and hard on him. He does his best, of course. He works with you as he doesn't want you to be uncomfortable, much less so in pain, so he will do whatever he has to for you to be comfortable. He can't keep at it as long as Jeff can, though. Even if he loves you and you love him, there's going to be distance. He grows comfortable with his partners through touch, so if he's not able to touch you regularly, he's not going to grow very attached to you. He will work with you, work on helping you grow more familiar with being touched, but if you don't really want him touching you and the two of you can't help you grow to accept being touched, I'm very sorry, but Jack is not going to stay in this relationship with you. It's so hard on him mentally having to force a distance between you so he doesn't lapse and touch you, and I don't think he would be very happy in a relationship like this one, as he is a creature that so desperately needs to have physical touch to feel happy and loved. He doesn't blame you at all, it's just how he is.

Kate:

Kate handles this the best out of these three, in fact, she handles it great. Kate doesn't need touch to feel content in a relationship, she just needs to be able to be around you and have your presence. I won't lie and say she doesn't want to touch you at all, as she does, but she's content enough to not need to regularly touch you like the others. A kiss here, a hug there, and she can give you as much space as you need. While it's not as hard on her, though, she would want you to be working toward a healthier state of being where this isn't an issue with you, so you can one day touch others and be physically open to contact with her. For now, though, she doesn't push for far more than you're comfortable with. She likes sitting beside you, not touching you of course, but resting beside you so she can be as close as she can. I can see her wanting to do something where you hold your hands close together, palms and fingers flat, just hovering in front of each other. She doesn't touch you directly, just holds your hands close enough together that she can feel your warmth, and that's enough to satiate her. If you were ever to ask her to touch you or say it's okay for her hand or body to close the distance, she would be over the moon, but again, she doesn't need touch like the others do to feel loved and thrive, so she is the most patient in this group with waiting as long as it takes for you to grow to accept her. She comforts you on your rough days and encourages you in any way that she's able to. She does want to be affectionate in the future, as I said, but she's relaxed and content enough to be able to wait as long as you need her to.

[metalheads-trash-bin]

Bro was watching with their eyes closed if you can truly saying there was no lore or horror.

Im a writer, artist, and creator. I am OBSESSED with horror and lore like elements. Some of my favorite horror movies are Midsommar and Hereditary. I am PICKY about what I like and don’t. But now you get a ramble because you poked the bear.

POPPY PLAYTIME CHAPTER 4 RANT:

Poppy playtime had a lot of factors that were hinted at through trailers and teasers to be significant, for instance with Pianosaurus who had clips of playing notes and attacking you. He had multiple hints and teasers only to end up getting IMMEDIATELY killed as soon as you see him, no notes, no nothing. That was my first serious issue. First character killed off.

Then as you’re playing (Yarnaby was ALSO meant to be significant based on the MANY teasers and clips) Yarnaby is meant to be chasing you around and causing general problems, and he is in some aspects but for the amount of content posted about him you’d think that he’d be as important as Mommy Longlegs. He isn’t’, he chases you a good bit of the game but the most you get lore wise is the fact that he’s been manipulated and groomed by the doctor via notes and recording. Second Character killed off.

As you proceed on you meet Doey, who murks the fuck out of Pianosaurus. Doey had a lot of aspects I liked at first, but they played too intensely into his “wounded soldier” role which makes you feel borderline conditioned to like him. I like the fact that he has some sort of personality disorder which is evident through his emotion blobs inside his monster mouth. I also like how they handled regression vs aggression through his talking points. But his content (the vcrs, the kid clip, notes) were all so violently pointing at him being a bad person that it left little for your own skepticism. Third character killed off.

The doctor should’ve had a lot more lore attached to him as well, i understand why there was a lot of mystery with him but he genuinely didn’t seem like a semi main antagonist and was moreso just another thing to fight. A lot of that has to do with the way the game set itself up, you’re practically fighting back to back to back without any real rest breaks, there’s some forms of wandering and learning but its overall very lackluster. Fourth character killed off.

They killed off FOUR characters in ONE chapter, that goes against so many logically driven game laws. You bring four new characters in and rapid murder them in the same chapter, and a lot of that aspect made it so you couldn’t get emotionally invested into the situation or characters.

Thats just the first segment as to what I disliked. Onto the next.

The lore..ohhh the lore. How you went from something we have barely seen in games to another setup of disappointment. If you know anything about FNAF security breach + Ruin you know where I’m going.

First off, a lot of the VCRS are just dead images this chapter, making you have to sit there and watch in room that have little to interact with as you do so. A way to fix this would’ve been a cassette tape wrist band and cassettes, which is very possible for the prison to have as the area down below is so huge, so people would want to document what they find and see verbally to be written down. Having a cassette wrist band would’ve made it so the character could still wander and also give a better break between chaotic scenes, but instead you were stuck staring at a still image that pertains to a character. It no longer had a fear factor, it was just..there. Alongside this you have all of these toys and characters that are new but no merch for them on the upper levels? Its like they didn’t logistically plan to have the characters they did, as theres a multitude of merch for characters we NEVER SEE. (Daddy longlegs, catbee, stegosaurus, etc.)

Secondly, the creators were bragging on twitter about the amount of lore they dropped and how it’ll give you “a lot to think about”. It doesnt. A majority of what was dropped (for instance Ollie being the prototype) was already rumored as we saw this WITH FNAF RUINS. Fnaf ruins did the mimic route, fnaf in general did the children stuck in mascots route, it also did an evil dude that practically grooms children route. So much of that was already seen, and this chapter focused way too much on that vs the things that are different between them. It was nice to read more about the experimentation process and the fact that they were practically mutants that mixed with kids and toys but that was also rumored. Overall a majority of the lore here was just confirmations.

As for the horror aspect, there genuinely wasn’t one. There’s a HUGE difference between just having gore and bodies everywhere vs genuinely frightening horror. Chapter Three was a masterpiece in this element alongside lore and world building. The way you know youre being stalked, the unsettling scenes and audio, the hallucinations, etc etc. instead of continuing with a more uncanny valley approach they went full on “heres some bodies and guys chasing you” route. Theres bodies everywhere, okay cool. A guy is obviously implied to be crucified which in itself has lore as crucifixion was typically to ask for forgiveness from god, okay cool. But where was the stalking? The seriously traumatic parts? Where was the genuine unsettlingness? It wasnt there, you wandered around helping out characters and getting murked. But you werent SUCKED IN like you were with chapter three, where you felt genuinely stuck and terrified having something follow you around silently, not to mention how graphic the lore and implications were.

It felt messy and jumbled, especially with the world building it was attempting. There was borderline too much and you hung around certain key areas too little, for instance with Safe Haven there genuinely isnt much to do besides look around and proceed. Its in no way interactive and its moreso just a buffer.

The innerworkings of this chapter were very typical, the prison was definitely a surprise but the corruption, abuse, experimentation, etc were not. And the fact that the characters keep saying “this isnt like anything you saw up above” really made you anticipate much more terrifying aspects. Not bodies everywhere. It made the game boring, especially because of all the anticipation the creators gave, saying this was the most adult chapter yet.

There was just..a lot that was disappointing, especially when compared to the previous chapter which had you constantly on edge. I really hope they pick it up a notch in the final chapter, because this was full of false promise. They should’ve continued with the unsettling factor, gore is good but it needs a stable foundation and true meaning. I read all the documents and listened to all the tapes, and the foundation was still very weak and sooo much of it was already thought about or rumored. Everyone knew Ollie was the prototype, everyone knew that they were some sort of living being put into toys, everyone knew that there mustve been some sort of additional assistance to the prototype to keep things going because he is wayyyy too invested in the mc to keep whatever plan he had (which is now known) going.

Another good horror game that got too lazy with its writing.

Next.

[babynonbinarywitch]

Supernatural Creatures AU - Arcane

Part 2

Since it’s practically everywhere, I’ve been having thoughts about this in the past couple days, specifically around Jayce (and Mel and Viktor)

I’m thinking specifically about dragon Jayce

With human mage Mel and siren seer Viktor

Important Lore Details

Dragons are one of the few actually immortal creatures, and as such age extremely slowly in their true forms

Dragons also grow as they age until they hit about 300

Jayce, being only 35 when main canon (Happy Progress Day onward) hits, is still teeny tiny in full dragon form

Ximena is close to 350, and so is full grown and massive

The blacksmith is also full grown and older than Ximena, around 500

At some point in the past, Noxus made a sport of hunting dragons as a way to prove ‘might’, one of their pillars of strength

Unfortunately, this has the consequence of hunting dragons in anywhere Noxus invades to near extinction

Most do flee to neighboring nations (one of the many reasons Noxus and Ionia go to war), but sometimes they’re caught unaware by hunters and have to flee immediately with no planning

This is what happens to Ximena and her husband/mate, with Ximena weaker than usual because she had just laid Jayce’s egg not even three days ago

She’s forced to flee with Jayce’s egg in her claws and flee northwards, further into the mountains to find a place to let Jayce’s egg grow and hatch, while her partner holds off the Noxian hunters and is killed

Jayce’s egg take roughly 50 years to hatch, between his mom having to find a warm enough spot and having to get a stockpile of food so that she can actually incubate Jayce long enough for him to hatch

But when he’s about 6, a severe blizzard forces them to move south again, severe enough that Ximena isn’t willing to risk Jayce’s wings to the cold and have them fly, but catches them off guard and this is when the mage steps in and saves them, transporting them not too far from Piltover, where they are able to start over again

Important Plot Points

Thinking that Piltover & Zaun are both mainly mixes of vampires and werewolves, with a few rarer exceptions

Jayce and his mother are refugees to Piltover

Jayce is obviously a little hatchling when they get to Piltover, no more than 6, so Ximena is incredibly protective of him

With them being immigrants to Piltover, I can see his common/English not being as good/extremely accented to the point it was hard to understand at first and he gets bullied enough for it that Ximena makes the decision to pull him out of school and teach him what she knows after only a couple of months because like hell is her hatchling going to go through taunting that he can barely understand

Also it happens to be safer for Jayce to be sequestered in the home/nest until he’s older and able to adequately defend himself

Even in a place like Piltover, there’s still plenty of opportunities for a young dragon hatchling to be stolen right from under his mother’s nose and sold off for parts/as a pet/etc.

But without a partner to watch him in the home/nest, Ximena is pretty much forced to take him along on any outings to keep him by her side

He doesn’t particularly mind, but he’s easily distracted by books and often asks his mama to get the book(s) that capture his attention, and this causes a separation from Ximena exactly once

It doesn’t happen again after he starts tearing up before he hears his mama yelling his name outside and he runs out to her, abandoning the book he had been reading

Ximena had noticed her hatchling was missing and turned back in the massive market and started yelling his name, eventually she was noticed by a certain Lady Kiramman in her youth, who helps calm her down enough to guide her back to the bookstore and Jayce bolts out and attaches himself to Ximena, shaking and tearing up

The young Lady Kiramman may or may not escort them home and Ximena thanks her for her help and they stay acquainted through letters, and Jayce may or may not receive ‘anonymous’ gifts of piles of books to add to his slowly growing hoard over the years

Over the years, Jayce learns everything he knows about blacksmithing by apprenticing to one of the only other dragons in Piltover who offers after they discover each other as dragons and he realizes just how young Jayce is by dragon standards

He still goes through university, and after the trial, he’s still on the edge of the building’s rubble, and Viktor still interrupts him and they still work on Hextech, and they still break into Heimerdinger’s lab

Difference is that when they’re flying it’s a little more familiar to Jayce than to Viktor, who still finds his way through it, almost as if it was water instead of air but still moving forward

He starts nursing two crushes that night

One on the most gorgeous man he thinks he’s ever seen, who has a brilliant mind to go along with amber eyes that almost look like a forge ember

And one on the most beautiful woman he thinks he’s ever seen, with eyes like jade glass with a spark in them, and golden implants that sparkles in the light of the Hextech

He doesn’t realize it until much later, but he does recognize that he admires both of them, however little he knows them so far

[melonnabar]

MATT MURDOCK BPD STUDY??

From what I gauge with my own personal experience with having BPD, I think Matt possesses some borderline tendencies. I’m not diagnosing him really, mainly because while I have BPD, I am not a professional and not every one person’s experience with the disorder is the same as mine. Most of this is comparing the symptoms I have with some of the observations I’ve made with Matt from both the comics and the mcu show (and maybe a lil projection LOL)?? Will dump random comic panels in here as well :0

For a lot of people that have BPD, the main driving factors for 90% of everything is an intense fear of abandonment and a lack of self-worth.

Matt I think, does have a fear of abandonment, and it manifests in the form of him pushing others away despite him wanting otherwise. He assumes they’ll all just hate/reject him anyway. And this, he tells a lot of lies, keeps a lot of secrets from the people he cares about the most out of the fear that they might hate him and leave him even if it proves to be counterproductive. He wants to love people, and he wants to be loved back, but his fear of intimacy keeps him isolated from the people closest to him.

A lot of that definitely has to do with his mom abandoning him as a child, his father dying, and being raised by Stick. Stick beat into his brain that he should never trust people, that they’ll end up hurting him and leaving him anyway if they found out about what he was truly capable of with his senses, so why bother? (This is something shown more prominently in the show) And then he goes and abandons him too. That, and the prolonged verbal abuse from the only person he had left to latch onto definitely fucked up his brain.

When put into potentially triggering situations (such as being scrutinized/criticized by the people who care about him) I’ve recognized that he reacts like a person who’s been perpetually stuck with the defense mechanisms they’ve never grown out of as a child. As a kid, he wasn’t exactly allowed to lash out, to be upset, to have his feelings validated as a real person, and so all of that buildup he never got to properly experienced inevitably seeped into his adult life.

His self worth is basically nonexistent. He believes that he’s the devil, and as mentioned before, undeserving of any kind of love and attention from people. I also find it fascinating with the way he acts around different people. Most people generally do act differently depending on who they are hanging out with, but Matt transforms into a completely different person. Foggy has pointed out that when Matt is with Elektra, he becomes a worse person– that he gets more reckless, impulsive, and violent when he’s with her. I definitely believe that Matt was ‘living’ through his deep attachment to Elektra.

Matt suffers from a pattern of unstable interpersonal relationships. He either leaves them or fucks up something in the relationship (What Matt did to Milla as an example 😭) , they leave him, or they get killed. A lot of the turbulence in his relationships have to do with his mindset of his unwillingness to believe that they would choose to be with someone like him. It’s the “you’ll get hurt because of me” and the “why would you love a mess like me?” He’ll frequently get into heated arguments with the people around him, and sometimes he’ll end up saying something that’ll drive them out of his life. Matt will always regret it after, but will convince himself to avoid any further confrontations in a stressful situation because he doesn’t want to cause anymore trouble.

This pattern of thinking is pretty synonymous with the extremes of idealization and devaluation as well. Take his relationship with Foggy for example. Matt can go from putting Foggy on a pedestal and treating him as his “favorite person” to immediately holding contempt towards him and scowling at him (sometimes leaving too). He treats a lot of his his romantic partners like this too.

He is obviously extremely impulsive and is prone to fits of anger and violence. His entire nighttime career is dedicated to risky behavior and putting himself in a place where he’s literally just fighting the entire world even if he’s bleeding out half of the time. He knows that he’s slowly killing himself by going out and doing the things no one ever asked him to do, that he’s hurting himself, his relationships, his livelihood, but he can’t stop. I’m also 100% sure he experiences suicidal ideation straight up as well (it’s more explicitly shown/mentioned in the comics??)

Savior complex aside also, I think Matt only feels alive when he’s out there helping people, which in turn helps him cope with a lot of his psychological issues. I think feeling helpless and not doing enough is something that’ll eat away at him constantly if he doesn’t put on the suit.

Idk, sorry for the long rant?? I rly wanted to get this out for awhile, hope this is somewhat comprehensible 😭😭

[emioliravioli]

Tell me ur Blaze headcanons plsplsplsplslps /nf

oh this is a can of worms you do NOT want to open

that being said...

OKAY so... how do i even say this all?? lemme organize these...

timeline headcanons:

she's 14 in rush, 17 in 06 and 18 in sxs gens, and in tmosth she's at least 21. which definitely screws up the timeline but idrc.

the 06 timeline happens before the rush timeline!! some sort of event* happens where she's sent to the chaos dimension's ruined future when she's around 6 or so, which is where she meets silver and they become attached to each other. their friendship/siblingship (??) is so strong it lasts throughout timelines.....

once the flame of hope is put out by elise, the 06 timeline is erased and the event* does not send blaze to the other dimension. instead, it puts the sol emeralds at risk by having one of them stolen and taken to another dimension. that's why blaze knows the emeralds being in the chaos dimension in rush will end both of their worlds!

family headcanons:

her parents are both incredibly sick and bedridden. they are still the rulers of the empire, but they're more of figureheads at this point. the main power rests in the royal council and blaze's hands.

her parents being basically absent forced her to take up so much responsibility at a very young age, and made her become cold and closed off (children who are forced to act like adults...)

have. have you seen meet the robinsons. she's kinda like how goob was, just wayy less comedic. aka, self isolation because of self-hatred! the kids around her wanted to be friends (she's the princess, after all), but she forced herself to not talk to them.

big is her long-lost uncle!! through several misunderstandings and unfortunate situations, he was found guilty of conspiracy against the royal family, and sent to execution. they also think he's the reason the empress and emperor are in such poor condition (THEY'VE BEEN GETTING POISIONED FOR THE LAST DECADE- not by him but anyways), so he's absolutely hated by the entire empire. he managed to escape by convincing blaze to let him get to the sol emeralds*, and he was teleported to the chaos dimension. its, uh, very unclear whether or not he remembers everything- he seems like a very happy, chill guy, but occasionally he will act very strange...

* the event is big escaping!! in the 06 timeline, the sol emeralds will not respond to him and instead teleport blaze. he's also executed in that timeline so that's great. in the rush timeline, he is sent to the chaos dimension in the present, but accidentally takes one of the sol emeralds. this makes the sol dimension go crazy and weird, because it cannot survive without the full seven emeralds keeping the balance. a council member (THE PERSON WHO HAS BEEN POISONING THE EMPRESS AND EMPEROR-) is sent to retrieve the emerald and finally execute big. they manage to get the emerald back, but decide not to kill him. they instead give him major brain damage! yay! so now he's kinda got amnesia <3

miscellaneous blaze hcs:

her pyrokinesis is like flames that are constantly burning inside her, and to use it, she concentrates the fire to her hands, her legs, etc.

she dislikes being referred to formally by people she's close to.

drinks chai all the time... it's the one thing she can make herself

has not been exposed to boba, but if she was, she would love it. (she'd also drink it with grass jelly)

she likes spicy food, but doesn't even realize it's spicy because her tolerance is incredibly high.

she likes both masculine and feminine clothing. (obvious ik)

excels in every adcademic subject.

trained in all forms of dancing-- from ballet to hip-hop.

tried to play instruments, but always got frustrated and accidentally lit them on fire... she's good at the non-flammable ones though!

the represser ever. any unpleasant emotion or experience she has is immediately shoved to the back of her mind... she's got work to do, after all.

often has to attend diplomatic meetings with other leaders. she hates them, but manages to smile politely the whole time.

has cat instincts that she suppresses... but she still hates cucumbers.

prefers using chopsticks to eat everything. it's the most convenient utensil!

[kestgrey]

Stephen Bishop + main inspiration for the character, Roi, who appears in my MXM erotic short story "Worldly Possessions". You can check out it out HERE!

Plot: Venus, a rising beauty influencer and content creator is randomly presented the opportunity to housesit for one of his mother's major clients. After some initial reluctance, he decides to do so, immediately knowing he'd take advantage of the scenery and filming locations the monumental home had to offer. However, he's informed by the home owner that his business partner, Roi, would be there in order to allow him in and quickly be on his way after. Things take a turn, especially when Venus chats it up with him, finding out they both share the commonality of being well traveled. Venus propels himself into quite an experience with this man...but there may be some undercurrents about this situation he doesn't realize.

Snippet below ⬇️

“…You know I feel like,” Venus started shuffling in the water, getting closer to the other as he spoke. “What chu think about having a lil more fun before you really have to head out,” at this point, he turned to being more audacious than before. The inner feelings stirring within him kept tugging. He was just hoping the sentiment would end up being the same.

Roi immediately felt the warmth fuming from the other, now that he was practically on him. The man’s eyes beamed down at Venus’s lips before going back to his face. “What-What are you suggesting exactly?”

               “Well…lemme serve as another form of relaxation. That way, you can really be on some chill energy and sleep the whole plane ride,” he bit at his bottom lip, figuring the other would be able to now catch on.

               A nervous chuckle came out of Roi before a clearing of his throat. “Listen Venus you’re clearly an exceptional person, but I don’t know. I don’t want to waste anymore- “he started but was interrupted.

               “Before you start saying it’s gonna waste time, it doesn’t have to. Let’s not worry ‘bout all that,” Venus slyly spoke. Their faces were now only mere inches away from one another, they could rub noses together if they really wanted to. “Come on Roi, we’ve gotten to know each other better. You gon tell me you aren’t feeling anything either?”

               “…I won’t deny that. I just really don’t want to further push this and screw up the time, ya know?” Roi started once again.

               “Mmm I hear you,” Venus said, but in a tone that suggests he was somewhat being dismissive. All he could now focus on was the lustful energy swaddling him. He used his teeth to imprint a firmer grip on his own bottom lip. “Like I said, you’ll be alright. Why are you worrying about it?” he kept urging.  A gentle hand eventually found its way atop Roi’s upper chest.

All it took was for that one touch to now convince the man. He internally wanted to indulge the entire time, however, let his genuine worries supersede that. Venus didn’t have to throw any other tactics his way. The man used his natural strength to firmly grasp Venus’s silken hips and crashed his body into his. He practically gorged on the other’s lips and a passionate kiss immediately ensued between them. Venus couldn’t refrain from letting a moan slip out upon this instant shift in physicality. Their full lips danced so well together, melding into each other. Both men were simultaneously amplifying the fervent energy around them, pushing their own heads into each other.

The lip lock was hard and hot. Venus took both of his hands and put them on Roi’s shoulders. Eventually the kiss was briefly ceased by Roi who lifted a hand, firmly gripping Venus’s hair, intentionally pulling his head back, so that he had more of a view of the neck. Roi’s lips quickly attached themselves to it as he began to dish out some kisses before transitioning and protruding out his tongue. He vertically licked upward before beginning to now suck.

               Roi was moving about roughly in nature; however, it did nothing but further inspire Venus to stay in the moment. Venus was far from a stranger to anything rough. It happened to be a kink for him. As the sucking on his neck persisted, he had a chin, and closed eyes, pushed towards the ceiling. He moaned some and let the sly smile return. Roi’s tongue glistened the melanin embedded in his neck. The way the skin tasted already aggravated him in the best of ways. He stopped himself by sliding his tongue all the way back up to Venus’s lips. This caused the kiss to make a smooth resurgence, with him naturally letting the grip of the hair go. Roi led with stabbing his tongue directly in the other’s mouth. Venus did a good job already at matching the energy, as he swiftly caught it. He moaned as he vigorously sucked. Anyone getting a view of this would see just how heavy it was between them. Roi had the perfect partition between his lips, letting his tongue prominently show as it was being tasted. Venus siphoned as much of it as he wanted before letting it go. He then took his right hand and grabbed Roi’s chin.

               “Open your mouth,” Venus demanded.

[sports-on-sundays]

prince not so charming / CL16 / PART 3

Warnings : Switching between second and third person

Summary : Prince!Charles x Princess!Reader - Charles and Y/n grow closer and closer as they court.

Author's Note : I hope you guys aren't minding the way I decided to transfer race car driving into this AU as chariot racing. Link to Part 2, which has the link to Part 1 attached to it.

Requested? : No.

A week later, you are back at the castle in which the prince Charles lives. You are wearing a dress that goes down to your knees, stockings underneath, and a hand band in your hair. A servant is leading you down a cobblestone trail, in a beautiful garden with old mysterious trees and bright sweet flowers, to where Prince Charles is apparently waiting for you. The garden is very nice, and obviously taken care of very nicely. It's a peaceful place to be.

And sure enough, soon enough, there he is, with the sun shining on him. He is wearing less fancy clothes than you have ever seen him wearing before, but in your opinion, looks better than any other time you have seen him before. When he sees you, his face immediately lights up. "Hello, Princess! Come here and sit down next to me on this bench. Servant, you can be off, then."

The servant nods, bows, and turns, walking off, as you walk over to Prince Charles and sit next to him. Right away, he takes your hand in his, and says, "What was your father's reaction at hearing about my request and want to court and marry you?"

"Well, he was quite worried. He cares about his country, and wants to make sure I will be there for it... In a way, I am worried, too."

"Do not be. I have a plan forming in my mind."

You look at him in his sparkling ocean green blue eyes. "What is it?"

He hesitates. "I don't want to get your hopes up..."

"Tell me."

"If I can convince Lorenzo... Perhaps when we marry, instead of ruling and living in this kingdom, we can rule in your kingdom, together."

"What about the land you have responsibility for?"

"Well, at this point, it's Lorenzo ruling that land, along with the main one, and he's not having any issues. And if he started to have issues, he could give it away."

"Give it away? No king want to give away land."

"Lorenzo might if it's too much of a pain. And not many people live there, either. There aren't many resources on it, and the bordering kingdom next to us has been pressuring us for it for a while."

You nod slowly. "So you're saying we would rule my country, together? As the king and queen?"

"That's what I'm thinking. I would be more in charge if you wanted me to be, and if you wanted to be in charge more, you would be. Either way, we'd support each other in it. But don't tell your father about this. We'll just have to see."

You nod again. "Alright. Fair enough. I understand."

"By the way, you look beautiful today."

"As do you look very handsome," you smile.

Then he shows you around the gardens. For the first several days of courting he just shows you around the whole huge castle. You get to see the gardens, the arsenal, the fountain and pool, the beach, the porch, the throne room, the ballroom, the bath house, the old chapel, the great chamber, the servants' and guards' sleeping quarters, the courtyards, the stables (and of course the horses that carry him on race day), the kitchens, the drawing room, the offices, the training grounds, the race track, and even more. Everywhere he goes with you he holds your hand and looks out for you. He doesn't care if you wear heels and nice dresses, so most of the time you just go in boots, stockings, and simple dresses. And regardless of what you're wearing, he always reminds you, without failing, of your beauty.

And with every day, he seems to get more and more attractive.

In fact, on the day when his hair is falling on his forehead and his clothes are simpler, looks just as good as when he's all fixed up and dressed nice. You love his laugh and all the different unique and silly stories he has to tell about each room. He asks you questions, too, and you become more and more comfortable talking with him. He talks, you listen. You talk, he listens.

In a way, the connection with him seems to grow. Your hearts go out for each other more and more, and there's a spark in between the two of you.

You genuinely enjoy Prince Charles. You genuinely love his company. You love being with him.

"Prince Charles, how many children do you want?" you ask him. You're sitting together on the outdoor porch. His arm is gently resting over your shoulders, and you're just enjoying the day together.

"You know you can just call me Charles. You can drop the title."

"Really? That isn't disresp-"

"I intend to treat you like you are- on the same level as me. Many people believe men are on a higher level. I believe you're not lower than me, and so in the same way, why should you believe I'm higher than you?"

You nod. "I always love what you have to say, Charles."

"That's good," he grins. "Because I think I talk quite a bit." He waits a few seconds, before saying, "Anyway, to answer your question... I've always wanted three."

"Always?"

"Yes. I've always wanted a family, Y/n."

"I thought you said you didn't."

"I never wanted to start a family with any of the women who were brought to me. And I never wanted to start a family if it was going to keep me from my passions, like racing, and music. But I know with you, it won't. I've always loved family, and longed to start my own. And I've always wanted three children."

"Why three?" you ask.

He shrugs. "I have a sweet spot for it. Maybe because I have two brothers."

You nod. "That makes sense."

"But I know you don't want a family, let alone a big one. So if you only want one child, I understand, and we can aim for that."

"No, it's okay... I'll have to think about it. But you're growing on me."

He smiles. "That's not the first time you've said that to me."

"It's because your stupid handsome face and your stupid sweet personality seem to just keep growing on me more and more."

"Good," he chuckles. "That's the way we want it."

You sit in silence together for a few more minutes, before Charles says, "Tomorrow, I need to go."

"Where?"

"I have a race."

"Where? Can I come?"

"Sure!" he says right away, as though he was just waiting for you to say that. "You can come! We'll leave tomorrow morning!"

"I'm excited to see you race."

"And I'm excited for you to see me race."

Charles puts on his racing suit, and he can only think about Y/n. He exhales slowly. Can't think about her right now. I just have to focus on what I'm about to do out there. As he checks on his horses, he thinks about the ride over, and how he talked with her about racing, and she said she always has had a passion for it.

Everything I learn about her, I become more and more convinced we're made for each other.

His teammate Carlos walks in to check up on his horses. Carlos is a prince and a knight in his country, and his father, a former racer, is the king. It's very common for richer folks to be in the sport of chariot racing. "Charles," starts his teammate. "I've heard the news."

"Which news?"

"I saw your princess out there, waiting to watch us."

"Lovely, isn't she?"

"I suppose so. I'm just astonished you've finally got someone."

"She's a sweetheart."

"I'm sure," Carlos chuckles as he realises by the look in his teammate's eyes how much he really does have an affection for her.

Charles and Carlos have been teammates for around four years now in their team, and as the older one by three years, Carlos has always been prone to teasing Charles about his lack of, as Carlos cruelly has put it in the past, 'getting women'.

Soon enough, Charles finds himself getting into his chariot, getting for a race.

And soon, they wave the flag, and every other though vanishes from Charles head as the race begins.

You don't mind that Charles is sweaty and dirty. You hug him tight and kiss his cheek, exclaiming, "What an amazing race! You're such a good driver!"

Charles laughs out loud, giving you a kiss back on your cheek."Thank you!"

You look into his happy eyes, and you feel warm inside.

Content.

Charles ended up getting second place. He turns as someone you recognize enters the room. "Oh, you're Prince Carlos!" you exclaim.

He smiles a bit with a wave. "Hello, Princess Y/n."

"I didn't even realise it was you!"

He nods with a shrug. "Maybe I'm not that recognizable."

"No, I think you are," you smile. "It's great to see you."

"You too," he nods respectfully, before walking on.

You look back at Charles, and once again, you feel that spark between the two of you.

After that, every single race he has for that next month of courting, you're sure to go to. And you always cheer him on.

"There's a ball in another kingdom that I was told we should go to together," Charles says to Y/n before he leaves her to go to the room she's been sleeping in for bed.

"What day?"

"Overmorrow."

You nod. "Who will be there?"

"Oh, many royals. I know that Arthur and Lorenzo are going with their wives. So are some of the guys I race with."

You nod. "Alright... It's not my thing, but let's make it fun. I'm sure you'll look wonderful."

He winks. "I can't wait to see you. Anyway, good night, now." He gives you a peck on your lips before you both go off to your beds to sleep.

Apparently, when it comes to balls (you've never attended them really), at least for this kingdom you're going to, the ladies ride to it separately from their men, and when they get there, the servants at that castle fix them all up.

So you ride in a chariot with Lorenzo and Arthur's wives.

They're nice ladies, but you don't necessarily long to be best friends with them.

You're relieved when you finally get there, only to have to be put into a room with more princesses.

Which is not a relief.

They talk about the silliest things.

You suddenly feel very lonely. You miss Charles, despite having seen him just this morning. You think about his shining eyes, fluffy hair, and bright smile that would cheer you up right now. He has much better things to talk about, that you love hearing about. Not the things that these ladies talk about.

You find yourself becoming antsy as your heart aches for Charles.

"Is something wrong?" asks Arthur's wife, who is a doll.

"No. I'm fine. But thank you for asking," you say, faking a smile, as two female servants come to you and start preparing you for the ball.

What stupid traditions.

Charles stands in his ballroom outfit, his hair fixed up, his face clean-shaven, ready to see his princess.

His soon-to-be-bride.

That's an exciting thought.

He feels himself becoming impatient as his foot taps on the smooth floor.

And then, after what seems like much too long, she comes.

And he looks right at her, ignoring all the other princesses around her.

Just stares at her unique, amazing, mesmerizing beauty.

She wears a light pink dress that highlights her curves and body, before puffing out at her waist. It has no sleeves and intricate designs on it. The skirts flow out... Charles breath is stolen away. He stares in awe. The back of it shows her back, and is tied by pink ribbon that ends in a bow. Her makeup is beautiful, sparkling around her striking eyes. Her whole face shines, and the little bit of pink on her cheeks is simply adorable. Her lips are light pink and shining.

And I wish we were married, because then I would bring her into the middle of the floor and kiss those lips like I mean it.

Charles' heart rate quickens at this temptation, and he immediately takes the woman's waist, pulling her to him.

"D- Do you like this...? I don't know if..."

"Oh, sweetheart," breathes the prince, leaning in close, so that their noses are barely an inch apart, "You're... I... I love this. Don't you ever doubt your beauty... You are simply stunning."

"Y- You are too..." you respond, looking into those shining eyes. He's wearing black fitting pants with a black button down sleeveless vest. Under the vest he wear a white shirt with a smaller jabot, with a dark glimmering jewel pinned at his collar. His white sleeves are lose, and in the pocket of his vest is a pocket watch with it's silver chain hanging out and another jewel pinned at the top of the pocket. He takes one of your hands, leaving the other on your waist, and you see that he also has some rings on his fingers. "You look amazing."

He smiles and asks, "Shall we dance, then, my princess?"

"Yes," you laugh softly. "I suppose we shall."

You start out just swaying slowly together, before he gradually starts stepping with you. After a few times of missing a step and nearly tripping (every time he makes sure you don't), you stutter, "S- Sorry I'm not as good at this as you are... I haven't danced much... I learned a long time ago and haven't done it often since..."

But the grace in his eyes calms your anxiety. "It's okay. I don't mind at all."

"Are you sure? Like, it's not very romantic if I keep-"

"Sweetheart, just look into my eyes. Quit looking at your feet and we'll go slow. If you mess up, I've got you. Just look at me, and if you want it to be romantic, it will be romantic."

And so you look up into his eyes as instructed, and let him carry the dance, swaying and stepping, and somehow, soon enough, you fall into his rhythm, getting the hang of it, and your dance together is at peace.

It feels as though all the other bodies around you have disappeared as you look into his eyes and move with him.

"I think I love that."

"Love what?" asks your prince, his thumb moving slightly on your waist.

"Love that nickname."

"Sorry?"

"Sweetheart."

He smiles. "Well, that's what you are."

"It's just pure sweet."

"M-hm. Exactly. Like you," he winks. "Want to know what it is in my language?"

You smile, as this is the first mention between you of his native language, which you're sure must sound beautiful, considering the soothing qualities of his accented voice. Especially when he speaks softly. You love when he speaks softly. "Of course I do."

"Ma chérie," he replies in a whisper, leaning in even closer to you.

"I think I like that a lot too," you say.

He nods. "Either way, both of those things are what you are."

Now that you're comfortable with this dancing, and the music has picked up with the new song, Charles says, "I'm going do something different. Trust me, though. I've got you."

You nod. "Alright..."

He nods, and suddenly spins you away from him, only holding you by your hand, before spinning you back to him. You're laughing, and you gently rest your forehead into his chest as you say, "That was fun."

"What a lovely laugh you have," he compliments.

"You're quite romantic, you know."

"Do you mind it?"

"No."

"Good," he grins, "because I don't intend to stop."

You grin back. "You better not stop."

Then he suddenly twirls you, and you end up again where you were, laughing. "I don't mind dancing."

"Me neither. And your skirts looks beautiful just now, spinning around you."

"It felt beautiful."

"Good. You should feel beautiful, because you are."

The two of you continue dancing, along with the music, and soon he's not guiding you anymore, because you've started to understand. "You're magical," you comment.

And he says, "This is the last song. And I'm going to amaze you, ma chérie."

You feel your heart rate quicken, and you nod. "You better, because now my hopes are up."

And at the height of the song, he twirls you once more, before taking your waist, lifting you up, and, all in rhythm with the beautiful song, puts you down, letting go of you, holding you only by your hand. And then he leans down, taking your waist in his other hand, still holding your hand in his hand, and his lips meet yours.

His lips.

Press against yours.

Not just in a little peck.

In a real, loving kiss.

They're soft and beautiful, and you feel happy, excited feelings well up within you, causing you to accidentally laugh into the kiss. You feel him smile, and he just kisses you longer and more. In that moment, neither of you care what other people will think. You don't care that you're in the middle of the dance floor. You don't care that some people stare in disgust, and others clap.

Because all you care about is each other.

[yuurivoice]

Hello! My name is Grim, and I fancy myself a bit of a researcher. Now, this is not for anything important or extremely serious. Instead, this is mostly for my own pure enjoyment and something I have in the works that is to be posted on Tumblr. You are not obligated to answer any or all of these questions I have posed. I know it’s a bit much. Take your time, but don’t feel obligated to do anything. Feel free to add any additional input! Thanks for your consideration!

1. How different do you think your work would be, in terms of getting across a point, in a different medium thats not Audio RP?

2. How do you think your work would be different if it more reflected main stream industry forms of storytelling where you as a creator would be more separate? (ex. movies, tv shows, games, etc.)

3. How important do you find the voice acting in your work?

4. You are the primary voice of your works. Would you consider taking a step back from voice acting in your work to focus on narrative work?

5. Do you believe your own individual ability to voice characters enhances the story overall?

6. Do you enjoy the idea of a “Listener character” or would you better prefer to not have one?

7. As a writer, how does the writing of the Listener take you out of your comfort zone? (ie their effect in relationships, plot movements, etc.)

8. Is Audio RP your favored form of art?

9. How do you believe Audio RP differs from main stream forms of art/entertainment?

10. Do you believe that your work has over arching themes that relate to you personally? (very optional)

How different do you think your work would be, in terms of getting across a point, in a different medium thats not Audio RP?

Not all that different, I gather. I have never sunk my teeth so deep into the sound design and art of it being an audio based medium that it is fundamental to my storytelling. My strengths have always leaned more into the writing and characterization specifically. The actual difference would be the immediate proposition of inviting the listener to be an active participant, which alters the experience more than anything.

How do you think your work would be different if it more reflected main stream industry forms of storytelling where you as a creator would be more separate? (ex. movies, tv shows, games, etc.)

I would probably be less inclined to beat the point into the audience with an extra degree or two of separation. There have been a handful of cases where I have intentionally doubled back to reiterate a point or respond to community reactions in real time through the text itself. See: BitterSweet Ch1 where Seth calls out potential insecurity about his appearance with a "if you have that little faith in Alphonse, you don't deserve him at all" type beat, or later on where there was an additional installment post-cinnamon roll where Al and Boo clear the air. Because this is all so much more personal and I'm right here on the frontlines, I'm inclined to really hammer home certain points because that sort of shit can start planting roots in your community if left unpruned. I don't love it, but it's part of the gig. In a less personal setting, I think artists just gotta let that shit float out into the ether and people are gonna feel how they're gonna feel. It's a double edged sword, and one I'll probably always be learning how to wield.

How important do you find the voice acting in your work?

Very important! This is where I think a distinction should be made for me in particular. I got into this making lewd noises with vague plots and scenarios attached. My passion has always been storytelling and writing, but my BUSINESS has been selling pretty boys with alluring voices. Given that my ass was broke when I started, this became work almost immediately. While I ain't thrilled about participating in a capitalistic society...I will get my motherfuckin' hustle on. Thankfully, I'm a filthy bastard and I don't really feel I've ever had to compromise my aRtIsTiC iNtEgRiTy for the sake of making a dollar, because of my origin. Saying all that to say, if I didn't have the goods vocally, people are less inclined to listen. Leveraging my voice acting to get people interested in my dreams of writing and sharing stories has been nothing short of a dream come true. I recognize how important it has been to try and improve and develop my acting as I've grown, because it all falls apart otherwise.

You are the primary voice of your works. Would you consider taking a step back from voice acting in your work to focus on narrative work?

Creating a hypothetical scenario where my livelihood isn't in the equation, I absolutely think I'd have fun purely writing/directing/producing a thing! My hesitation in that regard has much less to do with finding talent and removing my own voice, and more so managing people. I've had multiple occasions where my trust has been betrayed by close collaborators. It's one thing to have regular ol' interpersonal conflicts. It's another to have to manage the fallout of business partners getting hurt by one bad actor. Shit ain't rosy. People wonder why I'm slow to collaborate might not know the history, but those who do get where I'm coming from. All that being said, wounds heal and time marches on, and I have plans for projects that aren't entirely removed from me being at the forefront but definitely incorporate more talent!

Do you believe your own individual ability to voice characters enhances the story overall?

I don't personally feel my performances elevate my work on MOST cases. There are a few times where I know I gave a part of myself that most people could not have tapped into, but that's due to me being the writer and the subjects being deeply entwined with my personal experiences. Multiple Seth moments specifically were raw and real. The script didn't call for tears but they came, and I worked through it and was able to come out with some of the rawest, most honest performances I could dream of having in my own work. In general though, I don't particularly view myself as so talented that my vocal performances are transformative to the work itself. Not even trying to be humble, I just think people gravitate more towards the sum of the parts of my work and my voice isn't necessarily a force multiplier.

Do you enjoy the idea of a “Listener character” or would you better prefer to not have one?

I might have a polarizing take on this, because over recent years there has been a bit of a shift. Short answer: I'm kinda fucking over it. That might be blasphemous to some, so let me explain. When I kicked things off and really got started in the ASMR Roleplay scene, it was just understood with my content in particular that "listener" is just the listener, or whoever they'd like to imagine inserted into that POV role. As plot driven series started to become more popular, it became very clear that unless you want your story tied to some sort of ambiguous blob of clay with no agency, character, or fucks to give, you needed to give the listener character some sort of structure. That's natural and good and necessary if you don't want your listeners to feel like a dog getting dragged on a leash, being treated like they're in tow vs. participating. HOWEVER! I think you can also lose sight of the point of leaving enough of a slate for people to project onto. It's tricky, and sometimes burdensome, and not everyone can pull it off without somehow being exclusionary or somehow alienating portions of the audience. If it's due to a creative choice the artist feels confident about, then so be it, but sometimes it just happens due to lack of experience and practice. I think where I feel friction is that I appreciate the simplicity of a blank slate with a few key traits, introduced early, and built upon logically as to not jerk around your listeners. What I've gathered from the way people talk to me about listeners, is that they are accustomed to that sort of development and project those anxieties onto my work because of what they've heard before. To put a bow on this, I think listener insert audios are a very fun and unique way to tell a story, but require a great deal of care and consideration. Expectations have shifted over time, and maybe I'm just a stubborn old prick.

As a writer, how does the writing of the Listener take you out of your comfort zone? (ie their effect in relationships, plot movements, etc.)

I don't know if any of my listeners have quite taken me out of my comfort zone, save for a few bold choices I've made before involving a gun and a greasy bastard. I think the closest I've come to experiencing something like that was with Vampire Auron's finale, and specifically the spicy bits. It was kind of magical, actually. I did not realize it at the time, but it came to the surface that the listener might have been dealing with some heavy inner turmoil. Particularly the way they were careless with their wellbeing, seemingly comfortable bleeding out. I have avoided heavy topics pretty regularly, but in the booth I had a few epiphanies that this listener intended to confront him and meet their end. Death by Sexy Vampire is awesome and everything, but it turned into a really touching "I want you to live" right in the middle of my smut. So that in particular was a time where the listener really took me somewhere I not only didn't plan on going, but have actively avoided in the past.

Is Audio RP your favored form of art?

I don't know if this will be a polarizing answer either, but man, you couldn't pay me to consume Audio RP content. I am not comfortable listening to voices talking at me, or not having control of a thing that assumes I'm an active participant in. It's not a personal beef against the medium, I avoid ANYTHING that encourages you to put headphones on because I don't like isolated noises directly in my ear holes. I avoid traditional ASMR for that same reason. So for my personal consumption, it isn't even on my list of favorite art forms. In terms of art I create, it's interesting. I hated my voice all my life, thought it was horrible. I had fallen out of love with writing, the one thing I ever felt like I was any good at. I didn't even know what I was doing had a NAME throughout the first year of making audios. It started as a means to an end, and has become something I have an interesting relationship with. It's the only way I've been able to consistently connect with that dead love for writing. The only way I get to dance with the ghost of something I lost a long time ago when I was an entirely different human being. So I love her, but she can't ever be my first love. I don't know if I'd ever want her to be. If one day I get to explore other avenues with my creativity, nothing will ever change that it was this lovely niche that got me to remember who I was when I was one foot in the grave and ready to forget I ever had a creative bone in my body.

How do you believe Audio RP differs from main stream forms of art/entertainment?

It's terribly difficult to pitch to those who are unfamiliar with it. Most potential audience members are looking for some sort of visual engagement. The rise of ASMR and recognition for audible content has helped, but there will continue to be an uphill climb for recognition. I don't necessarily feel that's a bad thing. Not to mention, the stigma around self insert content is a hurdle in its own right. Ironically, when I was young and dumb I thought the very concept of Y/N Fanfiction was juvenile at best. Ohhhhh how the universe has a sense of irony. Needless to say, sticking your nose up to things you don't "get" can be more of an impedance than a statement on the quality of what you consume lol. That being said, that stigma is still there, but not nearly as prevalent as it was a few years ago. The proposition is a much more difficult sell even outside of that because you're telling the listener they're going to have to be a more active participant with their imagination. That takes more work and for some people is a deterrent, for others it's a perk!

Do you believe that your work has over arching themes that relate to you personally?

Unequivocally, yes. Sometimes to my own detriment, because creating something for public consumption that can be so personal and precious is a great recipe for taking things personally.

BitterSweet started as a straightforward excuse to create a "rival" for Alphonse, and immediately took a different shape as the story revealed itself to me. Now it is a statement on love in ALL OF ITS FORMS, which leads to friction with those who want it to explicitly be a polyamory story because it quite literally is meant for the listener to engage with this love in the way they feel comfortable with. People who reject that notion and believe it's some sort of cop out can choke. See? I don't want to tell people to go fuck themselves, but I most certainly will over this and their dipshit takes.

Throw in the parental shenanigans of BitterSweet, untapped themes of grief and guilt, so on and so on and you've got me sorting through a lot of my trauma. Despite the occasional frustration I've felt with the intellectually disingenuous, the payoff is also much more intense when I see people react to Seth and Jessie's relationship, or appreciate the deep care that the trio has for each other. So I take the good with the bad.

Auron is a great example as well with his need for control, him being a real "I'm not a VICTIM" type while also lowkey wanting a pat on the back. His fear of connection, and ego stroking self sacrifice. A lot of unenviable things I'm using my art to analyze, deconstruct, laugh at, etc.

So yeah. A lot of what I do hits close to home, and it usually wasn't part of the plan when I started writing. I've had many magical moments at the keyboard where a character or story starts to reveal a path I didn't plan on taking and it holds a mirror up to me. Despite some of the downsides of being so attached personally to my work, getting a hit of that drug will always bring me back. If I've gotta tear a few heads off along the way, frankly, I don't give a shit and I'll keep it moving.

Thank you for the wonderful questions, I love digging a little deeper and seeing what comes up! Hopefully my perspective was insightful, or at least a fun read.

[your-divine-ribs]

Ice Cold Part 51

Words: 2.8k

This is the last full chapter I’ve written and it’s killing me as I have the next 10 or so parts worked out in my head but nothing feels good enough when I write it out 😭 hopefully I can update at some point though, thanks for sticking with me anyone who is still here 💙

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

It felt strange tending to Van, strange but good. Like I’d had this desire to care for and heal and nurture locked away deep inside and he was the unlikely key to release it. I’d fixed up plenty of fellow agents who'd been injured in the field in the past so the act of tending to wounds wasn't unnatural to me but this time it wasn't duty that drove me. Every stitch that I made to knit his ruined flesh together felt like a puncture to my own skin, seeing him hurt in this way just adding to the vengeful wrath that was stirring in my mind like a turbulent red mist.

He was mostly silent as I worked save for the occasional release of breath as the needle pierced his skin. He'd declined any pain-relief for his injuries, saying he needed to keep a clear head but then requesting that I passed him a half-drunk bottle of whiskey which he sipped straight from the bottle.

"Ah shit," I muttered under my breath, the needle slipping in my blood-slicked fingers. The scarring would be great despite my painstaking efforts to keep the stitches neat, but the wound lay amongst a patchwork of scars that ran the length of both of his thighs, mostly old and faded and curiously evenly spaced, almost as if they'd been deliberately carved there. The disturbing thought made me shudder. Who knew what horrors he'd endured.

"It's a good job I didn't take up a career as a seamstress," I laughed softly to break the quiet.

When there was no reply I wrenched my gaze away from my task to look up at him only to find him watching me, not the stitches I was creating but my face, a glow of affection and wonder so warm and unexpected that it brought a lump to my throat. A solitary tear rolled unprompted down my cheek and I quickly wiped it away, shaking my head with an unsteady laugh. "God, look at the state of me. You're the one hurt and I'm the one crying. Feel like I'm barely holding it together. Never used to cry at all you know, not even when I was a little girl, not even when my dad..."

I tapered off, attempting to swallow the thickness away but it lingered, long suppressed emotions cloying and viscous at the back of my throat, threatening to drag me under if I stumbled in a moment of weakness.

"You're doing good," he reassured me, a hand reaching over to briefly brush over my knuckles.  "You've always been strong, you don't give yourself enough credit. Never have done. My beautiful, brave, head-strong Lyla... looking after everyone else and not sparing a thought for herself. Showing emotion isn't a weakness you know."

The laugh bubbled up and broke free as I sat back on my haunches, humour disarming me in the serious moment.

"You're actually saying that?" I scoffed but not derisively, more incredulous. "The big, bad assassin whose hallmark is not showing emotion. You should see your psychological profile. They have you pegged as the textbook psychopath, unable to feel anything, no remorse, no empathy, no guilt. Incapable of forming any kind of attachment... showing no mercy."

Van softened immediately, a small smirk simmering on his lips, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Except you know better."

"I suppose I do," I conceded, glad for the temporary distraction, leaning in again to continue stitching the wound. "Except you never break down and cry, right?"

"You'd be surprised. It happens... more recently than you'd think. When I thought I'd nearly lost you, I went to pieces then."

The thought of Van breaking down whilst he'd kept vigil at my bedside sent another lump to my throat and a fresh wave of tears to my eyes but I blinked them quickly away.

"I wasn't always like this you know," he said then, his voice sad-sounding and wistful. "I used to be different. Very, very different. You would never have recognised me."

If I didn't know about the horrors of his past I’d have thought he was looking back through his memories and hankering after better times. It was hard to believe but maybe there was something back then when he was just a boy, back when the photos of me growing up had been taken. I wanted to probe him but I knew I had to tread cautiously. If he realised what I’d discovered all my carefully crafted plans would be shattered into pieces in an instant.

I smirked as I probed him tentatively. "So what were you like then... when you were younger? I'm trying to imagine it but I can't. Can't see past all this big, hard, tough guy exterior."

He cracked a low laugh. "I was a little shit, I thought the world owed me something, thought I could take on anyone and anything." His smile faded fast. "Had to grow up pretty quick though. Had to learn how to fend for myself since no one else was gonna do it for me. That shapes a person but I'm sure you know that all too well."

The gory crime scene photos of his family's massacre flashed through my mind. "God yeah, losing your mum and your dad and your brother like that, that must have been horrific."

"Shit happens," he said plainly and I glanced up to catch a shrug, no semblance of any real emotion. "You might be surprised to find that wasn't what really changed me, it was actually the years that followed on from that..."

He trailed off, the muscles in his jaw clenching up tight. He took another long swallow from the whiskey bottle then grimaced as I pulled through the final stitch and carefully fastened a knot.

"You got put into care didn't you..." I began, but he cut me swiftly off, a hand over mine again, moving it aside to assess your handiwork.

"That's enough about me," he said gruffly. "And I think I'm all done now... if you just wanna help me up..."

"No!" I blurted quickly, panicked at the thought of him hobbling to the forbidden room which still lay unlocked, the handgun I’d plucked off the gun rack discarded on the floor. "I... I'm not done yet. I'll need to bandage your thigh. And what about your arm? That's bleeding too. Let me take a look."

I grasped the collar of his jacket so I could peel it down over his shoulders, a hiss escaping him as the rough material scuffed against his blood-soaked arm.

"It's just a nick," he said dismissively, but he let me shed his jacket nevertheless.

"Let me check it anyway."

My hands moved to the top buttons of his shirt to undo them but he swatted them away, his tone suddenly harsh.

"I said it was nothing!"

"Oh, just like you said your leg was nothing? Let me see..."

I was insistent, going to unbutton his shirt again, frustrated by his nonchalance to the injury and the sudden force he displayed as he roughly grabbed ahold of both my wrists, tearing my hands away. "I said it was fine. I'm grateful for you stitching my leg but that's enough now."

"But I'm only trying to help!" I cried, trying to pull away but he wouldn't let me. Even injured like he was he was much too strong. "Why won't you let me check?"

"Because you can't, okay? Fucks sake don't you ever listen when I tell you something?"

But I didn't heed his warning, confused and exasperated by his unwillingness to let his guard down completely around me. I squirmed where I knelt, my fists clenched as I tried to wrench myself out of his vice-like grip. He was an immovable force though, holding me tight whilst I thrashed and spat out my frustrations.

"You're impossible! You won't let me look at your files, you won't tell me anything! You leave me chained to the bed when you go out and now you won't even let me take care of you when you come back all messed up! What the fuck's wrong with you? I take one step forward with you and then you push me two steps back!"

"You don't understand..."

"Well tell me then! Make me understand! Please don't shut me out. We've been through so much together to get to this point and there's still so much you're not telling me. You can trust me. You can let me in."

He sighed heavily, his blood-sullied hands flexing around my wrists, finally loosening his grip as he glanced down.

"Can I trust you? Looks like you made short work of the cuffs. I should have known really."

My cheeks blazed hotly, guilt tearing me up inside. "Don't look at me like that, I needed a piss okay? What... you just expected me to do it there and then on the bed? Is that it? You wanna take away my dignity as well as my freedom?"

I was expecting anger but to my surprise he let go of my wrists and huffed exasperatedly as he ran his hands through his hair, holding them there for a moment like he was wracking his brains for an answer. When he looked at me his expression was thoughtful, his voice soft.

"Lyla baby, there's a reason why I act the way I do, why I do the things I do, believe me. I wanna tell you, I really do, I wanna tell you everything... but now's not the time. Not when those fuckers are out there hunting us down. I can't lose my focus. I can't afford to be distracted."

"So I'm a distraction?" I countered. "And there was me thinking we were partners now. Maybe you'd be better off if I wasn't around at all.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together and I instantly regretted speaking those words. "What are you trying to say huh? That you do wanna leave?"

"Of course not!" I blurted hurriedly, sure that by now the guilt must be oozing out of my pores. "I just feel like I'm bad for you, that's all, like maybe if I wasn't here then you wouldn't have come back all shot up!"

"Lyla honey sshhh," he murmured, reaching forward to cup my face with a hand. "Don't you think I'm used to this? This is my life and I chose it. Now I'm not going to let you out of my sight until those bastards have breathed their last. You're exactly where you should be, here with me. Nowhere else is safe."

He was right of course. I couldn't go back to my apartment or my mum's house, and I definitely couldn't go back to the agency. Being a dead girl gave me no protection from the real evils of this corrupt world... not that my own safety was my main priority right then. Seeing Van lying there battered and torn for the second time just compounded my fears and fuelled the fires of my determination.

"God the thought of you running around out there whilst those sick bastards are on the streets living and breathing makes my blood run cold..." He paused, his eyes unfocused for a moment as he envisioned some alternate reality where he hadn't managed to rescue me from my last reckless mission. "I can't afford to lose you, you're my whole fucking world. You do know that don't you?"

I couldn't answer him, too choked up to speak, muttering a quiet "uh-huh" which didn't seem to satisfy him.

"So that's why I want you to promise me something," he continued, the intensity with which he spoke commanding my attention. "And I want you to look me right in the eye when you do it."

"Promise you... what?" I breathed, uneasy dread churning in my gut at the thought of being made to vow something that I had no intention of seeing through.

"Promise me that you'll do exactly as I say from now on... no questions asked... no arguments... no trying to be a hero. We do this my way, okay?" He brushed his thumb over my cheek and I felt stickiness on my skin. Maybe it was his blood. Maybe it was Billy's. I wondered how many times he'd worn the blood of his enemies, how many times he'd scrubbed it off after a kill. Did it ever come clean? Would mine ever come clean?

"But..."

"I keep telling ya, no buts Lyla. I need to hear you say the words."

I swallowed deep, hoping the sincerity rang true in my voice as I told him what he wanted to hear. "I promise. We do it your way."

"Good girl," his face ceased into a smile as much as the bruising and swelling would allow.

"But I still wanna take care of you whilst you're here, that's my only condition. I'm not backing down on that."

I placed my hand over his, turning my face to press a kiss into his palm. He chuckled softly.

"I suppose you got yourself a deal.”

"So you'll let me take a look at your arm right? And finish cleaning up the wound I just stitched? It's going to need bandaging to keep it clean. I don't do things by halves."

"Okay, okay... just help me get up off this goddamn floor first will ya?"

He shifted on to his knees, grimacing from the pain as he braced himself to get up and I  supported him as best as I could. He was a dead weight slumped against my own injured frame but I managed to help him limp slowly over to the sofa. All the time my eyes darted to the doorway, visualising the hallway beyond and the room that lay open, my heart in my mouth at the notion that he might suspect what I’d uncovered. I was nearly there. I just had to keep a level head, act like my usual headstrong self so as not to arouse suspicion.

"And no more whiskey," I lightly scolded, swiping for the bottle as he raised it up again to his swollen lips. "Don't you know that alcohol thins the blood? It's the last thing you want to be drinking with a gun-shot wound. Why don't I make you a cup of tea instead? I could get you some painkillers?"

"No drugs," he said sternly but then he smiled gratefully up at me as I hovered expectantly over him. "But a cuppa would be good, seeing as it seems like I gotta get used to you taking care of me."

"Yeah you'd better," I smirked, lingering for a moment before I crossed back to the kitchen area to flick on the kettle, calling behind as I went that I was just going to use the bathroom.

"Nice and strong... no sugar," he called after me.

But I wasn’t going to use the bathroom even though my bladder was achey with nerves. As Van waited for me completely oblivious I headed straight for the bedroom. I paused at the study but only momentarily, quietly pulling the door closed. I couldn't waste time trying to re-lock it, and besides, if my risky plan worked I’d need access to the room later on.

And if it didn't? Well, I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

My heart thundered in my ears as I darted for the bed, flicking the pillow over to retrieve what I’d stashed in the pillowcase earlier. The handful of sedatives looked small and harmless resting in my outstretched palm but I knew that ingesting just two of them would be enough to knock a fully grown man out for at least four hours. I took four of them, placing them on the bedside cabinet and crushing them with the base of a drinking glass, hands shaking as I scraped the powder carefully into a small piece of card that I folded and concealed in my fist.

In Van's eyes I knew that this was by far the most diabolical thing that I could ever do to him. As far as betrayals went this was even worse than last time when I’d defied him and nearly wound up dead. That thought didn't stop me though. Van said he knew me but I knew him too. I knew how focussed and obsessive he was, how profoundly his compulsion to kill drove him. He wouldn't rest, he wouldn't falter and he certainly wouldn't quit until he'd obliterated all of our enemies and purged himself of his demons. He'd give up his own life for me... he'd admitted that much himself... and I wasn’t about to stand by and let him do that.

[midnightrings]

i think many people mistakenly see hawk as a villain, when he's neither the villain within the story or written and acted that way, if you get what i mean, like extra/intradiegetic. and while ft is unquestionably 100% a love story, even though i see people argue whether hawk loves tim back (which is mind boggling to me), I would say it's not the kind of love story where love would immediately change hawk and his attitude to the world and his life, like in a typical romance novel for example, he's not going to be like, omg i love tim and promptly change his entire personality. like, i don't think it's his ambitions and career that he's putting first before tim, it's more self preservation and survival. and as he says himself in the letter he's dictating to tim which serves to covertly address his own feelings, he doesn't see a future for them. I don't want to baby him lmao, he's not a helpless man with no choice or agency, but imo it's clear his decisions are affected by his father's behavior towards him, the war, homophobia of the time period, internalized homophobia etc.

Yes, exactly!

Hawk is a flawed character, but that doesn’t make him the villain of this story. Due to his past and the time period he lives in, he struggles to form any deep connection and believes it is better to not show any vulnerability or to get too attached to other people or causes. Not caring about anyone or anything is his strategy to survive. Fear probably plays a huge role here – the fear of being outed, the fear of hurting/losing people her cares about, and the fear of hurting himself in the process. Which doesn’t mean that he’s innocent or merely a victim. He’s very much flawed, and often times an awful person. But his main mistake is that he’s running away from his issues, rather than facing them. Tim could help him become a better person (and I think he does to some extent) but Tim also represents everything that Hawk is afraid of.

And even though I feel sorry for Tim, and definitely think that he’s the victim of Hawk’s behavior most times, painting Hawk as the villain and Tim as the victim also erases Tim’s agency. He’s the one who left Hawk several times, just to return to him again later. At this point, he’s clearly aware of what type of person Hawk is, and he chooses to love him nonetheless. Sadly, Hawk can’t return that love – not because he doesn’t love him (he 100% does) but because he believes that he cannot allow himself to love Tim.

It’s definitely not a romance, but it is a love story – a tragic love story. Hawk is intended to be a complex character that his hard to judge – both, by the characters within the story and the audience. People questioning whether Hawk loves Tim is not surprising, but if you actually pay attention to his character and the writing, it is clear that he does love him – the story wouldn’t even make sense otherwise.

But yeah, I also don’t think his character will change completely at any point, not even after Tim’s death, at least judging by the writing so far. Maybe he will accept how he’s let Tim down and somewhat grow from it, maybe he’ll have a complete breakdown, or maybe he will just continue to live like he’s always done. This definitely won’t have a happy ending. Though I do still hope that Hawk and Tim can maybe make some amends, just so that Tim can rest in peace (and I kinda hope that he tells Tim at some point that he loves/loved him, just to maybe give it a somewhat bittersweet ending)

[the-casbah-way]

things i'm still trying to process two days after watching the first robbie the reindeer film:

blitzen and vixen canonically fuck offscreen following an unabashedly horny exchange where vixen says 'if only someone would stoke my fire' to which blitzen responds, in a voice so dripping with lust that the sheer memory of it rocks me to my core, 'it'd be rude not to', which would be a bizarre turn of events even if this wasn't a kids film, because these two have almost no interaction or chemistry before this scene. there are no feelings here, they're literally just horny and that's it. it doesn't impact the plot in any way, nor does it really crop up again later in the film. the director literally just wanted to let this audience of children know that blitzen fucks

after blitzen says he's going to fuck vixen, it INSTANTLY cuts to blitzen sprinting full speed up the stairs with vixen nowhere to be seen. i guess we're supposed to assume that she's already upstairs waiting for him, except in the scene where they were talking she's literally sprawled out across the sofa miles away from the staircase blitzen is standing beside, which just makes it look like blitzen drops this flirty line on her before immediately turning and running away which is incredibly funny to me

i also need to follow this up by saying that this borderline sex scene comes directly after blitzen walks in on robbie sobbing over a portrait of his dead father and then kicks him out of the reindeer lodge in the middle of the night during a snowstorm. the emotional juxtaposition here is so jarring and the fact that blitzen does this then immediately goes and gets laid is, dare i say, icon behaviour

for some reason there is a scene where the elves somehow attach robbie onto the end of a forklift truck and use his body to lift toys onto the sleigh. i still have no idea why or how this happened

blitzen literally uses performance enhancing drugs on screen and is later forced to do a breathalyzer test, after which santa disqualifies him from the reindeer games. again, this is a children's film

the old man reindeer proposes, completely out of nowhere, to the old man elf, in a scene that lasts approximately five seconds and is never addressed again. these two characters barely exchanged any dialogue before this proposal

there is a yeti who is best friends with a snowman, and when the snowman pisses him off he literally threatens him by saying 'don't make me bring out the space heater' and then slowly starts melting him to death. it's barely even played off as a funny gag, because the snowman seems genuinely terrified and is essentially begging for his life as he is forced to look down upon his own body turning to sludge beneath him

whilst robbie is in the middle of running the reindeer race, which is (as far as i can tell) supposed to be the entire Big Climax of the film, he becomes aware of the fact that the elderly reindeer has somehow become trapped under his own house(?) and just runs off the race track, picks the house up to free him, and then runs straight back again and continues racing like nothing happened. i have no fucking clue why this was included because it didn't change or add to the plot in any way shape or form

literally every fucking two seconds in this film something insane happens out of nowhere and then is almost immediately dealt with, and none of it has anything to do with what i assume is supposed to be the main storyline. in fact because the film is so short and tries to fit such a huge amount into that time, the main storyline is essentially lost beneath the array of batshit occurrences happening over the top of it, to the point where i don't think i could sum this film up in a sentence even if i wanted to

the girl reindeer have boobs. this isn't that crazy because i think by this point we're all used to overly sexy-fied female anthropomorphic creatures in kids films, but what really gets me about this is that the 'boobs' are just tiny little half-spheres stuck on top of models that are identical to those of the male characters. someone really looked at the male design and went 'how do we make it obvious that this is a woman' and that's what they decided on

[lagtrain]

PRSK STORY AFTERTHOUGHTS: LEO/NEED MAIN STORY

Upon my first read of this story (about 1 1/2 years ago now?? wow), I was immediately endeared to these characters to the point where they shot up to being my second favourite group. After rereading, it’s so clear to see why!

Leo/need's main story is about love and friendship. This is literally the group's gimmick; they're childhood friends! They start the story this way and they end the story this way. Everything in between- the loss of this friendship, the fights they get into, the suffering they endure at the hands of each other- are all a result of the immense care they have for each other. Honami & Shiho isolate themselves from each other as well as Ichika because they don't want the others to be affected by what their classmates say about them. Ichika hides the truth about the group's break-up and the things they went through in junior high because she doesn't want Saki to feel bad. Saki tells Honami that they've given up on trying to get her to join the band because she thinks it's what's best for her even though it just causes them both more pain. Shiho yells at Honami to try and get through to her but she just ends up making herself feel terrible for going about it in such a way. All of these things are born from a genuine good intent, but when put into action cause so much harm. Leoni's reconciliation is so cathartic because we finally get to see them break through their miscommunication and talk about things- explaining the reasoning behind their actions, apologizing, and promising to keep moving forward together. It's a story about how you will love people, and you will hurt the people you love- sometimes because of that fact- but in spite of that you should continue loving. It's the love we hold for the people we care about that makes life worth living, and like how love perseveres through all we must do the same. It's a really sweet yet hard-hitting message, and is one that definitely means a lot to me.

Ichika as a character really stood out to me on this readthrough. I've always liked her, but she struck me in a way she hadn't before. In my previous read, I was much more invested in Shiho & Honami's struggles, both in junior high and in the present. The two of them undoubtedly get their pasts explored more than Ichika, at least in a more explicit way. However, Ichika's struggles are still very much there, albeit slightly less in-your-face. Not to say that Ichika's issues are hidden at all, they're really not, it's just that they're moreso implied or brought up in a more off-handed way. For example, after being pushed away by HonaShiho, Ichika really doesn't seem to gain any new friends. We know Honami still has friends (her whole reasoning for pushing L/n away was so she could prove her loyalty to her classmates) and Shiho is largely unbothered by a lack of friends due to her loner personality, but Ichika is a person who thrives off of her relationships with her friends. After they leave her, we never see her interacting with anyone who could be considered a friend until Saki returns. This could be explained away by them not having time to show Ichika interact with her other friends, but it definitely seems like an intentional exclusion meant both to show how important Leoni was to her and to show how much it messed her up when they weren't around, to the point where she didn't even bother trying to interact with anyone new due to her attachment to them and depression in their absence. Early in the story, a classmate comments on how Ichika has a somber air about her, making it clear that she never got over the loss of Honami and Shiho.

Another thing that really interests me about Ichika is her relationship to Miku pre-Sekai. Her whole thing (to people who don't care about her, at least) is that she's the Miku girl. She loves Miku. And yeah, she does! The whole reason that the girls formed a band back in their childhood is because Ichika wanted to play Miku songs. Miku's songs act as a coping mechanism for her through her junior high struggles, and she continues loving Miku's music into her high school years. However, her love of Miku goes beyond songs and becomes an idolization of Miku as a person. multiple times Ichika comments on how incredible Miku is, how she can be free and versatile and do anything, followed by "unlike me". Miku is everything Ichika wants to be, and in her low self-esteem she can help but compare herself to Miku and put herself down because of their perceived differences. I’m interested to see how Ichika's relationship towards Miku as an idea changes now that she has a real Miku to help guide her!

Saki is such a great character! The main story does such a great job at endearing you to her. She comes into the story like a ray of sunshine illuminating the dullness of the rest of Leoni's lives, her return being the inciting incident that leads to them reconciling. Saki has a lot more beneath her bubbly surface, though. We know she's been in the hospital for a large portion of her life and the story does not shy away from showing that this has deeply affected her, despite her trying to remain positive. Her determination to live life to its fullest comes from how much she missed out on, and every slight hint she drops to how bad things were for her leaves you with a horrible feeling.

Saki is also a much smarter character than a lot of people give her credit for. She picks up on things and is able to avoid topics she realizes she shouldn't tread on, such as when she asks Ichika what happened while she was gone. After being met with silence, Saki picks up on Ichika not being ready to tell her and switches the topic, electing to not mention it again until Ichika is ready. Saki cares for her friends an immense amount, but it really makes you feel for her whenever instances like the above happen. For the longest time, nobody tells Saki anything about why things are how they are, and it's frustrating for the reader because we know none of it is Saki's fault (none of it is any of Leoni's fault to be fair, but bear with me). Saki was absent during the years of junior high but still has to face the aftermath of the events that occurred. None of it has anything to do with her, but in the story she actively blames herself for being gone and allowing these things to happen, which is not something anyone should feel, let alone someone like Saki who genuinely could not help the circumstances. To rectify Leoni's breakup, Saki pushes herself beyond both her physical and mental limits; practicing so hard to get Shiho to join the band that she ignores getting sick and ends up passing out and lying to Honami that they've given up on her, which leads to Saki uncontrollably crying. Saki puts her own feelings aside to do what she believes is best, and I hope in later stories she learns that she is allowed to be more selfish and value herself.

Main story Honami makes me feel sick whenever I think about her too hard, which I promise is actually a good thing. Her junior high years are simply so tragic and compelling. At her core, Honami is kind. All she wants is the best for everyone, but when you are kind to everyone, somebody is going to get upset. As one of Honami's junior high classmates puts it "a friend to everybody is a friend to nobody". Not that I specifically agree with this statement, it's just the best way to explain why what happens to Honami happens. Out of her genuine attempts to make everyone happy, her classmates eventually turn on her under the guise of her being "two-faced" and a "bootlicker", calling her these things behind her back. None of this is fair to Honami, who is indeed not like that at all. It hurts to see how she is treated when she is simply trying her best, and is a horribly accurate representation of how indirect bullying can happen to people. Honami pushing away IchiShiho is, as stated before, out of care for them. She doesn't want them to be affected by the rumours being spread about her, so she decides the best way to do this is to cut all ties. This, while not being the right thing to do, is fully understandable! Honami is a young teen suffering bullying, of course her main priority is going to be minimizing the amount of hurt caused to her friends (given her caring nature). It's just incredibly sad to see Honami throw away the friendships with people who truly care about her.

Something that I find interesting is that at the end of the main story, when Honami tells her other friends about Leo/need, they have absolutely no issue with it and encourage her being in the band. This makes Honami remark that she shouldn't have been so afraid of them. And while that is true, I think she should give herself the benefit of the doubt. Yes, these are completely different people from her junior high 'friends', however she is still struggling with the trauma inflicted by those people! Talking to her friends about her issues would be the most logical thing to do, but when influenced by trauma we are rarely logical. I appreciate the realistic approach the writers took to Honami in this situation especially.

In her fight with Honami, Shiho calls Hona selfish. This word has a specific connotation, and I both agree and disagree with it being used in terms of Hona's actions. Yes, Honami was selfish, but who wouldn't be? She was going through horrific bullying, she isn't in the wrong for trying to minimize that. Honami's relationship to being selfish is very interesting to me to be honest. Her selfishness comes from a place of selflessness, which is obviously complicated! Everything Honami does comes from wanting to help others, but she needs to learn that it is okay to be selfish to preserve her own interests and mental state, and that sometimes the best way to help everyone is to first help yourself. I look forward to Honami learning this in upcoming stories!

Shiho is my favourite character in Leoni and one of my favourite characters in the game so I was excited to reread this story and remind myself of just why I love her so much, and man it didn't disappoint! Shiho, beyond her cold exterior, is arguably the most caring member of Leo/need. She loves her friends so much, but struggles in properly articulating her feelings. This is most evident in Shiho's confrontation with Honami, in which she yells at her about being selfish. Shiho runs into Ichika after this fight and confesses that she wasn't able to convey what she intended, and that she feels horrible about it. In spite of her less-than-ideal handling of the situation (in her eyes, at least), Shiho's words got through to Honami. Perhaps the harshness was even necessary, by Hona's own admittance. However, this does not negate the fact that Shiho still hurt both Honami and herself in this situation. It is only because Shiho cares so much about her bandmates that she had this confrontation in the first place.

Shiho also really cares about her music. She started learning bass in her childhood for the group's original band, and became extremely serious about it almost immediately. This carried over into her teenage years, where she works at a livehouse and continues playing bass, sometimes playing for bands at that same livehouse. In the story we can see hints of just how much time Shiho invests into playing the bass, with her constantly saying she has to work and bringing her bass to school to practice during lunches. in a discussion with Ichika, she reveals that she had previously joined an upperclassman's band, but upon seeing that they didn't care about actually playing music she got into an argument with them and ended up quitting. Shiho's uncompromising resolve when it comes to her music is born from her deep care for it, and drives her to become better. Because of this, she also tries to make her fellow musicians and bandmates become better too. This occasionally comes at the price of her placing music above their wellbeing, however. This is most evident when Shiho gives IchiSaki a week to learn a difficult song she gave them to prove they have what it takes to be in a band with her. When it comes time to play, Saki passes out due to overworking herself. Shiho immediately feels horrible, blaming herself for being too harsh on her. This isn't entirely Shiho's fault (see above discussion on Saki's tendency to go beyond her limits), but her intensity didn't exactly lessen Saki's overworking. Shiho is truly a kind and caring person, but it's important that she learns how to properly balance the things she loves, and if it comes down to it, choose which is more important to her.

The Leo/need main story is such a strong start for both the group and Prsk's story in general. The writers have created excellent characters who have believable motivations and conflicts, and manage to wrap everything up in a neat bow while sowing seeds of future arcs. I'm very excited to reread Leoni's next events, and continue rediscovering why I love them so much!

[litany-writes]

questions game!!

tagged by @songsofsomnia <3, keeping open tags :D

putting my responses under the cut bc ik i'm gonna ramble lol

(answering this one about Pulse Point, my sci-fi wip!)

What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war) and why did you choose it?

Honestly, I'm not entirely sure what the overarching lesson is. I think as I start actually writing more of the narrative (as opposed to just planning + writing snapshots of scenes), It'll be more clear? but some main themes, at least for specific characters, are dealing with grief, burnout, and attachment.

2. What did you use as inspiration for your world-building (e.g. real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites)?

oh man i have sooo many small things. some governments/cultural groups have IRL inspiration, a lot of the characters are based off of myself or people that I know, and I have an entire save folder on instagram of cool things i want to include somehow, not to mention pinterest boards.

3. What is your main character trying to achieve, and what are you as the writer trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

As of rn, I'm set up to have multiple main characters, and i'm not suuuper hyped on how i've fleshed out all of their motivations/plot importance, but the main conflict of the story is trying to prevent a cold war from escalating. mainly, i just want to write it to prove to myself that i can, and hopefully make characters that people can relate to, enjoy reading about, and grieve :)

4. How many chapters is your story going to have?

I. well. hmm. at the moment, looking at like the entire stretch of plot that i could theoretically write about, it's like. multiple books, possible. definitely at least 20 for the immediate plotline ???? I've never finished any of my long-form writing projects so i really have no clue!

5. Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

original content all the way. I don't even know if i'm going to end up posting it (or where) because I don't know if I'll finish it! i'd like to, though, and if i do it'll either be free to read on my ao3, or i'll try and get it actually published.

6. When and why did you start writing?

i really don't know. I've kind of always been writing? When I was pretty young, i started writing down my dreams/daydreams because they were very vivid and I wanted to keep the details straight on their plotlines and characters. Started writing to post back in like 2021 with some fanfics for an old fandom.

7. Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of Tumblr? What other writeblrs do you follow?

heck yeah two cakes!! that's the writing mentality i'm taking into 2024. Also, if you think it's bad and don't want to post it, just remember that there is without a doubt something much worse than that being posted by someone that fully believes they're the next shakespeare. you're fine. trust me.

blank copy:

What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war) and why did you choose it?

What did you use as inspiration for your world-building (e.g. real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites)?

What is your main character trying to achieve, and what are you as the writer trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person? —

How many chapters is your story going to have?

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

When and why did you start writing?

Do you have any words of encouragment for fellow writers of Tumblr? What other writeblrs do you follow?