#he has plenty of spite

[lookwhatyoudidithasanxiety]

Harves, Bud, you know Lunar and his candy?

Or Sun and working?

Addicts they are.

You also fall into this category.

Sun: Um, excuse me??

Harvest: No, it is not an addiction. Once again, as I said before, coffee is to me as blood is to humans.

Moon: And that is?

Harvest: A vital aspect of my survival. Without it, I'd die.

Moon: That sounds a lot like an addiction to me.

Harvest: Says the one with My Little Pony in their daily watch history. *sips*

Sun: What?!

Lunar: WHAT?!!

Solar: ...Huh. Me too.

[highly-flammable]

As much as I enjoy watching the dynamics, I don’t really care much about TROP ships. Which is why it’s easy for me to point out that almost all male characters in the show that have been important to Galadriel’s plot (except Finrod, duh), have done wrong by her to varying degrees, when she has given far less of that energy to them in return. There is a lot of love in those relationships, or admiration, or fascination. But she is a force of nature everyone has tried to capture and put in boxes of their own choosing. I am not sure if the commentary on gender politics was intentional here from the writers, but it was very clear in its execution.

Galadriel has had enough humbling, enough being told her instincts are wrong, enough of other people telling her what she should want, enough of people trying to take away her agency. Just enough. Maybe some of it was needed for the plot, but the way the narrative supports some of this behaviour from the heroes has been painful to watch.

From S3 onwards, there is absolutely no narrative reason that justifies her being sidelined and humiliated. This is the time for her to grow into power, assert her wisdom with confidence and call her own shots. If the writers cannot do that for her, it will be clear as day that misogyny is afoot in that room.

[antivancathedral]

(continues to be insane) I can’t get over the fact that Spite asks for help.

Spite is often treated childishly by several characters—Taash, for example, and even Lucanis depending on your dialogue choices—but I actually…don’t think Spite is all that childish. He’s been put into a situation he’s never experienced before, in a place where reality doesn’t work like it should, and been put through torture that he feels doubly through Lucanis on top of it all. Any person would through a “tantrum” under these circumstances. Spite’s behavior is reasonable.

He never tries to hurt Lucanis’s companions, not once. He only ever tries to leave, as Lucanis promised him he would be able to. Even Lucanis, he only hurts once outside of the Ossuary, when he must have felt unbelievably confused. Calivan is dead and Lucanis has gone home, has allies, and yet to Spite, he simply refuses to leave the Ossuary. And still, he asks. He could wrestle control from Lucanis, but instead he asks (or demands) to talk to Rook. And all he wants to say is that he wants to be free.

All and all, Lucanis does not reach out to anyone to ask for help with his depression or PSTD. Spite is his problem, he says, and says often. His burden. He never intended to let anyone in, even though he admits that he doesn’t know how to start healing. He asks for Rook’s help against Zara, against Illario, but no one is privy to his mental and emotional struggles.

Spite, on the other hand, asks immediately. Or he wants to ask. And finally, when Lucanis is in the middle of a spiral, it's Spite that says "Help us." Not demanding, just asking. Pleading. And still only to Rook. While I think at first, Spite wants Rook specifically because he knows Lucanis will listen, I think that has grown into something more by the time Inner Demons comes around.

"Help us," he says. Not just 'make him listen' or 'help Lucanis'. Us.

This is all to say I think that while Spite may not understand or feel romance (yet) he most certainly feels love. He loves Lucanis, whose image he takes ("They wouldn't dare, Lucanis is mine.") and he loves Rook ("Rook is my favorite." "Smells like...Rook." "Help us." The WINGS.) And that's all trust is, isn't it? A kind of love? Showing vulnerability to someone close to you?

When Spite is finally allowed to communicate, he shows plenty of maturity. He gives Lucanis space, he asks Emmrich to teach him fire, he's willing to try new things, and he loves.

Determination is a kind of love too, when you think about it.

[halfgirl-halfdolll]

Extremely self-indulgent. For the neurodivergent girlies. English isn't my first language, so my apologies for any mistake. I also have no idea how to write a Scottish accent 🧘🏻‍♀️ bear with me

You knocked on the dark hardwood door as you've had done plenty of times before.

It has been almost six months since you've signed that contract. That one, the one where you forfeited 4 years of your life in exchange for stable wages and proper housing.

For someone with no life, no family and no friends (besides the online weirdos you'd talk to from time to time), that was kinda good, if you could say so yourself.

You had stability, even though it came with the cost of being tied down to a military base chock-full of people who didn't really understand you.

That was fine though. THAT, you were used to. It comes with the neurodivergence: the side eyes, the whispers and the isolation.

What you weren't used to, however, was how your heart would race like a rabbit on a run for its life whenever you knocked on that one door. And you had to knock on it quite a lot of times.

You rapped your knuckles against the hardwood once more when you got no reply, cracking the door open just a little bit to peek inside.

"Cap?" You said, voice almost a whisper. After a few seconds, you heard an answer.

"Come in, love. Didn't know it was you." A strong, booming voice came from inside and you swallowed the lump on your throat that always formed whenever you had to go to Price's office.

Not because you were afraid of him, no. On the contrary. Maybe Price and the rest of the task force were the only ones who didn't treat you like an aberration – probably because they were aberrations of their own merit.

Maybe it was stupid of you to get giddy over being treated well by some of your coworkers, but when the bare minimum was so rare, you latched onto it like a dog with a bone.

And in spite of yourself, you couldn't control your own heart. It would be racing like a schoolgirl with a crush whenever you went to visit any of the men from the task force. You gave up on trying to tame it.

"Hi Cap" you said, with a small smile, approaching his desk. On the corner of your eyes, you saw the other three burly men that made up 141 and waved.

"Hey, lass, good ta see ya!" Soap hollered, voice loud as ever. You could probably feel it vibrating inside your bones if he spoke for a little longer and you loved it; as much as you envied it. What wouldn't you do to be just a little bit outgoing like that? Maybe things would be just a tad easier.

"How can I help my favorite secretary?" Price asked, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled, crow's feet getting a lot more pronounced in a way you probably thought of more than you should.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"I'm your only secretary."

"Doesn't make my statement any less true."

You shook your head and placed a manila folder in front of him.

"I need your autograph, Cap."

"What for?"

"Because I'm your biggest fan and I wanna put it on my refrigerator...?" You answered humorously, and Price raised an eyebrow. You sighed. "We need to authorize the training of a few new recruits and they need your approval. So I need you to sign it."

Price huffed out a low chuckle and began leafing through the needlessly thick document. You poked your finger into the folder, fishing out the last pages, and walked towards the other men sitting on the other side of the office.

"I like today's dress, love." Gaz was manspreading on one of Price's armchairs, head resting on his palm as he gave you an once over. If it were anyone else, you'd probably hate the way you were being perceived – it usually made you feel like a bug being watched through a magnifying glass. But under his gaze, you just felt like a doll being admired.

"Do you, now? It's one of my favorites." You bowed dramatically while holding the hem of the dress. It was just another one of the black frilly dresses that you wore like a signature. It flew around you as you spun on your feet to show the black ribbon on the back.

"Adorable as always. If I wasn't selfish, I would say it's wasted inside this base, but I like to have you around way too much." His eyes gleamed with mirth and, in any other situation, you'd think he was secretly mocking you – but not Kyle. Not any one of them. You knew the compliments were genuine, even if they didn't understand why you insisted on sticking out like a sore thumb when it brought you so many problems.

You knew they would never really understand how masking could hurt you, but you were grateful they still defended your decision on just being yourself.

"Look at tha' key on yer neck." Soap pointed at your necklace. "I ken what's tha' for. It's the key to my heart, aye?" He said with an exaggerated wink and a smile that could blind you.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." You rolled your eyes, smiling, and pushed a paper into his hand and did the same with Gaz and Ghost.

"I need your autographs as well. You heard my explanation already."

" 'm not built for a life of fame, love." Simon grunted, shifting on his seat right beside Soap.

"Too late, the spotlight already found you. Now you gotta give me your autograph or I'm gonna cancel you on social media."

He huffed.

"Don't ya think I should have been canceled a long time ago?"

"Probably." You shrugged, and handed him a pen. "I like my favorites problematic, what can I say."

Soap barked out a laugh, mindlessly scanning the document and Ghost merely shook his head.

"Do I gotta sign this? Don't really feel like training new runts." The masked man muttered and you shrugged.

"Don't shoot the messenger. I don't really want new young men around me either." You walked back towards Price's desk after collecting the documents and placed them neatly inside the folder after he was done surveying every single fine print.

"What do you guys want for lunch?" You asked as you tucked the documents under your arm. Price clicked his tongue.

"You don't have to keep bothering with making food for us, love. We can all eat at the canteen like everyone else." The older man leaned back on his chair, folding his arms.

You looked to the side, with a small pout on your lips.

"But if I make you guys' lunch, then I can emotionally blackmail you into eating with me at the kitchen." You mumbled, avoiding any and all eye contact.

"So it was all a ploy to keep us nearby? I thought you were doing that because you liked us. I'm so hurt, dear." Kyle spoke up from his seat, a dramatic hand over his chest as he leaned his head back. You put a hand over your mouth, hiding your grin.

"Maybe I'm just learning a thing or two from hanging around tacticians?"

"Aw, Captain, come on. How can we leave the poor doll hangin'? And we get ta eat actually good food, not that canteen slop! Come on!"

Price sighed, shaking his head in defeat.

"Anything you make will be great, love."

"As long as it has proteins and carbs." Ghost added from his seat and you snickered. He had already seen you eating your comfort foods before and, needless to say, he didn't approve of them.

"As long as it has proteins and carbs." Price repeated, with a nod.

"Proteins and carbs, okay, got it." You said with a fierce nod, walking back towards the door to the older man's office. "Meet you guys at the kitchen?"

"1200, sharp." Price said, with eyes as soft as the smile under his moustache. You gave him a small salute on your way out.

"Yessir."

This will probably be a little anthology of scenes I think of, involving poly!141 x neurodivergent reader who works for them as a secretary. They might not have much continuity but I'm using this as a self-healing, self-indulgent blog, separated from my main. Expect mostly fluff and angst from me.

[spinfins]

Manfred is very useful, you guys. He enjoys being useful. He finds it interesting, like the way he watches the steam when he makes tea.

Or when Emmrich is making his bed. Manfred is fascinated by the neat, precise corners Emmrich makes when he tucks them in. He unfolds them the instant they are done, so he can examine them. Then Emmrich will REDO THEM right away so he can see them second time.

And then there’s the way the sheets BILLOW when Emmrich spreads them on the bed. It's like a cloud. If Manfred is very fast, and very sneaky, he can slide underneath the sheets and watch them billow as they slowly fall and settle on top of him like a shroud.

Usually Emmrich sighs at the sight of his bony form outlined under the fine (very high thread count) linen. Then he’ll pull Manfred out from between the sheets by his ankles like a marker from a book. What fun! Manfred hisses as he slips neatly out, and sometimes tries to dive back underneath so Emmrich has to slide him out again.

Except for the time that Taash came in and startled Emmrich so much while he was pulling Manfred out of the sheets that the wisp got turned and tangled. That was not fun. Manfred does not enjoy his ocular crystals being obscured. But the ensuing chase was quite enjoyable.

When Emmrich is done with “games” there are plenty of other people in the Lighthouse for Manfred to be useful to. He can get muddy with Harding, or help Lucanis by teaching Spite about the world, or entertain Assan or Rook. According to Emmrich, Assan and Rook are always needing to be “occupied” and have “enrichment.”

But lately, Manfred’s favorite way to be useful is helping Neve with investigations. Apparently staring at “the board” is a very important part of a detective’s job. But she has to leave a lot, so Manfred helps by staring at “the board” for her.

“Hey Neve,” Bellara says, and comes in to see Manfred and two dozens wisps utterly still as they focus on “the board.”

‘What seems to be the problem?’ Manfred hisses in his best imitation of a hardboiled detective. But Bellara can’t understand him yet like Emmrich.

“I’ll just come back later,” she backs away and out.

Excellent. Manfred has helped Bellara decide what to do next. He refocuses on “the board”. He is very useful indeed.

[sailorblossoms-rankane]

We know Ranma falls first and hard, so what about Akane? When does it start? unlike Ranma, I think it's a couple of things adding up in the background... and why wouldn't it start... here? walk with me

Doctor Tofu is kind to Akane, but I'd say the main reason she had a crush on him was: he was the one male figure outside of her family who made her feel safe. Taking care of her injuries would feel like a form of protection, and Akane wants to feel protected.

It's not just that Akane shows her fiery personality in fights... I recently noticed that while other fighters can show themselves cool and confident in the face of danger (like Ranma). But with Akane, she fights as if she never feels safe in a fight, you can see it. Even when she's the strongest and is winning every morning...

Winning every day could have made her approach these guys looking more "confident" or "relaxed," but she's never relaxed. She always sends Kuno flying, but notice how there's an air of uneasiness (even if she sees him as a buffoon) that doesn't disappear until Ranma comes into the picture.

Ranma showing up as a girl helps Akane relax and reach out as she's too used to being harassed by guys (so she keeps her distance). But even if she finds out his secret in the worst way, she doesn't beat his ass until he's picking on her.

Akane is the one offering the friendly match (connection) but Ranma is also doing something likely no one has ever done with her before: he's being soft, maybe even tender, with her... making her relax. he's making her feel safe (Ranma doesn't fight any other girl like this)

The bathroom incident makes her feel afraid, but when boy Ranma shows himself again, it's clear by the way she stops any attempt of violence to study him (and argue childishly) that the fear is gone. She's tested in the worst way (a way that plays into her worst fears about men, which is hard to shake)... but this tells you she still feels safe, even if she doesn't realize it.

If someone like Kuno had made fun of her proportions, Akane would've beaten him up and moved on. The fact that she's still thinking about it long after the fact tells you he's already stirring something (it's even connected with Ranma thinking about her because he too is also feeling something)

Part of Ranma "falling first" is that he sees her best very straightforwardly from the get-go (and is confused after). With Akane, she isn't even sure of what she's seeing, she's still dealing with her complicated feelings connected to the doc and constant harassment... but she's already interested.

It's obvious that Akane lives rent-free 24/7 in Ranma's head from the moment he meets her, but Akane is not exactly unaffected. It isn't accurate to say he only annoys her at this stage. She pays attention, confides with him, worries, goes after/covers for him... that's interest

You need to pull a rope from both ends to create tension.

Romantic tension requires both parties to feel something, and they already have plenty when Akane tries to help Ranma, and he is protecting her during the fight against Ryoga. Even if she still hasn't sorted out her old crush...

Akane wishes for and values normalcy (she actually has a life) but she only feels normal when compared to the clowns that arrive after Ranma. It's clear by the way her classmates see her that she's an extraordinary girl...

She loves martial arts, but doesn't have the sort of ambitions the insane fighters around Ranma have. She sees it more as a fun outlet, comparable to having a favorite sport. She only holds on to power when someone pisses her off (spite lol) but always chooses normalcy over it

Ranma brings both craziness and safety into her life. You can really see that with Kuno and the guys challenging her: Akane is comfortable supporting Ranma as he navigates the craziness around him, but she isn't comfortable when SHE is at the center of it

Ranma either stands by her side during the madness or straight-up redirects the focus on him (starting from the moment Kuno throws that rose to Akane and Ranma is immediately by her side, ending taking the challenge against Kuno himself). Akane might complain about Ranma "fighting her fights" here, but she quickly gives in to his protection (unless someone is pissing her off... spite, she's just like me fr etc)

In true gag fashion, when Ranma picks on her for her attention, he’s both giving her an outlet and making fighting, which she connected to danger and harassment, a very safe and childish thing. It allows her to relax in a way she hasn’t before he meets him.

When Ranma complimenting her smiles gets to her to the point she's still thinking about it hours after, or that Ranma essentially saying he likes her better as her true self makes her genuinely happy... it doesn't come out of nowhere. She's already been feeling something for him

[gtgbabie0]

how do you think a marriage between cregan and a lannister daughter would go?

love ur writing! keep up the good work <33

Cregan Stark x LannisterWife!Reader

Synopsis: {Your Lord husband seems to be the only one who can calm you}

This is an old request but thank you nonetheless! hope you enjoy my lovelies💕

You were a comely girl, always have been so it was no surprise that the Lord Stark had taken an interest in you during his time in the Red Keep- in which you were sent by members of your house to try and get your family back into the good books of the people in the court.

A feat you weren’t so successful in, having been turned away by numerous people or called horrid things behind your back sometimes plainly to your face. Every day spent at court was a blow to your pride, and gods did it make you a bitter person.

Cregan Stark found entertainment in your company, through his blunt banter and snarky remarks the way in which you would come back at him with all your might. Before he knew it he was completely infatuated with you and made an offer you simply couldn’t refuse, leaving Kings Landing.

Sometimes you regret ever accepting the damn deal.

“Get any closer and you’ll set that pretty blonde hair of yours on fire.” His rough voice breaks through the silence from his place at the desk where he had been reading through a couple of letters.

You roll your eyes, shuffling closer to the flames that crackle and snap within the hearth just in spite at the sound of his chuckle. He watches you closely, marvelling at how the warm orangey light of the flames splay across your face making your hair glow like fine threads of golden silk.

“Perhaps if it weren’t so cold then I wouldn’t have to sit this close.” You huff, pulling his furs that you had stolen over your shoulders.

“Winterfell is built upon a hot spring, the castle is plenty warm you’re just looking for an excuse to whine.” He says and you can practically hear the smirk that tugs on his handsome face.

You don’t answer him, instead letting silence and the soft sounds of the fireplace overtake your shared bedchambers however your lack of response doesn’t deter Cregan from continuing.

“You should wear something warmer than silks and airy dresses, my sweet.” The words are laced with amusement, he leans forward on his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, searching your unimpressed expression with his dark eyes.

“And wear dull shades greys?… no thank you.” You tell him, not wanting to accept the fact that perhaps there was slight truth to his words, still not meeting his gaze.

“So you’d rather freeze for the sake of what? Fashion? Very smart of you.” He replies sarcastically. “Especially for a Lannister, quite impressive my love.”

Your head snaps over to his direction, glaring up at him with narrowed eyes as he all but smirks back at you. He never failed to rile you up, bringing you to a burning point only to leave you all frustrated or worse— when he touches you in such a reverent way that makes you feel like a goddess, you couldn’t help but completely bend to his will. You swear he takes joy in bruising your pride.

He reaches over, brushing a curl of your hair behind your ear with a tenderness that he’s only ever shown to you and somehow just like that your anger ebbs away like snow underneath a summer's sun.

But you wouldn’t succumb that quickly and so you shrug off his hand, turning back to the fireplace with a small huff and he laughs because he knows- despite your little show- that he has you right where he wants you.

Cregan stands up from his chair, making his way over to a much more comfortable one that sits in front of the grand fireplace— closer to you. Despite how much you both clash at times he loves you, ever so dearly. He had defended you countless times back in Kings Landing and Winterfell, against anyone who dared try to speak poorly upon your name. Not just because of his marriage vows or honour, but because he sees you as you are not the hardened women the years had made of you.

There was a warmth to you, he’d seen it in glimpses. The way you care for his son as if he were your own, how you have your maids bring two cups of tea- one for him and one for you- to sate his sweet tooth.

You push yourself up from the floor, trying to distance yourself from him but he’s quick to catch your hips in his big hands. With a wolfish grin, he tugs you onto his lap and you accept defeat, it was too tiring to fight a man so headstrong.

“I’ll warm you up if you’re still cold.” He mumbles gruffly, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you tightly against his chest.

The warmth from his study body melts away the tension between your shoulder blades and you can’t help but sigh in contentment, leaning against him as he tugs you impossibly closer to him.

His hands caress the curve of your hips, looking up at you with a lazy smile. “I am still a little cold, I wouldn’t mind.” You reply playfully, trailing your fingertips along his cheek in small patterns.

“Ah, there she is…” Cregan whispers, relishing at the sight of your smile that you try so hard to fight off.

“Yes, yes, marvel whilst you can, it won’t last long.” The words make Cregan chuckle, his hands mapping out the outline of your body, caressing along your ribcage.

“Then I shall marvel with all my heart.” He promises, pressing a kiss against your shoulder, then another to your jaw. The wispy hairs of his beard tickle your skin as he nuzzles against you on purpose.

A pleasured hum escapes you by accident and by the way he smirks against your neck you can tell he’s holding back some sort of snarky comment, instead choosing to savour this moment and the way you lean into his touch.

He takes his time, showering your shoulders in kisses- trailing his lips up to the soft curve of your jaw and pushing the furs that drape over your shoulders off until they’re sitting on the floor leaving you in just a thin silky dress.

“What’s gotten you in such a mood, huh?” Cregan asks, leaning back against the cushioned sofa to really drink in the sight of you perched upon his lap.

You shrug your shoulders, lacing your fingers with his own. “I feel out of place, more so than often.” The words send an ache through his chest, his brows immediately furrowing at the confession.

It wasn’t a new thing for him to hear, however, that never made it any easier. Cregan remembers the first night you arrived in the North, the tears— gods, you were inconsolable. He understood why, the place was far from home and the people were hardened by the cold weather and then there was you… the complete opposite in every way, that’s why he spent all night whispering words of comfort and holding you.

“Silly girl, come here.” He says, coaxing you to lay against his chest and without hesitation, you curl up into him, your head resting on his shoulder as his fingers brush through your silken hair. “I’d have no one else by my side except you, my girl, understand?” He whispers, pressing a kiss against your hairline.

You nod against his shoulder, melting against him with a small sigh. “Mhm, of course, I do.” Your words are muffled against the soft fabric of his tunic, the smell of firewood and leather clinging to him- it was comforting, like home.

Cregan tilts your head upwards slightly, his gaze softening as he admires your face. “Don’t doubt the place you have in my heart… ever.” He tells you with a loving tone, so soft and caring, before leaning down to steal a delicate kiss from your lips.

[ruewritesoccasionally]

Running Home | Aaron Pierre

pairings: aaron pierre x black reader

about: Aaron’s hectic work schedule has strained his relationship with YN, pushing their bond to the brink. After a close encounter sparks jealousy, anger, and confusion, Aaron is consumed by guilt. In the midst of it all, they seek solace—but is love enough to repair what’s been broken?

warnings: angst, jealousy, heartbreak, emotional conflict, guilt, relationship strain, self-doubt, miscommunication, intense emotions, confrontation, love and reconciliation. (changing POVs between aaron and reader throughout)

author's note: my original idea for this was nowhere near this long, very little angst and plenty of smut but i couldn't stop typing and i kinda like where the story went. definitely different from my usual stuff but a good different, i hope ?

word count: 5.7k ************************************************************************

She stood in the doorway of their bedroom, staring at the space beside the bed that used to feel warm and alive with him. Now it was cold—empty. The spot where he should’ve been, the place where they used to find comfort in each other, felt like a distant memory. She let out a quiet sigh, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric of the pillow he should have been resting on.

Sure, she was happy that Aaron was finally getting the recognition he deserved. She knew better than anyone how hard he worked, how relentless his dedication was. She had seen it all—the long hours, the sweat, the sacrifices. This wasn’t just any man she loved. This was Aaron. The love of her life. Her childhood sweetheart. Her future husband. The father of her children. And yet, in spite of it all, the life she had once dreamed of with him felt more out of reach than ever before.

He wasn’t completely absent, of course. She would get the occasional FaceTime call when his schedule allowed it, or a text when he found a moment to spare. Sometimes, he’d send her a bouquet to make up for missing an arranged call. But none of that was enough. She needed more than a screen to look at him, more than a few hurried words exchanged between his busy days. She needed him here, with her, in the same space, to feel his presence beside her again.

The silence of their home echoed louder than it ever had before. She missed him more than she cared to admit. She missed the way his laugh filled the room; the way his touch grounded her. The warmth of his skin, the way he held her close as if nothing in the world could pull him away. That was the version of him she craved—the one who wasn't lost in a whirlwind of meetings and press tours, the one who remembered how to make time for them.

And now, as she stood there, facing the emptiness once more, she realized it wasn’t just about the physical absence. It was the emotional distance that hurt more. He was out there, conquering the world, but she was here—alone, waiting for the man she loved to come home.

The power of love was indeed frightening, something Y/N had always known but never fully understood until now. This season of her life had thrown her into new territory, teaching her things she never thought she'd have to confront. She tried to brush it off at first, telling herself it wasn’t that deep—just a phase. But the more she sat with the thought, the more she realized it wasn’t something that could be ignored – the growing tension between them, his absence his busy schedule and her silent yearning. Their life together couldn’t be swept under the carpet, not for long. No matter how much dust they let settle over the cracks, something had to give.

“Something has to give,” she murmured softly to herself, her heart heavy with the weight of those words. She wasn’t sure what it was, or how it would unfold, but she knew one thing for sure: something had to change.

************************************************************************

“No. I refuse to sound like this, I refuse to look like this,” she whispered to herself, standing in front of the mirror, eyes meeting her own reflection with a resolute gaze. “I love my man, and I am proud of his accomplishments, but I will not mope and whine. I am not sad or angry or even bitter. I just miss my man, and that’s not unreasonable. But what is unreasonable, is staying in this house, thinking about it, and expecting it to change in an instant. It’s not who I am, have been, or will be. Self-care starts now.”

Her thoughts rang with clarity, like the first breath of fresh air after being suffocated. She wasn’t going to let herself drown in loneliness. She was going to reclaim her power, and she was going to do it the only way she knew how—by looking after herself.

With renewed purpose, she grabbed her gym bag, deciding that a Pilates session would be the first step toward grounding herself again. The studio was quiet, the soft thrum of music and steady breaths filling the air as she worked through each stretch and movement, pushing her body to feel alive and in control. It wasn’t about competition; it wasn’t about impressing anyone—it was about her.

After the session, she was packing up, gathering her water bottle when she noticed the guy who’d been a few spots down from her. He had just finished setting up his phone and was filming a piece of his workout for his social media page. He looked up at her, gave a friendly smile, and then—seemingly hesitant—approached her.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," he said, offering a warm smile. "I’m filming my workout routine for my TikTok, and I was originally thinking of cropping you out, but you’ve got a good flow going. I wanted to ask if you'd be cool with being in the background for a second. I’ll make sure it’s all about the technique and not about you, promise.”

YN looked at him, intrigued. She wasn’t usually one to be filmed, but his demeanour was easy-going, and the thought of seeing herself in action on video made her smile. "Sure, no problem," she replied, stepping forward as he adjusted his phone. "I’m just finishing up my session, so feel free to catch me stretching if you want."

He grinned, clearly pleased with her willingness. "Appreciate it, thanks. Actually, if you're cool with it, I’d love to film a few post-session stretches of you. Just some stuff that really helps with flexibility, you know?"

YN gave a nod, feeling more at ease now, and moved through a few of her favourite stretches. She’d always been comfortable in her body, and today, with her focus on herself and no pressure, it felt even more liberating. As the camera clicked, the guy gave a few encouraging words. She kept her posture steady, breathing deeply and taking it all in.

Once the last stretch was filmed, the guy stopped the camera and gave her a thumbs-up. "Thanks for the content feature, you were great."

YN smiled, adjusting her water bottle. "No worries, glad I could help."

“Do you mind if I tag you in the video once I post it later? I’ll send it your way when it’s up, and I’ll tag you in the caption.”

She thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Sure, why not?"

After exchanging social media handles, the guy introduced himself as a personal trainer who regularly posted fitness content. He promised to send her the link once he had everything edited and ready to go. "It’s all about sharing good vibes and helping people get better, you know?" he said with a smile before he packed up his things and headed out of the gym.

YN felt an unexpected spark of positivity, and the small interaction, though brief, reminded her that she could still engage with the world, have fun, and be her own person—even without Aaron always being there. She wasn’t sure if that was the motivation she needed, but it was a start.

Next stop: the massage parlour, where the soothing touch of the therapist’s hands seemed to wash away the tension in her muscles, but it also helped release the weight that had been heavy on her heart. She closed her eyes, letting herself drift, imagining that each stroke of oil and pressure point was bringing her closer to the woman she was trying to reclaim—the one who didn’t wait around for things to change, but made changes for herself.

Afterwards, she treated herself to a visit to the nail salon. She didn’t need much—just a simple refresh to feel a little more polished, a little more put together. As she sat in the chair, she gazed at her hands, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the technician worked her magic. The small things were always enough to remind her that she was worthy of taking up space, of indulging in moments that made her feel good.

Finally, she treated herself to a fresh hairdo. The perm rod set was a game changer—her curls bouncy, defined, full of life. It wasn’t just the hair that felt good; it was the boost it gave her spirit. Her face felt lighter, youthful, her eyes brighter. The woman looking back at her from the mirror was a glimpse of the happier, more vibrant version of herself she’d been striving to be. A version who didn’t sit around waiting for Aaron to come home to feel complete.

As she stepped out of the salon, hair freshly done, nails polished, skin glowing, and a sense of calm in her chest, she couldn’t help but smile at the reflection in the glass door of the salon. She wasn’t the same person who had stood in that bedroom, empty and waiting. She was becoming someone new—someone who could hold her own, who didn’t need to feel like she was waiting for Aaron to come home to feel complete.

No, she wasn’t done yet. But this was a start. And for now, it was enough.

************************************************************************

YN arrived back home, the weight of the world lifting from her shoulders with each step. She took a moment to breathe deeply as she walked into her bedroom. Her sanctuary. It was time to settle into her evening.

She wrapped her freshly styled curls in a silk scarf, knowing that she’d need a long, relaxing shower to finish what had already been a restorative day. She laid out her favourite robe, soft and warm, alongside matching lingerie she’d been saving for a moment just like this. A little treat for herself.

Her lotions, body oils, and scented candles were carefully placed on the vanity, ready to immerse her in an atmosphere that screamed tranquillity. With a click, the lights dimmed, casting a gentle glow across the room, and the candles flickered invitingly in the silence. The mood was perfect, set just the way she liked it.

She filled a glass with wine, setting it on the side of the tub, just within reach. This evening was for her—nothing, and she meant nothing, could ruin it. Not tonight.

She connected her phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the bathroom, sinking into the soft hum of her favourite playlist. The water was the perfect temperature when she stepped under the spray. She let the heat cascade over her, each drop easing the tension in her body and mind. She stood there for a moment, eyes closed, inhaling the calming scents of her body wash as it enveloped her in comfort.

The shower was short but thorough, just long enough to rinse away the remnants of the day, to cleanse not only her skin but her spirit. She emerged feeling refreshed, wrapped in a plush towel, and ready to complete her routine.

After drying off, she slipped into the robe, took a deep breath, and began massaging the body oils and lotions into her skin, taking her time, not rushing. She was indulging in the sensation of self-love and care, feeling more like herself with every stroke of lotion, every touch of oil. She felt beautiful, confident, and... whole.

Once her skin was silky smooth and glowing, she made her way back to the vanity, where her glass of wine awaited. She picked it up and held it in her hand, the rim nearing her lips when, to her surprise, her phone buzzed on the counter.

She froze. The screen lit up—Aaron’s name flashed across it.

She sighed, feeling the tightness in her chest. It had been hours since they'd spoken. They had barely exchanged a word that day, and the mood in his text messages had been distant, curt even. She pressed the answer button, raising the glass to her lips, but she hadn’t even taken a sip before he spoke, his tone off from the very beginning.

************************************************************************

Aaron had been running around all day, caught up in the madness of his press tour. His mind was racing as he made his way through interviews, photoshoots, and calls, but somewhere deep inside, a gnawing feeling was growing. He hadn’t been present for YN in a while—something he knew, but had convinced himself wasn’t a big deal. It was just the nature of his life now, right? But even as he justified it, that sinking feeling remained.

He was sitting in his hotel room when he finally got a break. He pulled out his phone, scrolling aimlessly through his feed. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner. He hadn’t planned to watch the video at first. But then something caught his eye—the familiar figure in the background. He froze.

His heart skipped a beat when he recognized YN, her hair perfectly styled, the kind of glowing confidence she only had when she took the time for herself. And then he saw it—her lingerie, unmistakable, just as he’d bought for her on their last trip. It was the same set he’d complimented her on, the one he knew she liked, but there it was, on her, in someone else’s video. The man filming—he had his own following. The whole thing felt off, too casual, too intimate.

The more he looked, the more the little pieces began to add up in his head, and the more his anxiety took over. Why had she let herself be filmed like that? Who was this guy? His mind raced, thoughts spiralling into territory he’d never intended to go. He couldn’t help it—he was irate. Jealousy had a hold of him. Before he knew it, he had stepped outside his room, his hands clenched at his sides, breathing in the cool air like it could somehow clear his head.

He could have ignored it. Could have brushed it off. But instead, his fingers trembled as he dialled her number. The tension in his chest only grew, his heart pounding as he waited for her to pick up. Why was he feeling like this? He knew he wasn’t around enough, knew he was neglecting her in more ways than one. But still… this?

The phone rang, and when she picked up, her voice sounded calm, collected, almost too calm. Her indifference made it worse. She hadn’t even said hi yet.

“YN.”

************************************************************************

The way he said her name made something in her stomach churn. His voice held an edge. She took a slow breath, steadying herself. “Hey,” she replied, trying to sound casual, though the unease gnawed at her.

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, his words sharp and demanding.

************************************************************************

His voice was rough, low. He couldn’t hold back. His mind was a mess, thoughts disjointed and irrational, and he just had to ask the question, to get some sort of clarity, even if it meant sounding crazy.

Silence. He waited for her to speak, but it didn’t come. He could hear her breathing softly on the other end of the line, and it only made him more frustrated.

“Who is he?” The words tumbled out without thinking. He didn’t even care if they were right or wrong at that point. His thoughts were running too fast. The guy on the video, the way YN looked, the way her hair was done just for someone else—it all made sense to him, and he needed answers now.

He could feel the silence thickening on her end, the weight of his question hanging between them. And then—finally—he heard her voice again, casual, as if she couldn’t believe he was even asking. His stomach twisted at the indifference in her tone.

************************************************************************

The words hit her like a punch to the chest. She almost dropped the wine glass in her shock. She hadn’t even realized that Aaron had seen the video yet. It had been a simple interaction at the gym, nothing that even remotely warranted his reaction. But there it was—his jealousy building, a storm brewing behind his words.

Her stomach twisted as she tried to calm herself. This was what they were doing? She could feel the fire rising in his voice, but she wasn’t about to entertain the absurdity of it.

"Aaron..." she started, her voice measured, though it was a struggle to keep it even. She took a deep breath. "What are you even talking about?"

He was fuming now, she could tell from the way he inhaled sharply, like he was trying to control something boiling over inside him. He didn’t answer her question directly. Instead, he let out a frustrated breath, clearly struggling with something he couldn’t put into words.

YN clenched the wine glass a little tighter, her jaw tightening. This wasn’t about the video. Not really. It was about the space between them, the distance he’d created. The fact that he hadn’t been there—not the way he should have been.

************************************************************************

He paused, feeling his pulse quicken as his mind spiralled. What did this mean? His thoughts raced—was she out here doing things I didn’t know about? He hated himself for even thinking it. He knew better. He knew she wasn’t like that. But still, his mind couldn’t stop itself. It was the first thing on his mind. The first thing he fixated on, despite how irrational it sounded. I should’ve been there for her.

He could feel the weight of his own neglect, the guilt heavy on his chest. He’d been pulled in so many directions—his career, the press, the endless tour—and he told himself it was for the greater good, that it was all part of the plan to build a life for them. A stable future together. That was his justification. If some time away meant he could offer her the life they’d always dreamed of, then it was a sacrifice he’d have to make. For her.

But now? Now everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

His eyes burned as his anger shifted from a place of resentment to one of self-loathing. It wasn’t even about the guy. Not really. It was everything else—the distance between them, the silence he’d allowed to stretch on, the way he couldn’t seem to bridge the gap. It was the hollow realization that he hadn’t been enough for her, not the way she needed him. And now, all of it—the effort, the time away, the fame he’d worked so hard for—seemed empty.

I hate this, he thought, the frustration building. He hated that he had to let himself be swallowed by it all—he hated that he let it go this far. But the video... the sight of her, looking so perfect, so together, like she didn’t need him to complete the picture anymore... It hit him harder than anything else. The image of her, dolled up, glowing with that confidence that he used to be the one to see in person, to witness up close. He used to be the one who was there to hold her when she came back from self-care days like that, to marvel at how lucky he was to have her. Now, that privilege was fading.

He could already feel the guilt eating at him for even letting the jealousy creep in. To tarnish her name like that, he scolded himself. What kind of man was he becoming? This wasn’t her fault. She had every right to look beautiful, to feel beautiful, to be admired by others. She wasn’t the problem. I am. He could have been the one there for her, could have prioritized her above the endless demands of the industry. He should have been there. But he wasn’t.

She was silent on the other end of the line, and he knew the ball was in her court now. She’s disappointed, he thought. And that was worse than anything else. I’ve let her down. And now I’m going to lose her for good. He hadn’t meant for it to go like this—hadn’t meant to let the space between them stretch to the point where she could look so flawless without him even being there to see it firsthand.

His stomach turned as he waited for her to respond. He wanted her to say something, anything that could make him feel like this wasn’t all falling apart. But as the silence stretched, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it already had. He wanted so badly to be the man she deserved, the one who noticed her beauty every day, who put her first, who wasn’t too lost in his own world to care about hers.

But now, as her voice finally broke the quiet, he was almost afraid of what she might say. He already knew what he deserved to hear. And he wasn’t sure he could take it.

************************************************************************

Aaron’s words hung in the air, thick with irrationality and self-doubt, but YN didn’t flinch. She didn’t rise to it. The tension between them had been brewing for days, weeks even, and this phone call was just a catalyst. She’d had enough of the back-and-forth, the unspoken frustration.

“Aaron,” she said, her tone steady, her voice clear. “This is the first time I have seen your face and spoken to you today, and this is the energy you want to come on with? Really?”

She could feel the anger building within him, could almost hear the defense rising in his throat, but she wasn’t interested in that right now. She was tired—tired of the distance, the silence, the passive aggression. She wasn’t going to sit here and play into his insecurities.

“If you want to talk…” she continued, her words firm but measured, “be a man. Come back to this home and speak to me properly.”

Without waiting for a response, YN ended the call, her finger tapping the screen decisively. The silence returned, and with it, the soft hum of the music in the background. She raised her glass of wine to her lips, the cool glass meeting her fingertips as she took a slow, deliberate sip. The weight of the moment settled over her as she simply… relaxed. She wasn’t going to chase him down. It was above her now.

She would wait.

Let him come to her when he was ready to talk like the man, she knew he could be.

************************************************************************

Aaron’s gaze lingered on the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. YN’s calm but resolute demeanour stirred a conflicting mix of emotions within him. It was a sharp contrast to the chaos swirling in his mind, a reminder of the peace they once shared. Her voice had been steady, unwavering, and despite the tension, it was a reminder of the respect they’d always had for each other. In the heat of it all, he felt a flicker of warmth—because he knew, despite everything, they had never raised their voices at each other. But then came the sting of her final words: “Be a man.”

It struck him hard, a reminder he desperately needed. She was right. He hadn’t been the man she needed. He had failed her, lost in the whirlwind of his own success, and now the reality of it all crashed over him. The guilt was suffocating. He had to fix this. He had to make things right before he lost the one thing that truly mattered.

As the call ended, the sound of the line cutting through the air seemed to snap him from his thoughts. Without wasting another moment, he stood, packed his things in a blur of urgency, and made the decision: the flight had to be soon. He didn’t bother notifying his team. The consequences could wait. Some things were too important to delay.

He rushed to the airport, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. A tight knot formed in his chest as he boarded the flight. The seatbelt sign blinked on, and the flight attendants' voices were lost in a distant hum, drowned out by the turbulent thoughts racing through his mind. Each jolt of turbulence mirrored the storm within him, challenging the calm that the flight attendant’s voice tried to impose.

When the plane finally landed, he didn’t waste time. A cab took him swiftly towards the woman he needed to reclaim—YN, the woman who still felt like home. And with every mile closer, his resolve strengthened. He would make things right. This time, he wouldn’t wait any longer.

************************************************************************

YN lay back on the bed, the wine in her hand and the soft hum of the music surrounding her. The evening had settled into a calm, peaceful rhythm, and for the first time in a long while, her mind was quiet. She didn't think about the call, didn't dwell on the tension that had bubbled up between them. What would be, would be. The words lingered in her mind, their weight like a steady pulse beneath her calm exterior. She hadn’t given up on him, but she also wasn't going to hold on any longer than what served her. The push and pull had worn her down, and the wheels of their relationship felt close to falling off—but still, her mind remained clear. Acceptance, she thought, was a beautiful thing. There was no need for stress. Whatever came next would find its place.

The quiet of the moment was interrupted by the sound of the door latch clicking. YN’s eyes shot open, a flicker of panic spreading through her chest as she checked the time. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed, how long it had taken for him to get here. She heard her name, his voice breaking through the silence, and the heat rushed to her cheeks. Suddenly, her voice felt trapped, as if the words were lodged in her throat.

He’s here. He’s really here.

Her thoughts raced, but she didn't speak any louder. She simply let out a soft, meek “In here,” trusting he would follow the sound of her voice into the bedroom. For a moment, the house seemed to hold its breath. The space between them stretched, filled with the anticipation of what would come next. There was a rustling sound from the other side of the house—his movement through the quiet halls—before heavy footsteps echoed through the walls. All she could do now was sit still, her heart beating faster with every step that brought him closer. And wait.

************************************************************************

Aaron leans back against the doorframe, the familiar weight of his frustration creeping up his spine as he watches you from across the room. His gaze is possessive, yet patient, as if he's been holding his breath, waiting for you to make the first move. He knows this dance all too well.

There are good and bad ways to do anything. And right now, he's walking the line between them. He’s the kind of man who wants it all, but he also knows better than to take it without giving you space to breathe. You're free, and he knows you need to feel that. But God, the thought of you with someone else—just the idea—sends a sharp sting through him. He refuses to acknowledge the tightening in his chest as he tells himself he’s being unreasonable.

But what if you're drifting? What if, somewhere between his neglect and your silence, you’ve already started to look elsewhere for that attention, that touch?

He clenches his jaw, the thought rattling around in his head like a damn bell. His love for you isn't a request, it's a demand. He’ll give you space, but only so much. He’ll let you go, if that’s what you want, but he’s the type of man who doesn’t back down when he knows what’s right. And you are what's right for him. If you need to test the waters, fine, but there's a line—one he’s drawing now.

“I give myself to you,” he whispers to himself, his voice low and firm. “I expect the same in return. This isn’t a one-way street.”

He feels the heat rise in his chest as the image of you and that guy at the gym flashes in his mind again. His fingers twitch as he thinks of how quickly he could erase that image from his mind. He’s not a jealous man by nature, but when it comes to you, that’s different. You're his. And if you’re going to be with him, then you belong to him—body and soul.

He’s not naïve. He knows you have your own life, your own choices. But his love, his protection—those aren’t things he offers lightly. “If we get this right,” he murmurs to himself, “if we love one another with everything that we have… then we go for it. All in. No turning back.”

He swallows hard, the thought of loving you completely, without reservation, both excites and terrifies him. But he’s done holding back. The next time he sees you, he’s not letting you slip away. Not again.

And then, as he moves toward the door, the words he’d held back all this time—those words he should have said, needed to say—come to him.

“YN…” He stops for a moment, his voice wavering with raw sincerity. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there for you. I’ve been selfish, caught up in everything else, thinking it would be enough for us, but I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there the way you needed me to be. I should have put us first.”

He steps forward, his chest tightening with the weight of his regret. “I’m not proud of the way I’ve treated you, of the way I let you slip away while I chased things that, in the end, don’t matter as much as you do. I never meant to hurt you, YN. I never meant to make you feel like you were alone in this. You’ve always been my everything, and I failed you. I’ve taken you for granted, and I hate myself for it.”

The words hang in the air, raw and unrefined, but they are his truth. His voice breaks as he continues, “I need you to know that I love you, with everything I have. And I’m not running anymore. If you’ll have me, I’ll fight for us—for the love we have, for the life we’ve always wanted. I’ll make it right. But I need you. I need us. Please, don’t give up on me.”

As he finishes, he stands there, feeling vulnerable, exposed—like a man who’s finally showing up, but unsure of whether he’ll be enough. The silence is deafening, but he doesn’t look away. He’s finally ready to fight for what’s his, for what he needs. For you.

************************************************************************

YN’s heart pounds in her chest as each of Aaron’s words slices through the quiet air, each step he takes forward tugging at the frays of the binds around her, forcing them to mend themselves. She feels the familiar magnetic pull, stronger now, deepening as he speaks. It’s as if the very core of her is being reeled back toward him, drawn in by the sincerity in his voice, the vulnerability that he rarely let’s slip. The same heat she felt when she first heard him call her name in the house now swells again, but this time, it’s joined by the sting of tears threatening to spill.

The man before her, the one she thought she’d lost, is the same man she has always needed and wanted. She can feel the weight of every moment that has brought them here, the unspoken words, the silence. She could never say no to him, not when he’s standing here, laying himself bare before her. But still, there’s a hesitation in her heart. She knows that as much as she wants to give in to the pull of his presence, things won’t be okay straight away. Not yet. The damage isn’t irreparable, but it’s still there, lingering between them like a shadow.

Her heart swells with love for him, with forgiveness that’s as much for herself as it is for him. The release of the pain she’s been carrying is almost overwhelming, and she feels a quiet gratitude wash over her, as though a burden has been lifted. There’s so much unsaid, but somehow, in the space between them, everything is understood. She wants him—wants to move forward, wants to heal—but she needs to make him see that it will take time. There’s so much they have to rebuild.

Her words fail her as the weight of her emotions rises. She opens her mouth to speak but finds it hard to put her thoughts into any kind of order. Her eyes, though, say the rest. They speak everything she can’t quite find the words for: I forgive you; I need you, I’m scared but I want this too. The tears in her eyes blur her vision, but in that moment, they become the truest thing she’s ever known.

And then, without thinking, without another moment of hesitation, she runs into his embrace. Her body moves instinctively, driven by the need to be close to him, to feel his arms around her. The smell of his skin, familiar and comforting, envelops her like a shield. She sinks into him, her body cradled by his larger frame, his hands locking around her in an unbreakable, protective clasp. It’s a promise, even without words—a promise that she’s not alone, that they are in this together.

His lips press softly to her forehead, the kiss tender and full of quiet assurances. It’s a kiss that carries with it everything that’s been unsaid, everything they both need. Things aren’t fixed, not yet, but the warmth of his embrace, the steadiness of his touch, tells her that they will be better. It may take time, but they’ll heal. Together.

************************************************************************

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[littlemoonglow]

Warning: Long post?

—

Jason did not expect his ghost form to feel…like this.

(Oh, dealing with his body randomly phasing through the ground and smacking his face onto hard concrete was not fun, but Jason dealt with that just like with every other hurdle in his life. By being more stubborn than the problem itself.)

It felt like something… settled into place. That was the best way he could describe it.

He felt as if spite and anger were finally not the only things keeping him awake and running. 

He felt calm, almost. Stable, at least. Whatever pent up energy that was stuck in his chest cavity now flowed freely throughout his body, redistributed, instinctually easier to manage.

It's almost like he could breathe a little bit easier.

(After much… ranting that Jason decided to ignore for his own sanity, Danny said that his case ectoplasmic corruption was probably due to the fact that Death, as a concept, doesn’t let go of things easily, time shenanigans notwithstanding.)

(Becoming a half-ghost was seemingly the only working compromise.)

—

Danny once told him that broad strokes of a ghost’s personality could be guessed by looking at their physical appearance. 

Despite the cool powers, this was a slight downside. Jason dealing with the filth of the Earth meant that being to hide his emotions and who he is was kind of important. Life saving, even.

He realized later on that his ghost form was way too easy to read.

—

He looked at his arms covered in bandages, and got reminded of the amount of times he had to patch himself up in the last month.

His jacket was ripped in place he knew that would have been sewn together when he was a living breathing human (well, as much as he could be).

He always looked slightly on fire?

(Danny told him it's probably related to his... core?)

(He know he died in an explosion but really?)

And then, there was his… veil? Shroud? Cloak?

It looked really nice.

But on the other hand…

It drooped when he felt under the weather. It flicked and thrashed around when he’s either irritated or barely holding back his urge to headshot someone.

And—

(No Danny, my cloak was not fucking wagging when you brought me fresh ectoplasm last week, you’ll have to get your goddamn eyes checked—)

He'll deny it until the day he dies (a second time).

And then his cloak could sometimes just…grow bigger. He figured that it acted as an extension of his own body, and had a nice add-on of allowing him to sense things he couldn't see. Hell, he could even make a hand out of it (wacking Danny with it - gently - never gets old). Jason had to also admit it looked cool, with the wispy bits and with one of its sides becoming a bright yellow.

(It reminded him a bit of his time as Robin.)

—

Being a ghost had a lotta perks.

Dealing with targets was so much easier when no one could see you. Inflitration was so much simpler when walls became optional. Cameras will glitch out when he's around, he left no traces visible to the naked eye and, combined with his training, to say that it was useful would be an understatement.

But, sometimes, he feels like he’s changing as well the more he transforms. Not drastically, but enough for him to look back and notice.

He usually was someone who prided on being efficient and straight to the point.

But now he’s starting to… have fun.

He started using his claws whenever he could. Don't het him wrong, he still uses his guns plenty, but there was just something deeply satisfying about vaulting over things, scaling a wall or crawling on the ceiling with bare hands. 

(Punching people is still the most satisfying by far, though.)

That one time hunting down the Joker wannabes was fun too.

(Danny said he’d get along great with Skulker? Did Jason want to find out? No.)

Fading in and out of invisibility, he picked them off one by one, watching as panic and dread slowly but surely creeped up on the remaining ones.

(After all, he has no respect for those trying to emulate the dead clown.)

—

(Yeah, the Joker was dead.)

(Surprisingly, that has not been a good day.)

—

One of the favorite things he liked to do was rooftop parkour. The… bendability of gravity is… fun, not gonna lie.

(Not flying though. Jason is used to having feet in regular contact with solid ground, thank you very much. No offense, Danny.)

But he gets why ghosts love to fly. When he’s jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Gotham in the at night, watching the city light fly by, cloak spread behind him, it’s as if nothing else matters. 

(No Joker, no petty criminals to beat up, no avoiding the Bats so they don’t find out about his existence—)

He can just enjoy, even just for a little bit.

—

(Somehow the Demon Brat and Orphan could sense him. Will keep and eyes on those two, and also the more reasons to avoid them.)

(The real problem was the new Bat in town. Bruce, what the fuck, another one? Again?)

(The yellow one, Signal. No time to check his profile yet, but probably a meta or something.)

(First night out and the guy almost managed to actually fucking see him —looked at him straight in the eyes and all, then did a double take. Jason never phased into the pavement so fast in his entire fucking life.)

(And so far no Bats on his cloak tails yet.)

(He did help the guy incognito, just a couple of times.) 

(And he also did steal his escrima sticks for fun, and once the guy went out looking for them, he’d put them right back where they were.)

(Turns out, he discovered later, that being a little shit runs in the ghost community.)

—

(Sometimes he also wonders what happened to Danny before they met.)

(He wasn't a Gothamite, that was obvious. He doesn’t pry, but it doesn’t take a lot to piece two and two together.)

(He just wonders who he has to kill this time.)

—

(Jason could not believe he forgot and underestimated just how fucking persistent every single one of the Bats could be. Of course it had to run in the family.)

He gazed down, thought the agony, at the gaping wound under his right armpit.

(The Bats have been chasing him relentlessly for a while now. He got more injuries than he can count, especially from Bruce.)

(They know. Oh, they know.)

(It didn’t go well.)

(He knows the others are there surrounding him to prevent him from escaping, he knows that Dick is right behind him, but at the moment he couldn’t care less.)

It has been a long time since the last time he got shot.

(It felt like someone set his right side on fire.) 

What was flowing out in abundance was a neon, toxic green.

(The Pit Waters, ectoplasm, he didn’t even know that he could fucking bleed in ghost form—)

(Danny—)

He looked back up at Batman, holding a (frankly) ugly gun, white casing and highlights in the same shade of toxic green. 

(A gun that Danny warned him about. And everything behind it.)

Jason felt something in him... snap.

(Why did it have to be you, Bruce.) 

His mouth opened—

(waitsincewhenhecoulddothatthroughtthe mask—) 

(Jason could see the billows of neon green smoke—)

(He couldn’t see Bruce’s expression.)

(Every. Single. Goddamn. Time.)

— and wailed.

---------------------------------------------------

I am genuinely delighted that my last post got that much attention! Thank you so much, to all who liked, rebblogged and commented, it really does mean the most. 💕

This AU may be continued? No guarantees, tho.

For those interested: Part 01

@fandomnerd103 @phoenixdemonqueen @satisfactionbroughtmeback @ascetic-orange @apointlessbox @bathildaburp @fisticuffsatapplebees @aisforanonymity @phandomhyperfixationblog @help-i-need-a-cool-username @hashtagdrivebywrites @did-i-miss-anyone-tagging-is-a-monk's-job-first-time-doing-this-aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[babypudge]

“I really don’t know what you see in that clown.” You regretted the words before you were even finished saying them. You wished you could grab them out the the air and stuff them back in your mouth. You didn’t need to wait for a reaction from your best friend since college, you knew each other well enough to read the look on her face. It didn’t help that she’d prefaced the lunch invitation by saying she had “big news” and was very clearly wearing a new ring on her left hand, though the topic hadn’t come up yet.

All the same, you felt your assessment was accurate. After all, you were the one who’d been dutifully sitting through her countless venting sessions about how her excessively outgoing boyfriend was constantly dragging her on “fun” dates in matching outfits to amusement parks, garishly themed novelty restaurants and any circus, magic show or fair that was happening less than two counties over. She didn’t need to tell you that she’d rather just stay home, chill and indulge in the introversion that’d you’d originally bonded over - you two shared a silent understanding that went deep enough to intuit that much.

You’ve never really understood why, but for as long as you’ve known each other, it’s the only kind of guy you’ve seen her go after - boisterous, outgoing and aggressively friendly men who’re just looking to settle down and raise a family. Sadly, you checked none of those boxes. You’d always been naturally shy and overly self-conscious, seemingly doing your best not to draw too much attention in life. All the same, you’d made more than a few failed attempts at making this more than a friendship over the years, only to be gently reminded that she just doesn’t "think of you that way.”

It was a shame - you really thought she could be the one to help you get past the overwhelming diaper fetish that had completely supplanted any interest in standard sex your whole life. You’d tried plenty of times to get into something more traditional, but all attempts so far had failed - some quite spectacularly. You told yourself that you just needed the right person to guide you, someone you could confess your unusual desires to and incorporate them until you got comfortable without them. You knew it was a pipe-dream, just something reassuring you’d tell yourself after another long session of scrolling through endless images of heavily padded men acting like giant toddlers, but it was hard to shake the pressure you felt to be more “normal” when comparing your love life to others.

A lifetime of hiding your childish cravings had left you uncomfortable with even the slightest hint of perceivable immaturity, and the distain you felt for your friend's lover was no doubt linked to a subconscious envy of his obliviousness to how much cringe-inducing attention he brought to himself in public, and how everyone seemed perfectly okay with it. You didn’t want to admit that you envied him, so it was easier to label him a “clown.”

“Hey kiddo, that’s no way to talk about your Daddy.” A familiar voice sprung up from the restaurant booth behind you, though with a firm and chastising tone you’d never heard before.

“Ugh, Sweetie, I thought we agreed that we were going to ease into this…” your friend said like she was looking right through you.

“I know, I know honey, but sometimes you just gotta jump into the pool!” the less than anonymous voice of her future husband replied.

“Okay, confession time.” Your best friend said while giving a stare that told you it was time to lock into every word that was about to come out of her mouth.

“If you think I haven’t been graciously putting up with your criticisms about my choice of partners for longer than I care to think about, baby-boy, you’ve got another thing coming. In spite of that, I’ve been out here looking for the best damn Daddy that this city has to offer for a long time now, and I won’t sit here and listen to my lil’ guy disrespects the father figure I’ve chosen for him! Please don’t think I don’t love you, sugar-plum, but a good Mommy knows not to put the cart before the horse!”

Suddenly, you felt a deeply painful pinch in your right ear. “I appreciate the history lesson, babe, but I think it’s time for a little less conversation and a little more action.” You followed the hand that seemed inescapably linked to your earlobe as it lifted you up out of the booth, past the kitchen and into the restaurant’s intimately small men’s room.

Effortlessly opening the latch on the baby chaining table with one finger, and letting it land with a heavy *thud* that was certainly not unnoticed by the occupant of the nearby stall, the man herby known as “Daddy” thrust you onto the molded plastic slab and undid your pants. “Well, I’ll give you an A for effort, Buster, but looks like we had a little accident. Did Daddy surprise you?" He poked at the notably damp Goodnite XXLs drooping between your legs. "Or did my sweet-pea just want to give me a sneak-preview of things to come?” He slid the soggy "underwear" down your quivering legs and opened the large bag on his hip.

“Sorry, small-fry, but I’ve got to check for myself.” He said before popping open a small bottle and squeezing a glistening substance into his hand. Despite his vigorous efforts, you remained limp and unaffected by the experience. “So far, so good. Okay, time for the real test.” He smirked, aggressively pulling a baby-print adult diaper from the bag and slowly unfurling it, meticulously fluffing it up and working out every possible “pop” it's plastic backing had to offer.

In no short order, and with no need for psychical manipulation, your little soldier was standing at full attention. “Aww, just as advertised!” He gave your throbbing manhood a quick, strangely platonic smooch that had a notable sense of paternal pride that you weren't sure how to react to.

“Oh, my foolish little clown..." he beamed before giving you a hard swat on the bottom "I'm going to have a LOT of fun with you!”

Now, you spend your weekdays indulging in your introversion while watching Bluey and snuggling with Mommy on the couch - trying your best not to think about the upcoming weekend with Daddy. Yet another weekend of singing silly songs on the way to hold hands at the grocery store, another weekend of getting your diaper changed in the movie theater bathroom, another weekend where you're told "It's okay, stinker, everyone gets to know..." when fielding deeply embarrassing questions about your lifestyle from perfect strangers in your stroller while wearing colorful matching outfits at amusements parks, theme restaurants and every circus, magic show or fair that your new Papa can find!

[starlightarchery]

I'm pretty sure this is an unpopular opinion, but the "lack" of content in Lucanis's romance makes complete sense to me. Honestly I never saw it as lacking at all. I can understand why some people do and of course it would've been great to have more content, but to me, there is narrative sense to the way his romance is written.

Just looking at the last year or so of his life, Lucanis has been imprisoned, tortured, and to top it all off, possessed. He is sharing his body with a demon and constantly fighting to make sure he keeps control. And when he finally comes back home? Immediately finds out his grandmother is supposedly dead, and for all intents & purposes, it's in retaliation for HIS jailbreak. Already he is picking up broken pieces of his old life and cutting himself on them. It's no state to be jumping into a relationship from.

I've said before - and there's plenty of dialogue from him supporting it - that Lucanis spends most of the game trying to pretend he can go back to his old life; that he can be the person he used to be.

"I thought I still had this."

"Whatever else I am, I'm supposed to be a professional."

"I don't fail my contracts."

All of these things add and add to his turmoil until it's set to topple right at the start of the "Inner Demons" quest. He finds out his grandmother is alive! He should be happy! Instead he's caught in emotional upheaval, overwhelmed by everything he's been pushing off, and he has to make a decision, he has to keep going, he has to has to has to. And he can't. To the point that Spite has to intervene and say the one thing Lucanis won't.

"Help us."

And then, after getting to Lucanis, Rook literally tells us the man's struggle outright.

"As bad as the Ossuary was for you, it was better than the alternative. [...] You could solve those problems with a blade, but healing again? [...] There's no simple answer there. And if you fail, you could hurt the ones you love."

Lucanis was raised in violence. He still has a good heart in many ways, but that doesn't change the fact that he was more than likely never taught the emotional skills needed to navigate his problems any other way than with a knife. Which means that for 90% of the game, he is not ready to open his heart to someone. Even the 'almost kiss' scene is Lucanis attempting to replicate some of who he was, until something in him realizes that kissing Rook wouldn't be a one and done situation. No no, he wants them. And the minute that hits, he pulls away again, until the time comes in the endgame that he realizes losing Rook forever is scarier than never making the attempt to be together.

TLDR; Lucanis is a traumatized slow burn with one hell of a payoff in the end, you just gotta be patient with him.

P.S. - Once again, this is just my opinion, you are free to agree or disagree as you'd like; this is just based on my own experience with his romance.

[kingkatsuki]

— a favour

Deku has a favour to ask of Bakugou, and he hopes you’ll be happy to oblige.

This is pretty much for Kitten idk😂😭

Warnings: 18+.

Word Count: 0.8k.

“You wanna what?” Bakugou sneers as he pushes his mask up onto his forehead, raising a brow. Completely positive that Deku hadn’t just asked him that question, there ain’t no fucking way—

“No, no, no, listen! I’ll pay you— and I just think it’ll be better with you both rather than a stranger.”

“And you think that’s a favour?” Bakugou grunts, “A favour is ‘Can you spot me?’ or ‘Can you give me a lift?’— not can I fuck your girlfriend?”

“No! I don’t want to fuck her—” A blatant lie, “I want to watch—”

“You want me to fuck my girlfriend—” Bakugou sounds on his tongue, as though that would make it make sense, “And you just wanna watch?”

“Um, well yeah.” The tips of Deku’s ears were burning crimson, tinted all the way across his cheeks as he felt his stomach knot.

After he was caught in a drunken fumble with an escort a few months ago, Midoriya had to be more careful about the company he kept. The story only failed to reach the local news outlets and social media thanks to his quick thinking HR team sending out a lengthy NDA, paired with a substantial payoff. Escorts, strangers online and Only Fans were now completely off limits. If the public found out about the Number One Heroes filthy little secret his entire image would be destroyed.

“So why not just go out and fuck a girl?” Bakugou snorts, “There’s gotta be thousands of women ready to get into the Number One’s pants.”

“It’s not just about that,” Deku flushes, trying to avoid Bakugou’s intense fiery gaze, “I like to watch—”

“So watch porn.” Bakugou scoffs, “I’m sure I’ve got plenty of fuckin’ videos on my phone that I can send ya— there’s one where I’ve got her in this posi—”

“No!” Midoriya cut him off, “I mean— I like when people are mean to me.”

Bakugou’s lips curled into a sinful grin at the realisation as he held his phone in his hands, staring down at his former school friend, “You like being degraded huh? You sick freak.”

Midoriya bit back a groan as he felt his pants tighten at the brash tone, his cock pulsing beneath the tough fabric as he shifted from foot to foot.

“And what makes you think she’d even agree to it, hah?” Bakugou knew you were more than comfortable trying out new kinks and experiences in the bedroom with him, just last week you’d filmed a raunchy CNC sex tape after your date plans had been ruined by a torrential downpour. And you were more than happy for him to share some of the moments he filmed with his best friends— But this was inviting another man, a friend, into your most intimate moments together. Nowhere near the same as sending a quick thirty second video of you bouncing on his cock to Kirishima.

“Can you at least ask her?” Midoriya mumbles, “Please?”

“Yeah, sure.” Bakugou itches his nose with the back of his hand, “I’ll tell her what a sick fuckin’ freak you are, Deku.”

Midoriya was certain he could’ve creamed his pants from the condescending lilt to Bakugou’s voice as he grabbed his towel out of his locker, his stomach lurching as he thought about whether this was what his friend was like when he was with you. Watching Bakugou disappear behind the shower stalls as Midoriya finally chanced palming his throbbing cock for a moments relief, wincing when he felt just how wet with pre his boxers were as they stuck to his skin uncomfortably, moulding to his cock as he groaned in satisfaction.

Did Bakugou talk to you like this too? So full of spite and degredation— Did the same thing get you off too? Or was his voice soft and full of praise as he plowed into your sloppy cunt.

“Oi,” Bakugou shouted across the locker room as Midoriya laced his red trainers. He definitely couldn’t shower here, not now. He had to make it home— looking up to see Bakugou standing there with a towel slung low on his hips, a smirk on his face as he held his phone in the air. And Midoriya noticed he was on video chat with you, wondering whether Bakugou was talking to you while he was in the shower— “She said she wants to play your nasty little game, Deku.”

And here Midoriya was, not even forty-eight hours later. Sitting at the foot of your bed while Bakugou split you apart on his cock—

“She didn’t believe me when I told her, you know.” Bakugou sneers, a warm palm cupping your jaw to direct your debauched face to his friends green gaze, “Couldn’t believe that precious little Deku would be such a sick little freak.”

[fairestwriting]

hello! may I request hcs on how the first years are when they're dating their housewarden's younger sister?

𐙚 Ace Trappola

Oh, you know he’s smug about it. He was kind of averse to the idea of even getting too close at first, thinking Riddle’s younger sister surely would be a rule freak like Riddle himself is, not really someone he’d want to associate with…

But, who would’ve guessed, you two turned out to get along just fine. You seem to appreciate his humor, and Ace appreciates that in return. ”Y’know, I thought you’d be all uptight like your big brother. I guess that gene skipped you, huh?” He jokes one day, and he just keeps on doing his thing, whether he’s under Riddle’s scrutiny or not. What’s he gonna do about it anyway? He’s not breaking any rules by just hanging out with his sister, is he now?

His attitude honestly doesn’t change that much when you two get more serious. He’s totally unsurprised to learn that Riddle wasn’t really that thrilled by you dating a troublemaker like him. Of course he treats you well, but it’s the same sort of treatment you’d get even if you had never heard of Riddle Rosehearts in your life. Maybe he’s a little more generous with gifts, especially snacks, knowing your mother doesn’t let you have them at home. But that’s as “different” as it’ll get.

Whenever you two are spending time together and Riddle is also around, he makes sure to be in his very best behavior just to spite him. It doesn’t always work, if only because of the sheer amount of rules that Riddle remembers summed up to his now actual desire to humble Ace is definitely… a force to be reckoned with. But, well, so is Ace. Riddle never gets his way when that happens either, because Ace is just cackling away when Riddle slaps that collar on him for the third time this week.

𐙚 Deuce Spade

Part of his desperate attempts to become a “true honors student” includes properly introducing himself to any new people he meets, which means asking for their full name and giving his in return. He’s decided he must redouble his efforts to be cautious and polite around you as soon as he heard you say Rosehearts right after your first name. He ends up nervously asking, ”Oh. Rosehearts, like… our dorm leader?” and you confirm you’re Riddle’s younger sister. That just confirms his own thought process to him.

Deuce is honestly genuinely scared. Not of you, of course! Over time he finds that he really enjoys talking to you, your conversations flowing easily. Deuce is surprised he could even have so much fun with another person, even though he has and has plenty of fun with other friends— It’s just that the knowledge you’re Riddle’s sister… never really leaves the background of his thoughts.

He knows Riddle didn’t get the best impression of him, and he doesn’t necessarily regret his own actions from that time. Now though, that he’s starting to really notice his crush on you, and he wants to ask you out properly— Would it really be right to do that when he’s in bad terms with your family? Deuce is conflicted. It’s not a thing of believing you need Riddle’s permission to date him or anything, he’d just feel… kind of bad, knowing his girlfriend’s brother thinks of him as some unserious delinquent. He wants it to be known that he only wants the absolute best for you!

So… he tries. Like Ace, he’s in his very best behavior whenever there’s a chance Riddle might be around, with about the same success rate. Except he really apologizes profusely every time he learns he’s breaking a rule, promising he’ll remember it in the future — He probably won’t, but the same is true for any other normal person, really — in a way that honestly surprises Riddle sometimes? As much as your brother will always be at least a little bit distrustful of any guy that comes close to you, in some situations, even he can’t do anything but admit that yeah, Deuce is nothing if not dedicated to that “mission” of his.

𐙚 Jack Howl

Leona was basically his idol for so long, you know he’s kept up with what little media appearances he had. Nothing crazy, anything more than just watching the few interviews he’s given or the broadcasted Magift games just gets into celebrity gossip territory, and Jack doesn’t like that— But basically, he’s watched just about enough to see you on a screen, and yeah, he always thought you were really pretty, but that was all there was to it for a long time.

He did get… pretty disappointed with Leona when he met him, yeah, but he doesn’t let it affect how he views you. You’re his sister, not an extension of his person, it’d be silly to make assumptions like that. Jack is as polite to you as he is to everyone else, and he’s pleased to discover you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. That it’s actually really fun to talk to you, even though he usually doesn’t like talking to people much.

When you actually get together, Jack starts to get pretty nervous. He’s serious about dating, as we all know. If he’s asked you out, it’s because he really wants to be with you. And that means family gets involved. He’s more than happy to introduce you to his, but yours, well— He’s never thought he’d struggle with a significant other’s family, but you’re a literal princess…

It’s not at all about Leona though. None of Jack’s hesitations over your relationship have anything to do with him, really. In fact, telling Leona that you two are together is something he sees as a sort of “practice session” for the day he meets your entire family, and Leona is just fine with it. You’re clearly happy, and he has no intentions of smothering you, especially when you’re dating Jack Howl out of all people— He knows the guy literally wouldn’t even dream of trying anything funny.

𐙚 Epel Felmier

Epel is out of the loop, even if he’s seen Vil on the TV screen back home, he never used social media enough to fully grasp how much of an influence he had over anyone. And you’re so insanely pretty, so much more than any girl he’s ever met, he ends up blurting out a ”Wow, if I didn’t know you better, I would’ve guessed you and Vil-san are related!”

…So that’s how he realizes the situation he’s gotten into, not too long after you two start talking, and his crush on you begins to take shape. And he’s intimidated, yeah. Anyone would be. But at the same time… Epel couldn’t bring himself to lie about how proud of himself he feels. Like this is just insane to him. He hears more and more about how famous and important Vil is every day, and you, his younger sister, decided to hang out with him out of all people? Wow. He feels so important now.

But, as much as his unease grows as you two get closer, he’s not about to let it stop him. He knows he’s not experienced or anything like that, but if he’s going to be your boyfriend, Epel’s top priority is making sure you get treated right. He’ll still be opening doors for you even months into your relationship. Hell, he’ll even make a good effort at learning all the fancy dining etiquette he hates, so he can have a proper introduction dinner with your family.

Epel figures that, even if Vil was pretty protective, he couldn’t scoff at him for… doing his best to be a good boyfriend to you, could he? He’s heard you mention how picky Vil is with the boys you talk to, most of his issue is when they’re not trying hard enough. That doesn’t apply to him, he’s determined to make it so that it never does too— And he wins on that front. Vil sees how happy you are and how well he treats you. He can’t complain about Epel. It still surprises him sometimes.

𐙚 Sebek Zigvolt

Honestly, he’s scared to do as much as touch a single hair on your head. You’re literally Malleus’ sister. His crush is not recent at all, the two of you having met long before Sebek even considered attending NRC— And Sebek himself having, at some point, quietly decided that he should content himself with a life of (not so) silent, distant pining…

…Meanwhile, you most likely think of him as just a kind longtime acquaintance. A real oddball, for sure, but he’s never been anything but kind to you. Maybe you even see him as a sort of friend. When you both were younger you really didn’t get to meet a lot of people your age, but Sebek was often there, and he always listened to what you had to say— Even though he’d often blurt out lines like ”M-My Lady, I’m simply your family’s servant, we must both keep that in mind…!”

Because of this specific dynamic between the two of you, you’ll… pretty much have to make most of the first moves. And Sebek is receptive to them, despite all his claims that you two shouldn’t get “too” close at all. It’s a little endearing, how flustered he gets over pretty much everything— Eventually, though, he tells himself he has to get it together, it’s clear that you wanted a relationship with him, and he knows very well he wants a relationship with you. As much as it goes against… nothing but his own mentally edited version of the rules related to his position, as soon as he decides to get serious with you, he gets really serious.

As for Malleus’ opinion on the whole thing… well. It’s Sebek. Malleus would usually be very, very protective over his beloved younger sister’s chosen partners but, he knows Sebek. He knows him maybe even better than he wants to— And he knows, even before he sees him insisting to carry your schoolbag while you’re on your way to class together, that he wouldn’t dare to offer you anything less than his very best efforts. Malleus is a little surprised that he actually managed to get over that sort of idol worship thing he had towards your family to the point that he asked you out, but he’s pleased. You definitely have his blessing. And bonus points for keeping Sebek too busy to be as neurotic over him as he usually is, Malleus does appreciate the extra quiet time.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[magnecalliope]

Something that I think is frequently lost in character analysis of Clown is that in spite of the popular idea that he is some sort of agent of chaos, he actually has a very rigid code of ethics that he adheres to that informs his actions and interactions with others.

First, consider that Clown held no feelings of animosity towards Pangi for eating the Kingdom's honey. He laughed about it and called Pangi a rascal for it, but he wasn't angry. To him, punishing Pangi was nothing personal, it was just a necessary consequence for his actions against the Kingdom. Consider his warning to Foolish about Owen when Owen killed Tommy. Consider his execution of Slimecicle. Owen killed Tommy out of turn, without orders from his king. But Clown executed Slime because he broke a decree by the king. This, more than his rivalry with Owen, is why he was so angry when Tubbo wanted to punish him but not Owen. They both broke Tubbo's rules, but Owen broke Clown's rules too.

Clown does not hate Pili. He told Pili that he was proud of him, that he missed him while he was gone. They weren't friends, but they weren't enemies, either. The only thing that could actually provoke Clown into fighting Pili was threats against Ros. Harming Ros requires punishment. An eye for an eye. Notice how many times during their duel that Clown stopped attacking Pili because it appeared he was having tech issues. He stopped attacking when Pili started to monologue. He did this because a fair fight is part of his ethics, but also because killing Pili was a duty that must be performed to achieve justice for his wrong. Just as any satisfaction Pangi got for his actions was irrelevant, just as Owen being an ally was irrelevant, whatever Pili got out of it was irrelevant to him. If Pili wants to have last words uninterrupted, let him. He didn't want to kill Pili, he had to.

Pili saw Clown's acknowledgement as his ticket to being respected, to being cared about, even if it's because he's a villain. And sure, people showed up, but just look at how they engaged with the fight. They made jokes. They were dismissive. Sneeg played a game of Balatro instead of paying attention. Scott changed his music away from epic battle themes to his regular music. People contemplated leaving and coming back later. It was a spectacle to gawk at for a few minutes and forget about later. They picked at his corpse for loot the second he dropped, even his own teammates. Nobody respects Pili any more for picking a fight with Clown. He died for nothing. It's almost symbolic that Pili deafened during the fight and didn't hear any of this occurring. He was so deeply entrenched in his beliefs that he was in denial of the truth even as it unfolded around him.

The things Pili wanted from Clown he already got from Pangi, and I think Clown saw that. Pangi loved and respected Pili, he was Pangi's entire world. He was the most important person on the server, his top priority. He was hurt when Pili talked about how badly he wanted to get Clown's attention. Pili's singleminded focus on Clown made him blind to that, but Clown wasn't. Clown understands intimately what a precarious position he occupies as "deadliest player" and that's not something he wishes on anyone. Being on top makes you a target not just of your enemies, but your allies too (just listen to the way Sneeg boasts that he can kill Clown if he really wanted to). He's got plenty of experience with that from Lifesteal. Pili doesn't. Clown didn't want to entertain Pili's flight of fancy that fighting him would solve all his problems. Clown's victory was hollow, but not because Pili got what he wanted. 

[vaguely-concerned]

when spite describes itself in lucanis' journals, it seems to consistently use the wording 'a small shade'. self-identified 'just a little guy (threat)' fhsak. I really like that wording, though. a shade, something cut off from the wholeness and living light that is the fade and made a shadow cast by someone else in the real world. 'small', under threat, vulnerable, sort of scrappy (and perhaps a little pathetic but in a 'don't touch me I'll bite!!!' kind of way haha).

I'm so in my feelings over how in the last journal it/he describes the two of them as 'a small shade and a wounded spirit sitting together', though. he's so confused and frustrated about what's going on with lucanis at the beginning, but once rook explains that lucanis isn't intentionally fucking with him, he's just hurting, spite seems to understand and accept that pretty readily (if not without some initial 'ugh FINE physical reality rules are so DUMB bitch you guys live like this' frustration lol). lucanis' early statements that spite doesn't, can't or won't learn are obviously bullshit and the game basically tells you so the moment he says it haha, but you know what. that is some deep learning spite is doing, and in like a year of being in the physical world too. I know plenty of actual real adult human beings who are not capable of that level of insight.

and also, as an aside... I think it's pretty conclusively proven in the series that spirits do have the ability to change and learn all on their own when they get the opportunity to and that it gets turbocharged for good or ill when they're exposed to the physical world. but I also wonder if some of it is the other side of the two way connection. just as spite flows into lucanis, surely that must happen after some fashion the other way too. does spite have some access to/come into contact with lucanis' kneejerk empathy response? to be in opposition to something or someone is not the same thing as not understanding them or where they're coming from, after all. in fact sometimes that can amplify the 'no no trust me I get it I understand. but fuck you doubly for it actually you still suck that why only makes it worse', so I don't feel that would go against spite's nature, even. lucanis already has such an interesting relationship to his own empathy all on his own -- he's a prime example of how 'empathy' and 'compassion' are not inherently the same process and one need not accompany the other. when he's in contract mode, empathy is just a knife, a way to understand people deeply so he can stab them better and more efficiently. when he's in family mode, empathy is accompanied with enough tenderness and compassion and warmth that it makes me feel ill to consider and makes it a bit hard for him to stay with, sometimes. it's the same skill/instinct, but shows up differently based on the context he's in. sure why not drop a demon in there and see what happens I guess lol. 'smells like tears and lying' anyone. spite's response to meeting compassion out in the world is 'GOD no don't make eye contact keep walking this is so fucking cringe', but uh. there's no way for him to escape it within the bounds of the person he's been frankensteined into, is there. aaaah it's so interesting.

there's something so fascinating to me about two souls who are so close they can't help but reflect and bleed into each other, but also remain two separate entities who can look at each other. and be mutually protective about it, clearly. augh.

[ghcstao3]

soap who grew up with a grandmother who constantly warned him about all the kinds of fae folk that existed, how to tell if someone was something, how to avoid them and how to fend for himself were anything to happen.

as a child, he soaked up all of her stories with awe, keeping all the rules in mind. as a teenager, he’d secretly roll his eyes but go along with her words to appease her. obviously fae folk weren’t real.

as an adult, not seeing her so often, he kind of… forgets. the stories and rules stay dormant in the back of his mind, never completely lost, but they’re not relevant anymore—at least, so he thinks. it’s all been dumbed down to fae folk are bad, and that’s about all he needs. soap goes years without so much as thinking the word fae, and his life goes on just as normally as anyone could have anticipated.

or, well. as normal as it can get, being in the sas.

and then he’s invited to join an elite task force, and that’s where he meets ghost.

soap doesn’t think it’s too odd to regard ghost as strange right away, not with the whole mask and mysterious persona thing, but as he gets to know the lieutenant more, there are certain things that start to have soap on edge. that have him thinking about fae lore more than he has in years.

like how his eyes reflect light like a cat’s at just the right angle. or how sometimes the way he talks just sounds off, almost like he’s trying to mimic someone else. the first and only time soap sees ghost’s face, there’s something uncanny about it that he can’t quite put a finger on. the tells continue to add up as soap starts to really look, and while he could never say exactly what ghost is, soap is sure as hell he isn’t human.

but the thing is… ghost isn’t bad. not in the way soap’s grandmother had warned him fae folk would be, at least. sure, ghost is a damn good soldier who’s garnered quite the kill count through various honed, deadly skills, but he isn’t bad. or evil, soap should say—even with questionable decisions, ghost’s heart always seems to be in the right place. he doesn’t have bad intentions unless something involves getting revenge, and he doesn’t unnecessarily hurt people just for the sake of his own entertainment.

it’s all confusing for soap, to say the least. his conflicting knowledge leaves him wondering if he should be trusting ghost, even in spite of the plentiful times ghost has proven he’s trustworthy. soap wonders if he should say something, wonders if he should drop hints he knows, wonders if ghost would be dropping an act the moment he’s been made.

the conclusion is pretty anticlimactic, all things given.

ghost catches soap alone after soap has had his realizations, having immediately noticed something off about the sergeant—which isn’t right, because soap is the human. he asks if something’s the matter, soap spills everything, and ghost doesn’t even flinch. just tells soap that his suspicions are justified, because ghost is a changeling.

“you’d admit it, just like that?” soap asks, dumbfounded.

ghost offers a stiff shrug, and no further explanation. he leaves soap feeling stunned, returning to whatever it is changelings do in their down time.

as if that didn’t open a whole new can of worms. as if a dam wouldn’t burst, and a million questions would come flooding into soap’s mind.

maybe he should pay a visit to his grandmother some time soon. it’d be nice to know whether he’s now in danger of being eaten, or something. soap can’t remember.

and now somehow, for some reason, soap has a burning desire to get to know ghost even better.

maybe ghost is evil, despite all prior judgements.

(or maybe soap is just in denial about a few things. but one thing at a time.)