#even if he wanted to genuinely prevent his death

[justaghostwithbones]

This is so beautifully articulated. I alternate between sprinting forward to moonwalking back… sometimes years. Sometimes I take up residence in that bygone time, and wallow in trying to change it, while imaging I don’t know how that storyline tragically ends. Sometimes I sprint forward then; start building the blocks of the life that I want. I’ll get it partially built… and then… and then… and then… I’m back in the past again, somewhere else this time. Trying to prevent a different moral crime.

But for just about a month now, I’ve held still (with a moment or two of those springs to half-build things; though instead of running backward, I just pause). I’m learning to crawl. I’m building those skills.

(CW: death, grief, suicide, animal death)

Something I’ve learned, so painfully, through so many genuine tragedies—the death of my little family: first my husband of almost ten years… then the first dog we adopted together (and even the people who hate it when others compare human children to pets would fully vouch for the fact that I showed my guys more love and sacrificed more for them than many human parents of human kids), who died spontaneously in my arms from a condition that couldn’t be screened for. He didn’t suffer, it was fast. I wailed when I felt his last breath. I had never felt something die before and it rewrote some of my DNA. I never wanted to outlive my dogs, and I couldn’t believe I had to. I had these primal screams of rage at “God” for everything I had already lost, but my baby deserved peace from me, even if he wasn’t really “there” at the moment, so I swallowed my rage and I held him for over an hour. Talking about everything he was and everything he meant and all of the people he had inspired with his spunky personality as a rescued dog who had done some time in the streets. I pressed my forehead against the top of his head and health my breath, unable to accept he was gone. I listened to songs with his fuzzy, sweet body cradled close to me while I kissed his face.

His “big” brother, whom we adopted a year later than our first guy, but was triple his size deteriorated quickly, and after torturing myself with data and research, I looked into his eyes one day and knew that he was asking me for help. He’d been to veterinary specialists several times in the previous few months, but there was nothing any of them could do for him. It was just age. He was a large breed dog who was at least 14. They kept telling me I couldn’t have done more. I knew the only help I could give him was to let him go. So I made an appointment and planned for him to pass peacefully under a tree my late-husband planted. I took him to the place where my husband and I got married. I gave him all of the carbs he wanted (once he got into the double digits, he felt he earned the right to snag food, and he never met a piece of bread he didn’t love). I took pictures of him against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains in the summer. I slept on my husband’s side of the bed (because he slept in a raised bed my husband built for him there), so I could pet him all night, every night I still had him. That gold-hearted guy ended up passing two days before this wonderful vet service was scheduled to come to my house… he still couldn’t fully let go, so they made an emergency visit, and he ultimately died in my arms on my late-husband’s side of the bed, after a couple hours of me laying with him and telling him stories and playing him songs and mapping out his irises like they would be my compass, because I had to no idea how to navigate life without his protective instincts. Because I didn’t know if my bones had another loss in them. I silently begged for his wisdom and felt so selfish for not being able to stop time and reverse biology and get more time with him. He loved my husband much more than he loved me, in the beginning, and there was some real poetic beauty in where he chose to let go—he didn’t get up on the bed regularly at that point; he hadn’t for years. But for a couple hours, I got to thank him out loud for everything that I could remember to say out loud. He licked tears off my face. His tail wagged when my mom arrived. I whispered to him until I felt his heart stop, and continued after.

In under 2.5 years, I lost my husband, my career, my health (I still am not allowed to work due to my disabilities), and my babies I’d “raised” for 12, and 11 years, respectively. And I haven’t moved forward. The only reason I’m still alive is that… those weren’t my only two babies. Months before my husband died, he fell in love with a puppy we stumbled upon unintentionally while picking up something from a pet store. We didn’t know there was an adoption event held that day. So just over 5 years ago, now, we adopted a puppy. By now, he’s a “legitimate” service dog (cardiac training), and my best friend and confidante. There have been so many nights where I’ve wanted to unsubscribe from earth but just look at him and know he couldn’t live without me. He is my tether to now, and he is how I’ve navigated losing close family relationships (I didn’t suffer the loss of my husband, career, and babies in a way that was palatable for some people. I didn’t do anything crazy, they admit. I just… cried too much. Wasn’t fun to be around. So they didn’t come around. Or call. Or text. I don’t have any real “social media,” so I wasn’t suffering in their face or anything. I just… wasn’t supposed to suffer at all, somehow). He is the reason I’m working so hard in therapy (and have been for nearly 4 years, but REALLY doing painful work for the past 4 months) in the hopes that I will start to want to wake up. That I will look forward to living. That I am determined to find a way to live and not just exist. That I can build a sustainable way to move forward.

But right now, I’m proud of myself for holding still, even when it hurts everywhere and I know all my internal escape routes, all of the ways I can distract myself, all of my hiding spots, all of the ways I can bleed to distract my brain from its selfish existential suffering. But I’m not using them. I’m just holding still, sometimes shakily, sometimes while holding my breath, sometimes through hours of silent tears running down my face.

It’s a kind of poetic irony that I found this person’s beautiful sentiment—that made my neurons start firing in a way that I could write about things I’ve never been able to speak aloud with any level of detail—on the eve of “spring forward” (though I, along with literally everyone else, hates the fact that we can’t stick to either daylight or standard time year round. It’s literally the only thing there’s true consensus about in the U.S.; sincerely); because that’s what I want to do. Maybe in March I’ll only be crawling, but it’s still forward motion. Because I know I won’t make it through 2025 if it’s like 2024. The world is getting worse and I have every excuse to do the same. The world is getting worse so I refuse to do the same. The world is getting worse so I am going to get better.Not perfect. Not perfectly. Tearfully, painfully, tragically, better. I’m going to keep the coffee dates adults pretend to make. I’m going to meet the neighbors I’ve lived near for 13 years. I’m going to learn how to exist among tragedy without feeling tragic. I’m going to learn to tell the stories of what I’ve lost with the aim of learning to gain things, not as an excuse for why I don’t ever even dare to want anything because I know so deeply the pain of loss. I want to grieve, but not be the physical embodiment of grief. I want to learn how to want things. I want to learn how to say that I want things. I want to learn what I like to do. I want to learn how to find joy and not just be busy.

I want.

how do you reconnect to life after being disconnected for so long

[slow-reader-reads-books]

I find the most interesting difference between Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan isn't "malice" and "kindness" but rather Shen Jiu being a desperate-to-survive sore loser and Shen Yuan being an uncompetitive good sport, and it's interesting to see how their differences kind of flow from those two opposing traits

Both are desperate to survive in their own ways, however I guess you could argue Shen Jiu did everything to secure the life he wanted, meanwhile Shen Yuan idled and idled until fire was put under his ass and he finally had to do something to secure better living standards for himself

You could argue Shen Jiu has a stronger will to survive, but even being alive he didn't seem to enjoy it and be happy all that much. Meanwhile Shen Yuan strives for very little but generally is happy with the bare necessities and choosing to just loudly inflate his complaints about little things instead, which probably endears him to the people around him

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can we get a doctor phosphorus X reader where the reader has power similar to Deadpool. Example of unable to die and sometimes has ability to pull things out of thin air for comedic effect

You were a curious case to most, from your inability to die, to your unique ability to seemingly pull things that people needed out of thin air as though by pure coincidence. When asked about how you did what you did, you merely shrugged your shoulders - you sipped a drink you plucked out of thin air through a silly straw- and replied with something that only left the rest of the monsters even more confused;

‘Plot convenience and comedic effect for the audience reading this fanfic that author took far too long to actually get to writing.’

Many left you alone after that, deducing you a tad mentally unstable, all but Dr Phosphorus who also thrived off of the chaos and unpredictable nature that you brought to every situation you found yourself in. He found comradery in you and your ability to piss of basically everyone by getting under their skin, even him at times but he knows when to laugh with you as while everything that came from your mouth might sound insulting, that’s just how you came across and it only takes someone with a likemindedness to understand when you were being genuine or not.

Dr Phosphorus remembered the first time you interacted with one another when you scared him by accident, making him grab your shoulder with his exposed radiated hand, thinking you’ll die a violent death but imagine his surprise when you only shrug his hand off to reveal a healing shoulder where his hand once was. ‘Is it hot in here or is it just you? Oh who am I kidding it is you because of your…yeah.’ You said as you gestured to all of him and while he couldn’t smile since he was a literal skeleton, he couldn’t help but chuckle at your words now that the initial scare was over.

‘Oh you’re the wise ass who thought it’d be funny to scare the irradiated Skelton?’ Dr phosphorus says as he crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head as he took you in and the burnt cloth at your shoulder from his touch, your skin however -now fully healed at this point- looked untouched as though he wasn’t close enough to even hurt you. ‘Who are you newbie, I would think that I would remember a person like you.’ He adds with an almost flirtatious purr.

You smiled as you offered out your hand. ‘Of course you wouldn’t as I was hauled off here just this morning, but for the sake of keeping this fanfic a reasonable length as to prevent the possibility of stretching the readers attention span too thin, I killed a bunch of bad guys and lost a couple of limbs in the process.’ You said as though it wasn’t as big of a deal as it would be to others, ‘people were screaming, I was screaming. and here I am being called a freak, monster and whatever even by people who should probably look in the mirror before saying shit. It’s like the pot calling the kettle black.’ You finished.

Dr phosphorus looked at you then back down at your hand before looking back at you once more, amused. ‘I’d take your hand sweetheart, but I don’t want to hurt you…again.’

‘Oh then take these gloves.’ You said.

‘What gloves-‘

‘These silly!’ You exclaimed as you shoved a pair of irradiation proof gloves against dr phosphorus’s chest.

‘How did you-‘ dr phosphorus tried to ask, only to then decide that logic wasn’t all that important to you when you seemingly worked outside of logic as a person, logic and sound decisions didn’t exist within you, and it shows in the most subtlest ways that one wouldn’t notice unless they were paying attention as to how you seemingly controlled an unforeseen narrative to your very will.

‘How did I what?’ You asked.

‘Pull shit out of thin air.’ Dr phosphorus replied as he slides the gloves over his hands.

‘Plot convenience and comedic effect for the them.’ You then pointed towards a part of the room, almost as though gesturing to an audience , only for there to be no one there at all but cold walls. You two were the only ones in the room and dr phosphorus thought he was the only mentally unstable one in this facility. ‘Who are we looking at sweets?’ Dr phosphorus says as he tried to see what you were seeing, but all he could see was the cold walls that he was far too familiar with then the outside of the very structure he was trapped within, which sounded sad but to his knowledge no sane mind would blink twice at the mistreatment of a monster.

‘The audience reading this very fan fic.’ You informed him with a smile before seeing that he had put on the gloves and boldly grabbed his hand, making the skeleton jolt as he then relaxed when remembering he did put on the gloves. ‘But never mind them, it’s good to meet you dr phosphorus.’ You add as though knowing his name without him telling you was all apart of your character and dr phosphorus had to say that he was liking you more and more you spoke.

‘I don’t think I disclosed that to you sweetheart, but it’s good to meet you too.’ He chuckled and in that moment he knew that your relationship was going to be unlike any other. And he was right.

There would be times where all of you were gathered in the cafeteria, where one of the monsters nudged past you rather rudely while sneering at you. You were use to this as technically while you had abilities that went beyond human comprehension, you were still the closest thing to being a human in comparison to those who had physical appearance that screamed monster.

‘Watch where you’re going human.’ They’d spit at you venomously.

You only smiled back at them while Dr Phosphorus looked between the two of you from the sidelines along with everyone else. ‘Someone who’s going to get bitchslapped by a fish says what.’

The bat like creature scrunched up their face. ‘What-‘ before they could finish their sentence, they were then smacked across the face with a fish rather violently as they were sent to the floor. They hold a hand to their cheek, clearly unaware of what had just happened along with the rest of the room, before looking at your hand that was once empty now was grasping the tail a dead fish the length of your arm; which explained the disgusting smell that soon hit their senses a second after they realised that they were hit in the face with a dead fish.

‘Where did you get that thing?!’ They’d spit exclaimed but you shrugged.

‘That’s on a need to know basis.’ You replied as you shoved the fish into the hands of a gargoyle like being as you took your place next to dr phosphorus, who had been trying to hold back his laughter but couldn’t when you were close enough if g for him to ask. ‘A fish? That’s what you come up with when insulated?!’ He wheezed. You shrugged ‘thought you would like the image of someone getting slapped with a fish and so I went with it.’ You explained as though it was something that happened on a daily basis for you.

‘Well it was definitely a sight to behold for not just me sweetheart.’ Dr phosphorus tells you as you both carried on with your day, all the while everyone else could only watch as the irradiated skeleton and you continue your conversation before being joined by weasel who had the fish firmly liked in his jaw.

[tritoch]

I wish people were willing to have a slightly broader or more expansive understanding of FFXIV's women because I think there's so much there in terms of easily-unearthed subtext that no one really thinks about! And I don't mean this in a "people need to re-evaluate their response to the women of Stormblood" way (though I do think that's largely true), I mean I think fandom's understanding even of the women it mostly likes is pretty weak. And you can say that's because the women are underwritten, and I won't argue that they couldn't use more attention from the writing, but that doesn't prevent you from analyzing them the way you can any character in fiction.

Like everyone's always like, oh, Y'shtola and Krile are like your snarky wine aunts, haha. But...Sharlayan is a pretty ossified and patriarchal society from what we see of it in Endwalker and places like the AST quests. Can we open ourselves to the possibility that it means something that almost every young Sharlayan woman we meet, almost all young women in academia, tends to be a little sharp and quick on the retort? The arch and snarky ways in which those two carry themselves reflect in some sense the facts that Krile is almost literally a nepo baby woman in STEM who is barely older than her students, while Y'shtola learned her behaviors from her much older female mentor, a woman who hated Sharlayan academic culture so much she literally abandoned it to go live in a cave.

Or like, Alisaie! Fan jokes and meta frequently buy into her tendency to characterize the dynamic between her and Alphinaud as a jock/nerd, street savvy extrovert vs book smart introvert thing. Except, tragically, Alphinaud's highest stat is 100% Charisma and he absolutely pulled in his student days. All his greatest achievements are diplomatic, and he very easily develops strong friendships with people in every culture you learn about. Alisaie is the determined, sensitive genius who revolutionizes Eorzea by proving the tempered can be healed. She's just permanently carrying a chip on her shoulder that while she and her brother are remembered as the youngest students in Studium history, actually he got in six months before her, a fact pretty much no one else ever brings up once. She's constantly fuming over the fact that he was marginally better than her in certain specific ways in high school, and looking to differentiate them in ways that actually fail to credit her own obvious strengths and accomplishments. I think that's so fun! It's so juicy, and it's equally good for comedy or serious character studies.

Venat is a genuinely benevolent hero who has no compunction sacrificing lives for the greater good. Minfilia is kind and compassionate and clearly on some level actually buys into the narrative of her own unique moral authority. Ysayle is a revolutionary firebrand with almost no concern for the common man, whose death reflects her Javert-like inability to reconcile her own romantic belief in justice with the tragic ways her blinkered worldview (born largely of trauma) let her be easily co-opted by a violent system. But even people who like these characters rarely move past surface-level reads (people who think Venat is just an all-loving mommy figure make me want to fucking die). The fandom is allergic to drawing connections the game doesn't draw, and fails to recognize that FFXIV is a game where characters voice understandings of themselves and others that are wrong about as often as they're right.

You can already see the ways that women like Wuk Lamat and Cahciua and Sphene are getting flattened or losing their shading in fan reception and it's boring. Like I'm not even saying this because you should take female characters more seriously or something (though you should), I'm literally just bored to tears sometimes and if you guys turn Wuk Lamat into another Hot Dumb Jock Lady, I will combust.

[uvobreakmylegs]

Ouroboros

this fic is one I wrote a long while ago as a lil sequel to @hypnoswrites's fic Vengeance Tastes Bitter and she gave permission for me to post :D

please be aware of the tags if you choose to check out either of these fics

Uvogin x female!reader

Warnings: kidnapping, captivity, mentions of death, mentions of murder, past noncon, mentions of suicide, threats of violence, abusive relationships, attempted murder, dubcon, smut, Uvogin being a bastard

Word Count: 2.9k

The sounds of a door abruptly opening and then slamming shut were what announced his arrival. And despite being used to the sound of his return, you still tensed up when you heard him approaching as you determined how long it would take for him to find you within the house.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn't very long.

Uvogin's gaze was on you the second he entered the kitchen, looking you over as you stood by the counter. You heard him hum to himself before he said anything to you, sounding slightly dissatisfied. Perhaps he was looking over the marks he'd left on your skin and was unhappy when he saw that they were fading.

Or perhaps it was because that you had yet to acknowledge him, instead keeping yourself turned away and looking out through the window at the scenery outside. The nice weather outside was a better thing to focus your energy on, though you wouldn't be able to ignore him for too much longer. He wouldn't allow that.

“Don't you have somethin' to say to me?” Uvogin asked you.

“…. I don't know what you want me to say,” you replied.

“What, you don't know that it's common courtesy to greet someone when they've returned home? Who raised you?”

That last comment stung.

“This isn't your home. It's not mine, either. Why the hell should I bother with that?” you asked bitterly.

“Because I want you to.”

He was enjoying this. You could hear it in his voice. And you already knew he had that usual victorious smirk on his face, pleased with himself that he had managed to make you snap at him.

Even though he liked the ways you would push back, he would expect you to comply at some point, and while you hated needing to bend to his will, things were better if you did that much.

Or at the very least, they were less violent.

Your shoulder's sagged as you sighed and then said, “welcome back.”

You then glanced over your shoulder to look at him.

He was smirking. As expected. Still getting a kick out of making you submit to him.

It had been several months since that fateful, awful day where you had convinced yourself that you could kill him and take revenge for your family. The day where he had soundly beaten you without even trying, and instead of taking your life for bothering him with the weak attempt, he had amused himself by humiliating you. Starting with pissing on you after preventing you from taking your own life and ending with him raping you repeatedly over a period of several hours.

He kept you at the camp he had set up for a few weeks after in the hopes that people would come looking for you so he could torment you even more by killing your would-be rescuers in front of you. But no one ever came, much to his disappointment and your relief, though it was depressing that no one seemed to have noticed that you were gone.

After that Uvogin traveled from place to place, moving from continent to continent while living a rather nomadic lifestyle. And he dragged you along with him, as you were there to be his greatest source of entertainment.

It was an existence that you despised. And he knew you felt as such.

He seemed to revel in that fact.

Uvogin tended to keep to less populated areas when it came to his camps. He seemed to genuinely enjoy surviving in the outdoors, so it was surprising when he had broken into the house you were currently in and announced that the two of you would be staying there. You could only assume that he wanted a change of pace.

You didn't complain, as it was nice to be able to sleep in a bed again, even if you did need to share with him. And Uvogin had seemed to have gotten that for you without killing someone for it, which helped in keeping you from feeling too guilty about staying in a stranger's house.

All you hoped for was that the actual owner of the house wouldn't come back while the two of you were still there. You knew what the outcome would be if that were to happen, and you would hate yourself even more if you were forced to stand to the side while someone died for no reason.

“Was that so hard?” Uvogin asked you, the stupid smirk still on his face. He was still trying to goad you into getting upset with him.

Instead you just sighed and turned away, looking back outside. The house he had found was still more on the outskirts of society, and not far from the kitchen window sat a mountain with a hiking trail where you regularly saw people walking through.

You had enough common sense to know that you couldn't go to anyone for help. Uvogin would just kill them.

And when he began to leave you alone in the house, he had warned against attempts to take your own life, telling you that if he did come back and find you dead, he'd go out and slaughter a hundred people. Even if you managed to escape him in death, he would go out of his way to make sure that someone paid the price, and he didn't care who it was.

A hundred people was a lot and it felt far too over the top when you heard it, but you didn't question him on how dedicated he was to that plan: you could absolutely see him carrying that out. And despite how tantalizing the knife block over to your right managed to be that promised you an easy way out, you kept yourself from going that far. No matter what, you couldn't give him any excuses to kill even more people.

The only way you could see yourself escaping him was if he finally got tired of you and killed you like you'd wanted for so long now.

It was an odd thing to wish that you would be so boring that he would kill you for it.

And unfortunately it seemed to be something that was easier said than done.

“What, nothing to say to that?”

When you didn't respond, you heard him hum to himself once again. Then he approached you, his footsteps sounding against the tile of the kitchen floor, and they stopped when he stood behind you, leaving very little space between the two of you.

Even without his nen, his presence was overwhelming. In part because of just how he towered over you and effortlessly made you feel smaller than you actually were. And Uvogin was clearly using that to his full advantage at the moment as he placed both of his hands on the edge of the counter, his arms on either side of your body as he kept you stuck in that spot. Any attempt to duck under his arms would just end with him holding onto you, so you stayed put. Even though him being in such close proximity wasn't ideal, at least he was keeping his hands to himself, if just for the moment.

Uvogin hummed to himself a third time.

“You've been quieter,” he said.

“Have I?”

“Yeah,” he answered flatly, “what's that about?”

“Why does it matter?” you asked.

“Because it makes you seem like you're up to something.”

“I'm not,” you said, then you added “I guess I'm just accepting my situation.”

He snorted at that.

“Accepting it, huh? Doesn't seem that way to me.”

“Okay,” you said, shrugging.

Uvogin didn't seem to buy your indifference.

“If you were really okay with this, I don't think you would've snapped at me earlier,” he said.

That time you didn't answer.

His gaze was heavy on you, and you swore you could hear the cogs in his mind turning as he tried to figure what would be the best way to deal with you. It'd be very easy for him to just hurt you, something he'd done many times before. What was stopping him from going that far right now was a mystery to you.

“It still seems like you're up to something,” he finally said.

“I'm not,” you answered.

But you couldn't help but add something else to that.

“Why does this even matter to you? Most of the time you're only interested in fucking me.”

He sounded pleased with himself when he answered with a “yeah.”

“But I've come to like our conversations,” he added.

That makes one of us

Something like that probably would've been your response only a few months ago. When you had just a bit more fight in you and hoped that if you yelled and insulted him enough, he'd kill you.

But that sort of reaction was the thing he was looking for, and your goal was to disappoint him. Something that you were failing at in the moment, but you could still try.

He was quiet again, and this time you heard his fingers tapping against the surface of the counter.

It made things feel a bit more dangerous, for some reason.

After a few moments of that, he spoke again.

“What would their reaction be if they were still alive?” he asked.

You knew who he was talking about even without him saying it specifically: the dead members of your family, who he likely didn't even remember murdering or even why he had killed them. The whole reason this awful chapter in your life had started.

The question was a trap. You knew that much.

“If they were still alive we wouldn't be here,” you answered shortly.

“Hm. I guess.”

He leaned down closer and you felt his breath tickling your ear. Despite your attempts to keep yourself steady, you couldn't keep yourself from shuddering at the feeling.

You knew that he noticed because he chuckled at you.

“If your family knew what would happen after they died,” he asked, “if they knew that one day you'd fuck up your attempt at revenge so massively that it would end with you becoming my slave, how sad do you think they'd be?”

You didn't answer.

The knife block was still in view from the corner of your eye.

“What would they be thinking if they saw you all those times you came while my cock was buried inside of you?” he whispered, “knowing that their last surviving member was the one who was getting off with help from the guy who killed them? How disgusted would they be? If they saw just how much of a slut-”

You grabbed a knife and tried to stab him in the face.

Uvogin caught your wrist, the blade of the knife mere inches away from his eye.

And he grinned as he tightened his grip around your wrist, forcing you to open your hand and drop the knife.

He won.

Again.

He'd been goading you again and you hadn't been able to help but fall right into his trap.

It went without saying that something bad was coming your way.

“That seems a bit extreme, doesn't it?” he asked you, glancing down at the knife where it lay on the floor.

“You're a piece of shit,” you hissed.

“I think we established that a while ago, babe,” he said.

Then he let you go and pulled away from you. Your hand immediately went to the aching area around your wrist, and when you looked back up at him, he was standing at full height with his hands on his hips and an expectant look in his eye.

You knew what he wanted. You'd seen that look often enough to know what it meant.

But for some reason, you decided to play dumb.

“What?” you asked.

“What, you want me to spell it out for you?” he asked back, “on your knees.”

“No.”

It would still happen. You knew that, but you didn't want to submit completely. It went against your strategy of being as boring as possible, but after trying to take out his eye with a knife, you figured there was no point in trying to keep up with that. Not for today, at least.

Instead of slapping you around before forcing you to your knees, Uvogin hummed to himself. Then his eyes went to the window behind you, as though he caught sight of something, and he smirked to himself.

That was what made you nervous. And your nervousness turned to dread after he motioned for you to look out as well and you saw what he had spotted.

Two people along the hiking trail.

Despite the distance between you and them, you got the sense that they were a couple. Something in the way they walked together, or when one of them looked back to the other. Just two people out on a hiking date.

Two completely innocent people who didn't deserve death.

The cracking of Uvogin's knuckles had you spinning back around, and he gave you a toothy grin as he said “I guess if you don't want to…”

He then turned as though he was going to leave the kitchen.

Placing a hand on his arm, you stopped him.

Like he knew you would.

When he turned back to you with that smirk still on his face, you did as he wanted and went down to your knees. It felt uncomfortable against the tile of the kitchen, but you told yourself that it could be worse. At least you weren't out in the open with stones digging into your skin while your leg was broken.

Pulling down the hem of his shorts revealed that he was already semi-hard. You frowned as you took his length in hand and began to stroke it. It wasn't long before he was fully erect, and you moved in closer to place a kiss on the tip.

“You can do better than that.”

There was a familiar feeling of a hand at the back of your head, and then you were being pushed in closer, the tip of his cock smearing precum over your lips before you forced your mouth open so he could shove the head inside.

“That's more like it,” he said, although it seemed he was saying that more to himself.

You fell into a rhythm that you knew well by now; your tongue glided over cock while you stroked whatever didn't fit. All the while he stared down at you with a triumphant look on his face.

He'd get bored of you eventually. That was what you told yourself. A man like him would one day get tired of you, when you would no longer give him any new or interesting reactions. And getting rid of you would be as simple as crushing your head beneath his foot.

Not today. You'd messed that up royally.

But eventually….. Eventually you'd get out of this hell.

Uvogin's grip on your hair got tighter and he pushed his cock into your mouth as far as he was able when he finally came. He kept you there for a while, ignoring the way you slapped his thighs to try and tell him that you needed air.

With a content sigh he finally let you go, allowing you to fall backwards onto the tile of the kitchen while you sputtered, coughing up remnants of his release. One may have thought you would've been used to something like that by now, but it always managed to feel like too much.

You were expecting more taunts from him, more goading insults to upset you further so you felt even more helpless when he would force himself upon you once again.

Yet nothing like that ever came.

And when you looked back up at him, it seemed as though he was thinking about something.

He snapped out of it when you made eye contact, however, and he grinned at you once more.

“You wanna stay here or go to the bedroom?” he asked.

“…. Bedroom.”

No sooner had you said that, he had bent down and scooped you up, throwing you up onto his shoulder just as he had done on that first day, and he began to march you over to the bedroom.

What happened next was expected: he threw you down onto the bed, tore your clothes off and roughly fingered you for a few moments before slamming his length into you. It hurt and you hated it, but you did your best to take it.

His mouth ended up on your neck faster than you were expecting, however, sucking on your skin to place new marks over the older, fading ones.

His lips were also faster in catching yours for a kiss, and when he pulled away, he saw the look of confusion on your face.

“What, you still gonna be a bitch about that?” he asked.

“…. Do what you want,” you answered, officially giving up.

“I intend to.”

Uvogin went back to marking up your neck, and in between leaving those marks, you heard him mutter “keeping you was the best decision I ever made.”

…. That was a little worrying, but your focus went back to the way he thrust into you.

One day this would end. He'd lose interest in you and then it would be over. He was just lying to try and upset you further.

….. Right?

[theoreticallybread]

i genuinely believe that if not for bruce, dick and steph are the ONLY batkids that would have taken up crimefighting.

dick’s entire origin story is filled with rage and despair, he watched his parents fall to their deaths and learned that they had been brutally murdered because of something that wasn’t even their fault! his pure rage fueled his creation of robin. even if bruce hadn’t taken him in, i can tell you that he would have gone after his parents’ killer himself, and probably wouldn’t have stopped trying to rid gotham of crime even as he matured and grew a sense of empathy towards all victims. dick was already the angry robin, it only makes sense that he would have done something even without the cape.

no matter what anyone else says, jason was NOT violent. he loved being robin with all his heart because it gave him magic. it is clear to me that he hated the thought of harming innocent people especially through his time at ma gunn’s place because of his resistance to the thought of being turned into a hurting machine like the other boys. and yet as soon as bruce takes him in, he becomes just that: a child soldier. if bruce had not taken jason in, i think he would have been much happier. he knows that the deaths of his mother and father, while tragic, are not something he needs to avenge, and all he looks for afterwards is food and a roof over his head. he is not a character built on revenge, he is introduced to the concept by bruce when he is trained to defeat evil with his fist rather than his words. jason would have been an amazing teacher if he wasn’t red hood, and he would be able to help people in crime alley just the same, by providing support and a good foundation for them to accomplish things.

tim drake did not want to be robin. the only reason he ever became robin was because he needed to protect everyone who faced the wrath of an angry bruce. he is an observant person and he noticed how much harder bruce was hitting after jason’s death. he knew that bruce needed someone else out there with him to stabilize him and prevent him from doing something he’d regret. tim tried to get dick to fill that role, but when he refused tim took it upon himself instead. he’s responsible like that. tim drake most likely would’ve been a successful businessman if he wasn’t a cape because of his smarts and ability to read people.

steph is the only other robin i believe would have still worn a cape if not for bruce. she found out about her father’s wrongdoings and immediately her sense of justice told her that she needed to stop this from happening. she would be unable to stop herself from trying to protect innocent people with or without bruce, just because of her absolute need to do the right thing.

cassandra and damian are similar in the fact that they were raised as human weapons and weren’t allowed to be their own individual people. i firmly believe that they would have managed to break free of their oppressors even without bruce’s existence for talia to rely on in regards to damian. after so much time spent fighting and being used, i think they would have tried to find an identity outside of this. they probably would’ve have ended up as similar people to the ones they are with bruce in the picture, but i doubt that they would have continued to fight as much outside of absolute necessity because of the bad memories surrounding it. if they did fight, it would be in self defense and for themselves, not in accordance with what someone else wanted them to do.

duke is complicated, because while he does have a great sense of justice and is also a meta, i don’t think he would have continued to pursue the path of a vigilante for very long. i haven’t read a ton of stuff with duke, but i think i can safely say that he would have taken a step back from everything to support himself and take care of his parents after what the joker did to them. he probably would have taken up a career that involved aiding people in a more peaceful way, similar to jason.

anywho thanks for coming to my ted talk :)

[italiangirlcoresblog]

main masterlist \\ 12 3 days of christmas

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𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝

✩ : what happens when your best friend decides to play matchmaker at a christmas eve party?

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : charles leclerc

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 0.9k

✍︎ : first one-shot of the little christmas series i'm writing. stay tuned!

-------------------------❦︎-------------------------

The party was in full swing, the warm glow of the flames coming from the fireplace reflecting off the frosted windows, their faint crackle mingling with the cheerful hum of holiday music. You shifted awkwardly, clutching your champagne flute like a lifeline as you scanned the room.

You weren’t the biggest fan of holiday parties — too many people, half of which you didn’t even know — but your best friend had insisted you come. “Come onnn, it’s Christmas Eve!” she'd said, “I promise it’ll be fun! Besides, you might even meet someone cute,” she’d then added with a teasing wink.

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered under your breath as you leaned against the kitchen island, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

That’s until your gaze betrayed you, the sound of a warm laughter — his warm laughter — immediately drawing your attention to its owner.

Charles Leclerc.

He stood in the middle of the room, his dark green sweater fitting perfectly, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms. He looked effortlessly charming, the grin lighting up his face making his adorable dimples pop out even more and your chest flutter in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You’d met him a handful of times at gatherings like this through mutual friends, which soon brought you to consider him a friend too, but you’d always convinced yourself he was far too out of your league to even try being something else. Still, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on him.

As if sensing your stare, Charles turned his head. His eyes found yours across the room, and for a moment, the noise around you faded into the background. You flashed him an awkward smile, mentally facepalming yourself for getting caught red-handed, but before you could look away, he started making his way toward you through the crowd, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Hey,” he simply said when he finally reached you, his voice soft just like the expression on his face.

“Hey,” you repeated, your heart pounding as your cheeks immediately heated up — and surely not from the fire.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” His tone was casual as he leaned slightly against the counter beside you, arms crossed over his chest, clearly a lot more relaxed than you were with the way your fingers were practically strangling the poor glass still between them.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Last-minute decision. My best friend dragged me here because she thought I needed some ‘holiday cheer’.” You put the last two words in air quotes as you rolled your eyes, a pathetic attempt to mask how tense you actually were.

“Well, I think she was right,” Charles replied, his grin widening at your visible annoyance. “And I’m glad she did.”

You averted your gaze as a flustered chuckle escaped your lips, your face flushing — probably as red as the terrible Christmas sweater your friend had begged you to wear.

Just as you opened your mouth to save yourself from embarrassment, someone bumped into you from the side, making you stumble forward. Right into Charles’ chest. His hands shot out instinctively, steadying you with a firm grip on your arms, while yours landed on his shoulders to prevent you from falling.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes searching yours with genuine concern.

You were pretty sure you were about to combust on the spot, but you somehow managed to mumble a confused ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ shooting a glance back at whoever put you in that compromising — to say the least — position.

Oh, of course it had to be her.

The death stare you gave your best friend didn’t seem to faze her for a moment; instead, she gestured upward with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Following her gaze, you looked up and froze.

Mistletoe.

Dangling right above your heads.

Charles tilted his head back, noticing it too, the brief confusion on his face replaced by an unreadable expression as he glanced down at you once again.

“Well,” he began, his voice teasing, “you know the tradition.”

You could swear your heart skipped a few beats, the implication of what he’d just said making you feel weak in your knees. “I… uh, we don’t have to–”

“Only if you want to.” His eyes were questioning, waiting for your permission, as your breath caught in your throat at his gentle words. Unable to speak, you just nodded, and a soft, almost relieved smile spread across Charles’ face before his lips found yours.

You breathed in the sweet scent of freshly baked cookies as his mouth brushed against yours, tentative at first, sending a jolt of excitement down your spine. Seeing that you didn’t pull away — and that you weren’t planning on doing so anytime soon — he deepened the kiss, one of his hands sneaking up to the back of your neck while the other one was still holding on to your arm.

You lost yourself in the moment, snuggling yourself into the warmth of his cozy sweater as you savored the kiss like a sip of comforting hot cocoa.

“Merry Christmas,” he muttered against your lips, and you could feel the smirk on his even with your eyes closed. Your whispered ‘Merry Christmas’ got muffled by his mouth back on yours, a fleeting thought bringing a smile to your face as well.

Maybe holiday parties are not that bad after all.

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©italiangirlcoresblog // do not copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work on any platforms

[wistfulnightingale]

A Mini-Meta Musing (#2)

What a brave and handsome demon, eh? Courageously facing down the forces of Hell, standing tall despite the threat to his very existance. Crowley showed such fearlessness when he was dragged off to his diabolical trial.

Except that's NOT Crowley. The demonic good looks remain (!), but we know that's actually Aziraphale. The angelic Principality. In Hell. About to be sentenced to an unknown fate.

I've been thinking a lot about Aziraphale lately. Tonight, I was thinking about the incredible Courage Aziraphale showed in his willingness to appearance-swap with Crowley. It was also incredible Love.

Agnes Nutter's prophecy only said, "Ye must choose your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre." Nothing about Holy Water or rubber ducks. Hell has a very, very long list of things it can do to punish someone, demons included, many of which might "play with fire." Aziraphale went into Hell not knowing what tortures he'd be facing. But he knew one thing for certain...

He was going to protect Crowley, at any cost.

Over the millenia, Aziraphale had seen many times where Crowley was under constant threat of punishment. I talk about how this affected Aziraphale in another post, Anything to Protect Crowley.

Now, after helping to prevent the Apocalypse and living to tell about it, they get a predestined warning that the danger is far from over. A charred shred falls out of a book of prophecy. The forces of Heaven and Hell want to destroy them. They will be playing with fire.

Our Ineffables are clever, and they've been learning a lot, fast, about how similar angels and demons actually are and what each of them are capable of. Aziraphale can possess humans, and move them from one location to another (the airbase guard). Crowley can survive hellfire, even though it discorporated Hastur. Crowley can play with fire. So they decide to do the unthinkable -- The Appearance Swap.

They take it seriously, indeed. Aziraphale and Crowley had to convince Heaven and Hell, and for a time, they had most of us convinced too. Crowley was enraged at how his angel was being treated ("Shut your mouth and die already"), but he forced himself to smile and fawn and be as polite as an angel with a death sentence could be. Aziraphale, meanwhile, is trying to be cocky, clever, sardonic, every bit the swaggering demon he can be. But look closely. He's not succeeding very well at first. He's subdued. The words sound like Crowley, making ironic jokes. But his head and neck are tense, shoulders rigid. His lips are parted as he looks around in dismay. He genuinely doesn't know what to expect.

If Heaven wants to play with fire to punish an angel, there's likely only one way to do it. But Hell has infinitely diabolical ways to punish a disobedient demon.

"What's it to be? An eternity in the deepest pit?" -- Aziraphale

Aziraphale chose to go into Hell with no certainty that he would ever come out again.

Please pause for a moment. Imagine the Love. The Commitment. The Incredible Courage that choice took.

Aziraphale was willing to risk eternal punishment for Crowley.

Thankfully for our Ineffables, Michael breezes in with the Holy Water. Aziraphale stammers in surprise, but his face is angry as he watches the Holy Water fill the tub. Heaven is only cooperating with Hell to bring about a horrible death for Crowley. His Crowley. He's furious. His posture straightens, he quips about the new jacket. By the time he's splish splashing in the clawfoot bathtub, he's got a very rebellious and smarmy Crowley vibe going on, with just a bit of British-posh angel lingering around the edges.

"I don't suppose that anywhere in the Nine Circles of Hell there's such a thing as a rubber duck?'

Aziraphale then threatens Hell. Threatens. Hell. "So... You're probably thinking, if he can do this, I wonder what else he can do. And very very soon, you're all going to get the chance to find out..." Ominous. An empty threat, a calculated risk.

He convinces them to leave Crowley ALONE.

"Aziraphale is a coward?" "Aziraphale doesn't really love Crowley?" "Aziraphale only cares about himself?"

No. Sorry. That's a mistaken interpretation. Look closer.

He's not perfect. He's actually very human. He's lived here for 60 Centuries, after all. Sometimes he's confusing, contradictory. Aren't we all sometimes...?

But Aziraphale literally allowed himself to be dragged into Hell to save the Being he loves. With no guarantee of returning.

Does Aziraphale love Crowley?

Hell yeah.

[theghostsarefriendly]

Will makes a couple more trips to the Underworld after Tartarus. Nico gets to show him his room and they have dinner with his father, who Will is sure is glaring at him for the majority of the dinner until he realizes that's really just his face. Will turns 17 one week later.

Apollo laughs when Hades comes to him and asks for a favor. Not out of malice, more out of the absurdity of the situation. Even with Apollo's many children, theirs have never paired up before. They're from different worlds, he supposes. While opposites may attract, love doesn't follow the same rules as a magnet. Hades' children tend to be loners by nature, it just comes with the territory of having death be your realm: it scares people.

It especially scares those who work so hard to try and prevent it, those who don't wish to think too closely about the bloodier targets their arrows land upon, those musicians and poets who work so hard to claw their way up from the pits of grief and to the pillars of fame, to become legends who escape the erasure of death.

Despite all that, their sons work.

Apollo knows this, he spent plenty of time marvelling at how Nico and Will just fit together, as cute and excited as new lovers and as deeply intertwined as any pair of soulmates hes witnessed over his eternity.

To know Hades sees it too, though? He has to laugh. It's so confusing and so obvious. More than anything, its out of character. Hades treasures his family more than most other gods. He loves his wife and rarely strays from her, and the demigod children he does sire he sees and cares for. Making a connection with a demigod that is not one of his own is new, though. He genuinely likes Will.

Nico is trying to do it, trying to be the child of his who is happy, and Will is helping him every step of the way. He's kind, understanding, every bit as fucking weird and off beat as Nico, anxious, still young and stupid. Flawed, but good.

Hades wants Will to be with Nico wherever his son goes. Nico will always venture back into the second home below he loves so much, the one that is a part of him he wishes so badly to share with Will and Will learns every day to love more.

On the morning of Will's 17th birthday, he finds a box on the doorstep of Cabin 7, addressed to him. Inside is a small golden pendant, shaped into an open half of a pomegranate with tiny silver seeds. The note next to it only reads: For William Andrew Solace, with no clue of who it's from other than that the whole ensemble smells of the fire and brimstone of the Underworld. Nico hasn't been down there lately, so he assumes it's a joking gift from Persephone. 'Better like these if you're gonna be with my stepson,' maybe. It's beautiful, though. He attaches it to his necklace and laughs with Nico when he sees it, and carries on with his day. Apollo visits him for the celebrations and smiles at the pendant, but he doesn't say anything more.

The next time he visits the Underworld he feels...better. Fine, actually. He assumes he must be getting used to the place. When he eats dinner with Nico and his family that night, he thanks Persephone for her gift, holding the pendant on his chain over his shirt for the first time since he's arrived. She looks confused before she smirks and turns towards her husband, who calmly sips his wine.

"You're clearly going to be here for quite a while, I thought it would be helpful. Your father assisted."

Nico's eyes widen, and Will notices for the first time the odd warmth of the pendant. It's just a bit more intense than the rest of the chain and Nico's skull ring, more than it could be warmed from his skin. It feels like sunshine.

"Your father assisted."

He does not feel tired. He feels in the Underworld exactly as he would above ground; he doesn't have to keep his visits limited to a couple of hours. He can be with Nico in his home without distinctly feeling like he wasn't meant for it, even with all of the love he holds for his boyfriend.

He could not have a more tacit approval from Hades.

More than that, it's a pomegranate. he is wearing on his neck a symbol that he is of the Underworld by virtue of his partner. Gods, a wedding ring might be less symbolically binding. Persephone speaks again.

"Should we start calling you Prince-Consort?"

Nico and Will blush right down to the roots of their hair.

[golden-redhead]

One thing I will say about this season is that it really emphasized just how much Silco and his actions contributed to Jinx's issues and how much his presence affected her negatively going forward.

Most of all, though, I think it proved once for all that Vander and Powder had a special bond where he deeply cared for her and genuinely saw her as his own. Especially in season 1, I think a lot of the fandom latched onto this idea that his relationship with Powder was much more shallow than the one with Vi and as a consequence, she connected with Silco so strongly. But just because Vi and Vander were close and he acted as her mentor in many ways doesn't mean he didn't care about the others and didn't have his own connection with Powder. Just because we didn't see it doesn't mean he was neglectful or cared about her any less. He and Vi had a special bond, yes, but that's because they are similar. I also think that in some ways, he saw himself in Vi, just like Silco saw himself in Jinx. He wasn't a perfect father, he wasn't without flaws, but it's clear he did everything in his power to keep his kids safe and ensure a peaceful future for them.

Through their interactions this season and that alternate universum jumping, we found out that they both deeply cared about each other and Vander fully accepted Powder as his daughter. He clearly loved her a lot and she also saw him as a father figure in her life.

Moreover, even though alternate universe Powder also dealt with grief, this time over using Vi, it's clear that Vander was able to give her the support she needed. She didn't turn violent, she didn't struggle with constant hallucinations. She grew up to be smart, resourceful and compassionate. She grew up to be a healthier, stronger version of herself. Someone who's loved, appreciated and has her own place in the world. And all that even after facing the enormous loss that Vi's death must have been.

It speaks volumes about how much Silco projected his own trauma onto her and prevented her from ever realizing her full potential. I don't think he did it intentionally, I don't think he doomed her to be like this as a choice... He certainly loved her and in his own way wanted what's best for her.

But regardless of his intentions, that's still what happened.

Hurt people hurt people.

That's one thing that Arcane made blatantly clear.

[narxcisse]

★ — General yandere Jason Todd headcanons

Pairing: Yandere!Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Warning: Obsession and yandere behaviors, toxic jealousy, surveillance and control, manipulation, social isolation(?), mental health and trauma, toxic relationships

Minors DNI / English isn't my native language

Jason has a natural protective instinct that, in its yandere version, turns into an extreme need to control everything that could harm you. With his past full of trauma (death, resurrection, physical and emotional abuse), Jason is obsessed with preventing you from going through anything similar. If he perceives even the slightest threat, he will act with relentless brutality. Whether it's a stalker or a simple "friend" who is too close, Jason will not hesitate to intervene.

He doesn't follow a black-and-white moral code, but instead inhabits a grey area that reflects his own values. This means that he would justify anything to keep you "safe." In his mind, killing for you is not only permissible, but a moral obligation. He sees his extreme actions as an extension of his love and the only way to protect you in a world filled with chaos.

Jason channels his anger at the world that betrayed him, but you are his exception. Though he can be explosive and violent with others, around you his tone softens, even when he's frustrated. You're his only emotional refuge and the only thing that keeps his anger in check. If you ever challenge him directly or try to walk away, though, that gentleness can turn into a dangerous mix of pleading and veiled threat.

His obsession with protecting you leads him to constantly monitor you, even when you're not together. He has no problem installing discreet cameras or trackers. While he might seem to respect your space, he actually knows more about your movements than he would ever admit. If you discover this behavior, Jason won't deny it, but he will try to justify it with a "I don't trust them, not you."

Jason is no stranger to manipulation, especially when it comes to keeping you by his side. He knows how to use his emotional wounds to appeal to your empathy – he brings up his death or how Bruce left him behind to make you feel guilty if you ever try to distance yourself. Although his love is genuine, he doesn't hesitate to use psychological tactics to make sure you don't abandon him.

Even though he tries to remain calm, Jason is quickly consumed by jealousy. If someone else tries to get too close to you, Jason may start with snide remarks or indirect criticisms about that person, but if that doesn't work, he'll take more drastic measures. He may "accidentally" scare that person or directly confront them in secret, making it clear that they shouldn't be in your life.

He's someone who shows his affection in tangible ways: gifts, acts of service, or even physically confronting your problems. However, his approach can be overwhelming. He doesn't easily accept that you don't need his constant intervention, and any rejection of his help is taken as a sign that you don't trust him. This only fuels his obsession with proving to you that he's the only one who truly cares about you.

Despite his brutality and control, Jason has moments of incredible vulnerability. He feels at peace with you, and those moments of honesty (when he admits his fears or shares his most painful memories) show that he is not just an obsessive yandere, but a deeply wounded man who fears being abandoned again. In these moments, he can be disarmingly sweet, even begging you not to leave him.

Jason doesn't want you to distance yourself from him emotionally or physically. Under the guise of protecting you, he might push you away from friends, family, or anyone he perceives as a distraction or threat to your relationship. At first it's subtle, suggesting that certain people aren't trustworthy, but over time, he can be more direct in enforcing boundaries on who you can interact with.

Jason constantly struggles with the duality of wanting to love you fully but feeling unworthy of being loved. This fuels his need to keep you close – he fears that if you notice his flaws or sins, you will leave him. This insecurity makes him act more possessive, thinking that as long as he is in control, he won’t have to face the pain of rejection.

Jason sees you as a source of redemption. He believes that caring for and protecting you is his way of making up for all the bad things he's done. This idealism can be dangerous, as it puts you on an impossible pedestal. If you ever make a mistake or contradict that perfect image he has of you, he could feel betrayed, which could trigger even more erratic behavior.

For Jason, his love for you is eternal and absolute. No matter how many barriers stand in the way or how difficult the situation, he will never stop fighting for you, even if it means taking on his allies, Bruce, or the world itself. In his mind, you are the only person worth risking it all for.

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

I don't want to get too deeply into this in a post that I would encourage people to reblog, but one main reason that Dead Boy Detectives hits so hard for me is the lack of justice.

When I was in high school, some genuinely horrific things happened to me and several other girls. Obviously, it wasn't the same since we, you know, survived. But the Bad(tm) involved a teacher who was then investigated a few years later. We all went back and worked with both the cops and the school district to try and get justice for ourselves and the other victims.

The district did nothing. They had the teacher to resign in the interests of preventing a scandal. Like St Hilarions. What happened to us didn't matter, and the school covered it up just as they covered up Charles's death.

The first time I watched DBDA, Edwin's little speech at the end of episode 1 resonated with me in an incredibly deep way. Here was a person - two people - who did not get any semblance of justice for a grave wrong. I could easily feel Edwin's deep hurt because I experience the same hurt every time I remember what happened to me. It never stops being a raw open wound that sits in your chest, and the cover-up can sometimes hurt more than even the actual event.

For the first time, in DBDA, I was seeing people who were wronged like me. More than that, though, I was seeing people seek out justice for others because they did not get it for themselves. I was seeing an alternate version of my own story play out onscreen, and both Edwin and Charles made me feel much less alone.

They still do. Those boys will always hold a really special place in my heart for a lot of reasons, but this is a major one.

And, like me and at least three of the other girls involved in the Incident at my school, Edwin is canonically queer. And his queerness is handled so well, shown positively but also just as a small part of this rich, nuanced, complex character. He feels so authentic, like someone I could have met and loved in the real world. No part of him feels like a caricature, which is a rare thing in queer media.

Seeing Netflix cancel this show and end the boys' stories in such an unjust way feels like a reopening of those old wounds. These stories matter. They have to matter.

They do matter. Charles and Edwin showed me that, because they are wonderful and special and their story is resonant and wonderful. And to watch Netflix treat this story as though it's insignificant hurts So. Fucking. Badly.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Vegeta with fem!reader fluffy headcanons

warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, canon divergence.

Special thanks to @actuallysaiyan for not only encouraging me to write this piece but also providing feedback on the earlier drafts. Enjoy~! :3

divider by @cafekitsune

Vegeta is not the type of person who will proudly proclaim in front of everyone that he loves you. He’s a Saiyan of few words, but his actions? They speak the truth. And his actions definitely show he cares for your wellbeing when he defends your honor. He’s more likely to do that than anything else remotely romantic.

Go easy on this emotionally constipated man, okay? He might not be as expressive as Goku or the other Z Fighters, but he is trying. He lived most of his adolescent and adulthood as a planet pirate under Frieza’s thumb, where any emotion other than obedience was a weakness until he came to Earth and met you.

As much as he is still learning about Earthling customs, it would make his ego swell like a balloon if you asked him about Planet Vegeta and their customs. He could spend hours telling tales of the distant past, such as the roles of a mated pair in the household and how they raised their young. Going off the planet for a mission for the first time? That was a rite of passage. How do Saiyans show affection? Through their tails, hence why losing it is equivalent to mutilation or severe punishment of the worst kind of crime committed by a Saiyan. Other Saiyans could even see as a betrayal.

Vegeta is not proud of the things he has done in the past. But if some higher being offered him the chance to change everything, he probably wouldn’t take it. Not just because he still believes he doesn’t deserve such an opportunity, but erasing the wrongs he committed in the name of Freiza would undoubtedly remove the possibility of ever meeting you through Bulma. He would not have the life he has now, and he will be damned to allow anyone else who was unworthy of being your mate when the Prince of All Saiyans is right here.

The urge to fight runs through his veins, but that doesn’t mean Vegeta wants to be engaged in combat all the time. Believe it or not, the Saiyan would actually like to enjoy some domesticity with you. Whether it’s shopping in the city or just doing your own thing in the same space, he will enjoy it to the fullest. If Goku comes to bug him every day to train when the two of you decide to move to the countryside for work or preference? The chances of Vegeta getting really annoyed with the clown interfering on his quality time with you are pretty high unless it’s an absolute necessary to prevent the destruction of the universe.

You want to train and become stronger? Get ready because Vegeta will not go easy on you at all. Self-defense lessons? Oh, you can definitely be sure that he is going to at least teach a few moves so you can protect yourself when he isn’t around.

Saiyans are hard-wired to be attracted to strong-willed women, so challenging Vegeta mentally or physically will definitely get his blood thrumming in excitement.

He might act annoyed or irritated when you show him affection, but don’t let it bother you too much; Vegeta craves to be loved just like everyone else, even when there are days where he feels like he isn’t worthy of you. As mentioned previously, he’s emotionally inept. But if you show him genuine affection, respect, and honesty, that he deserves to have some good in his life? You will have a loyal, reliable, and incredibly protective Saiyan standing by your side until death comes for either of you.

He may not look like it, but Vegeta remembers the important things you tell him, like certain events coming up or be aware that you might have to work late on certain days of the week.

Regardless of his experience on the battlefield as a fighter and tactician, this man cannot navigate his way through a kitchen, so please do not let him go near the stove unless he’s being supervised, or your home will go up in flames. Seriously, just don’t.

Taglist: @uninhabitedsworld-18 @strangepoppy @nasty-redrum @iimidnightx3 @zvmbieb0y @bdudette @boonsmoon @mythoswarrior-23 @jadeprouductions

[dracomalfoy7]

Her.

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader 

Summary: One shot inspired by the Percy Jackson scene where Percy sees Annabeth for the first time.

Word Count: 1.2k+

Warnings: None

A/N: I saw a TikTok of this scene and really wanted to write about it!! Lowkey though about turning this into a series?

Draco’s third year at Hogwarts, he was almost sure that he’d either end up marrying Pansy Parkinson or, worst-case scenario, the god-awful Astoria Greengrass. It was as if his life had been plotted out like some cursed prophecy, but that all changed during the second week of school.

Draco and Theodore Nott sat in Potions, their heads resting heavily in their hands as Professor Snape droned on about the intricacies of the Draught of Living Death. Another day, another boring lecture—Potions had lost its luster after two years of Snape's monotone voice.

That was until the classroom door creaked open.

At first, Draco didn’t bother turning his head, thinking it was just another late student. Snape had a way of terrifying most people into punctuality, but even he couldn't prevent the occasional tardy Slytherin or Gryffindor from sneaking in.

But then, an arm invaded Draco’s field of view, jabbing lightly at his shoulder.

“Draco. Dracooo. Hellooo, Earth to Dracoo,” Theo muttered beside him, his voice laced with curiosity.

Draco groaned. “What. do. you. want,” he responded irritably.

“Look at that girl,” Theo urged, his eyes gleaming with something Draco hadn't seen in him before—genuine fascination.

Rolling his eyes, Draco lifted his gaze from the pages of his Potions textbook, following Theo’s line of sight.

“Hello, Professor... Snape, is it?” The girl's voice was soft yet assertive, a sharp contrast to the silken drawl of Pansy or the shrillness of Daphne Greengrass.

Snape turned around slowly, his dark eyes narrowing, clearly not accustomed to being questioned.

“Yes?” he responded, a hint of annoyance evident.

“I believe this is my class,” the girl said, unbothered by Snape’s intimidating stare.

“Yes?” Snape responded again, clearly uncertain where this was going.

“Well, where do I sit then?”

There was a brief pause, and then Snape, with a flick of his wrist, gestured towards the only available seat near Pansy.

“How about next to Miss Parkinson?”

“Thank you, Professor.”

It wasn’t until the girl turned to walk toward her seat that Draco truly noticed her. She wore the standard Slytherin robes, the green and silver crest shimmering slightly in the dim light of the dungeon, but there was something about the way she carried herself that made her stand out from every other student. Her dark hair flowed down her back, and her eyes—Merlin, her eyes—seemed to pierce through the dimness of the room as if they could see right through you.

Draco felt his heart skip, and beside him, he could sense Theo had gone equally quiet, entranced by the same sight. His gaze followed her as she walked toward the empty seat near Pansy, each step deliberate, almost regal.

Blaise Zabini, sitting next to them, noticed the sudden change in both of their expressions and snickered. He snapped his fingers in front of their faces, breaking the trance.

“What are you two looking at?” Blaise asked with a knowing smirk.

Draco blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. “What’s her name?” he asked, his voice unusually eager, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Blaise laughed, leaning back in his seat. “Ha! She’ll squash you like a bug, Malfoy. Don’t even think about it.”

“Her name,” Draco demanded, his impatience growing. He didn’t like not knowing, especially when it came to someone who had captured his attention so completely.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Y/N Gaunt. Heir of the great Salazar Slytherin himself.”

Draco and Theo exchanged wide-eyed looks, both equally startled and intrigued. The Gaunt family had long been considered Slytherin royalty—practically legends in their own right. To have an heir of Salazar Slytherin himself sitting in Potions with them?

Draco couldn't help but stare, his eyes still following Y/N as she slid gracefully into the chair next to Pansy. Pansy, who was often insufferably possessive of Draco’s attention, seemed unusually quiet, clearly feeling the weight of Y/N’s presence as much as he did.

The moment Y/N settled in her seat, as if sensing the heavy gaze on her, she turned her head ever so slightly, meeting Draco’s stare head-on.

For a moment, the world outside that dungeon classroom seemed to disappear. There was no Professor Snape, no chatter of students, no bubbling cauldrons—just those piercing eyes staring straight into Draco’s own dark grey ones.

He quickly realized he had no idea what to do. Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the most powerful wizarding families, had never been at a loss for words when it came to anyone—yet here he was, speechless under the gaze of Y/N Gaunt.

Her lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile—amused, perhaps, by his blatant staring—and then she turned back to face the front of the class, leaving Draco in a strange, fluttering mix of awe and frustration.

Theo leaned over, whispering excitedly. “Mate, did you see that? She's—she's unreal. I mean, Salazar Slytherin’s heir? What does that even mean for someone like her?”

Draco didn’t respond immediately. His mind was still spinning, trying to process how he had gone from nearly falling asleep in Potions to being completely captivated by a single person.

“Come on, Malfoy, stop staring. You’re gonna look like an idiot,” Blaise muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

But Draco couldn’t help it. There was something about her—something that made him feel like his entire world had shifted in that brief moment.

Class went on, but Draco barely registered a word Snape said. His attention drifted back to Y/N again and again, watching the way she flicked her wand with effortless precision during the practical portion of the lesson, the way her lips moved as she quietly muttered incantations under her breath, the way her fingers delicately handled the ingredients, almost as if she were weaving a spell with her hands alone.

He had never seen anyone like her before, and it unnerved him. He was Draco Malfoy. He was supposed to be the one people stared at, the one people were intrigued by, the one who commanded the room. But now... he felt like he had been thrown off-balance, no longer in control.

As the class came to an end and students began packing up their bags, Draco stood slowly, his gaze still fixed on Y/N. He was vaguely aware of Theo and Blaise talking beside him, but their words were drowned out by the rush of thoughts running through his head.

Y/N stood, too, gathering her things with the same quiet confidence that had enraptured him. She glanced in his direction one last time before sweeping out of the room, her robes billowing slightly behind her as she disappeared into the corridor.

Draco stared after her, the same thought echoing in his mind.

He needed to know more about Y/N Gaunt.

“Draco,” Theo nudged him, breaking him out of his reverie. “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah,” Draco muttered, though he knew full well he wasn’t. Something had changed—he didn’t know what exactly, but he knew that Y/N Gaunt was at the center of it.

As they walked out of the classroom together, Draco found himself glancing down the hallway where Y/N had disappeared. He didn’t know how, but he was determined to find out more about her. There was something about her—something that tugged at his very core—and he couldn’t shake the feeling that his life had just taken a turn he hadn’t anticipated.

For the first time in a long time, Draco Malfoy didn’t feel certain about his future.

And that both terrified and thrilled him.

Request are open!

[rayroseu]

that tetekore merch but its briar nation (part 2) + in honor of book 7.5 releasing on EN 😭✨

My favorite part about this chapter except for Silver's dream is this moment between Baul and Lilia... 😭✨ Their conversation at the tunnel really increased the tension of the anxiety Lilia felt,,,, I also like they didn't put the Dream Trio in the convo because this moment symbolizes an actual moment that Lilia experienced in his life (it doesnt relate to them in contrast to the previous chapters),, this is not just some moment in this dreamworld that he needs to wake up from, its a real conversation from Lilia's past that we're hearing😭✨✨

Also a really nice moment to showcase Baul's character... 😭 This scene occured before Silver's dream because its a parallel to that scene of Sebek trying to get Silver out of the darkness (to realize that Lilia genuinely loves him), just like how Baul is preventing Lilia from sacrificing himself to help Maleanor (because Malleus needs his protection and Maleanor trusted him so)😭

Zigvolts often have this reputation that "theyre absurd" but inside theyre more simplistic in values 😭 I love how their loud voice is presented well when they become the voice of reason-- 🥲✨💚

This is making think of a situation where Baul and Lilia were (present) Malleus' knights instead , I think he would dream the same dream that Malleus wanted for Lilia, where everything is the same but theres no one dying, he's still a proud soldier under General Lilia, Maleanor and Levan are alive and safe and Malleus finally hatch without being in danger and he didnt have to see Lilia getting exiled because of the Senates and didnt have to experience Maleanor's death*, just like how Sebek's dream was just Diaosmnia living normally but Lilia isn't dying 🥲✨✨✨

(*Baul was the first to announce it which makes me thunk of this hc where he sometimes regret not taking Gen.Lilia's suggestion to go back then perhaps they could've rescued Maleanor albeit its a tiny chance 😭)

DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON HOW DESPERATE LILIA SOUNDED AT THIS SCENE 💔💔💔😭😭 and his long pause to compose himself before putting on the mask??? YOU CANT UNCONVINCE ME HE WASNT CRYING UNDER THAT MASK HE TRULY DIDNT WANT TO LOSE MALEANOR ON TOP OF ALREADY LOSING LEVAN AJFJARHW justtt LILIAAAAA😭😭😭✨✨🫂🫂🫂

I JUST APPRECAITE HOW NICELY FORESHADOWED THE SCENES WERE IN LILIAS DREAM like i kinda complain about the concepts being presneted KINDAAA but the sequence of Diasomnia dreams were nicely transitioned and probably tells how closely knit the Diasomnia characters are, even including the side charas like Maleanor and Baul😭✨✨