#but the way so many things make it SO CLEAR

[galactic-rhea]

tbc i dont like when some ppl want to chalk down all of anakin's flaws on being groomed and being manipulated, because first, well, that's very boring and flattening, actually. And second, because flaws are necesary for a good character.

But also, Anakin as a character is so mentally ill that it is hard to tell what's just literal war ptsd intrusive thoughts, literal sithly manipulations, or just him having a jerk moment, lol. Anakin's main flaw is and will always be violence, and we all know from where that violence comes (his upbringing and also being put into a literal war), I can't not imagine Anakin not having violent thoughts at least half of the time, and is interesting to me because discussion about intrusive thoughts in fandom is rarely ever brought up, because a lot of the time Anakin seems to be partaking in really, really disturbing imagery or thoughts (and doesn't act on them) and a lot of these sound like intrusive thoughts to me, and Anakin's capacity to understand when a thoguht is or not his is very low lmao.

See, as someone that deals with intrusive thoughts, these suck bad, they suck a lot, I had a panic attack over an intrusive thought once. I need to avoid certain type of media or things to avoid intrusive thoughts, I still get very vivid imagery and intrusive thoughts from some dumb gore creepypasta I read when I was like 16; the thing with them is that to deal with these you need to be aware that brains are weird and sometimes They Will do That.

Now, case on point, Anakin who at the tender age of 9 years old already had seen so many slaves' heads exploding that he's capable of joking about it, was taught that his lightsaber (a weapon) is his life, lost his mom in the most violent way possible, then murdered a whole village over it, and then went to war for more countless pointless deaths, and who also very clearly shows traits of bpd (one of the symptoms being going from extreme idolization to contempt, and very extreme mood swings), is honestly going to have at least some very disgusting and disturbing ideas from time to time and not all of those can be blamed on Palpatine, at least not directly.

Like sure, ol' Palps takes advantage of those and makes them worse, and yes, of course some of the worst things you can find in Anakin are in fact, because of the grooming; but like, not all of it. And it really takes nuance and some good understanding of these things to not end in the far end of either side of the argument.

So like, yeah, the negative traits can't be downplayed, and the grooming can't be downplayed either, but the mental illness' symptoms shouldn't be downplayed as well, because seriously some of you all will go "Anakin is so bad on the head <3" and then when he does show the Actual Ugly Side of being Mentally Unwell, the reaction is either: "omg that's so crazy american psycho vibes wtf wtf that's not good why no one talks about how evil he is oml" or "that's just because Palpatine".

(and to be clear, I already said it, but gonna say it again, Palpatine IS to blame for a lot of it lmao, just,,,is very complicated, alright, a lot of Anakin's personality was molded both by Palpatine but also Obi-Wan/The Order.

Also, since is technically talked about in the post: Thoughts=/=Actions, not the point but just mentioning it because this is The Internet)

[daughterof-aphrodit]

𝕊𝕖𝕩 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕎𝕖𝕒𝕜 ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕠 ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤 𝔹𝕠𝕪𝕤

Sieun x Reader , Suho x Reader , Seongje x Reader , Juntae x Reader , Beakjin x Reader

Sieun, this guy is sex-starved. Okay, maybe it doesn't seem like it, but you know your boyfriend well. 

Another point related to this is: he simply doesn't know how to verbalize that he wants to have sex with you. We know that Sieun is a man of few words, so we know that he won't ask you directly. But he will give you THAT LOOK, you know the look I'm talking about. That bright look of his, with the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen. 

When Sieun looks at you like that, you almost fall to your knees to fulfill his wishes. 

This man LOVES to eat you out, seriously, he loves doing it. 

The first time you had sex, he didn't have enough courage to ask you to do it. But after you had sex the first time, he read about how to make a woman cum with his mouth, he learned how to use his fingers well. And after some studying, he fucked you for the first time. And my god, it was good. This guy seemed to be in heaven between your legs. He eats you out with great skill, but with affection.

After that, he became addicted to having his head between your legs.

Suho, sex with him is something very spontaneous and at the same time fun. You know how funny your boyfriend is, and this is reflected a little in the intimate moments between the two of you. HE IS VERY PROVOCATIVE. He likes to say things like: 

“Wow, my love, I fucked you yesterday, and you’re already desperate for my cock again.” 

He likes the idea of ​​fucking you in front of a mirror so he can see your expressions well. So imagine, the two of you having sex in front of the big mirror in your house, he makes you lean on the bathroom counter, while he fucks you from behind and pulls your hair, with that provocative smile on his face.

SeongJe, this man is intense. That's the best word to describe him. Everything with you two is intense. The sex, the kisses, the fights, everything. 

This guy fucks you mercilessly, and you like it of course. He's the type who loves to give you a good spanking, and makes you beg to fuck you. "What do you want, huh? Tell me." 

After some discussion between the two of you - for the same reason as always - he stops fighting for nothing. As a good apology, he lays you down on his bed, and fucks you looking into your eyes. He tries to be romantic sometimes. Distributing kisses on your neck while fucking you.

Juntae, he's so sweet to you. Inside and outside of your sex. He's the type of guy who focuses so much on your pleasure. And even though it's not your first time, he still blushes when he sees you naked. 

He loves it when you mount him, and use him for your own pleasure. He likes the feeling of being useful to you. He also loves it when you compliment him. Please do this, he's been so good to you. 

Give him a gift of kisses and slow sex after he gets a good grade on some random test. He'll love it.

BeakJin, he may be cold to others, but he is completely different with you, his baby. This man would protect you with his life, and he makes that very clear to everyone.

Having sex with him is something slow - but firm - romantic, something super intimate. You feel like a queen the way he treats you.

Sometimes he can be a little more intense, but strict, more cruel. The stress of work affects your sex. And sometimes he just needs to fuck you stupid to feel relief. He will make you cum so many times, he will want to hear you scream his name.

[paucubarsisimp]

Can you pls make Hector fort imagine

Like him and reader fight and he goes to his mom to complain but reader is already there and his mom is on the readers side (a silly funny fic)

❤️

héctor's mamá

pairing: héctor fort x reader

summary: in which after an argument, you go to héctor's mamá for comfort

warnings: a bit of angst, use of y/n

it started like any other evening. you had planned a quiet night with héctor—maybe dinner, a movie, or just spending some quality time together. you’d been looking forward to it all week.

but somewhere along the way, things went wrong.

he had promised you he’d be home early, excited for your plans. you had picked out a cute outfit, set the table, and ordered your favorite food. but when the time passed and there was no sign of him, your excitement slowly turned to confusion.

you texted him—no reply. then called. still nothing.

hours passed.

when he finally called, it was clear something had gone wrong. “hey, preciosa, sorry i’m running late. we got caught up with practice, and i lost track of time,” he said, his voice a little distracted.

“you lost track of time?” you asked, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “we had plans, héctor. you promised me you’d be home for dinner.”

“i know, i know, i’m sorry,” he said quickly, clearly flustered. “i’ll make it up to you, i promise.”

but it was the way he said it—so casually—that made your heart sink. it wasn’t the first time he had done this. and while you knew his schedule could be unpredictable, this wasn’t the first time he had broken promises.

you felt the frustration building up, but you held it in as best as you could. “okay… just—come home when you can,” you said, trying not to sound upset.

but you were upset. you waited for him, but by the time he walked through the door hours later, you were no longer in the mood for dinner or movies. you were just tired of always being patient, always waiting.

he walked in, looking apologetic, but you could tell he was more concerned about how long the day had been than about your feelings. “hey, amor, i’m sorry i’m late. practice went longer than i thought. i didn’t mean to—”

“you didn’t mean to? héctor, you do this all the time,” you cut him off, the words coming out before you could stop them. “i don’t know how many times i’ve had to make excuses for you with people, or just… deal with being alone when you say you’re going to be here. i get it, your schedule is crazy, but i’m getting tired of being at the bottom of the list.”

his face dropped, and the confusion and hurt you saw on his expression made you feel a little guilty. “you’re not at the bottom of the list,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “i just… sometimes things get overwhelming.”

“but that’s just it, héctor,” you replied, voice shaking. “it feels like i’m just a thing you squeeze in when you have time. we don’t even get to have proper dates anymore, and it’s been so long since we’ve done anything just the two of us.”

you stood up, walking away from him. “i don’t know what you want me to say. i don’t feel like i’m a priority for you, and it sucks. i’m tired of always being patient, always understanding. i need someone who shows up for me.”

there was a long, painful silence, and you could see how badly you had hurt him in his eyes. but you didn’t know how to fix it, not when you felt so unseen.

finally, he spoke up, his voice quiet. “i’m sorry, y/n. i didn’t mean to hurt you. i’ll try to do better.”

you nodded, but the knot in your chest didn’t go away. “i just… need some space right now.”

he hesitated for a moment, then nodded, clearly understanding. “okay. i’ll give you some space.”

he turned to leave, and you tried not to feel like a weight had just dropped in your stomach. this wasn’t what you wanted, but you needed to feel heard.

with that, you found yourself walking to his mom’s house, not really thinking about it. you didn’t even knock, just let yourself in and walked right into the living room.

his mom looked up from the couch, a concerned smile immediately crossing her face. “y/n, querida! what’s wrong?”

you didn’t say anything at first, just sank onto the couch beside her, your face in your hands. “i don’t know what to do, mamá. héctor missed our date again… and i’m just so tired of it.”

she sighed, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, comforting hug. “oh, mi amor. i’m so sorry. it’s tough when you feel like you’re not a priority.”

you nodded, letting her comfort you. “it’s just… i don’t know what to say anymore. i’ve tried talking to him about it, but he always promises it’ll be different, and then this happens again.”

“sometimes héctor gets caught up in his own world,” she said gently, “but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you. he just doesn’t always know how to show it. but he’s a good man, and i know he loves you. this is a bump in the road. but he’ll come to his senses, darling. he’ll realize that you deserve more.”

you looked up at her, trying to hold back the tears. “i just want him to show up, you know? like he says he will.”

“he will,” she said softly. “but in the meantime, let’s distract you. you deserve some fun and relaxation right now.”

you smiled weakly, appreciating her words more than you could express. “i think i’d like that.”

meanwhile, héctor was pacing outside, guilt gnawing at him. he knew he had messed up. again. he had promised you that he would show up, but practice and everything else had gotten in the way. he could feel the weight of your words, and it was tearing him up inside.

finally, after a few minutes of deep breathing, he walked over to his mom’s house. when he opened the door, the first thing he saw was you, sitting on the couch, chatting with his mom, looking so much more relaxed than when he left.

“y/n…” he began, but stopped when his mom winked at him, clearly enjoying your company.

“well, well, look who decided to show up,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “i was just telling y/n how you owe her a big apology.”

he froze, blinking. “mamá, seriously?”

“you owe her an apology, héctor,” his mom said, crossing her arms. “you’ve been neglecting her, and i don’t appreciate that one bit.”

héctor looked at you, then back at his mom. “i… i didn’t mean to. i really didn’t.”

you turned to him with a soft sigh. “i know you didn’t, but i need more than just promises. i need actions, héctor.”

his mom patted the seat next to her. “now, apologize to her. sincerely. and don’t make excuses.”

héctor sat down next to you, the guilt and love in his eyes clear. “y/n, i’m sorry. i messed up. i’ve been so caught up in everything that i forgot to be there for you. i’m going to try harder, i promise.”

you smiled softly, your heart lightening. “thank you, héctor. i know you didn’t mean it. i just want to feel important too, you know?”

he nodded, squeezing your hand. “you are important. more than anything.”

his mom smiled as she watched the two of you. “see? i knew you’d get there.”

you leaned against héctor, feeling lighter than you had all night. “thank you… for understanding.”

he grinned, pulling you closer. “you don’t need to thank me. i’m lucky to have you.”

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added!

[ohsoimaginari]

painful reminders || jwy

synopsis: in which your boyfriend undergoes a cramp simulator

cw: fluff, crack, established relationship, intended as a nonidol!au but can be read otherwise, periods, one mention of vomiting, brief mentioned of a period from hell, absolute theatrics, reader calls wooyoung youngie, one jagi used i think?, fem!reader, boyfriend!wooyoung

words: 2641

edited but nobody’s perfect ~.~

an: this is absolutely ridiculous. i cannot stress this enough.

it

is

ridiculous

but i have no regrets. had sm fun writing it. okay let’s continue ^•^

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Having to deal with period cramps is arguably one of the top five most painful experiences one has to go through every month or so. You’re sure many agree. And for you, most times on the first and last day, they would absolutely wreak havoc, as if your uterus was out for vengeance.

There would be nothing more you could bring yourself to do than to curl up in a tight ball with a heating pad on your lower abdomen, the strongest painkillers you could find in your system and a whole lot of hoping and crying that it would end soon. And that was when they were being courteous.

It was an awful time, truly despicable and without mercy in every way and you dreaded each time your period drew closer and closer. Which is why you don’t understand why your boyfriend, Wooyoung, would ever want to experience something akin to that.

“What?”

You stared at your boyfriend dumbfounded as he held out the unthinkable machine to you. “It’s a period simulator. I ordered it online. There’s so many of them so it was a little confusing choosing the best one but a lot of people say this one’s the closest to the real thing.”

You blinked. Then again, mouth slightly agape as you continued to look at him with a mix of disbelief and horror.

You shook your head as if to clear your already existing thoughts to make room for better processing of the words that had come out of his mouth.

“So, let me get this straight,” you started slowly.

“You want me—“ you made a point to gesture to yourself for further emphasis—“to put these patches on you—“ you pointed at him—“so that they can simulate period cramps?”

Wooyoung nodded as if you had asked him any other mundane question that required his active response.

“Yes.”

You paused, processing his answer but it still refusing to register in your brain.

“You want to feel how period cramps feel?”

“Yes,” he simply answered again.

You still couldn’t believe what you’d heard was true, trying to convince yourself it had to be some sort of fever dream.

Once I wake up, I have to remember to drink my vitamin C, you thought because that was the only explanation you could think of.

“Willingly?”

“Yes,” he said.

Too calmly.

Too honestly.

He had no sense of apprehension to him, no sense of doubt. He was sure, so sure it bewildered you. What on earth could have possibly possessed him?

You pictured him sitting in front of his laptop and searching for the contraption in the first place, typing in the letters to form the words period pain simulator, and reading through every review for each product meticulously. How many of these products or reviews there were in the first place, you didn’t know.

Did you even want to know?

“Why?” Your question came out a lot more exasperated than you had intended. You didn’t mean for it to happen, you were simply too puzzled to fully comprehend the situation at hand.

He smiled at you sheepishly, his smile managing to dazzle you for a bit, only adding on to your current bewilderment.

“Well, I see how much they affect you and I’ve heard stories of how awful they can feel and I’ve always been a bit more curious. It’s my way of trying to understand you better.”

Your heart swelled but that still didn’t change the fact this was an odd, albeit slightly amusing now, request. You simpered, nearly giving in but still willing to talk him out of him. “Youngie, you don’t have to do this to understand me better. What you do already is more than enough.”

Wooyoung simply shrugged, clearly determined to go through with his plan no matter what you’d say to him.

“You’ve told me you’ve experienced them while doing normal things. I just want to know how bad it could get.” You sighed, admitting defeat.

“Okay. If you insist. But remember, this was your idea,” you responded a little reluctantly. You eyed him with hesitation drawn on your face from the encouraging words he gave you as he handed you the machine and you examined it.

It was similar to the blood pressure monitors you’ve seen before but instead of one sleeve, it had for small patches you had to paste onto your lower abdomen.

You read the instructions carefully before proceeding to paste them onto yours first.

“I’ll put them on first so I can give you an accurate-ish experience of mine.”

You were doubtful this would even come close to the real thing but anything to humour your boyfriend who was enthusiastically encouraging you to proceed, still no qualms about his own future experience with the machine on show.

You eyed him strangely before looking at the screen. There was a giant 0 in the middle that would go all the way up to ten and another graphic of a bar beside it to better illustrate the intensity level. You pressed start, bracing yourself to experience these godforsaken cramps when you weren’t even close to your time of the month.

You wondered if you could even accurately remember them because as soon as you were finished with your period, it was as if you had no recollection of the torment you had gone through.

But when the intensity was on level one and you felt that slight tug in your abdomen, you knew you would have no problem remembering.

The first two stages were not so intense, as expected and you told him so. “This is usually just before my period starts or the day before, warning be that it could start any day now. So not too bad. I think you’ll be fine.”

He nodded fervently. You couldn’t tell anymore whether it was from excitement or nerves.

The machine automatically cranked itself up to three and the pain slightly intensified but still bearable. This was reminiscent of the pain you’d experience on the day you were meant to start. Still nothing bad.

By four, you could clearly feel them and were shocked at how accurate they actually were. “It’s not too bad but this is around the time where I should start making sure I have the equipment I’ll need because it only gets worse from here.”

You could’ve sworn you saw him gulp and his expression was now a lot tamer, as if it was finally dawning on him what he would have to go through.

“Remember, you don’t have to do this,” you reminded him as the pain heightened to six. It was nothing you couldn’t really handle but around the time where you have to make sure your heating bad is prepared and you’ve already taken a painkiller.

He paled when you tell him this but still persisted.

Seven, you told him, was when you’re waiting for the painkiller to kick in but it’s unbearable now and eight is when it’s on your worst days; where your hunched over from the pain, gripping fiercely at whatever was in reach and tears threatening to run down your cheeks. You’ve only ever experienced a nine twice in your life—where you felt so much pain you vomited on both occasions but you wouldn’t let it get that far.

Even you had your limits.

You only had to sit down at eight but was still going strong enough to narrate your experience for him. “Eight is usually the limit. It’s around there where I have to lie down or sit down and wait for it to subside but after I’ve taken my painkillers it lasts around fifteen to twenty minutes so it’s not that bad.”

Wooyoung had grown silent by this time but he seemed a bit encouraged by your vocalisations for each round.

It didn’t stop you from worrying for him.

He helped you put on the patches on himself in the correct spots and stood comically rigid, his back as straight as a ruler and fists clenched on either side.

You snorted.

“We really don’t have to do this. It’s good enough you help me through my time but you don’t have to actually feel what I feel.”

“No, no, no,” het lets out quickly, shaking his hands in protest and trying his best to steel his nerves.

“I can do it. I’ll be okay.”

You sighed before preparing yourself, and him, to press start.

“You ready?” He didn’t respond with words anymore, simply aggressively nods and clenches his jaw.

You pressed the button and at the sound of the click, he screamed.

You immediately stopped and attended to him, concerned. “Are you okay? Did it hurt already?”

If that was the case, you weren’t even sure you’d make it past three.

Wooyoung sheepishly laughed and dismissed his reaction. “I’m sorry, I panicked. I’m sorry. No, continue. I’m ready now.”

You proceeded to press the button a little more suspiciously and cautiously than the first one, your worry only growing.

You saw on the screen the intensity was at level one and the only thing he’d done so far was slightly jolt from the pain. He assured you he was okay and that you should continue.

It steadily jumped from two until three. Wooyoung released an unrestrained curse that startled you but you couldn’t help your giggle. “Are you okay?”

Words had evaded him as he clutched on his lower half but gave you a thumbs up to show he was still fine.

By the time it reached four, more than you what you thought he would handle, his whole face had surprisingly turned a bright red and you could see small sweat beads forming on his forehead. Wooyoung had his eyes clothes tights and he had the same expression like when he was lighting heavy weights.

“Jagi, you have to breathe, okay? You have to breathe or you’ll pass out.”

Your concern was mixed with amusement and as much as you wanted to switch it off, you couldn’t help but find a little bit of sadistic humour at his reaction.

At number five, he let out such a yelp it took you by surprise and you almost dropped the machine but found your bearings soon enough.

His screaming wouldn’t stop now.

You tried to speak to him over the noise but you highly doubted he could hear you but you had to still try.

But before you could speak, Wooyoung fell onto all fours and cursed louder than before. “Should I stop?” You asked him, a bit startled as he crawled on the floor in what was obviously excruciating pain for him.

He shook his head once more (although not as convincing as the other times) but was now full on sweating.

By seven, the most peculiar thing happened: he began to undress.

“Hot…hot…” was all he could manage out as he took off the black t-shirt he’d worn which, if it were a different colour, you were sure would most likely be drenched in sweat.

You knew then that you had to make a quick executive decision and you switched the machine off.

His ragged breathing filled the air, as if he had run a marathon and he looked over at you with a dazed look.

“Why’d you…why’d you stop?” he croaked. “Because you would’ve died and how would I explain to your mom you died from period cramps?”

His haggard breathing continued as he stood up. “I was fine. I could still go on.”

He fanned himself and you scoffed.

“No, you couldn’t,” you said and gave him a sympathetic grin.

Once he’d regained his breath, he looked over to you with a newfound admiration in his eyes. “You stood there and spoke to me throughout that entire thing when it was your turn.”

You nodded.

“I’ve seen you do your chores after you’ve told me you had cramps.”

You nodded again. “I mean, they have to get done eventually right?”

He shook his head, still in utter disbelief. “You spoke to me. You’ve walked around, done your chores and have gone to work…while that was happening to your body?” His voice was tinged with incredulity and respect. You gave him another amused smile and nodded.

“Yes, Youngie. That happens while I carry on with my day. It only really gets immobilising around level ei—“

Before you could finish, he pulled you into a tight hug. You giggled into his arms before putting your own around him.

“I love you. I don’t know how you do it but I’m so proud of you.”

“For cramps?” You looked up at him with scrunched eyebrows.

“For enduring. But I promise you as long as I’m here, even when I’m not, I’ll find a way to make the whole experience a lot more bearable for you. No one deserves to go through that.” He suddenly poured, as if deep in thought. “I wish there was a way I could help everyone,” he mumbled under his breath.

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics but said nothing more.

As if suddenly struck with another realisation, he brightened.

“My mom! My mom’s probably gone through that too! I have to go call my mom and apologise to her!”

Before you could even ask him what exactly it was he was apologising for, Wooyoung had already gone in search of his phone.

You carefully repackaged the machine into the box it came in and prepared to store it when you overheard his conversation with his mom on the phone.

"...And I promise I'll continue to be an even better son that you deserve, mom. I'm sorry for the headaches I've given you. The pain you've already been through is enough, I shouldn't have added on. I love you, mom."

You stifled your giggles as you placed the box in a safe location, hopefully far from Wooyoung's reach again.

When you returned to where he was, he looked dejected. You raised your eyebrows and sat next to him, ruffling his hair. Usually he'd shoo your hand away with more vigor but he only did so weakly this time.

"What's wrong?"

He turned to you with a pout. "My mom. she hung up on me. She asked what I was going on about and then I told her and even told her I loved her but she hung up on me."

You covered your snort with a sudden cough before cooing at him and bringing in him for a hug, hopefully hiding your expression.

"You have to understand it's not everyday you hear your son tell you he willingly experienced something most women hate going through." Wooyoung sighed but cuddled into you more. Just then, his phone pinged and he picked it up, reading the message he'd received and then smiled.

"It's my mom. She says she loves me too and that I should take care of myself and you."

He pocketed his phone and pulled you closer to him again, his mood much lighter than previously, even if you knew he wasn’t all too displeased about his mom’s earlier reaction.

“I promise you and her that you’ll never have to worry about me again. Especially on your period. Or worry about your period, actually. I still can’t believe that happens every month. Every month?”

You chuckled but nodded your head as your boyfriend went on about the unfairness of it all and how he’ll do anything in his power to make sure yours go by smoothly from now on.

And he did.

He insisted on being included on your period tracker and now every time your first or last day near, you always have some painkillers, chocolate and a heating pad waiting nearby and a helpful boyfriend who’s ever so eager to give you any type of message you might like.

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an: i’m gonna try to be consistent with at least one post per month again but i’m back in school rn and the workload is ungodly but i’ll try my best!! anyways i know this might be completely ridiculous but i’ve always wanted to do this prompt with someone and wooyoung seemed perfect for it lol i’ll write something better and more serious for him one of these good days i promise!! okay enough of me rambling bye for now <3

[ghostonmainmoon]

I can imagine him just being so frustrated with the whole situation that he just kills the Joker himself but no one knows he did it since everyone knows he is out of Gotham at the moment ( he sent a duplicate to kill the Joker and takes extra care to make sure he doesn't for a ghost and can't be revived.) If he won't do it then i fucking will But they suspect him but can't pin the crime on him. Sucks to suck old man

He has lived one life too many lives being 2nd place and he's not gonna put up with it i have better things to be wasting my time one when he has people that care about him.

He gets his GED and is planning to get a degree in literature, astrophysics and bioengineering or smth. I wanna keep some of Danny's Traits it's a bit hard to blend as Danny doesn't like literature ( maybe he developed a liking for it because it reminds him of jazz even though he didn't know it at the time due to not having the memories of her)

Maybe he studied a mixture of literature, and astronomy and the third one could be anything from languages, anthropology, archaeology, and history. He might end up speed-running as much schooling as he can so that he can graduate early. He might go back for an astrophysics degree or something but he does get his master's and is working on his PhD

Or he becomes a doctor in honour of his ghostly father Frostbite who had influenced his understanding of how important medical knowledge and advancements were as well as moments in his past life when having even the minimum amount of medical knowledge could have been a great help but he didn't

He is done obsessing over a man who clearly wouldn't put him first or any of his children for that matter. He has better things to do.

He throws his all into making Crime Alley better with some assistance from his former rogue gallery and other ghosts willing to help their king " our little prince" as Jazz is currently Regent. He helps clear the curses clinging to the alley as well as some from the wider Gotham but it's mostly in crime alley. He also deals with the magical/ supernatural problems that happens in Gotham ( they is no way there isn’t magical problems happening in Gotham)

How did you not know

He had a long chat and reunion with Lady Gotham ( you'll always be my Knight, my baby, my Robin, even if your a king)

He gets the ghosts that have infrastructure, civil engineering, construction and architectural obsessions to help him rebuild Crime Alley and make it stronger using a special mixture of Fenton cement as well as a few sigils and stuff.

He slowly turns Crime Alley into a fortress that could withstand an invasion. The lunch lady helps with free food, the box ghost helps with the clothing issue, technus helps with most of the tech stuff until he can find someone of the human side to help him manage all of this.

His reputation and Crime empire expands and builds a reputation. He helps to take down trafficking rings, keeps the kids off the street as much as he can, prevents child prostitution, etc.

This has a noticeable impact as crime alleys are no longer as overrun with crime ( if given the opportunity most wouldn't resort to crime), the buildings are surviving the rogue attack, less street kids have buildings to themselves with public bathhouse as well, they have some strange new tech that's helping clear the air around crime alley ( plus getting rid of the curses are helping), certain people can't enter Crime Alley anymore

The bats are highly suspicious and are wondering what the hell is going on. Gotham is pissed at batman and is making this quite known batman is having a hard month it he isn't as quite as he was before, he doesn't blend into the shadows quite as well as he use to "Am I getting too old? I'm only 41"

Reborn Phantom

DP x DC Prompt

This prompt was inspired by a story where Danny reincarnated as Dick

Danny, who was bored out of his mind after a few centuries of peace he made in the Infinite Realms as Ghost King, wanted to do something new, so he decided to be reborn in a dimension, leaving Jazz as the Queen Regent while he is away. But he wasn't reborn as anyone. He was reborn as Jason Todd and with no memories of his life before.

There is nothing much that changes for the story of Jason. He loses his parents, becomes homeless, tries to steal the tires of the batmobile, gets adopted by Bruce Wayne, becomes Robin, witnesses the arguments between Dick and Bruce, learns about his biological mom in Ethiopia, goes to reconnect with her, get killed by the Joker in the warehouse when his mom gave him to the Joker.

After his death, Jason becomes Danny again and remembers everything before his rebirth. He goes to Jazz, the only family that he can trust, to be comforted by her, and talking to her about the struggles he had when he was alive again.

Danny was about to take back his role as Ghost King when the reality warping event happened, which caused Danny to be put back into the body he left behind, where he dug out of his Grave as Jason Todd again, but instead of being a revenant, he's a Halfa again, but lacking ectoplasm to function, so he's catatonic until he's dunked into the Lazarus Pit.

While in the League of Assassins, he's blinded by Rage most of the time because his core was adjusting to being in a human body again and couldn't filter out the Lazarus Waters influence, but he does remember bits and pieces. He became the older brother figure to Damian, got the All Blades, was taught by Talia herself because she had seen his connection to the Lazarus Pit and kept it from Ra's, and then he learned of Tim. The replacement to him as Robin, the boy who took his place half a year after he died, the newest soldier to Bruce's crusade.

He's still blinded by Rage when he leaves the League of Assassins, but he did say goodbye to Damian and told the kid to look for him in Gotham whenever he's having trouble or wanting to be with him again.

Jason attacks Tim in Titans Tower still and then confronts Bruce about the Joker. He got his answer with a Batarang cutting his throat. He was revived by Talia again, but this time, he wasn't consumed by the Rage inducing waters of the Pit, as his core is now fully functional again.

Jason got his answer from Bruce. He chose the Clown over him. And he hates the man for it, but not the Birdies he has picked up, and he regrets ever attacking Tim. He was about to leave the dimension and be back into the Infinite Realms to be the Ghost King again when Clockwork appeared before him and Talia after he emerged from the Lazarus Pit.

"My King, Jason Todd must keep living in this dimension to keep the timeline stable, and without him, you will be the cause of many innocent people dying before their time, please, keep living, my King"

[syluses]

big girls dont cry QNA

i know you guys have lots of curiosities about this fic lolll so i’ll try to answer some of the questions i received (∗ᵕ̴᷄◡ᵕ̴᷅∗) 💕 if u still have some, just shoot me an ask!! :] also im really bad at explaining so i apologize 🤦🏻‍♀️ i have the plot nailed in my head but its tricky to articulate it in a clear, linear way for yall considering all the little nuances i added lol. i’ll try my best tho hehe :,)

Okay so there’s a whole ‘nother plot that exists in the background of this fic- which was super fun for me to write, but im sure from a reader standpoint it’s also kinda thrilling to try to connect the dots i left lol. thats why theres so many interpretations for this story (which i love!! i loved reading all yall’s theories)! 💕 BUT. that being said, the ‘canon’ goes like this:

SPOILERS BELOW read it first then come back! ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ )

was caleb really dead?

No. Caleb staged his own death and then, similar to the main story homecoming wings, didnt tell mc :,) for his own reasons, for a time, he decides he’ll let her go on believing he’s truly gone…

why did he stage his death?

I dropped little crumbs of it in the fic, but it’s hinted that mc, on top of all her grief, feels a bit bitter over the whole shebang and also blames herself for it. hmm… why would that be? 🤔 well because their final moments together (or so she THOUGHT) were emotionally charged and volatile.

the foundation of their sibling relationship was growing weaker and weaker before the explosion. arguments are forming out of nowhere- things are becoming more tense and mc, for the life of her, can’t understand why her gege is always pulling her into a heated debate about safety, danger, blahblahblah, this that and the third, every time they interact. He’s being wildly unreasonable, which she knows, and protective- a trait that has snowballed as they entered their adulthood- but what she doesn’t know is the why behind it. she tells herself she just has a super protective older brother who views her as a little baby in need of his guidance- which isn’t entirely wrong… but she doesn’t see the full picture. His true feelings. All this tension eventually climbs to its peak. Caleb just gets worse and worse. He needs to do something before the world collapses on them both.

Now, in this au, he works at EVER, a somewhat shady but lucrative company- which dabbles in robotics amongst other things. I imagine they have abundant resources and wealth- and what with his promotions, it’s safe to say caleb is making a LOT. So, the delusional guy he is, he buys a big fancy suite with the idea in mind of two eventually living in it ;) but mc doesn’t want to- she has her own life in linkon!! She wants to spread her wings and separate from the nest anyway. Partly to start her own life; partly to prove to her gege that she can take care of herself. The argument that unfolds over this is the last they have before the big tragic explosion 😭 caleb, putting on a show with his beaten puppy eyes, leaves and then that’s the last time she sees him.

Caleb meticulously plans his ‘death’ out (with some help from his wingman ofc) and then eventually the robot is introduced to mc. It serves as a trojan horse. He’ll finally conquer her heart with it and win full autonomy over her. THIS IS HIS MAIN GOAL WITH THE ROBOT. WHY HE EVEN DOES ANY OF THIS TO BEGIN WITH.

Caleb gets to spy on mc with it and also slowly reshape her to accept his feelings; his ‘death’ has left her in a fragile state of mourning and he knows, after she warms up a bit to not-Caleb, he can more or less get away with anything- bc she will claw for whatever’s left of her family member. He can make her finally reciprocate and understand him— whether that be his feelings or fear or love. He tried to be patient, to be good, but obviously he had to travel a new route. He’s thinking of her 24/7. He’s obsessive, longing, protective, you name it- and all of this just worsens the more she denies him. When push comes to shove… well, caleb will do whatever it takes to win her :] He knows it’s unconventional and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt him too- monitoring his endearingly stubborn, but sweet meimei and the shattered pieces he left of her through his android’s eyes— but it’s all temporary, and he truly believes it’s for the better.

did gideon know?

Yes, Gideon knew all along. He’s Caleb’s best buddy after all. To be matter of fact- Gideon didn’t just know, he quite literally ‘herded’ mc into the lion’s den in a way. Mc knew vaguely of their work at EVER, but not too much; so Gideon was the one who shined that light on their robotics and really introduced her to the concept of not-Caleb. Now, i wouldnt say Gideon is exactly comfortable with his involvement, but he actually really does care for mc and thinks she needs that help- as dubious as the means are. Anyway, it’s almost impossible to shut out all of his buddy’s demands: the brunet is nothing if not insistent on getting what he wants. In his own whacky way, Gideon thinks what he did- playing into Caleb’s plan- was for the better as well. I mean, Mc clearly wasnt doing good before not-Caleb came along,… but with the few visits he managed before the android got a little too stingy and sent him off, Gideon actually managed to catch a smile or two from her! So clearly he did the right thing 👀 not to mention… the real caleb seems very pleased with the progress, too. besides- the whole robot situation is temporary anyway :] She’ll be reuniting with the beloved gege she misses so much sooner rather than later.

how accurate was not-caleb?

His programming is like 100% accurate. Mc, for a mix of both naiveity and delusion, thinks not-Caleb is flawed when he starts to show signs of amorous/romantic feelings for her. Really, though, after she tells him to stay the night with her (innocently; and after years of having not shared the same childhood twin bed), it triggers a part of his ‘brain’ that undoes all real caleb’s self restraint thus far :] If the same exact situation happened with the real caleb, his reaction would’ve more or less been the same. Homeboy can only keep his feelings in check for so long

who programmed not-caleb?

Real Caleb

how is mc pregnant?

Because the robot’s creator wanted to add his own special touch to his work if you know what i mean :) yeah he’s a freak like that. Dont think he WOULDNT install in his robot the ability to indirectly knock his ‘meimei’ up. I will say though, that while caleb wants to get mc pregnant, its not fully bc he wants to start a family- at least not right away- but because he wants to emotionally and legally trap her with him. Besides monitoring her/wearing down her walls while she thought he was ‘dead’, this was actually one of caleb’s biggest goals with sending not-caleb into her home.

is not-caleb self-aware?

Yes

what’s real caleb been doing all this time?

Basically climbing the ranks of EVER from his lil perch somewhere in skyhaven. all the while, of course, spying on mc like a hawk. Biding his time & waiting for the right moment when she’s at her weakest, most codependent state to replace his carbon copy :)

was caleb controlling his robot?

No. But he essentially created its whole program. And there are cameras inside its eyes in which he watches mc from :) and cant help but snap pics with sometimes: she’s just so pretty— and endlessly sexy when he finally, in a vicarious way, gets to lie her back and make love to her <3

what is real caleb’s motive/ultimate goal?

1. to control/protect/‘tame’ mc through the robot; get her to see things from his point of view (which means realizing she belongs with him- where it’s safe and he can protect & love her)

2. to knock her up (hence the. ahem. reproductive abilities of the robot) so that he can trap her with a baby on top of all the other emotional strings he’s hogtied her with.

does gideon want mc too?

the question is not would gideon smash her. the question is would caleb LET him…. 👀

also, below i just attached a screenie from some of the notes i took. theyre ofc a little disjointed but i think it might clarify things too :] im so bad at answering questions esp for a plot this spiraling but i really tried my best guys my brain is tired forgive me :,)

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Laundry Room Mystery | Thunderbolts | Oneshot - 1k

Thunderbolts spoilers!

Bucky can't seem to keep his wardrobe full, so begins his laundry room mystery. His empty wardrobe is the clear victim, but who's the perp?

Warnings: Language and nonsense.

Notes: For @avengers-assemble-bingo AASpring Bingo - "Stop stealing my clothes!" Divider by @saradika-graphics ⚡ I was thinking about a ship while I wrote this but it didn't feel like enough to justify putting it in the description. Will probably write for it in the future, let me know what you think

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes | Spring Bingo

Bucky closed and then opened his wardrobe doors, half hoping the rail would magically fill itself with black t-shirts and jeans if he just wished hard enough.

But they were still starkly empty.

He'd been wearing the same t-shirt for two days, despite putting a load of laundry on, it just never seemed to make it back to his wardrobe before it disappeared. Almost everything was gone, t-shirts, jeans and combat trousers, most of his hoodies, even his socks and boxer briefs had gone!

He continued his search out into the corridor, hoping he'd perhaps just dropped the basket somewhere and forgotten about it during a call, but it was as empty as his wardrobe, still in the same white paint and tiled floor the contractors had chosen.

"Oh, hi Bucky, have you lost something?"

Bucky looked round to find Ava stood, leaning against the wall. There was something familiar about her jeans — he squinted at them, really really familiar.

"Just looking for my laundry." He looked towards the end of the corridor too, just the window out onto the New York skyline, but no laundry.

"I think I saw some of your things in the laundry room." Ava shrugged and turned to go back into her room. There, on the back pocket, was a frayed rip. Those were his jeans!

"Hey wait!"

"See you later, Bucky." He can't stop her phasing through the wall and her bedroom door remains firmly closed as well.

"God damn it." He sighed, he's torn between hating Ava for being able to run away so easily, and being consumed with jealousy that he can't just disappear through walls sometimes.

At least he has some sort of clue, maybe he had just left everything in the laundry room this time. He strode his way through the living room towards the elevator, coming to a stop when he spots his hoodie on the sofa tangled up with a pile of blankets and throw cushions. As he reached down to pick it up the pile moved, revealling a sleeping Bob underneath.

"Hey," Bucky stage whispered, he didn't really have the heart to wake the man. "Hey," he tries again, but Bob just rolled over, snuggling deeper into the neckline and Bucky gave up.

Laundry room, there must be something in the laundry room.

The elevator dinged open far too quickly, revealling a very warm and ruffled looking Yelena in her favourite oversized workout shirt and little black shorts

"Bucky," she smiled looking at his own compression shirt and the sweat pants he wears in the evening, the only clothes he had left in his wardrobe. "You are going to the gym? I could go another round." She laughs and Bucky smiles too, it's nice having Yelena here, someone who reflects some of the darker parts of his own history but with a dry wit and a newfound enjoyment for life.

"Not today, 'Lena, looking for my clean laundry."

"Ahh…" she looked around knowingly and then sniffs, a tell, he's noticed. She knows something.

"Would you know anything about it?"

Yelena shrugged and they danced around each other as she leaves the elevator and he steps inside. "Not a clue, Bucky." She smiles one last time, then lifts a corner of her shirt to wipe sweat from her brow and — for christ's sake those are his boxer briefs. His underwear.

"Yelena you can't just take —"

"Byeee Bucky!" She shouts and the doors click shut, whooshing down to the laundry room.

There's nothing in the laundry room.

Not his clothes. Not anyones clothes, which is somewhat concerning when he thinks about how many people live in the tower now and how much laundry they must surely generate.

With a resigned sigh he stepped back into the elevator, scrolling his phone to order some new clothes. It'll bankrupt him, at this rate, maybe he can bulk by those t-shirts he likes from the supplier.

The living space is busier when he returns, everyone's sat around on the couches, even Bob's awake and gives him a little wave, hands half covered by Bucky's hoody.

"Ahhh Mr Winter, returned from…" Alexei pauses, trying to figure out where Bucky might have been in his mismatched outfit.

"The laundry room." Yelena supplies and John snorts a laugh.

"It's not funny, Walker, I know Ava and Yelena have been stealing my clothes." Bucky puts his hands on his hips, attempting his scariest stare in an effort to retrieve his jeans and underwear.

"Not guilty," Ava says, waving a hand in the air.

"I know you're lying." He glares back and she simply sticks her middle finger up and goes back to her flipping through a magazine.

"I would never take your things, Bucky." Yelena said very seriously despite the fact it was quite clear her little shorts are actually underwear.

"That's gross, Belova."

"Bite me, Walker."

"Wait a minute." Bucky looks John over again. "That's my t-shirt isn't it?" He scrunches his face up and covers it with both hands to stop himself from leaping over the coffee table and wrestling the shirt back. "I don't know which of you is worse!"

"Pretty sure this is mine." John doesn't even look, just leans back and sips from his mug. Bucky could hit him, but his ridiculous banter is making Bob and Yelena laugh.

"Mr Winter, this is very disrespectful, what are you going to do?"

From between his fingers Bucky sighs again, "Nothing, Alexei, what the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"Forget it, join us." Alexei's voice was loud, but welcoming, and Bucky really can't be bothered internet shopping right now when he could be lazing around and reading his new book with a hot coffee instead. Alexei's buoyant company keeping them from falling into a real argument.

"Only if everyone promises to stop stealing my clothes and return them all by this evening."

The team go quiet, but eventually everyone nods in agreement.

"Good, then I'll join you."

Alexei shifts up, kicking his boots off and planting his feet on the coffee table as the volume starts to rise from everyone talking at once.

Bucky looks from Alexei's beaming face to his socks, one has a little Captain America shield, the other Joaquin's new Falcon logo.

"Are those my fucking socks?"

[inafieldofstarflowers]

Obviously the first chapter of The Foxhole Court lays the groundwork/provides background for a lot of parts of the series (Exy, the Foxes, who Andrew is, hints at Neil’s past, etc.), but I think one of the most important (& honestly masterful) things Nora does in it is establish the relationship between Neil, Exy, and Kevin.

When we meet Neil, he’s literally on the bleachers in pain from watching the Exy court be turned back into a soccer field, because that’s basically a crime to him. While yes, this is a funny comment because it’s so deeply dramatic, the following explanation that it’s the one thing Neil has never been able to let go of through all of the identities he’s held makes it clear that Exy is something more to Neil than just a game; rather, it’s a symbol of his lost childhood, of the way things might have been if he and his mother hadn’t run. Still, Neil is torn about the idea of pursuing Exy, because his love for it is warring with his mom’s instructions not to play again in order to remain safe and under the radar.

Enter David Wymack with a contract—or, really, Kevin Day with a contract.

Even Wymack says that Kevin is the one signing Neil. Kevin, who Neil met once as a child, when they played a game of Exy together. Kevin, who has spent the years Neil has been on the run building his skills to become a star Exy player. Kevin, who has a career it is obvious Neil has followed closely.

At this point, Neil reaches two important conclusions:

He would be in danger of losing everything if Kevin remembered him, but he doesn’t seem to

The offer of a contract doesn’t matter, because Neil Josten isn’t real—no matter “how much he liked being Neil Josten”

And this is where (in my opinion) things get very interesting: as Neil thinks about the offer to play for the Foxes—& therefore with Kevin—he thinks that he doesn’t want to give up Exy because “It was the only thing that made him feel real,” and then follows this up with the thought that “[His] past was locked in Kevin’s memories. It was proof he existed, same as this game they both played. Kevin was proof Neil was real.”

Since Kevin was first mentioned, it has been in relation to his Exy career—his partnership with Riko, the broken hand that halted his career briefly, signing to the Foxes, the speculation about Andrew’s impact on that choice—because that is the thing about him that matters to Neil—or, perhaps more accurately, it’s the only thing Neil really knows about him. Neil’s concerns about Kevin remembering him are so loud that they can make it easy to overlook the fact that Kevin and Neil aren’t reunited childhood friends, they’re just people who essentially had a really fucked up playdate once.

The thing is, that day is the one with the biggest what-ifs for Neil, and as a result, Kevin is wrapped up in those what-ifs: for Neil, it’s become a question of if I had stayed, would I have reached stardom like Kevin has? Exy and Kevin, while not fully interchangeable, are certainly inextricably linked in Neil’s mind, and they are also both tied up in Neil’s dreams and regrets.

Why does this matter? Two main reasons: first, having this background shows us why Kevin is so important to Neil: no matter how much Neil doesn’t want to be Nathaniel anymore, Nathaniel was the one who was real. The only things at the start of the series that give Neil Josten that same feeling are playing Exy and Kevin Day.

Second, we are immediately shown that Neil’s perception of Kevin is not entirely trustworthy, because its foundation is one traumatic childhood event followed by a years-long parasocial relationship. And, while Neil certainly gets to know Kevin better as the series goes on and they actually start spending time together, there are many moments where Neil views Kevin through a lens that is too close to being “Kevin=star Exy player,” which results in him misinterpreting Kevin’s meaning (ie after Kevin learns who he is and Neil thinks he’s just concerned about their season even though Kevin’s telling him to run) or simply brushing over other parts of his personality (ie when he buys into the “Kevin only cares about Exy” idea some of the others have said). By making us aware of this early, Nora is preparing us to examine what Neil’s saying for bias by showing that he isn’t an entirely reliable narrator, and it’s done so well in just a few pages.

[sunshineyrosie]

steady hands, soft ruin

summary: he doesn't look at you anymore. but still, you watch.

series: part 2 to “your eyes, like shadows”

pairing: Silco x Reader

w/c: 4.2k

notes: tropes, guys. so many tropes. i make no apologies, and hope you love them as much as i do. ahead is canon-typical violence, descriptions of injuries, gun use, kissing, YEARNING!!! i love this man so much

read on ao3: here

He doesn't look at you anymore.

At least, not that you can catch. But, sometimes you swear you can feel it—a weight pressing against you, an attention that vanishes the second you dare to meet it. You convince yourself you’re imagining things; the shift in his posture, the slight dip of his head when you enter the room.

He doesn't speak to you beyond necessity, either—not that he ever filled the office with words. He was always quiet, measured, never indulgent with conversation. But before…before that night, his silence felt different. Less distant, less deliberate.

Now, when you ask a question, he responds. His responses are curt. Efficient. Devoid of anything extra. You follow directives, fulfill tasks, take notes. There is no hesitation, no wasted words. It’s not that he’s ignoring you, not really. But that doesn't make it sting any less. 

And still, you feel him.

There are moments, slivers of time between one heartbeat and the next where you swear he's watching you. A presence, something that exists only in the air between you. But when you lift your head, he’s always focused elsewhere. 

You try not to watch him, to respect the boundaries—the wall he has put up. You tell yourself whatever almost happened between you—the hesitation, the breath between words, the way his gaze caught on your lips—you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. If he’s made it clear it won’t happen again, then fine. You’ll respect that.

But still—you watch.

You tell yourself it’s just habit. Nothing more than what you’ve always done. But it feels like more than that, like you’re collecting glimpses of him the way someone might collect precious stones: the furrow in his brow when he's concentrating, the tightness in his jaw when he returns from a meeting gone poorly. The uneven edges of his teeth when he smiles at his daughter—rare, fleeting, but so genuine that it makes something deep inside you ache.

You would do anything to see that smile turned toward you. Just once.

The day has reached its end. Your routine has stayed mostly the same—reports finished, tasks complete. You linger briefly in the doorway, hesitating just slightly, just enough to wonder if he’ll glance up, this time. 

As always, the air carries something unspoken, something neither of you acknowledge—like a tightly drawn wire stretched between two points, humming with tension but never snapping. The weight of the past—the night that almost tipped you both into something else—sits between you like a misplaced object that neither of you move, choosing to walk around it instead. 

You wish him goodnight. Silco dismisses you with a wave—absent, uninterested. You swallow down the sting, the hollow ache that has no name. And you leave.

Outside of the office, the crowd is beginning to pick up as regulars of The Last Drop begin to file in. The air is thick and heavy, a contrast to the cool air of Silco’s office as you step through the bustling crowd, weaving through bodies as you make your way outside.

As you walk home, you give yourself the same speech you’d given in your head for weeks—that you won’t think about him anymore tonight. As always, you fail. You tell yourself not to picture his unreadable expression, not to linger on his cold dismissal. And yet, the rejection presses against you like an ache you can’t soothe.

The streets demand your focus. You finally pull your mind away, grounding you in movements you've practiced a hundred times before. 

The Undercity is never quiet, never truly empty. Shadows stretch under the dim glow of street lamps, bodies shift in alleyways, voice murmur from behind closed doors. You weave through it all with caution learned by the necessity that comes with growing in Zaun—slipping through gaps down alleyways, keeping your pace steady and purposeful.

There's a rhythm to the streets, always a predictability in the chaos.

But then—tonight—there's a shift.

The scuffle behind you isn't loud. Just a scrape, a sudden motion. But your instincts sharpen instantly, the hair on the back of your neck rising, pulse kicking into something fast and urgent.

You turn, too late. Hands grab—rough, purposeful. Unforgiving.

There's little time to react. Your fingers scramble toward the blade at your side, where it always is, but it’s useless. The faceless men coming after you are faster and stronger. More practiced at this kind of violence. You know better than to try to fight back.

You feel it: the sharp yank at the bag slung over your shoulder, a shove given with an angry snarl. The force comes suddenly, sending you sprawling—the cold, dirty ground rushing up to meet you. Pain explodes along your cheekbone, your ribs, your side. Air rips from your lungs, stolen by the impact. The world is suddenly distant, voices nothing more than muffled static and then—

It all turns black. —

You’re not sure how long you lie there.

You wake up with a pulse of agony, pain throbbing deep in your cheek, a dull roar pressing against the edges of your consciousness. You’re limp against the cold pavement, the scent of damp stone filling your nose. The city hums around you, and you stay there, caught somewhere between wakefulness and something heavier.

Whether it's been minutes or hours, you don't know.

The first inhale is shallow, trembling as your ribs ache in response. You push yourself upright with slow, careful movements, whimpering softly as your body protests. The ground is cold beneath your fingertips, rough against your skin.

You take inventory: nothing broken. That's a mercy. Your clothes are intact, nothing open or ripped. Relief settles into your bones, heavy and undeniable—this could have been worse, as it so often is in Zaun. The thought should be comforting…it isn’t.

Your bag, of course, is long gone. That at least, doesn’t matter. Nothing important was inside—just a bit of money along with a few personal effects. Nothing irreplaceable.

You press a hand against the brick wall beside you, heaving yourself onto your feet. The ache in your body makes itself known with each limping step, but you move anyway.

Home, you just need to get home. You glance back, just once, toward the empty space you had occupied, the place where strangers took what they wanted and left you with nothing but bruises. No one had stopped. No one had seen. Or if they had, they didn’t care.

You limp your way through the familiar streets, each footfall careful and deliberate. Each step causes a pain sharp enough to make your breath catch, but you don't stop. You can't. 

When you finally reach your apartment, you push the door open and quickly shut it behind you with urgency; the air inside your little home feels different. Stagnant. Lonelier than usual. 

You make your way to the bathroom, flicking on the light, finally meeting your own reflection. You’re swollen, but not terribly. Aching.

There's a scrape on your cheek, and a garish cut beneath your eye thats bleeding sluggishly. You don't have any antiseptic, just water. Still, it’s soothing against your skin as you attempt to clean the wounds.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins begins to fade, exhaustion taking its place along with something else: the weight of your survival settling. It could have been—should have been—much worse.

It should have been what you know happens to so many others in the Undercity, to so many bodies abandoned in nameless alleyways; stories that simply end without warning.

You finish cleaning up. You double-check the lock, then crawl into bed, still in your day clothes, still aching. The bed is too big, the space too empty. You press your face against the pillows and let the tears come. You don’t expect comfort. Not here. Not in this city.

Violence is just part of it—a thing that just happens, a thing you learn not to dwell on. Lying here, bruised and aching, you feel ridiculous for how shaken you still are. It wasn’t even that bad, not really. Your bones aren’t broken, the thieves didn’t take anything that mattered. You’ve heard stories worse. Seen worse. So why does the silence of your empty apartment feel so suffocating? 

You press your fingers against the scrape on your cheek, the shallow cut beneath your eye, letting the sting remind you that you’re still here. Still breathing. It helps, a little.

But as you shift beneath the covers, curling onto your side, there’s something else nagging at the edges of your thoughts. A quiet, ridiculous yearning you don’t want to name.

Because there’s no one here. Because if there was—if he was—maybe the fear wouldn’t feel quite so sharp. Maybe the emptiness wouldn’t stretch so far.

Not that it matters. Not that he would. You know better than that.

Tomorrow will come like it always does, dragging you back into the hum of work, back into the presence of someone who won’t look at you, won’t speak beyond necessity, and won’t acknowledge whatever door slammed shut between you that night. And you’ll do what you always do—show up, finish tasks, act like nothing happened. Because that’s how life works.

Still, you tug the blanket a little tighter around your frame. It doesn’t help.

But you do it anyway.

—

The next day, you’re at your desk, nearly finished with a report, trying to complete your work before he returns. The day had worked out in your favor. His schedule was packed—meetings, shimmer production site visits. Obligations that kept him away from the office, away from you. It wasn’t intentional, but it was what you needed—you weren't sure you could handle his quiet indifference today, not after what you went through.

You do feel better—less shaken, less fragile, but the night before is still there, lingering in the stiffness of your movements, the dull ache crawling across your body. The cut beneath your eye oozes slightly despite your efforts to clean it. The darkened bruises had settled deep within your skin, quiet and throbbing.

So, you buried yourself in work—let the routine pull you forward, locked into focus. It helped, made time move faster and soon the dull throb in your bones and the sting beneath your eye felt secondary. The hours passed steadily—you’re determined to finish before Silco returns, before the inevitable arrival you don’t want to face.

But fate, as always, has other plans. The door swings open—sudden and sharp, hitting the wall behind it with a loud thud.

Your body reacts before your mind does as you jump out of your skin. A sharp noise escapes you—a startled shriek that makes your skin prickle with embarrassment. The sound too raw, too vulnerable.

You recover quickly, clearing your throat, offering a quiet apology. “I’m sorry, sir.” You murmur, not daring to turn around. “It’s just…you surprised me, that's all.”

Silence. Then, a scoff. “Afraid of me now, are you?”

His words hit like an accusation, the irritation in his voice unmistakable.

“No!” You say too quickly, like a reflex.

Silence stretches over you again, heavier this time. “Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

You inhale slowly—willing your pulse to steady, trying to force the tension in your shoulders to loosen. You know this moment is inevitable. You had hoped—foolishly—that you would be gone before he returned, before he had a chance to see, to give the bruises time to fade. You sigh, there's no avoiding it now.

You push your chair back with careful deliberation, standing with measured restraint. You turn slowly, reluctantly.

Time stops.

His gaze catches you instantly. It happens fast—his expression darkening.

It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else—to someone who had spent less time studying him—the tightening in his jaw, the slow pull of his brow as he takes in every mark, every wound, every inch of damage you tried to hide. His pupils have blown wide in their fury.

He steps toward you, movements measured and controlled. You stiffen, but don’t retreat. You couldn’t if you wanted to.

His fingers brush gently against your chin, tilting your face just slightly, inspecting the injuries with a barely-contained rage that makes your stomach twist. When he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous. Barely restrained.

“Who did this?”

“It was just a couple of thugs,” you swallow, trying to force your voice into something steady. You try to sound indifferent, as if the night previous hadn’t shaken you more than you wanted to admit. “They wanted my bag, but it’s fine. I didn’t have anything important in it—no reports or sensitive documents that would put the business at risk.”

The second the words leave you, his expression tightens. He scoffs—sharp, unimpressed, as if the very idea of your priorities insults him—like the very notion of your safely ever being secondary to paperwork is so ridiculous he doesnt even have the patience to entertain it. You suddenly feel stupid, like you had missed something.

“Sit.” He directs, nodding toward his desk.

You hesitate—only for a second—but obey, sliding onto the edge of the polished wood, watching as he moves with quiet efficiency, retrieving a cloth and a bottle of liquor from a cabinet. You shiver slightly, barely perceptible, as he steps close.

The first touch is careful. His fingers tilt your chin, angling your face toward him, his movements deliberate but light—as if he's holding back, like he doesn't trust himself not to be too harsh. The sting from the alcohol bites immediately, sharp against the broken skin, and you wince.

Silco shoots you an apologetic look before his focus hardens again, returning to his task of dabbing your wounds clean. The silence stretches, pressing into the space between you.

You watch him, you can’t help it at this point, studying the intensity in his features—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his seafoam eye remains locked onto his work while the corrupted one twitches, the orange glow flickering. You wish, more than anything, that you could read his thoughts, see whatever is sitting behind his measured control. Then—

“This is my fault.” His words are barely above a murmur, like they weren’t meant for you to hear.

Your breath catches. You shake your head quickly. “No, it isn’t–”

“You work for me.” He cuts you off, his tone is edged, leaving no room for argument. “You should have an escort home.”

There's no hesitation in his tone, no doubt. Just certainty that the idea of you walking alone at night, vulnerable to the violence of Zaun, is something unacceptable. You let out a breath, half amused, half disbelieving.

“That's ridiculous,” you say with a dismissive laugh. “I’m just a secretary.”

His expression shifts. Quiet, still. So quiet you almost miss it—

“You’re more than that.”

It wasn’t meant to be said aloud. But you know, without a doubt, that he meant it.

Your throat tightens, and before you can think better of it—before you can stop yourself—your hand moves. You place it atop his, where it rests cradling your jaw.

His fingers twitch beneath yours, just slightly. The warmth of his skin seeps into yours. His seafoam eye twitches. But he doesn’t pull away. You inhale, barely audible. “Silco…”

It slips out before you realize it—his first name. You’ve never used it before, not out loud, anyway. You had only ever referred to him as Sir, or Boss. His gaze snaps to yours, holding you there.

Then, he retreats. Your stomach twists. You should have known, should have expected it—the wall to be built back into place.

You sit frozen as he moves to the other side of the desk, you hear a drawer opening then closing. Edges of your vision begin to blur, eyes burning before you can stop it. You really don’t want to cry in front of him.

Then, he appears back in front of you—holding his hand out. You blink the tears away.

You stare at it. For a brief second, you wonder if you’re imagining things and your exhaustion has finally twisted reality into something softer than it actually is. But he doesn’t move. 

Slowly, hesitantly, you reach forward, placing your fingers into his grasp. He takes them, his grip firm and certain.

“If you’re going to work for me,” he says, calm and controlled. “You need to learn how to protect yourself.”

With that, he leads you out of the room. His grip on your hand remains—firm, unrelenting, tighter than probably necessary, but neither of you acknowledge it. You let him guide you out of his office, down the stairs, through an empty corridor to a back entrance you didn’t know about, avoiding drunken patrons of The Last Drop.

You exit the building to an empty alleyway. It's quiet and grungy. The damp scent of the undercity mixing with something stale and metallic. He only stops when you’ve both stepped fully into the empty space. Silco finally pulls away, releasing your hand with some effort.

You feel the absence of his touch, but before you can process it, Silco reaches behind himself, pulling out a pistol from the waistband of his trousers—a sleek, well-worn weapon, familiar in his calloused grip.

“You’re going to learn how to shoot.” His voice is final, steady, leaving no room for objections.

To which you immediately begin to object. “That’s—that’s really not necessary.”

He ignores you, inspecting the gun, checking the chamber with practiced ease.

“I’m not some—some henchman, or whatever. Besides, I hate guns—”

He silences your protest with a single look, his expression cocky. “It’s not wise to argue with your boss.”

You exhale, irritated, but don’t bother responding, ultimately knowing you won’t win this. He presses the pistol into your palm, the weight surprising you.

“It’s…heavy,” you mutter, adjusting your grip awkwardly.

“I’ll be getting you one of your own, soon.” The certainty in his voice makes something in your chest flutter. 

Silco steps back, nodding toward a battered wooden fence at the far end of the alley—full of bullet holes, evidence of past target practice.

“Aim.”

You lift the weapon, but your hands tremble slightly, unfamiliar with the grip. He immediately sighs in exasperation. 

“You mean to tell me you grew up in Zaun and never bothered to learn how to shoot?”

You scowl at him in return. He huffs something unflattering under his breath, having no patience for excuses. Then—he moves.

One moment he’s standing beside you, watching you with quiet irritation. The next, his body is pressed against yours—close, firm and solid. The shock of it steals your breath away.

His presence surrounds you entirely, every inch of him enveloping you, steadying you. You feel Silco’s hands wrap around your waist, traveling up your arms, adjusting your stance with easy precision.

The moment shifts, suddenly you realize: he’s never been this close. Ever.

You feel everything. The shape of him—taller than you, lean but strong. More solid than one would expect, absolutely no frailty to him. His heat settles deep against your spine. The warmth of his breath against your skin. His scent—whiskey and cigars and something expensive—envelopes you.

Your pulse trips, your fingers twitching against the cold steel. You feel him, more than hear, speak low near your ear. “Like this.”

He covers your hand with his own, adjusting your grip, steadying your aim.

You try to focus, try not to drown in the warmth of him, the closeness, the way the moment stretches too long, too charged. “Keep your eyes open.”

You realize, with a jolt, they were fluttering shut. Heat blooms beneath your skin, and you shake your head, forcing yourself to refocus. To focus on the gun in your hands rather than the way his front is pressed so completely against your back. You inhale, steadying your grip, and pull the trigger.

The gunshot cracks through the alleyway, ringing in your ears, but through the sharpness of the sound, his voice still reaches you—low, murmured, close. “Good girl.”

You exhale, pulse thrumming, adrenaline lingering. The words settle against your skin, curling deeply in places they shouldn’t reach.

His fingers remain wrapped around yours—his grip firm and unwavering. Slowly, his head dips, his warm breath settling against your hair, close enough that you feel the inhale—deliberate, like he's memorizing everything about you in this moment.

Your eyes flutter shut again. You wish you could sink into this moment and stay there.

You feel the pistol leave your hands with practiced ease, his fingers brushing against yours as he pulls it from your grip. You hear the quiet slide of metal as he tucks it back into his waistband, the motion effortless and habitual.

You brace for it—the distance. You anticipate the moment he steps back behind the unseen wall, where whatever fragile thing between you can get stitched back up before it can fully slip. It doesn’t come.

“I’m sorry,” he says, softly. Unsteady in a way you aren’t used to hearing.

The words are quiet but genuine. You try to dismiss them. “I told you it wasn’t your fault,” you murmur, wanting to pull him from whatever guilt sat heavy in his chest. “You weren’t even there—”

Before you can finish, you feel him shake his head. Suddenly, you understand. He’s not talking about the attack, or your bruises, or for the near-empty streets that swallowed your pain without a second thought.

He’s speaking of everything else. The silence, the avoidance. The way his indifference had cut sharper than the hands that had thrown you to the ground. Your throat tightens, breath catching against something deep and unnamed.

Silco’s arms remain wrapped around you, firm. Grounding you. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the feeling for just a second.

“Have dinner with me.” It’s not a command, or even a request. It’s soft, inevitable. It carries the weight of knowing that declining isn’t an actual possibility—not because you can’t, but because you won’t. You never could.

You exhale, leaning back into him. Letting the tension drain from your shoulders, allowing yourself stay in his arms, for just a little while longer. “Okay.”

You feel his breath steady, the relief flooding his form. He’s still holding you. Your pulse is slow, steady, settling into the warmth of his arms which are still wrapped around you, in the quiet weight of his presence.

You turn your head, just slightly. Just enough to look at him. Only to find Silco already looking at you as if you were something precious. Slowly, you shift, turning in his grip, fully this time, to face him entirely.

His twitches slightly at the movement, his hold adjusting instinctively, but he doesn't let go, doesn’t turn away.

Instead, his hands lift, framing your face on either side, his warm palms pressing against your skin, thumbs brushing just beneath your jaw. His touch is deliberate—more gentle on the injured side, where the bruises still ache. Like he’s memorizing every wound, every detail.

Then, he leans in. Slowly, unhurried. He stops—just for a brief second, just long enough for you to catch the way his seafoam and orange eyes flicker down to your mouth, the way his breath steadies, the way his grip tightens almost imperceptibly against you.

Finally—finally—his lips meet yours. Soft, but firm. Not rushed, it's just right.

The pull toward him is stronger than it has ever been, your fingers twitching slightly before they find purchase against his chest, gripping the fabric of his vest. The heat spreads beneath your skin, settling into your ribs, curling deeply in your stomach as you exhale against him, pressing deeply into the kiss, allowing the moment—no—allowing him to consume you whole.

The weight of the kiss settles into the space between you. It’s firm, deep and long overdue. His grip doesn’t loosen, not for a second. His fingers press into you, warm and steady, anchoring you in a way that feels deliberate, like he’s making sure you stay exactly where you are, where he wants you.

Whatever restraint kept this at bay for so long, whatever unspoken thing that had wedged its way between you is gone now, and neither of you mourn it. All that exists in its place is the way his lips move against yours; as if he's committing every second, every inch of you, to memory.

You want more—everything, anything he’ll give you. Your hands slide slowly upward from their place on his chest. They trace along the lines of his collarbone before shifting higher, settling along each side of his face.

Your fingers move instinctively, tracing along his cheeks, soft, careful, deliberate. When they graze the jagged edge of his scar—rough beneath your fingertips—he stills.

His breath halts, his grip tightening just slightly, like he’s caught between reaction and restraint as your thumb ghosts across the texture of his ruined skin.

And for a second—a single, fleeting second—you worry you’ve gone too far. That this is something he doesn’t want, that you crossed a line you shouldn’t have crossed.

Still, he doesn’t leave. His grip loosens and his hands shift, pulling away from your lips just enough for a bit of space between you to return—not to retreat, but for something else entirely.

Without a word, his fingers slip to yours, gently pulling your hand away from his face—only to turn it over and bring it to his lips.

He kisses your palm—soft, unhurried, lingering.

Slowly, carefully, he presses your hand back to his cheek, his own fingers covering yours now, holding you in place—keeping you there.

Silco leans back down and continues kissing you. This time, deeper, with something heavier behind it. 

Something wordless.

Something certain.

Something you know neither of you will regret.

if you've read this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart. comments and reblogs mean the world to me, so please please tell me your thoughts!!! (even if it's just screaming gibberish it makes me kick my feets)

[burnt-by-marigolds]

Why I think it's important that Astarion embraces the shadows

You know it's funny, at first I thought I was trapped by the shadows – cursed to live in them forever. But in time, I realised that darkness is as much a part of me as my fangs. This is only a curse as long as I refuse to embrace the shadows. So I decided I would.

I love how the choice between ascending and forgoing the ritual is designed: ascension grants an immediate reward (and thus presents an alluring temptation), but requires mass slaughter; letting go of the power comes at a personal cost, but saves lives and gives victims a second chance. If it was any other way, there would be no story in this choice; no dilemma, no conflict, nothing memorable.

I also think it’s crucial how in the spawn route, we see Astarion not only in high spirits (When I look at my future, anything and everything feels possible now), but also grieving. While he doesn’t regret his choice, he does feel sorry for his personal loss – which is natural and valid. And while I love that we can promise him to look for another way to walk in the sun again (after all, the Forgotten Realms are full of wonders – and the whole Multiverse even moreso), I also consider the narrative of him coming to terms with his condition (without giving up hope) much more real – and very important, at least to me.

I’d like to talk about two layers here: the more literal one, and the more metaphorical one.

The more literal one is pretty straightforward: we all have our limits in life. Some of them, we’re born with; some come up along the way; and other still are forced onto us. My first thought is neurodivergency or chronic illnesses, but I’m sure other people can name many more examples. You take medications or you go to therapy (pursuing the sun), but at the same time you just have to accept these things are a part of your reality, beyond your control. 

The more metaphorical layer makes me think of the Jungian shadow.

As some of you probably know, the Jungian shadow is the suppressed part of the psyche. It’s the facts about ourselves that are too painful or uncomfortable to acknowledge, facts we are unaware of, or facts we don’t like about ourselves and associate with shame. They make us behave in certain ways, often without us understanding why. And the more we sweep all of this under the rug of unconsciousness, the stronger the shadow becomes, constantly holding us back or making us repeat certain patterns (sometimes maladaptive) over and over.

(I’d like to emphasise that the shadow isn’t inherently “evil” – for example, we may suppress a trait or a behaviour because it’s culturally viewed as unacceptable, not because it’s objectively bad. The shadow is simply what lies uncovered, and may encompass useful and positive things as well.)

You probably already see where this is all going.

When Astarion says he has accepted the shadows as a part of him, he basically says he has learned to love himself just the way he is, without the need to become some better, idealised – and unattainable – version of himself. He has learned he is enough even with all the “less savoury” aspects – and it's clear it makes him feel free and more in control of his life.

Don’t hate me, but I think it’s more important than him literally walking in the sun. And let me reiterate – the point isn’t to forsake the sun entirely. Searching for it is an important endeavor – it symbolises making the word a better place. But I do believe accepting the shadow(s) is crucial to healing and an important first step towards any other goals.

This is who I am. In all my glory, for better and for worse.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

After casting another magical Quen Sign shield upon her, Eskel's viper eyes watched as the cursed Sorceress navigated her way around the sprawling cavern, from where he knelt in cover, moving with surprising stealth for her new form and bulk. Before long she found a path to move over gradually, careful not to let her hooves echo about the cavern, the slime helping out there, thankfully. Unfortunately, when she drew in closer to the crowd, the positions of one of the cultists proved more inconvenient than the others, and she accidentally slipped up, bumping into him... and he looked over with a grunt, taking notice of the donkey... and drawing unfortunate attention her way. Of course... so much for things being simple... but at least he had already planned for the inevitable violent, bloody outcome. He could only hope she would manage to regain her proper form and powers, help sweep the area clear of the numerous hostiles. For now, he would have to take up the bulk of the fighting, one against many... nothing new there for him. Jaw tightening, not focusing on the Leviathan, cursing under his breath, raising his crossbow and taking aim, he answered the cultist's declaration before all the others could look in her direction or take action against her, squeezing the trigger. The bolt flew straight and true, slamming into the hooded head of the cultist and bringing it to the ground in a spray of blood, twitching... and drawing all the attention away from the rather out of place red donkey, and back around to him where it belonged.

They turned in time to see him rise up from his spot of cover, magically light up a Zerrikanian Sun Bomb, Grapeshot Bomb and Dimeritum Bomb, throwing each in rapid succession into the midst of the many cultists. Before they could react or scramble away, the bombs detonated among them, the Zerrikanian Sun blinding many, shredding them apart with metal fragments and the detonation of the Grapeshot Bomb, and making their magical abilities go haywire with the Dimeritium Bomb. The Witcher took aim, loosed and rapidly loaded more crossbow bolts, aiming for the ones unaffected by the blasts that were closest to the Necronomicon and in the way of Sabrina, clearing up a pathway for her and providing cover from afar. He aimed down some powerful Aard Signs as well, sweeping clear the cultists and Deep Ones attempting to scramble up towards his position as well, working to keep them at bay so his covering of her could be interrupted. It was now or never, especially with the Leviathan distracted by the interrupted ritual, caught in an altered state. Her path to the Necronomicon was more or less clear to charge through... and he was sure she could topple any of the few that managed to get in her path. Even so, he fired more bolts down in the vicinity of the glowing book, to be on the safe side, knowing he could only do so for so long before he'd have to draw his sword and wade into the midst of the hundreds of cultists and other abominations. Part of him looked forward to it... but he remained cold and calculating, doing what damage he could to them from afar, intent on weakening their ranks first and buying her the time she needed.

@fallesto

Her tall ears flickered as she nodded, moving around the area silently and swiftly despite her bulky form. Her eyes took in every detail, from the squirming cultists to the shifting shadows of the Deep Ones. She searched for a way to approach the Necronomicon unnoticed, her mind racing with thoughts of spells she could use if she could just get close enough. The whispers grew more seductive, whispering of power and freedom, but she remained steadfast, her humanity a beacon of light in the abyss of the curse. She found a path that led through the rocks, skirting the edge of the cavern, and made her way towards the ancient tome.

The fate of the world could very well rest on their shoulders, or rather, her hooves. The Leviathan's tentacles twitched, and the cultists grew more frenzied in their chanting, sensing something was amiss. As she would move, this was it then right, how can things get anymore worse than this, what was the worst possible thing to happen, what Eskel become a donkey as well and for both of them to truly be fucked, that was funny, but also the worst outcome as she did not come all this way to die like this here and now, she was going to live and she was going to see this right through to the end no matter what needed to be done, as she would breath out, nod her head, and begin, they made it all the way here, they came all this way, made it to this place. There was nothing else to do.

Her hooves made almost no sound on the slimy stones, a testament to her grace and control, despite her equine form. She moved with the stealth of a panther, weaving through the shadows and around the pillars of rock. Her tall ears flickered, catching every whisper of movement and murmur of the cultists below. The air grew colder, and she could feel the malevolent gaze of the Leviathan upon her, but she did not falter. The whispers grew more insistent, promising her power beyond measure if she would only embrace the darkness within her. Yet she remained steadfast, her mind clear and focused on the task ahead. As she would circle around them for the moment as she would breath out, walking slowly as she stopped and bumped right into one of them, a hooded cultist as he staggered back and turned around and looked right at her, his head slanting to the side as he would stare through the eyeholes of the mask he wore and wonder, was this something he was seeing, or had he truly become insane.

“Who let the jackass in here, we are not digging at this sight? Get it out of here!”

[murderbot-moodboard]

Okay, first thoughts on Murderbot (below the cut for light spoilers):

- I like that the show is emphasizing some of the things that are easy to forget as a fan who's read the whole series multiple times. Murderbot is a killing machine. It does consider killing everyone a legitimate option. It is not a human, it's a corporate product who's been forced to take a very pragmatic view of life due to its harsh experiences. All of this is good soup.

- Skarsgård as Murderbot is endearingly awkward and I'm really loving his performance!

- All the PresAux characters seem to fit pretty well with their book characterizations, and the small changes/additions only enhance their characters imo. I love them all and am gobbling up their added lore like Hostile One tried to gobble Bharadwaj (too soon?).

- Something that was never spelled out in the books but has been discussed by book fans is that Gurathin is kind of a human counterpart to Murderbot, and most of the things Murderbot dislikes about him are traits Murderbot itself has to some degree. The show seems to me to be deliberately playing up this theme, such as by having Murderbot and Gurathin react with similar disgust to Arada's comment about Murderbot's face, and showing Gurathin getting uncomfortable watching the visual of the throuple making out. I think this is a great choice and am really looking forward to seeing how their dynamic develops from here.

- Also, Gurathin is definitely acting more clearly like an asshole than in ASR, and that choice not only makes his character and the overall interpersonal dynamics more interesting, but it gives Murderbot a chance to make all sorts of snarky comments in its head which are very funny.

- Interestingly though, Gurathin is the one insisting on it/its pronouns for Murderbot early on, which could look like him being antagonistic but I suspect might be shown to fit Murderbot's preference later on. Also he is now show-canonically from the Corporation Rim, which is something that was sort of maybe implied but never actually confirmed in the books, despite its being the more popular fanon interpretation. (Fwiw I think it's the more interesting choice so it's nice to have confirmed.)

- Giving Mensah panic attacks seems like a good strategy for reflecting her inner fears and sense of responsibility in a way that translates better to TV.

- I laughed out loud at Pin-Lee's snark at the corporates, and I'm really interested in the way they're being fleshed out as a character who is aggressive but with a softer side, to paraphrase something Sabrina Wu said.

- Arada seems pretty similar to book characterization, and I love that we get to see her getting defensive of animals.

- Bharadwaj is more clearly going through it and her character seems more involved in the general events than at this point in the book, which are good choices.

- Ratthi seems pretty similar to the book so far, just with more details added which all seem consistent. We also got the iconic line "For fuck's sake, Ratthi!" lol.

- From Murderbot's early comments and what it sees of Pin-Lee's reactions, it's clear that the throuple is probably not going to be all smooth sailing, but any issues will likely be due to lack of clear communication about each person's feelings and preferences, so it's also theoretically solvable.

- The only thing that bothered me during the episodes was the parts where the audio was different or differently placed than what was in the trailers. But the changes between the first and second trailer (iirc) had already clued me in that they were being a bit flexible with the audio, so I wasn't as surprised as I would've been, I guess. Personally, since I tried not to have too many expectations outside of what was confirmed in the trailers and previews, it annoyed me that even those expectations weren't 100% reliable, but that's mostly an autism problem and I know I'll get over it.

- Other than the trailer thing I have zero complaints about the show so far! It seems to maintain the spirit of the books and their characters even in the parts that are added or changed, and I'm really, really looking forward to seeing the rest!

[taylortruther]

I think she might still believe (or at least write about) fate to some degree because she’s a romantic, but I think her belief in the concept of fate has changed. She framed her relationship with Joe as a reward for enduring a bad time, and I don’t think she sees life in that way at all anymore. I also think with travis, it’s the first time in over a decade someone pursued her with clear and direct intentions and they didn’t need to fight against xyz to be together. I always found it interesting how much she focused on how her and joe got together and why she kept revisiting that. I think it’s because she saw it as this really unlikely thing that ended up happening because of the power of love (lol I don’t know how else to phrase that) and that reinforced her fatalistic view of love. She wrote about Jake and Harry in the same way, except it didn’t work out, she couldn’t overcome xyz. It seems with her and travis there was no xyz that needed to be overcome.

Idk if that makes sense. But basically, so many Joe songs were like “we weren’t supposed to be together but we fought the cosmos and gods and now we are” and I wonder if TS12 will have an opposite approach and reflect on how easy and natural it was getting together and meshing each other in all aspects of the other’s life.

it took me a while to realize how she saw joe as the "reward" for all the bad in her life, but i really think that's critical to understanding how that all turned out. "at least i did one thing right" "my eternal consolation prize" - even calling him a trophy, like all the suffering led her there.

i think you are right on the money for how things with travis will be described! and i think we'll get a lot of songs about the future, which (correct me if i'm wrong) we haven't gotten much of before, because her music has focused so much on the past. we get glimpses of "give you a child" and "dreamscapes on the wall," but i feel like we'll get more sold references to the future (not just babies and marriage, either)!

[delusionalalien]

[Embrace You, Devour You] [Chapter 7] YANDERE!Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader x YANDERE!Variant!Invincibles

I HAVE WAY TOO MANY DRAFTS AND MISTAKES THAT I HAVE DONE WHILE MAKING THIS!!!! I accidentally published this TWICE, the app on my phone does not like me, no cap, it said 'save as draft' and the next thing i see is someone liking this shit when its only half way finish💀💀

Anyway, garbage as usual lmao. No Mark btw, you guys can skip this.

NOTE : I do NOT speak Russian, and I used google translate for the Russian bits, i'm so sorry for any Russian people reading this hot garbage of a fanfic.

prologue

previous chapter , ???

T.W / Tags: Slow-burn, Soft yandere, pining, mark is bat shit crazy but he good dw, baby-trapping, teen pregnancy, yandere variants, mark a lil pushy, breeding kink, jealous Mark Grayson, talks of abortion, misunderstandings, possessive Mark Grayson, murder, gore, child-murder(variant!readers), attempted suicide, murder-suicide(variant!readers), OOC, yandere!mom, prob need more tags

Weird ass dreams and you actually have family lore???

You felt the urge to mourn.

You had no recollections of what happened before you came here. All you knew this wasn't the earth you know, nature took over the planet, the sky a deep orange and a strange massive oak tree standing at the middle of it all.

a glowing green power shined inside it's body, dormant, angry, and isolated. Betrayed and stabbed by an axe which left imprints at the base, a scar, a reminder of what it went through.

There was an urge to comfort the alien plant, perhaps it was simply your mind playing tricks on you. There was no way a tree could feel human emotions.

You feel cold as you walk around it. You need to find home, but where is home exactly? This wasn't the earth you know of and you have no clue who or what brought you here in the first place.

You followed the roots of the first tree that protruded from the ground to another clearing where yet another oak tree stands, this time, normal for its height.

The last tree had vibrant colors, this one was dull in comparison to that green shine. You stopped for a brief moment to take in the sight before you.

Despite it's normal appearance and dull color, you can't help but touch the base of the tree and you flinched, stepping back when the shine swirled unnaturally when you touched it.

It seemed friendly, whatever these are they are definitely sentient to some degree.

You made distance with the oak, it didn't feel right to feel scared but you moved on your own feet, reminding yourself that you have to find a way back home and that sticking to one location is never a good idea- at least according to your mother's questionable survival guide she had passed down to you.

You pondered what your parents are doing, they probably filed a missing persons report on you and since you don't quite know how long you've been gone, you only hope its only been a day, and you started praying you weren't kidnapped by actual aliens from another planet.

Your train of thoughts also lingered further as you walk mindlessly through the dense forest. You think of Mark and how he was doing. You wished you cleared up the misunderstanding's about Todd before you came here, how you should have been honest with yourself and confessed.

Still, fear holds you back, you fear change, you are terrified of changing what you both have now. Knowing one day he's going to find someone and he looks at them like how you look at him all your life.

Mark is a friend, you know that, and you delude yourself that you're okay with just being friends, the next door childhood friend that will one day also find someone to love- someone who isn't Mark.

It repulsed you. The idea of someone else in your lives when you love him too much to give him away. Call it an obsession but you'd rather fight for the both of you to stay single for the rest of your life.

You tripped and fell on the grass when your foot caught itself on a stone, you hadn't realized you started crying in the middle of your crisis.

Stupid feelings.

Stupid lies.

Stupid you.

Why of all people has it have to be Mark?

Why does it feel like the world would tear itself apart when you aren't with him?

Why him?

Because he's Mark Grayson.

You're first love and possibly your last. The dork next door that would listen to you rant or ramble in the middle of the night with all the attention on you, the boy who would catch a lizard for you in recess just because you called them cool despite how scared he was touching one, the boy next door who shows up and glues himself on you with every chance he gets and spends most of your summers locked in your room dozing off or playing video games.

That was Mark Grayson, and to him?

You are nothing but a best friend. His ride or die, the girl next door who listens to him ramble about the new release of seance dog, the one who would put him in stupid situations, the girl who has a questionable love interest on Todd.

And who are you to make you change his mind?

You made your bed along ago, you just refused to lie still in it.

You leaned yourself onto a tree, small, insecure, but you felt the most safe within it's small dome, its little sanctuary in the middle of nowhere. It took you a minute to calm down and realized you hadn't gone that far at all from the second oak tree and from the distance you can still see the first tree towering above the head of the rest of the planets in this world.

The smaller oak you leaned to was still growing to maturity, the seconds tree's roots intertwined with the smaller one just like the first one did.

There was no green shine in its body not even a minuscule of it, just a normal tree with a parent tree root embracing its child.

You sat down and scoots further on the small tree where you feel safe. Where you can drown yourself in your own emotions without the feeling of being judged.

You want Mark to be here,

You want your mom to be here,

You want to hear your dad,

You want to hear Debbie giggle,

You want to see Nolan give you his best awkward comfort smiles,

You miss William and his loud comments,

You miss everyone back home, they're probably all worried sick about you,

How do you even go back home?

When did you fall asleep?

Soft fingers strokes your face, it wiped the salted tears away and she whispered soothing words into your ears, Russian was a language your mother didn't bother teaching you, as to why you don't know yourself, this woman is unmistakably speaking Russian to you, whispering soft words of encouragement.

"Вы должны проснуться!"

"Не заканчивай здесь свою жизнь!"

"Приди ко мне, дитя мое!"

"Вот и всё, иди сюда, дорогая."

Why was half your body inside the tree?

She held your hands and pry's you away from the plant in desperation, gathering her strength and she held you close when you are thrown out of the tree's hollow inside. You breathe heavily and watched the tree you we're resting on shamefully closed, the imprint of your body fading slowly as if it understood its irrational behavior of consuming you was wrong and selfish.

You could have died back there, and yet a stranger saved you.

"T-thank you saving me..."

She was massive, not as near as the same physique as your mother, but she was almost the same build. She has sharp features like your mother however, almost creepily identical and you flinched when she furrows her brows in anger.

"О чем ты думал! У тебя есть желание умереть? Что тебя так беспокоит, что ты хочешь покончить с собой?"

"I, I'm sorry? Miss i don't understand what you're saying."

There was a long pause before she sighed, her shoulders slump in defeat, you watch her stand up and motion for you to follow, despite everything, something tells you to obey without further questions. Perhaps because she was human in a nonhuman world, your instincts screams to survive.

You walked behind her, glancing back at the tree that almost consumed you and shuddered. You could have died, you got too comfortable and ended up almost giving up your life and the oddest thing is, you don't even hold any sort of resentment towards it.

Your body slams to a stop when the mystery woman stood still, she points towards a hole on the ground, her face unreadable but serious in the way she spoke.

"Home."

Home? You step a little closer to the hole, it was an endless abyss down there and you're beginning to doubt that she was even here to help you, looking back at the woman, she crossed her arms and waits for you to jump in.

"I'm sorry but this doesn't look safe."

Maybe she speaks and understand minimal English that would explain how she seems to understand you to a certain level. She shakes her head and comes up to you just to jab her finger right where you're heart is.

"Return."

"Return?" You repeat and she nods.

"Return, home." She points back at the hole once more then at you.

"Sorry, I don't understand how this hole is going to bring me back to earth."

A frustrated huff left her lips, she chew the inside of her cheeks thinking, finding words she could convince you to jump, and you wait for her to speak, the more the silence grew the more you think you have to be on your own to find your way back home.

A spaceship would be great about now.

"You, soul, home, body, return."

"wh-"

You didn't even get to ask before she actually shoved you. You flail your arms around trying to catch anything to stop your fall, screaming as the orange sky began to disappear and the silhouette of your murderer fades.

Fuck your life.

-

You jolt from slumber. Mouth opened to scream but no noise did come out. What the hell did you dream about? You're then hit with a throbbing sensation in every part of your body.

Everything hurts. The pain you feel was like being struck by a truck going pass the speed limit down the road to end you, the mattress felt thin and stiff making you squirm and groan once your entire senses came back at full force.

You can make out the faint smell medicine wavering in the air, the bed would creaked on occasion if you shifted, your face was numbed with something clings onto your cheeks like sticker, your arms are no better, needles inserted in your veins and supplying you whatever nutrients you needed..

You felt dizzy when you sat up, and you're careful not to accidentally push the needle to where it shouldn't be. You felt nauseous and scared.

How long have you been out? What happened? Why are you in the hospital with these bandages wrapped around you?

Like a second truck coming out of nowhere to finish the job, you're hit with the last memories before you went unconscious out, you were alone underneath the bench and in the mercy of your own company, begging death not to take you, recalling Rebecca and her goons walk away from your body submerged in your own vomit, the way they laughed and tortured you.

You cried. Sobbing in your bruised hands as you let it all out. The agony they made you feel, how you felt pathetic and small while in their mercy as you took on their assault, blow after blow begging and crying out for help and mercy.

You hear the door open, you didn't stop your tears, nor try to shame the emotions you felt before your father went inside.

He froze on that doorway, his eyes red and tired. You felt bad for everyone, the pain they must have gone through just to wait for you to wake up, to know what happened.

It wasn't long before Nicolas held you in his arms, holding your head against his chest as he feel you tremble in his arms, crying to him, for your mother to hold you, to surround you in their presence, and Nicolas hushes you and kissing your head in comfort.

"I'm here,"

"You're safe, nothing is going to harm you now,"

"Let it all out, (Name)."

You drowned in his comfort, his smell, his voice, the way he sooth you in a tight embrace. You believe him, you survived in what you felt was death guiding you to the afterlife, surviving what felt like an eternity of torture, and he lets you cry, again and again.

Because you're his little girl.

And nothing will ever change that.

Not in a hundred years, not even millions.

So Nicolas didn't speak, he didn't stop you from crying, acknowledging what you went through, understanding his grounds as a father.

And for you it was enough.

-

Note: when i got bullied my dad just stared at me from across the room. All my crying must have went to his head because he told me to shut up and do the chores (he also threw a notebook at me)💀💀💀💀💀💀 GOD GIVE ME A DAD LIKE NICOLAS!!1!11! #copium #developeddaddyissueswithme

[antianakin]

A number of people have responded to this post with something similar to this and I think this post is getting misunderstood as me arguing that I think Cassian should know about all of the things Bail has done, and it's not. That's not what I'm saying.

I'm bringing up all of these things Bail has done because it felt to me less like this is a moment where we're supposed to just see Cassian as wrong or biased, and more of a moment where the narrative VERY GENUINELY wants you to agree with Cassian that the only reason any of them are even here right now as a rebellion is because of Luthen.

For one, Cassian's sole reasoning behind why he believes the information is because "Luthen died for it" and that faith (as well as Kleya's) is ultimately what helps sway Vel into convincing Mon Mothma to believe it and stand up to Bail about it. It's BAIL who has to sit there being wrong and just be the "man Cassian doesn't like."

For two, this entire arc really focuses in on Luthen's legacy and influence, so it doesn't make a lot of sense for the ultimate message at the end to be that Cassian's just biased and wrong about Luthen's impact on the rebellion.

For three, Gilroy apparently has said in an interview that he sees Luthen and Mon Mothma as the true founders of the rebellion in his version of the story.

For four, they decided to have Bail's team be compromised in the episode with Mon's big speech so that Luthen can step in with his better knowledge and agents to ACTUALLY save her but then the "Gold Squadron" (who are also part of Bail's group) insist that they have to step in and deliver Mon Mothma to Yavin, leaving Luthen and Cassian's work essentially unrecognized. While this fits in quite nicely with the themes of Rogue One and the ways that so many people often end up unremembered by history no matter how important they are, it is also worth bringing up in this case because it's another instance of "Bail's way fails, and Luthen's succeeds because he's just better at it."

For five, Cassian wouldn't know about all of the little things Bail has done, but Rebels has made it fairly clear that Bail DOES take part in some of the recruitment work and meetings within his own rebel cells. It seems INCREDIBLY unlikely that Cassian is unaware of just how long Bail has been doing this and how much of what's here is a direct result of Bail's work for the last 19 years bringing it all together. He doesn't have the DETAILS, sure, but he's been in Bail's rebellion for two years now, you cannot convince me that he doesn't know ANYTHING about Bail's involvement in it and the fact that he literally founded it.

I would mind this a lot less if it felt like we as the audience were supposed to understand that Cassian is just being emotional and kind-of biased because a mentor of his just died, but that doesn't feel like the way it was being presented to us. You CAN interpret it that way, but that doesn't necessarily mean that's the way it was intended to be understood.

So the reason it felt important to me to bring up the fact that Bail has absolutely been established as being there from DAY FUCKING ONE with the things he did to help the Jedi and what he did for Leia isn't to say that Cassian should KNOW these things, but to point out that the narrative in Andor seems to be acting like those things don't count or is just ignoring them to favor Luthen and Mon because Gilroy prefers them. But they DID happen and they DO count and Bail Organa is just as much if not more responsible for that rebellion's existence than Luthen Rael. I LIKE Luthen, I think he's a fascinating and complex character, and I am perfectly happy to give him his roses for what he HAS done, but what I won't do is devalue or dismiss Bail Organa's contributions to lift up Luthen as the true founder of the rebellion.

It seems a little hilarious to me that they have Cassian making the argument that the only reason any of them are here, the only reason the REBELLION exists at all, is because of Luthen... and he's saying it to BAIL FUCKING ORGANA.

I'm sorry, but while I am happy to accept that Luthen did do a LOT of things to keep the rebellion alive and likely recruited quite a few of the people on Yavin to this cause himself and trained them up, there are just as many if not more who are there explicitly because of BAIL ORGANA.

Bail Organa who began fighting the Empire the moment he showed up at the Jedi Temple the night of Order 66 and turned around to save any Jedi he could and then became a GETAWAY DRIVER as Yoda went to assassinate the Emperor and then proceeded to agree to take in Anakin Skywalker's child in order to hide her from the Empire.

Bail Organa who has literally been shown helping recruit the entire Ghost Crew and likely brought on the entire Phoenix Squadon and theoretically the entire Gold Squadron. Bail Organa who was the one who helped Riyo Chuchi try to fight for clone rights. Bail Organa who saw Ahsoka Tano on Naboo for Padme's funeral and immediately turns around to offer her a chance to join the rebellion which she does eventually choose to take. Bail Organa who eventually does allow his own DAUGHTER to join the rebellion and run missions when she's old enough.

You cannot convince me that somehow Luthen Rael is MORE responsible for the creation of the rebellion and its existence and people's involvement in it than Bail Organa. You can't.

[lilu787788]

A great question was asked on our server: “Would antis love Alina so much and hate Aleksander if the two were genderbent?” I responded briefly there, but a dear friend @is-today-tomorrow-in-nz suggested I might do a Tumblr post about it, so I'm expanding on my thought here as well. It made me reflect on the huge hypocrisy we often see from Aleksander’s antis. They are quick to condemn him while making excuses for everything Alina does, even when her choices are just as destructive or reckless. She burns maps, which directly leads to the deaths of everyone on the skiff. She destroyed the Fold in a way that will likely leave Ravka exposed to enemy invasion, practically opening the borders for the enemy armies. What follows could easily be a massacre of Grisha and civilians alike. But somehow, these consequences are glossed over or reframed as heroism.

Now imagine if Aleksander had been written as a woman. A powerful Grisha who lived through centuries of war, loss, and terror. Someone who did everything in her power to protect her people from genocide, even when it meant crossing dangerous lines. Many of the same people who now hate him would admire her. They would say she was tragic. Forced to make impossible decisions. Carrying the weight of the world alone. They would say that creating the Fold was terrible, yes, but understandable. She would be called a girlboss, a warrior queen, a survivor. People would write long posts about how she was demonized for using power in a man’s world. They would weep over her loneliness, her trauma, her desire for control shaped by fear and love. Her story would be seen as emotional and layered.

Now reverse it. Imagine a male version of Alina. A chosen boy, gifted with light. He learns he’s special, believes he’s meant to save the world. But the first thing he does is try to kill the woman who’s been defending their people for generations. He calls her a monster. He lets his friend shoot her. He watches others hunt her and does nothing to stop them. He betrays her feelings. And when she’s at her weakest, worn down by merzost, when she is broken and defenseless, he stabs her in cold blood. He doesn’t even flinch. He mocks her when she calls him her saint. He gives her self-glorifying words and a blade to the chest. Would we still call him a hero? Would people write about how brave he was for ending her life?

I really don’t think so.

Aleksander is morally grey. No one denies that. But his antis always demand that he be flat and one-note. They treat him like he is evil for the sake of evil, ignoring everything that shaped him. At the same time, Alina is constantly given a free pass. She can betray, she can lie, she can hurt, and it is still labeled as strength or growth. Aleksander’s love is twisted into manipulation. Alina’s cruelty is dressed up as empowerment. His loneliness is seen as something he deserves. Hers is framed as tragic. He is hated for being morally complex. She is celebrated for being ruthless when it fits the narrative.

This is a clear double standard.

It’s not about saying that Alina shouldn’t be criticized. It’s about the fact that Aleksander is almost never given the same space in the narrative. He’s not allowed fear, heartbreak, or even love without it being weaponized against him. But if the roles were reversed, those same traits would be seen as powerful. This shows how selective antis still are when it comes to who deserves empathy and depth in storytelling. And all too often, it comes down to gender.