#how much injustice we let the world get away with

[averygayplant]

If ever there was an argument against 'bathroom polices' for trans people other than "leave us the fuck alone", it would be the murder of Nex Benedict, a 16 year old who was Two Spirit. Go ahead and look it up. I recommend the article by Teen Vouge, it lays everything plain and simple.

They were 16. I'm only 17. I'm lucky enough to live in California, where trans rights have decent protections, but this country will not be safe for me or people like me until our rights are guaranteed nationwide.

This has to stop.

It has to fucking stop.

Please, please, please make this stop.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

Why Fenris could Never Cameo in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

In the run up to Dragon age: The Veilguard, I was almost certain that Fenris would be our main legacy character from previous games. Not only has he been central in the comics released between DAI and DATV, he is an escaped Tevinter slave who's plot revolved around magisters, magic and the structural prejudices surrounding elves in Thedas. Not only that, but he's canonically in Tevinter killing slavers currently so he's geographically in the right place for us to meet him.

About halfway through the game though, it was clear to me: Fenris could never cameo in The Veilguard. Because he'd break it.

How the Veilguard treats Thedas is...odd to me, to say the least. I will be writing another post about how much I adored the expanded big lore in this game (the titans, ancient elves were spirits, where the blight came from etc.) and yet while these large lore expansions worked for me, the actual culture of modern Thedas is entirely softened, its sharp edges filed down until it's a sanitised fantasy world devoid of what made the franchise so vibrant and compelling in the first place.

So let's start with Fenris and slavery. In all three games, the reality of slavery is pushing at the corners of the world. In DAO Loghain allows Tevinter Magisters to enslave elves in order to raise money for his war effort. In DA2 Fenris is fighting to be free from slavers who will not leave him be, let alone the reminders that the city was built by slaves which are everywhere. In DAI one of the two possible mini-bosses is Calpurnia who was a slave, and characters such as Gatt and Dorian both show us how much slavery is tied into Tevinters culture and success.

But DATV the first game actually set in Tevinter where we get to see the famed Minrathous...it's like the game purposefully wants to avoid the issue. I can feel it tilting the camera away to not allow me to see. Slavery is mentioned, but never talked about in depth or as a specifically ELVEN problem in Tevinter. This might have been done to be less problematic, it feels ignored.

We are in DOCK TOWN. We are at the DOCKS. You would think that slaves from all over Thedas who are being smuggled and bought by various groups would be everywhere. You would think that the injustice in dock town would be partly built on the back of ships we've seen in the comics crammed with elves in chains. This is the world Dragon age set up for us. And yet...nothing. zilch. A tiny easily skippable side quest where we free a couple of venatori slaves, but only one of whom is an elf.

None of our Tevinter characters seem to have been influenced by their culture even a little bit when it comes to how they view elves; there is no moment when Neve fucks up and says something prejudiced, no moment when Bellara or Davrin are distrustful of her for being a Tevinter mage.

The same goes for Zevran; a character who epitomised the issues with the crows. The crows have consistently been characterised as very morally dubious assassins who kill for the highest bidder and who buy children on the slave market and torture them as they grow in order to assure that they reach maturity able to withstand torture without giving away a client's name. Zevran is very explicit about the fact that if you fail a contract your life is forefit.

Nobody responds particularly to you if you're an elf. Nobody trusts rook less for it in Tevinter. Nobody treats Rook any differently. Even DAI had better mechanics for this; with nobles in Orlais less likely to trust you as an elf.

Considering one of the main plot points of this game and what makes Solas sympathetic is the fact that he was fighting against the slavery of ancient elves...you'd think the game might want to mirror that in modern Thedas. It might want to show us how characters fighting to end slavery in Tevinter are similar to Solas and how the society Solas fought against was similar to the one that characters we love such as Fenris have fought against in modern Thedas. Maybe we'd want to explore how in a world of slavery like this, how could the answer NOT be to tear it all down? Maybe we should have that option at the end of the game so it really can chose whether we agree with Solas and his plans or not.

Adding Fenris to this game would entirely break the game because Fenris refuses to allow you to look away from this horror. He is a sympathetic character who had to learn to trust mages again because of course he didn't trust them. Of course he didn't. Fenris wouldn't allow the camera to shift focus because he's literally covered in the lyrium scars that show how slaves are used as experiments in Tevinter. Fenris WOULD question Neve on how she feels about elves and slaves. Fenris WOULD have things to say about Lucanis and the crows (let alone the fact Lucanis is an abomonation). So he could never be in this game; he'd drop a bomb on it's carefully constructed blinders to the very society its supposed to be set in.

And yet, in DATV, the crows are presented as...a found family of misfits and orphans? The politician who opposes the crows having absolute power in Antiva is framed as a comically evil idiot who doesn't understand that the crows are ontologically good. Yet...they're NOT. Crows in this game act more like a secret rebel group than an assassin organisation. We see no crow taking contracts with the VERY RICH venatori magisters despite being hired killers. We see crows just refuse to kill people despite having a contract because 'its crueler to leave them alive'. The crows don't feel like the crows here, they feel like a softened version of a cool assassin group who are cool because they wear black and purple.

Our pirate group are also sanitised; the Lords of Fortune are good pirates who only steal treasure that's not culturally significant. Theyve clearly read the modern critiques of the British Museum and have decided to explicitly stop anyone levelling similar critiques at them. There is no faction of the Lords of Fortune who aren't like this, no internal arguments about it. Everyone just. Agrees. And is able to accurately tell what a cultural artifact is vs. what treasure that you can have yourself is. Rather than showing us why a pirate stealing cultural artifacts might be bad (like in da2 where such a situation literally causes a coup and a war) it just tells us it's bad. But also pirates are cool so we still want them in our world.

This issue seaps into Thedas and drains it of any of the interesting complexity and ability to SAY anything that this franchise had before this game. It becomes a game about telling and not showing rather than the other way around. The games have ALWAYS asked questions about oppressive structural systems and their interplay with society, religion and culture and how these things can affect even the most well meaning character. Dragon age at its best IS a game about society and how society functions both for and against it's characters and what happens to societies built on cruelty and indifference. The best bad guys dragon age has given us are those who are bad because they embody these systems or have been shaped by them. Our main characters have had to wrestle with questions surrounding how to exist in these systems, fight against them, learn and grow.

Yet every group you come across in DATV is sanitised and cleaned up to the point of being as non problematic as humanly possible. None of our cast of characters have to wrestle with where they came from or the world that shaped them. None of them have to confront their own biases. They start the game perfectly non-problematic and end it that way too.

And this just...isn't what Dragon Age has been in the past. It isn't why I love the franchise. The whole game just felt, in a way, hollow. And this was a CHOICE and it is why the legacy characters are few and far between. Too many dragon age characters are just too...angry and complex for this game. You can feel them pulling their punches on this one. I have to imagine they did this because they didn't want to be criticised or have too much controversy? But I think it honestly goes far too much in the other direction and just makes it bland.

I can't imagine what I say here will be unique, but it is the basis for a LOT of my other thoughts on this game so I wanted to get it out of the way first. The softened Thedas and characters make this game by far the weakest in the franchise.

[stxrvel]

injustice (3)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! a lot of curse words, a lot of self-deprecation and low self esteem. no proofread. this is nawt silly writing, we're diving right into the aNgSt. jumpscare? iykyk a/n. hi guys! this was a rollercoaster for me to write, but i hope it doesn't come as harsh as i think it is. pls let me know what you think in the comments!! see you next week!!

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

You had gone through a scenario like that in your head several times. A variety of moments, conversations and looks that always ended in the same unpleasant, inevitable and demoralizing way: you were forgotten by the people you loved most in the world. Only when you reached 18 would you realize how heartbreaking the dull thud of the silence of indifference was, how sharp and icy the loneliness was, how it penetrated and paralyzed your bones; but at that time, at 16, you could still convince yourself that all those things were only in your head and would always be there.

“Now that you're the last to go, you guys are much more likely to forget about me.”

“Of course not! In fact, as soon as I start earning money I'll save up to take you with us.”

Jungkook shook his head, his narrowed eyes judging you as if having insecurities was a sin. You believed his words at that moment, because being the last one still with you, 'cause you were going to graduate from school in the same year, it was the only thing you could do. Hold on to the idea that you really weren't going to be forgotten, because the mere conception of a future without your best friends was inconceivable.

“Jimin-hyung said he was going to try to call more often,” your friend went on, his eyes fixed on the bass on his lap and his important task of leaving it neat before returning it to its holy post in the school's music room. “I haven't talked to them in about three days.”

Jimin and Taehyung had left just a couple of months ago, but thanks to the opportunities opened to them with their incredible willingness, discipline and some string twitching on Namjoon's part, they had managed to get into a great academy to train and fulfill their dreams.

That also brought with it, as irreversible side effects, that your communication with them was drastically reduced. You had to constantly remind yourself and Jungkook that it was out of their control. With their future at stake, there was something for which they had to exert extreme effort and for which to sacrifice some other things.

“It's normal that they don't have as much time as they used to, Kookie.” You lowered your head, noticing the way his hands delicately handled the instrument on his legs. Since Jimin and Taehyung had left there was no time of day when you could tear yourself away from Jungkook, which is why you accompanied him to his extracurricular music lessons when you really should have been studying for the college entrance exam. “Life after school gets really hectic.”

“I've heard that college life is quieter.” Jungkook twisted his lips, wiping between the strings and his fingerprints left on the bass every time he moved it back and forth to clean it. It was an almost irresistible cycle.

“The only one at college right now is Seokjin and even about him we haven't heard much.” You leaned back against the piano, noticing Jungkook's movements pause for a moment as he surely reminisced about the few times he had been able to talk to Jin that month.

It had been two years since Seokjin had graduated and traveled all the way to the capital to study medicine. Needless to say, it was more than clear that communication with Jin would be almost nil from then on, but Jungkook always used to pout about it.

“It's just that Jin-hyung also chose a rather demanding career.” Jungkook twisted his lips, as if suppressing Jin in his head, waving the microfiber towel over the edges of the bass.

“And the others are trying too hard to carve their way through. It can be as complicated as going out to look for a job right after graduating.”

Jungkook nodded, admiring his cleaning job with a frown. He looked so focused that it caught you by surprise when he spoke again.

“You already know if you're going to college, noona? We're graduating this year.”

You blinked once, twice, three times. His nonchalant self went back to waving the towel over nonexistent smudges as you breathed in and decided not to go that route. “Will you?”

Jungkook raised his head, pausing his movements for a moment to try to analyze your gaze. With a sigh, he let out your poorly disguised way of shifting the focus of the conversation to get up and hang the instrument, glowing, on the wall of the music room.

“I don't know yet… Namjoon-hyung says he can help me.”

“Isn't it your dream, why do you doubt it?”

“I'm not sure, noona. What if I don't measure up? What if I fail?”

When your friend turned away, the mirror to his soul showed his vulnerability dancing on the edge of his eyelids. His distrust constricted your heart, a hand closing around your throat at the inner conflicts you knew Jungkook used to have and in the face of which you often couldn't do anything about because he didn't usually share such things.

“Then you try again.”

“Noona…” Jungkook wanted to grumble, it was obvious from the way his eyes moved to the ceiling, his head cocking as if he was about to give you a big life lesson on why you can't survive on motivational phrases.

But Jungkook was a softie about such things, even if he tried to hide it.

“Jungkook, you are literally a golden promise. No process is ever easy, especially in the industry you want to get into, but don't think for a second that you're going to outgrow it. You're one of the most capable people I've ever met.”

Your friend stopped his steps, when after hanging up the bass he was returning to your post in front of you, raising his head as if caught committing a prank. But the vulnerability in his eyes remained, and by the way they shone in the dim light of the room, still blinking to try to contain the emotion, you knew your words had tugged at just that thorn in his heart you were trying to pull out.

“Thank you, noona.”

“I'm just telling the truth.” You lifted a shoulder, shaking your head nonchalantly like it was no big deal, and Jungkook just let out an amused chuckle.

“You do know we'd never forget about you, right? How could we?”

-

“How could we?”

Yuna shook her head, frowning at her phone, oblivious to the way you cringed at her choice of words.

“She's bringing celebrities into the store and she want us to leave? Don't we work so well that we always take the top employee of the month spot even though it should only be held by one person? Don't we deserve that gift?”

You watched her, marveling at how after just a few seconds so many emotions could build up into an overwhelming knot in your chest. The old notes of an old piano played in the back of your head, bringing to the surface memories of when life was easier; when you thought you had it all and nothing would ever be better than that; when you thought you were enough.

“So what do you plan to do about it?” you blinked, focusing on the notation of bills in your notebook with an invisible hand squeezing your heart.

There was no use thinking about such things after so long.

Yuna pursed her lips, her expression serious and forceful. “I think we should have a sit-in.”

“We should? That sounds like more than one person.”

“Do you disagree with me?”

“I'm happy with going home early, especially on a Friday, you know?”

“y/n,” Yuna came up to your face over the cash register display case, her forearms resting on the glass and her eyes so bright with determination you were sure her head could light the whole store on fire the way she was scheming and scheming, running around like her life depended on it, “we could be close to meeting the seven gods of Olympus, and you think the best thing to do is go home?”

“Just in case you forgot, I have a business to run now.” You reminded her, moving to poke her with your middle finger all over her forehead and push her away from the cash register now that a new customer had come in.

“What business should a business matter when you could meet the reason for existence itself?”

Yuna dropped onto the display case, her body sliding like jelly until only her head was left on the glass. You and the new customer watched her, her arms limp at her sides and her gaze lost. A lone tear running down the bridge of her nose.

“God, you're so dramatic.”

“Does that mean yes?” Her head snapped up like a spring, a big smile scaring the soul out of the customer who ducked behind your friend to run for their order.

“No and stop acting like that, you're going to scare away customers.”

Yuna whined, her exaggerated tantrum leading you to wiggle your feet all the way to the cellar.

“I'm offering you the holy grail, and this is how you pay me?”

The sound of her feet shuffling behind you kept your head sane. Even though his insinuations were baseless, your heart was pounding so hard you felt your ribs throbbing through your muscles and skin.

Your boss had written to Yuna that you two could leave the store early today because she had a private meeting to attend. She asked them to leave everything to Patrick, including clearing the store of customers and not to worry about paying for the shift, because there would be no discount at the end of the month. Yuna was faithfully and blindly convinced that your boss really wanted you to stay, because she spent almost ten minutes with her eyes glued to the screen almost without blinking, watching the 'typing…' appear and disappear under your boss's contact name. 'I'm sure she's debating how much confidence she has in us…', she said as her red eyes missed no detail of that important chat and that primordial moment, ending in an offended 'none!' when her last message came through.

In the same way, Yuna convinced herself that the meeting that would take place in the same place where your feet were planted was going to be attended by the seven entertainment kings of the country. The unmentionables, for all practical purposes. Where had she come to that conclusion? There was no foundation. Had your boss given any hints? None. Yuna had her head in the clouds believing she could meet her idols if she insisted a little longer.

“Would you really prefer to stand your friend up to meet seven men you don't even know for sure will show up here?”

“Well…if you put it that way it sounds like I'm doing something wrong.”

“Mmm, you just figured that out?”

Yuna dropped her shoulders as you took off your apron. Her tactics weren't going to work and it was time to give up. She half-heartedly opened her locker and stood looking at you with puppy dog eyes. You felt as guilty as if you had stepped on her tail by accident.

“Look, if I'm being honest, I doubt gigantically that Sol will tell you that you can stay if you ask her.”

“Not even for everything we've been through together?”

“She's still our boss, Yuna.”

Your friend mimicked your actions with a slower speed, her emotion draining away little by little. When her head cocked to the side, halfway through taking off her apron, you only sighed.

“The worst that can happen is I get fired, right?”

You weren't surprised that she was nevertheless willing to cross that line.

“That doesn't sound like much to you?”

“I can always write her a 'ha, ha, just joking' afterwards and get out of harm's way.”

You didn't contain the irresistible urge to roll your eyes and Yuna took that as her own signal or green light. Next thing you knew she was pulling out her phone and typing animatedly on the screen.

“I really don't think you should do that.”

“I have to try! Can I call myself a good fan if I don't do even the impossible?”

“You don't even know if they'll come.”

“I have a hunch.”

With her hand over her heart, Yuna sent the message and you feared for her life. While Sol was not at all close to the idea and conceptualization of a crazy and ruthlessly demanding boss, she did draw the line at several specific situations that they had both learned to respect. One of those was, of course, private meetings at her place. You and Yuna had set up the place countless times for Sol to sit quietly and chat with her most famous acquaintances, because her office was too formal to deal with them there, but her own home was extremely informal for the same purpose. The cafeteria served as a middle ground, the perfect place to be comfortable when talking business.

“Patrick is coming.” Yuna spoke again and by the way her eyes didn't leave the screen you could tell Sol hadn't responded yet.

“I wish you the best of luck, Yuna.”

“Thank you! Coming from you it's a blessing, indeed.”

“And why's that?”

You finally stood up, closing your locker with your strap bag over your right shoulder. You were ready to leave while your friend was still biting her index fingernail waiting for an almost impossible and inconceivable message from her boss.

“What else can I expect from the writer who blew up overnight and is soon going to be one of the New York Times bestsellers and famous worldwide?”

“Ah,” you turned your head, unable to contain inwardly the way a warmth settled in your chest; you still had a hard time accepting how things had turned out, but as long as you couldn't control the influx of orders that had to take a back seat, “smooth.”

Yuna smiled and when her eyes met yours you swore she was about to tell you one more time how proud she was of you, but her phone vibrated in her hands and the last thing you saw her eyes widen exaggeratedly before her scream shook the foundations of the store and almost the entire city.

“SHE SAID YES!!!!”

-

Arriving home unleashed immeasurable chaos.

As soon as you opened the front door, a river of books fell like dominoes, with your father's groans and your mother's screams in the background, the sound of your work echoing in your head like lightning as stomping echoed through the house.

“Seojun, I told you to be careful walking…!”The angry expression on your mother's face disappeared the moment she recognized your face, her features softening as she knew it was her daughter. “Honey. What are you doing here so early?”

“Is that y/n?” your dad's exclamation rang out from the kitchen.

“Yes!” your mom yelled back.

The welcome was nice, but things only got more and more tedious from then on. On the one hand, you had your father telling you about accounts, numbers and multiplications of how much you had to take out of your pocket to pay for the prints, how much you would make if you sold all the books you had printed and how much you would get back, and on the other hand you had your mother telling you about the countless publishers who had written to your dm's seeking to sponsor the sale of your books, taking advantage of the boom that had been generated by the phenomenon that was Kim Taehyung.

Seojun, who had decided to move back home for the weekend to help with whatever was needed, was telling you that they had had to hire five different deliverymen -three of them trucks- to be able to deliver as many orders a day as possible, while vehemently hitting your father's forearm to remind him to include that in the accounts.

Your father was in charge of everything related to money, your mother of the direct communication with customers and Seojun of the orders; everything was done by them, with Yuna's help when she was not working, with the excuse that after so many years you just had to sit down and enjoy the fruit of your sowing without any worries.

But at that moment, when they had just let go and thrown all their worries at your feet, they stared at you expectantly.

"We need a loan."

Your mother jumped in her chair. "That's what I said!"

"That's not necessary." Your father shook his head, as he surely would have done when your mother suggested the idea judging by the expression that had planted itself on her face. "Take a loan from my wallet, but don't do business with those bankers. They'll gouge your eyes out with interest."

"Or take a publisher's offer. They'll take care of all this." Seojun pointed out, his long black hair brushing his eyebrows even though he shook it nonchalantly so he could get a good look at the three of them.

"Publishers can be freeloaders too." Your mother counter-argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, yeah? How many publishers have you signed on with to assert that?"

"Wow, careful with that tone, Mr. Lawyer." Your father pointed at your brother, while your mother only raised an eyebrow at him in response. Seojun sank into the chair, barely dragging an apology through his teeth.

"It's not a bad idea either, Dad."

His brown eyes returned to meet your gaze and you noticed the hesitation in them.

"Well, ultimately, it's your decision, honey."

Your mother squeezed your shoulder.

"I say we should listen to the lawyer."

"Hey!" Seojun frowned, straightening up on the chair. "Don't put such a big responsibility on me!"

Your father snorted. "But then weren't you comfortable a while ago giving orders and saying that I don't know what thing you had already seen it in class and that's why you knew what we had to do?"

"Dad…" Seojun elongated.

"Are you ready for such a position or not, Seojun? Tell me to start looking for another lawyer."

Your mother barely contained her laughter, only because of the offended sideways glance her own son sent her way. Laughter blossomed in your chest, too, like a big breath of fresh air in a field of flowers. You didn't know you needed that moment so badly until the tension disappeared from your shoulders as you laughed with your parents and your brother grumbled with his arms crossed.

-

A new batch of orders just went out - thank you so much for your purchases!

You looked at the story your mom had uploaded to Instagram in the solitude of your bedroom. The rest of the day was spent strategizing and planning marketing ideas that would likely lead you to ruin. In a defeated silence, you admitted that Yuna was really needed.

You had texted your friend a while ago, as the sunset was beginning to paint the sky with colors, but she still hadn't even checked her phone. Her last connection was a few minutes after you left at noon. You decided not to insist, even though you were a little curious about who had finally shown up at the store.

The best thing about that busy rest of the afternoon was that you'd been able to keep yourself busy enough to completely ignore the way you'd been whipped up by a few memories that morning in Yuna's company. A simple question had caused all that. And of course, with a heart as weak as a chick's and willpower almost non-existent, you let yourself be pulled right in that moment of loneliness into the well of memories.

“Jungkookie?”

Your voice pierced the silence and a shiver ran through your body as the darkness greeted you back. A few minutes passed after you plunged into the completely darkened room, walking tentatively and slowly inside, you heard a movement just outside the door you had just entered.

“Noona…”

You couldn't see him, but you didn't need to. The sobs that filled the room were enough to be able to guide you through that darkness, as indistinguishable as coal, and wrap your arms around his hunched figure on the floor beside the door.

The house was alone and as dark as that room the last night Jungkook would be there. Passing through the empty corridors of his house was a torment, but you could only imagine how your friend would feel in his place, unable to stop time as it slipped through his fingers.

Several times he had already told you that he didn't want to leave. You didn't think he meant it.

“They're waiting for you downstairs.”

“I know. I don't want to go, noona.” Jungkook moved his arms to wrap around your waist in a desperate grip, his erratic breathing against your neck breaking your heart. “I want to stay. It doesn't matter if I never become an idol. That's not important.”

“Jungkook…”

“I don't want to leave you…”

His halting voice was barely understandable, trying to be muffled by the jacket you were wearing that night when you went to see him off and didn't find him in the car with his parents. The heater seemed not to be a worthy opponent for that cold night.

“Jungkook, you're not going to leave me. We'll keep in touch. Why do you worry so much?”

“I don't want to be like them,” his pained voice pierced your chest; the movement of his body from the way the sobs were attacking him was almost uncontainable. “I don't want this distance.”

“Change is always hard, Jungkookie, but I promise you we'll be in touch always. I'll do my best to make it so.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I'll even come visit you as soon as I can.”

“No. I said I was going to pay for your trip.”

“See? You're not going to leave me.”

“Still I'm scared, noona. What if I'm not enough for them? What if I can't raise enough for you to come live with us?”

“You are enough, Jungkook. From the tips of your fingers to the tips of your hair, there's nothing about you that won't allow you to achieve your dreams, understand? You are destined to be a star. I know it's hard to leave behind everything you know in life, but believe me it will all be worth it. You will come out on top and you will succeed.”

“Noona…” Jungkook cried again, burying his face in your neck once more, clinging to you like the anchor that carried him to the surface of the ocean; the ocean shaped by his own tears. “I… don't… want… to… go…”

The hiccups that attacked him from his intense crying made it difficult for him to speak and you hadn't felt such pain even when the other boys left. There were tears shared, promises whispered and hugs that lasted longer than they should have, but no one had clung to your body as if they feared you were going to disappear at any moment and wanted to seize every second before the impending end.

“It's okay, Jungkookie,” you ran your hands up and down his back trying to calm his crying, trying to control your own as treacherous tears rolled down your cheeks with the darkness as your witness. “We'll meet again. You can wait for me. Then we can melt into another embrace and say how much we miss each other.”

Your phone vibrated on the bed, the notification startling you with its aggressiveness. Another vibration followed that one and then another. Turning on the screen, you found that half an hour had passed since you'd last seen the clock, and in passing you came across Yuna's name on the caller ID. You sighed, remembering the effusiveness with which she said goodbye in the afternoon and mentally preparing yourself for what was to come.

"Hey," you greeted, mildly surprised that her exclamations hadn't reached your ear first to interrupt your greeting.

"y/n, how were sales today?" her calm voice filled your hearing and a slight wrinkle implanted itself between your brows.

"Mmm, it was all good. We have several domiciliary and the prints are coming out with the deadlines arranged. With Seojun we considered that maybe taking on a publisher wouldn't be so bad, but I'm not sure yet."

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling, shallowly biting your nails, waiting for the moment when Yuna would burst out, but it didn't come.

"Oh, yeah. We'll have to consider that. I'll go early tomorrow morning to seize the day." Yuna answered quietly, with the faint sound of things stirring in the background of the call. Surely she had just arrived at her apartment.

"Yuna?"

"Mhm?"

"How was the afternoon?"

"Oh, it was normal, really," she replied, her voice flat, as if the thought had barely crossed her mind since the moment she'd left the coffee shop. "I didn't see anyone memorable."

"Ah, so your knights in shining armor didn't attend?"

"Sadly, no." Yuna sighed, her unchanging attitude finding a little more sense in your head. She sounded more tired than anything.

You talked a bit more with Yuna before she excused herself to go about her evening routine and finally get some rest, specifically stressing to you how boring the whole afternoon had been and how every second she only thought about going home. You also told her a bit more about the ideas you and your father had half-heartedly spun as marketing strategies, but very earnestly your friend asked you not to do anything until she was there.

When her name disappeared from your caller ID, an Instagram notification popped up at the top of your home screen. The vibration felt like the pounding of a sledgehammer against wood, your sentence handed down with no chance of appeal, the blood in your veins freezing and an endless emptiness in the pit of your stomach.

jeonjungkook97 just followed you!

It was followed by the notification of a message from Yuna.

Unnie | 19:01 holy shit. jungkook just followed you on ig, right?

No fucking way. Another fucking account to block.

-

It wasn't like you couldn't deal with them. You had been doing it for about ten years. But now they just seemed to want to throw themselves in front of your face one by one and you weren't strong enough to handle that. Maybe your resolve needed to be more forceful; maybe you should be sure you hated them instead of feeling like your body was shaking and you could melt like jelly in the sun every time you felt they were one step closer to you. For a while, that was all you wanted; to find them; to be found. But now…?

The weekend was spent in a hodgepodge of managing your book sales and the seesaw of emotions you had in the face of the estranged but impactful actions of your old friends. You tried not to think about it too much; you really tried, but it was very difficult. It was easier to let the memories wash over you instead of diligently packing up the books on which you had squandered your blood and tears.

Your books, yes, that was the most important thing.

From the posts and hashtags, even though it had only been a couple of days, you could see that some people -those who had actually read the books- were already posting their opinions and reviews and you knew you had had plenty of time to prepare for that moment, but you really weren't ready to face it. You didn't know what it was; whether it was the pollen, the aligned planets, PMS, mercury retrograde… but all of those things were weighing you down too much recently and you weren't ready to hear the opinions.

And you couldn't help but keep asking yourself why? Having spent so much time, between so many experiences and so many personal changes, why now they decided that they would come back into your life? How dare they after ruining your life by completely abandoning you? Many times you wondered what was missing in you; what was never enough for them… sometimes you believed that this was how it was meant to be; just the seven of them, before you came along. It was always them seven first, then you.

Between lows and highs, between sadness and joy, you still had to keep working.

"Get rid of that face if you're not going to tell me what's wrong with you." Yuna crossed the cafeteria in front of you, picking up some glasses and plates on the table as lunchtime approached.

"I don't have any face."

"You've been in a somber mood since Saturday. You look dead."

You clicked your tongue, taking advantage of the fact that the store was nearly empty to do the math. "Don't be over the top."

"I'm just being honest and genuinely concerned about my friend, can you blame me?" Yuna reached the sink and simply left the dishes there to approach the cash register. Your eyes refused to meet hers, unsheathing a strange annoyance in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm fine," you moved the money automatically, doing the math in the back of your head as second nature, "don't worry so much."

"Ok, if you don't want to tell me about it at least try to distract yourself a little, why don't you take an extra half hour for lunch?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Sol would never know."

"I'm not going to do that."

Yuna pouted, dropping her chin onto the back of her hand. You knew she was about to fly you out of that chair the moment all the bills were safeguarded.

A whiplash of pain shot through your chest at the alternative of having to leave the cafeteria, alone, hovering with your thoughts once again, as you tried to shove the food down your throat. But Yuna happily dragged you out of the cafeteria, leaving you in the middle of the street with your little bag and lunch money, wishing you a happy break as she wandered off once more to deal with the sparse crowd of customers alone.

Maybe you should have told her you'd rather not eat than be alone, but…

That was the story of your life.

So you walked to that restaurant a couple of blocks away, where they sold the cheapest food in the area, and waited patiently while answering Yuna's messages to clear your mind.

Going through your social networks, you once again came across the cover of your books in the pre-viewing of a video and felt the bile in your throat. Let's see, you were happy. Or well, you were trying to convince yourself because you still had that bitter feeling in the pit of your stomach that wouldn't let you enjoy this blast like you should and it had a first and last name of its own. But, generally speaking, it was great that your books were selling, forgetting all the other circumstances that led to that happening.

So, standing in front of those videos, you were tormented by not being able to watch them. A self-published author should be prepared for that kind of thing. No, any author should be. Sharing your art with the world implicitly entailed confronting the world's expression in front of it. It was inevitable, of course, and it was also the energy that could start an engine or the fingers that put out the match. At that precise moment, you still didn't want to know what your destiny was.

You hated that. You hated feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. Why was life so heavy if you had just begun to live it?

Ah, too much pondering for one lunch.

And to think this all started with an Instagram story.

Having an existential crisis because you couldn't stand dealing with the stress and pressure of the extreme demand you were having and because of mixed feelings for a bunch of idiots resurfacing after so many years was one of the last things you thought you'd have to go through that year. Fuck, or ever in your entire life.

Taehyung might have done you a favor as well as a disservice.

But that's how you spent a while longer, as you walked back to the coffee shop, the noise of the city not being enough to quell the bustle of thoughts crashing against each other in your head.

Being in the eye of the hurricane, however, didn't mean you were safe. You barely had a breath of fresh air before the eyewall hit you hard once again.

"Noona…?"

You froze a few steps away from the cafeteria. You feared not only the way you immediately recognized the voice, but the way your body froze, fear, panic and uncertainty clouding your sense.

You were in the alley behind the coffee shop. You didn't usually go in that way, but you had taken a slightly longer way back, only because you were too busy thinking about whether or not your body was up to a longer walk.

You were so close to the door that you could almost hear Yuna's voice on the other side, barely muffled by the beeping that echoed in your ears as panic took over your body.

You didn't want to turn around. Your body was having every possible negative reaction, as if it was fighting an infection, the lunch you had just shoved down your throat seeking to make its way back into your mouth and the feeling of dizziness momentarily clouded you.

Was this how you planned to react if you ever saw them again? Was this how you acted out the scenarios you imagined in your head at night when your memories went back to the last time you saw them?

The only difference between those imaginings and what was happening at that moment was that before you could prepare yourself; you knew what was coming; you had control. Now? Your legs were about to give out, the weight of your body too much to bear.

And you wanted to mock the pathetic behavior you were engaging in. You should turn around, slap him and scream at him that you never wanted to see him again. But your heart was beating and feeling and… how could you deny it anything after so many years of being neglected?

But maybe you were imagining it. The little sleep you had this weekend and all the memories you dragged from the trunk since you saw that Instagram notification must have made you crazy enough that you heard voices, his voice, anywhere… you were still near a busy street, it could be anyone-

"y/n."

And, yet…

You didn't turn around knowing what it would entail to give his voice a face, even though you could madly and frankly recall every line of its length, and you spoke harshly through your teeth even though your labored breathing made your chest heave.

"What are you doing here?"

"Noona… you're really here."

You cringed as you heard his footsteps and clutched with inhuman speed at the lock on the door in front of you.

"I asked you a fucking question: what the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

The silence didn't give you an answer, but you could glimpse it. With your patience on edge and years of emotional repression it was impossible for you to deduce how you would react in such a case, but it didn't seem too far-fetched, even if Jungkook's surprised inspiration said he didn't expect you to be so harsh and rude.

As if you cared.

—Yes you did care, in fact, that's why your heart was beating wildly against your ribs, the choking sensation increasing, the nerves on edge and the tears all over the corners of your eyes, but you had to stand your ground. After so, so long… why, why, why, why?—

"I… I…" Jungkook seemed to be having trouble finding his voice, even though in his profession the words came melodiously and easily out of his mouth. If you turned to look at him, you might have noticed that his face went from happiness to anguish with the speed a bullet goes through a field, "I wanted to see you…"

He sounded so small. The five-foot-ten-plus man, who you're sure was almost a head and a half taller than you, might as well have been a badly wounded puppy behind you. You knew from the way he spoke that he was holding back tears, but you didn't let that sway you. He didn't deserve it.

"Who gave you the right to come here?"

You didn't let him answer, not knowing if he was even going to, tightening the lock on the door you were about to walk through at any moment, bile in your throat making you fear the fall as if you were at the top of a skyscraper.

"How the fuck did you even find me?"

"Well, I-"

"I don't fucking want to know!"

You cut him off, the dryness and venom in your voice making you tremble. You were so sad, so distraught and so angry at the same time.

"And I don't want to see you. So leave."

"Noona…"

"Fucking leave, Jeon, for fuck's sake!"

You moved, almost as if by inertia, opening the door and slamming it behind you, the noise so deafening that it echoed in your ears for several seconds until you heard Yuna's footsteps approaching you and felt her arms wrap around your body.

You didn't know what she was saying, you just leaned against the door and let yourself fall, your body shaking in cry after uncontrollable cry, truly wondering how everything had gone so far; wondering how, after so many years, you still allowed them to have that power over you; a power they didn't deserve and shouldn't have.

You felt shattered in that moment, every piece of you scattered in the hold, every moment of your life replaying on its glassy, sharp edges. Even with half of you staying afloat, Yuna held you until the tears stopped flowing and with renewed resolve you promised yourself that this was never going to happen again.

Jungkook had taken you by surprise, but from now on none of them would ever catch you off guard.

-

a/n: i dont really know what to think about this chap. sometimes i like it sometimes i dont. i guess thats just how it works. pls letme know what you think! thank u for all the support! <3

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592 @yoongznme @queenbloody @leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison

[a-spes]

| DEVIOUS LIES — Part one (3.842 words).

| Summary — Anon Request — When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It has been two years, and you can't stop think about what you lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room.

| Tags & warnings — Avenger!Natasha Romanoff x Avenger!Reader, AoS!OC x Avenger!Reader, Other Avengers, angst without comfort, cheating, mental health issues, suicidal ideations, self depreciation.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three.

“I am really not sure we should do that, Stark”, you repeated for what may be the tenth time since you picked up the phone, “it sounds like a really, really, bad idea, and you know, I am not sure sh~”

“Come on!” he said, cutting short your ramblings.

Your thoughts are racing, your mind imagining all the things that could go wrong. It is an endless series of “what ifs” that is only stopped by Tony’s voice. You both knew that if he lets you think too much, he would lose his battle. It’s a risky plan he wants to drag you in. 

“I am sure you are dying to say yes,” he added when you didn’t answer him, and you could hear his petty smile through the phone. As he sensed that you were about to accept, the man tried to convince you with one last argument, “she won’t know anything, I promise. None of them will, I thought about everything,” he assured you, and you believed him.

He was right, you wanted to say yes, but you couldn’t get yourself to say the word aloud. There are too many ways for it to end badly, and you really don’t need to make your situation worse than it already is. Two years ago, you lost everything. None of your teammates tried to understand your situation, they didn’t give you a chance to explain what happened. Instead, they threw you away from the team, and the tower, without giving it a second thought, as if you were just garbage.

Maybe that’s what you are.

Sometimes, when you think about the events, you surprise yourself by siding with them. It’s easier to think that you deserve what they are doing to you than to accept the injustice of the situation, which you can’t do anything about. After all, the proof was against you. You’ve seen the pictures, everyone has seen them, and they felt so real that your certainties have faltered. How to convince them that you are innocent when you are not even sure yourself? Eventually, you gave in, it is a battle you couldn’t win.

“When is it, already?” you sighed, eventually giving in. An argument against Tony Stark was another battle you knew you couldn’t win.

The man has been the only exception. He has watched over you from afar, and believed your version of the events. For once, he has listened, and it means the world to you. So even if you try to not wince at the enthusiasm he lets out on the other end of the phone, a part of you is happy. It doesn’t matter if things don't go well, at least that would have pleased the billionaire, and you owe it to him, even if you couldn’t match his enthusiasm, too anxious for that.

For a second, you thought about changing your mind. Your fingers were a centimeter away from the interphone, but you haven’t rung the bell yet. It would be so easy to listen to your instinct that is screaming at you to run away. It would be so easy to break the promise you’ve made to Tony, he wouldn’t mind right? Yes, despite the disappointment, he would understand that you couldn’t do that. It was too early and too much. You shouldn’t even have taken that call, it is always a bad idea to trust a billionaire, especially when his last name is Stark.

The last time you’ve set foot in the Avengers Tower, it has been two years ago. You haven’t seen them since, only their pictures in the news. One time, you’ve thought about going to one of those press conferences they hold sometimes, but you knew you wouldn’t be welcome — Maybe they even added your name to the list of bans. You aren’t welcome anywhere near them, they made it clear when they threw you away.

It is as if all the years spent by their side have been erased. Even the world seems to have forgotten your name. It is almost as if you have never been a part of the Avengers, as if you’ve never existed, and it was just something you mind made.

Maybe it’s for the best, you thought.

Yet, here you are. In front of the building you left years ago, promising to yourself that you’ll never come back in here. That day, you felt so humiliated that you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t add the shame to crawl back at their feet, begging for their forgiveness. No, no matter how bad you were craving to throw yourself in their arms, you won’t. Never, ever. Except that, sometimes, circumstances change, and you find yourself unable to refuse your friend’s crazy invitation, despite the dangerousness of his plan.

“Pl- please, ‘tasha, let me ex~,” you were begging the woman. It wasn’t your kind but exceptional situations call for exceptional reactions, and the one you found yourself in certainly was. 

Tears aren’t your style either, nor it’s Natasha’s. Yet, both of your cheeks are stained with them, your eyes reddened. She is angry, and you are frustrated. She is full of hatred, and you are full of despair. But, today, something broke in both your hearts.

“Shut up,” she said firmly, not giving you a chance to explain yourself. She didn’t want to hear a word from your bullshit. None of them want to. “You’ve lost the right to call me that way,” she added, spitting every one of those hate-filled words in your face, “honestly, you’ve even lost the right to talk to me. I don’t want to hear your voice or to see your face ever again. Did I make myself clear?” she yelled. You would have never thought that she could speak to you in such an angry, hateful tone, and yet, here you are.

She has, indeed, made her intentions clear. When you came home, you found your clothes scattered on the pavement in front of the tower. She hasn’t waited for your explanations before deciding to throw all your belongings away. You were quick to follow them, you barely stepped into the building that she was here to drag you out of the building.

You have never seen your loved one in such a state. She isn’t even acknowledging your pleas for her to slow down, or at least to loosen her grip on your arm. But she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care anymore if you were hurt, or if you were stumbling on your feet — If she had to drag you out by the hair, she would do it without hesitating. 

The Natasha that was scared she could hurt you was long gone. She wasn’t the one that swore to protect you anymore, you’ve seen in her gaze that the promises she made no longer stand. She has a stern, harsh expression painted on her face, and it was your fault. She hadn’t hit you, not yet, but you could still feel how her nails are digging into your skin, leaving a mark that will stay for days. It is a reminder of what you’ve lost that day, not that you could forget.

A second later, you collide with concrete. She throws you on the ground, alongside your belongings, with all the strength she has — And she is a former russian spy, so she’s got plenty. The force of the gesture causes you to stumble over your own feet and fall, scraping your hands and knees in the process. You don’t even try to get up. Dejected, you remain on the ground, barely daring to turn around to see her one last time.

“Don’t you dare to come back, you are not welcome here anymore,” she said before walking away, and disappearing behind the doors of the tower. You wanted to say something but the words didn’t come out, nothing you could say felt right.

It is the last time you’ve seen her, and as pitiful as it is, you have long cherished this last contact with the redhead. No matter how violent and hateful it has been, it was still the last time you’ve touched the love of your life, and you missed it the moment she let go of your arm. Her, and her touch. Despite everything, despite the years, you still needed her presence by your side, and it doesn’t matter if your relationship has to be brutal, you are ready to accept anything if it means being close to her for a few more days.

The rest of the team stayed here until you left. Your eyes met theirs, pleading them to at least say something, but you didn’t get the help you were looking for, their hatred toward you matching Natasha’s. Clint, Steve and Sam, they are all people that you thought were your friends, except they didn’t hesitate a second before siding with the redhead.

Steve has been the first one to leave, almost running after the woman. Before they disappear in the elevator, you’ve caught his hand resting on her shoulder. You should be the one to touch her like that, the one to hold and comfort her, but this right has been taken from you, and maybe you deserve it. You broke the trust she put in you, one that she doesn’t grant easily.

You’ve always known it was a bad idea. In fact, since the moment he suggested that you should come to Natasha’s birthday, you’ve had a bad feeling about it. He thought that it would help you, knowing that you had been living in isolation since you’ve left the team, and a part of you believed him. The same part that never stopped hoping that things could go back to the way they were. 

Until today.

If there is something you’ve learned from that experience, it’s that things will never be as they were because it’s nothing more than a pipe dream. The past two years, you have continuously dreamed about that moment, when you would eventually see her again. You’ve even made up a whole apology speech, one that would erase all your mistakes, and if it’s not enough, then maybe you would have begged them until they forgive you — Promises be damned. In any case, it would have ended with a hug with Natasha, a happy reunion after all those years spent apart. 

Except that none of that happened, because reality isn’t fiction, and you don’t deserve a happy ending. To be fair, you could have never imagined that the reunion would go like this, that you wouldn’t even be able to exchange a word with them because they had no idea that you were here. You couldn’t have imagined that the barriers you have built over the last few years would crumble the moment you set foot in the tower that once was your home.

The tears were streaming down your face, hidden behind that ridiculous mascot costume Tony had forced you to wear. He assured you that it was all part of his plan, the one that’s supposed to make everything better, but honestly, you’ve never felt so ridiculous and pitiful than when you put on that costume that’s supposed to look like a cartoon version of Natasha. That is the genius idea Tony’s came up with a few weeks ago ; having you wear a suit so that you could attend Natasha’s birthday party without anyone knowing.

You thought that you were strong enough to face them, but it turned out that you weren’t. There is nothing that hurts more than realizing you are nothing more than a stranger in your own house. An intruder, that’s exactly what you are. You should enjoy the moment, but you can’t, your heart races, fearing they could guess you’re the one behind the costume.

You were watching them from the corner of the terrace where you found refuge after giving them a little show, and you noticed that all of them, without exception, had a bright smile on their faces. You should be glad that they overcame the difficulties of life, right?

Then why is the only thing you are feeling agonizing jealousy?

Because you were slowly realizing that things changed after you left them, and maybe it was for the best. That’s what you’ve heard them saying in an interview they held a few months after your departure — “Yes, the team has undergone some changements, and we believe it’s for the best” — and maybe they were right, because you don’t remember seeing them being so peaceful in the past. They never clearly said that you’ve been banned from the team, nor they talked publicly about the events that lead to your departure, but people weren’t stupid, they guessed that it was because of something you did.

All days are the same since.

You wake up early, but it’s not the sign of a healthy life, only of a light sleep that is disturbed by the slightest noise and glint of sunlight. The thought of a new day only makes you sigh, what’s the point when every day is the same? They are all filled with loneliness and misery, and you are not sure you have the strength to deal with that, so you don’t move an inch, waiting for the night to come again. 

Sometimes, you get out of the bed you’ve been rotting in, but it’s not before you are so hungry that your whole body is uncontrollably shaking. That's the only time you leave the darkness of your flat, when you go to that small shop at the end of the street to get something to eat. You would buy anything and everything here, but especially junk food that can be eaten quickly. Most of the time, it’s PastaBox or anything with chocolate,  the papers piling up in the kitchen as the days go by, but you’ve never had the heart to take down the overflowing bin.

Waking up, rotting in bed, eating a bit if you are really hungry, going back to rot in your bed, then crying until Morpheus comes to get you, that’s now what your days are.

It’s a strange situation. You have mourned people before, but never someone who’s still alive, never your whole life, never yourself. You are still alive. You know it because you are still breathing and your heart is beating, but it feels like you are not anymore. You don’t even want to cry anymore, you are just laying here, waiting for something to happen, anything. Maybe death. Maybe it’ll eventually come for you, and that moment will be the sweetest. It would be a relief, and not only for yourself.

You don’t want to think about the fact that it may not be. What would be the point in suffering if it’s not to get a threat at the end? The possibility that nothing will come after that life feels unfair, and scary. When you are not finding comfort in your death, you are looking for it by imagining a universe where your life with Natasha wouldn’t have ended that way, where none of that happened.

These are the thoughts that lull you to sleep every night, but the next day, when you wake up, the ache in your heart is back. It never seems to fade away, the pain being as strong as it was on the first day. If anything, it got worse. You are aware that every day that passes takes you further away from those ideals, dashing your hopes of getting your old life back. Your despair grew as you realized that all you were doing was pulling away from the love of your life, and there was nothing you could do to get her back. 

What is going to happen when you’re going to forget about how it feels being close to her?

What if you forget everything? Her voice, smile, and the smell of her clothes? 

The few times you are getting out of your apartment, you are walking with your head down, hiding behind the hood of your sweatshirt, and today isn’t an exception. The weather isn’t that cold, but the collar of your sweatshirt is still up to your chin, leaving only your eyes for the world to see. The ones that are fixed to your feet, avoiding to look around.

You used to do that to avoid paparazzi and insistent fans the days you were too tired to interact with the world, but you are now doing it to avoid problems. Your face and name have been all over the news after, and not for good reasons. People had no idea what had really happened, but their imaginations had no trouble imagining the worst and spreading rumors. It has been years, but the world still hasn't forgiven you for things you’ve never done.

In a few days, the way people see you changed drastically. You went from being one of the country’s greatest heroes to being canceled. The smiles turned into hateful looks, compliments into insults, and although no one has tried to hit you, you prefer to keep a low profile. The fall has been painful, but it isn’t surprising.

How could you expect strangers to believe you when even your oldest friends didn’t?

You have never been their favorite anyway, and you are perfectly aware of that. You are not a former spy, nor are you a genius or an enhanced human. You have nothing special, and the world knows your name only because of your teammates. It’s not a big surprise that they prefer them, and decided to side with the real Avengers.

But maybe they’re right. Maybe things are better that way, because you are not sure you deserve being loved. What you’ve tried to say to ‘tasha is true, you can’t remember what happened that night — At least, not the details that matters —, and that is the worst in your situation. The doubt creeping inside of you, and the guilt mixed with the frustration because you're as likely to be innocent as guilty.

Did you do it?

Did you cheat on her for real?

You are walking as fast as you can, only wanting to get home as quickly as possible, shaking your head in an attempt to get rid of those poisonous thoughts. You didn’t stay long at the party, barely half an hour has elapsed before you decided that you had enough. At least you’ve seen her blowing the candles, even if you left without saying a word to the woman. The thought crossed your mind for a second before you decided it was safer not to break the peace she had built up.

She deserves to be happy, even if it means that you are not a part of her life anymore. 

The only trace of your passage that you have left is a black box. You have hesitated to leave it on the pile of gifts, as she would know it was from you, but it didn’t feel right to keep for yourself the gift you were supposed to give her two years ago. It isn’t yours. You wished you could have stayed longer, just to see her reaction when she opens the box, just to see her smile one last time, to make her smile one last time before saying goodbye forever.

That night, you’ve been crying uncontrollably, and so did you the following days until you have no more tears to shed. Gladly, thanks to Fury, you have a bed to spend your days in. The man has been kind enough to pay for your rent until things get back to normal — That’s the promise he has made to you, that he will quickly find a solution. 

A new place for you to work at, in another country, far from everything you’ve known, where you weren’t hated by everyone: that’s the solution he came up with. “The furthest you are from the Avengers, the better it is. At least for a few months, we need things to calm down,” he told you that day, and you agreed. Not that you had a choice because if you had, maybe you would’ve said no. But there was no choice but to accept to leave everything you’ve ever known behind you — Your family, your friends, your memories. 

Did you for real?

That story is sticking to your skin, and the memories to your mind. Whenever you are going, people are glancing at you, and you are sure it’s because they know. Whenever you are going, all you can see is a glimpse of your past, ghosts that are haunting your present. The world will never forget, nor forgive your mistakes, and you understand them, because you don’t think you can either.

Every morning, when you wake up, it is the first thing you are thinking about. Every night, when you are about to sleep, it is the last one, until it becomes an obsession. Except it didn’t give you your memories back. The opposite has even happened, your mind confusing what you remember with what you've been told, trying to fill the gaps.

At one point, you were so desperate that you almost asked Fury, or Tony, if they didn’t have some technology that could help you to recover your memories. You’ve even thought about asking Wanda, but it was impossible to reach the woman, and maybe it’s for the best. You can’t deny that a part of you is scared of what you might find. You’ve once read that, sometimes, the brain keeps some memories away for a good reason — It is a response to trauma.

But for you, you were sure it was alcohol. You don’t remember how many drinks you had that night, but probably a lot if you can’t remember how the evening ended. The last thing you remember is talking with Astrid, one of your colleagues from SHIELD that invited you for a drink. The next time you remember is when you wake up in that motel. From the moment you opened your eyes, everything happened so fast.

You couldn’t take your eyes out of the pictures which were hung up all over the offices, you even kept some of those. But they are the worst. The thing you can see on those, the two of you in that stupid bed, her kissing your throat, and even more, it feels so foreign. Your brain refuses to accept that you are the one in the pictures. Yet, it's undeniable proof of what you've done that night. 

You are so lost that it hurts your brain. 

Sometimes, you wish that someone was here. Anyone that would take your hand, and guide you through this story. Most of the time, you imagine that it’s her, Natasha. That she is here, holding you in her arms, whispering in your ears that everything is going to be okay, exactly as she used to do. 

Then, you realize that she is not here, and everything crumbles again. 

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three.

| Taglist — @m0nsterqzzz, @marvelwomenarehot0

[furiousgoldfish]

I don't get why there are no resources for healthy expressions of anger. Are we as a society fundamentally opposed to people feeling anger? Are we afraid that if people get angry they're going to cause destruction so as an alternative we want anger to just not exist? Anger will go somewhere regardless of whether we want it to exist or not, and if a person who has good reasons to be angry, is not allowed to feel angry, they'll get eaten by self hatred and depression because that's what internalizing anger does.

It's also interesting that when abusers and people in power are angry, they can pretty much do whatever they like. Say no to them, they're having crazy revenges, they're tearing apart your stuff, they're starting wars, they're telling you how they're going to kill you in detail, no self restraint, no consequences, nothing. Anger is theirs to do as they please with and in response the society is just, too scared to do anything, so they assume that this specific anger is 'justified' and 'cannot be helped'. However when victims of something are angry, then they're labelled as 'unreasonable' and 'dangerous' and 'unable to move on from things'. Their anger is a problem that needs to be squashed, erased, there's apparently no justifications for these people to be angry, nothing that is reasonable or okay for them to do about it, they just get demonized and shamed for having a completely rational response to injustice.

Is that it then? Those who are able to act out on their anger, get justifications and obedience, but those who are helpless but angry for very good reasons, are just to be suffocated? Anger is allowed only for some parts of human society and it's the most violent, destructive and dangerous part of it too? Where is this getting us? Is the amount of injustice ever going to decrease if we defend injustice, and fight for it to keep going on?

If I look up ways to express anger, I get stuff like 'anger management steps', and 'letting go and moving on from anger', like excuse me. I didn't even get to express 1% of my anger and I need anger management? I have never had problems with controlling my anger, the struggle is to get it out at all! To integrate it into my personality, to hold people accountable without having to think about it, to show resistance when I'm being stepped on! What anger management? Why am I pushed to move away from anger, I haven't even arrived to anger!

Why is it assumed that every person who struggles with expressing anger is a maniac breaking things, enacting revenges, trying to injure or murder people, lashing out and doing harm to everyone around themselves. I can guess why. Because all of the resources are created for people who are letting their anger run wild without a cap and who use anger to get their way. The world is adjusted for people who are allowed to be angry, who were never pushed to the point where getting angry meant loss of survival, where expressions of anger would lead to torture. I am apparently not even considered to exist. I'm either a maniac or not a target audience for anger resources.

If someone's been traumatized out of being able to feel angry, people don't think it's worth having this person angry. It's very obvious this person has giant reasons for anger, so if we let them feel it, they could become 'dangerous', or 'just like their abuser'. You know, being angry at the abuser does not make anyone like the abuser, it makes them Normal. Rational. Having Self Worth. Human. Logical. Reasonable. Engaging in everyone's best fucking interest because you know that abuser is going wreck havoc forever and if nobody is even angry at them, it's giving them an even easier time. Anger is scary when it's in hands of abusers, in the hands of victims it is liberating, just, it puts things into perspective and back where they belong.

Now give me the fucking resources to get angry. I'm sick and tired of hating myself.

[lieslab]

Nothing new

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Minho finds you on the porch when the hurt from the issues your father gave you tends to bubble up and fizz over.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.3K

Trigger warning: Daddy issues, grief, depression, anxiety, mentions of physical violence and emotional abuse.

A/N: I forgot that I wrote a daddy issue post like a week or two ago because I have the memory of a goldfish. I haven't done a Minho drabble in a while and honestly, this was one hundred percent completely self-indulgent and I cannot lie about it. I was spiraling and this was what conjured up in the middle of my grief. I'm so sorry if you can relate, we deserve better <3

_ _ _

"Why are you hanging out here alone?” Minho plopped down beside you on the back wooden porch. 

You couldn’t remember how long you had been here. Maybe it was mere minutes or maybe it was more like hours. Time seemed to blend together out here and you let it. 

The sun was starting to set. It painted the sky with roaring reds and bright oranges. Streaks of clouds were beginning to fade further and further away into the distance. Soon the sun would set and the moon would begin to climb the darkened skies. 

“I’ve been calling your name for a while. I thought you were in our bedroom, but you didn’t respond. I even thought you were showering until I found the bathroom empty. I was starting to think you had been kidnapped or something.” 

You shrugged, “I’m just here.” 

“So what are you thinking about?” 

“Noth-” 

“Bullshit. You don’t turn into a recluse unless you’re truly struggling with something. You know that I’m not going to judge you, so what are you really thinking about?” 

“Everything all at once.” 

“Anything specific?” 

“Family.” 

His face softened at the mention of your family. Life with your family has been chaotic. He knew the stories, you always told him about them. More specifically, he knew the issues that you had with your father. 

“Daddy issues again?” 

“Or perhaps my brain is the issue.” You shifted and leaned back. Your legs hung down the descending stairs, but your upper half clung to the deck. “I just…I just wish I could stop making it a big deal. I wish things didn’t affect me so much. I wish actions and words would run off me like water instead of sticking.” 

“It’s not wrong to mourn the things you missed out on. I understand that it must be hard to deal with the cards life gave you. Everyone has struggles and yours just happens to be your father.” 

“You’d think it’d stop once you grow up.” 

He paused for a moment and his eyes went out to the backyard. Off in the distance, the shared vegetable garden bloomed. Bright grown plants flourished in every direction. Two white cabbage butterflies chased each other around and around. Soon they’d land on an outer cabbage leaf and begin to munch away without a care in the world. 

“I think realizing it when you get older makes it worse. You become aware of the injustice and hurt which causes a cognitive disconnect. It makes it cut that much deeper. You don’t have to feel bad for feeling something so natural.” 

“You know what the worst part is?” You finally got out. The sting of tears began to collect in the corners of your eyes. “He’s not even a good man. We’re talking about one of the worst people out there and yet I still feel myself chasing after him.” 

“The kind of person who picks strangers over his own children. The type who spends money on stupid things instead of the youngest child’s needs. The kind of person who has no issue yelling and screaming in someone’s face. The kind that lets their anger control them and make all the decisions.” 

“But yet…I keep chasing. I keep hoping and praying. I’ve started to talk to God,” a tearful snort fell from your mouth. “I don’t even know if I believe in him, but I’ve talked to him. I keep asking for a better father, but all I hear is silence.” 

“They say you should stay in contact with your parents because they’re your parents, but what if a parent is making you so stressed and upset, your hair falls out? What if it leads to sobbing and emotional distress? What if it leads to screaming and fighting? What if trying to love my father is what kills me?” 

Minho’s heart broke apart at your words. He knew it was bad and it had been for a while, but he didn’t know it was this bad. His hand instinctively reached out for yours. The warmth of his palm connected with yours and curled around your fingers. 

“And you know what the worst part is?” 

“Hmm?” 

“If I leave him, that’s it. He won’t change and try to become a better person. He won’t think about his actions and go out of his way to change. He’ll just point the finger and belittle me. Run my name through the mud to every family member. He’ll belittle me, turn me into an outsider, pull the curtain over everyone’s eyes again. He’ll always be the good father in his eyes and I’ll just become another asshole that did him wrong. Just like the hundreds of other people that he once upon a time knew.” 

Narcissism was deadly for some. Too much of an ego and too much self-imposed-importance left people craving attention. No matter whose character they had to rip apart, they’d do it. Whether that meant belittling them to everyone they knew, screaming at them, or even assaulting them. 

Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. 

All the attention had to be swallowed by them. Like some sort of powerful sun, the rays never knew how brightly they burned. Any ounce of criticism was a pot of boiling hot water. 

The huffs and puffs. The finger in your face. The yelling and screaming as spit flew everywhere. The broadening rage that seemed to fill the room without a single sound. The angry marching from them as you tiptoed along on eggshells. Just when you let out a breath, they snapped and lashed out. 

You didn’t have time to react before you became a victim of another episode. Another rage fest where things went flying. When the refrigerator door slammed shut so hard that the shelves full of condiments shook. The way that cupboards were dented from the force of wood slamming against wood. 

Your dad would always be your dad, but he’d never be a good father. You could cry and cry and cry. You could cry enough tears to create an ocean, but it’d never be enough to wash the hate out of your father. That realization caused your heart to break apart. 

Your biological father would never love you, at least, not the way you loved him. Your chasing was starting to slow down. You could spend a few more years chasing his love and begging on your knees for it, but when was the last time your father said he loved you? 

When was the last time you were your father’s child? When was the last time that your father seemed to give a shit about you? Did he know your favorite color? Did he know the songs that caused your heart to boom with adrenaline? 

Better yet, did he know something as simple as your birthday? Does he know or does he laugh as he asks you because it’s not such a big deal to him? So when he hands you a card from the dollar store with his name, does it feel just as worthless as his love for you? 

“Is it wrong to want to be loved?” 

“Never. It’s never wrong to be loved and I’m sorry you don’t have that kind of love. If you want me to, I’ll share my father with you.” 

“I haven’t even met your father.” 

“Oh, I was talking about Bang Chan.”

“Minho!” You leaned over to lightly slap his shoulder. Before you could reach it, he jerked out of reach. His hand grabbed your wrist and he jerked you closer. 

“Hey!” 

Your annoyance instantly dissolved the moment his lips met yours. Your body relaxed and you began to kiss him back. At this moment, none of your father’s lack of love mattered. Right now, you had this and what a fool you’d be to ever give it up.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

[toorumlk]

Hi I'm so freaking obsessed with your twitter.

Also what's your favorite Romione moment in the books and why?

ohohoho thank you, friend, i’m quite proud of some of the stuff i’ve posted on there B)

and as for my favourite romione moment in the books, when i read the question i first blanked out for a couple minutes, thinking of a bunch of smaller, sillier scenes. but then i remembered that i do have a favourite and it’s from chapter 11 of DH, when remus visited the trio at grimmauld place and filled them in on he goings on of the war -including the implementation of the muggle-born registry. ron’s response upon hearing this (after his immediate outrage) was

and it’s not just the hand holding and the “‘you won’t have a choice’ said Ron fiercely” that played out so vividly in my head like this:

but this scene demonstrates so perfectly the political weight of this pairing (muggleborn/blood traitor) which i think is the immovable narrative foundation of romione. all of their silly moments and idiosyncrasies aside, there is genuine narrative purpose behind this love. ron has always had an astute understanding of the blood supremacist politics of the wizarding world (need i remind that he was ready to curse shitco at the ripe age of 12 for calling hermione the in-universe slur) and just how wrong it is. ron is a pure-blood wizard and by design has so much privilege in this society bc of it, but by virtue of having parents like arthur and molly, he’s grown up knowing the importance of fighting against blood supremacist ideology. always.

so, after hearing about the completely horrifying muggleborn registry ("People won't let this happen," said Ron. "It is happening, Ron," said Lupin.), he immediately turns to his muggleborn best friend and love of his life and says “i’m making you a family member, i’m going to use the protection my family-name has and use it to protect you from the awful injustice of our situation, no you won’t have a choice but to let me help you”

i remember having such a… visceral reaction while reading this scene like holy shit .. these kids, THESE KIDS!!!!! this is the bone-marrow-deep love that makes me feel insane. this dynamic of the blood traitor/muggleborn always there, from CoS all the way to the epilogue. We get to see that romione is the story’s pure blood/muggleborn that finally made it (rip jily and tedromeda :(). we see it in hermione keeping her muggle last name after they get married (oh my god these two actually got married) and we also see it in the hyphenated Granger-Weasley (granger being first!) in their kids’ last names (oh my gof these two had TWO kids). they are a true symbol of change and progress in their world.

also this is one of those moments where i’m so glad that our only window to romiones relationship development is through harry’s narration because it so brilliantly shows the readers this blossoming love story instead of just telling us about it because harry obviously doesn’t have access to the inner thoughts of his two best friends, he can only witness them fall deeper in love. showing the audience acts of love is always more powerful and my god is this an act of showing your love to your beloved.

(and not to go on an unrelated tangent, but this is exactly why i could never ship my girl hermione w any DE or DE-adjacent character. no fucking way. not when the concept of a muggle-born registry exists in this universe, not when the antagonists in this story wish to eradicate people like her from their society. idk about the rest of y’all but im going to keep taking the narrative seriously bc the worldbuilding obviously has real world ties/implications and i like engaging with the canon. tangently to the tangent, i saw someone (a ron basher) on twitter say that ron, OUR RON FROM THE ABOVE EXCERPT, was “one bad day away from becoming a death eater” ohhhh ohhh i ought to beat you with sticks bc HUH? this is the same kid who said he would’ve boarded the train back to kings cross if he got sorted to slytherin, the house notorious for birthing DEs, at the tender age of 11)

anyways, all this to say is that romione is incredibly, realistically, materially romantic and i love them and i love their love <3

[novlr]

Do you have any tips of how to write a villain that is a bad person, but is also likeable?

There are several options for writing villains that build the foundation for a reader’s perception of just how evil they really are. The villain is often a story’s antagonist but can also be the story’s main character. But they are not always a pure evil character. So how do we create a villain that our readers will like? 

Sympathy

The strongest way to bridge the gap between your villain and the reader is by appealing to sympathy. A tragic backstory goes a long way in setting the stage for a character’s fall to villainy. Many people can identify with the fear—or knowledge—of how much one bad thing can persuade someone to do bad things. No matter how strong a person appears, there’s an extreme situation that can push anyone to make a bad choice. 

The two common avenues you can pursue within the sympathy track are the impossible situation and desperation. To embody the ‘impossible situation’, your villain’s motivations need to stem from something where the bad choice was the only real choice. In a fantasy world, your villain may be a dark wizard that was an average person before they were abducted by a larger evil force, and forced to become evil or die. They may be indoctrinated into the wrong cause now—thus becoming the villain. In a modern setting, your villain may have grown up in an environment that promoted crime or violence as the only way to live. 

Desperation is a good motivator when the villain needs to gain (or re-gain) something, and there’s a “bad” option that will get the desired results faster. Perhaps your villain had to make a terrible choice to keep their livelihood or significant other, and covering up that choice continues to make their actions antagonistic. More specifically, desperation shows up in a pivotal time of need: where someone could take the high road, but we understand the appeal of the so-called low road. 

So how do we keep the sympathy real?

Your reader needs to see how they, or a loved one, could stoop to the villain’s level. This may be the most difficult part of creating this character because you can’t appeal to every individual member of your audience here. 

I suggest starting with research on whistleblowers (people who report illegal or unethical business practices that are undeniably in the ‘right’ but are certainly the ‘villain’ to the company) and thinking about the perspectives of the business’s employees. Many of them didn’t know about the wrong their company was doing, so now they’re angry with the whistleblower for taking away their jobs or ruining their professional reputations. Then, think about the people who were aware of the acts and were eager to keep profits high at the risk of getting caught. 

Do you need a redemption arc?

Nope. People go too far sometimes, and there’s no saving them. For some people, redemption may only come in their total and utter defeat, whether they’re imprisoned, killed, or otherwise incapacitated. 

If you are considering a redemption arc, you need to stick to the character’s established principles: it was all for nothing if their villainous actions are washed away by regret or the hero’s need to defeat them. We sympathize with conviction — you have to let your villain keep theirs to maintain character integrity.

A villain can realize their actions were wrong (murder often isn’t a good answer!), but they need to still believe in their actions, even if they wouldn’t do it again. A likable villain does the wrong things for the right reason. Stripping them of that reason strips their character of meaning. Who are they, in the end, if they were a monster for no reason at all? 

Perceived injustice and your villain

I want to talk about using perspectives and hidden information to play on the sympathy of your readers. If the circumstance that led to the villain’s actions was a lie from the start, the audience gets to experience the grief of being a monster for no reason at all. They could spend the entire story hating the villain along with the character’s telling the story and have it come crashing down in the denouement.

The burden of realizing their actions were all for nothing, or that they wouldn’t have done it if they’d known the truth, is a powerful emotional appeal. We don’t necessarily need to like the villain from chapter one; we can like them in the epilogue, where they have to deal with the consequences of their actions. 

In the end, the villain is just a character

A villain has just as much opportunity to be likable as the hero does, though it’s trickier to get there in a tale of good versus evil. Anyone short of truly evil can be likable, and I’m sure someone out there still has a soft spot for the truly evil and irredeemable.

People do bad things for good reasons every day. You just get to figure out how to balance those with redeemable qualities or convictions. 

[asha-mage]

Okay I have about eighty billion things I want to say about Metaphor re: Fantazio, but what I most want to say is this-

The question the game keeps coming back to, again and again is 'What is the value of fantasy? Is it something can move hearts and minds, inspire people to make a better world? Or is it just a comforting escape, a way to make the anxieties and fears of our world bearable?'

And the answer it comes too is well, that depends on you. You the player, the reader, the listener, the person gazing at this piece of art. Every fantasy artist hopes deep down that they are creating something of meaning and value. But it's the viewer that decides, every day that value.

Do you take the lessons and the ideas and the questions of this piece of fiction with you into your day? Do you keep walking towards a better world because of that hope? Or do you cast it all aside to live in delusions?

That's the difference between Luis and Will ultimately. Luis has given up- he believes the world will never live up to his ideals, that he will never be able to prevent the injustices and cruelty he suffered from being repeated, that the only cure for the world is to tear it all down. The game doesn't dismiss that belief, and that pain. He's not a nihilist, he doesn't believe that nothing matters. If Luis didn't care, down to the marrow of his bones, he wouldn't have gone to the lengths he did. But despite all that care, despite all his strength and all his convictions, he can not believe in a better world. He can not believe in fantasy. And so with only cruel reality to behold and imprison him, and no hope of escape- he decides to destroy it all.

Will on the other hand, never gives up. He never stops believing in a better world. He lets the fantasy inspire him, drive him, motivate him. When Brigitta is sobbing with rage and sorrow on the floor of her shop it's More's book he reaches for, in an effort to comfort her. When the problems of the world seem insurmountable he retreats to read his book and refocus. And he shares that fantasy with others- almost like a right of passage in their party- in the hope it will do the same for them, and it does- providing inspiration or clarity or a moment's respite when his friends need it. More then that no matter who comes to him with what problem, he never turns them away- even though he has every reason to do so. And that's because he wants to help everyone, because like Luis he cares but unlike Luis he believes that things can get better, that the world can keep moving forward, and so their is a point to helping others, to making their lives better.

What is the value of fantasy? What we choose to make of it. It may seem silly or futile or naive in a world full of inequality and bitterness and injustice, but if we can not dream of a better world- no matter how much we might care, no matter what power we might have, or how smart we are, or what we might do- we will never be able to make one.

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

"Murder is Werewolves" - Batman

I don't got the SPOONS to do this thought train justice, I have seriously been trying to write this thing for MONTHS so just, idk, have this half baked skeletal outline of the essay I guess:

I don't believe that Batman's no-kill rule is primarily about rehabilitation or second chances.

His refusal to believe that Cassandra could have killed someone when she was eight years old because "how could a killer understand my commitment not to kill" is absolute fucking MOON LOGIC from a rehabilitationist standpoint. No jury on the planet would think for even a second that she could reasonably be held accountable for her actions in that situation! Her past cannot condemn her to being incapable of valuing human life under a rehabilitation centering framework. However, Batman's reasoning makes perfect sense if he believes that killing is a spiritually/morally corrupting act which permanently and fundamentally changes a person, and that corruption can never be fully undone.

Dick Grayson killing the Joker is treated both narratively and by Batman as an unequivocally WIN for the Joker. The Joker won by turning Nightwing into a killer. Note that this is during a comic in which the Joker transforming people was a major theme! Batman didn't revive the Joker because the Joker deserved to live; he revived the Joker to lift the burden on Dick.

His appeal to Stephanie when she tried to kill her dad is that she shouldn't ruin her own life. He gives no defense of Cluemaster's actual life. Granted this is a rhetorical strategy moment and should be taken with a generous pinch of salt, but it fits in the pattern.

When Jason becomes a willful killer, he essentially disowns him, never treats him with full trust ever again, and... Well, we can stop here for Bruce's sake. Bottom line is that his actions towards Jason do not lead me to believe that he thinks Jason can become a better person without having his autonomy taken from him, either partially or fully.

The Joker is, for better or worse, the ultimate symbol and vessel of pure, irredeemable evil in DC comics now. He hasn't been just another crook in a long time. He will never get better, he will only get worse. If you take it to be true that the Joker will not or can not rehabilitate, then there's no rehabilitationist argument against killing him.

Batman does not seem to consider it a possibly that he'll rehabilitate. Batman at several points seems to think that the Joker dying in a manner no one could have prevented would be good. Yet Batman fully believes that if he killed the Joker, he himself would become irredeemable.

Batman's own form of justice (putting people into the hospital and then prison) is fucking brutal and clearly not rehabilitative. He disrespects the most basic human rights of all criminals on a regular basis. It is genuinely really, really weird from a rehabilitationist standpoint that his only uncrossable line is killing... But it makes perfect sense if he cares more about not corrupting himself with the act of killing than the actual ethical results of any individual decision to kill or not kill.

In the real world cops are all bastards because they are too violent to criminals, even when that violence doesn't lead to death. Prison is a wildly evil thing to do to another human being, and you don't use it to steal away massive portions of a person's life if your goal is to rehabilitate them. In the comic world, Batman is said to be necessary because the corrupt cops are too nice to criminals and keep letting them out of jail. I don't know how to write a connector sentence there so like I hope you can see why this bothers me so damn much! That's just not forgiveness vibes there Batman!!

I want to make special note here of the transformative aspect. You don't simply commit a single act when you kill, no, you become a killer, like you might become a werewolf.

The narrative supports this a lot!

Why did Supes go evil during Injustice? He killed the Joker. Why did Bruce become the Batman Who Laughs? Bruce killed the Joker. Why was Jason Todd close to becoming a new Joker during Three Jokers? Because he killed people, to include the Joker.

Even if these notions of redemption being impossible aren't the whole of his reasoning (people never have only one reason for doing what they do) it is a distinct through-line pattern in his actions and reasoning, and it is directly at odds with notions of rehabilitation, redemption, and second chances.

So why does he give so many killers second chances?

Firstly because this doesn't apply to all versions of Batman. Some writers explicitly incorporate rehabilitation and forgiveness into his actions. You will be able to provide me with examples of this other through-line pattern if you go looking for them. The nature of comics is to be inconsistent.

Secondly the existence of that other pattern does not negate the existence of this one. People and characters are complex, and perfectly capable of holding two patterns of belief within themselves, even when they conflict to this degree. You can absolutely synthesize these two ideas into a single messy Batman philosophical vibescape.

Finally and most importantly to this essay: he has mercy on killers the same way that werewolf hunters sometimes have mercy on someone who is clearly struggling against their monsterous nature, especially if they were turned in exceptional circumstances or against their will. They understand that they are sick, damned beasts, cursed to always be fighting against themselves and the evil they harbor within. It is vitally kind to help them fight themselves by curtailing their autonomy in helpful ways and providing them with chances to do some good to make up for their eternal moral deficiency.

I think in many comics Batman views killers as lost souls. Battered and tormented monsters who must be pitied and given mercy wherever possible. (The connections to mental health, addiction, and rampant, horrifying ableism towards people struggling with both is unavoidable, but addressing it is sadly outside of the scope of this essay.)

Above all, the greatest care possible must be taken to never, ever let yourself become one of them, because once you have transformed the beast will forever be within you growing stronger.

To Batman, it is the most noble burden, the highest mercy, the most important commandment: Thou shalt suffer the monsters to live.

[dorlilymylovesss]

Lily Evans didn't have to wash the blood off her hands that night, but she did have to wash the burning odor from her clothes, which seemed to soak even her own insides. She wrinkled her nose and grabbed her red silk shirt by the sleeves to dip them in the milky, powdery water.

After a few more of those motions, she squeezed the garment and tossed it into the corner of the tub, not bothering to shake out the water completely.

Drying her hands she headed back into the small dark room that looked more like a prison without bars.

Lily leaned against the back of the couch, feeling the rough fabric digging into her skin through her thin nightgown. The familiar crackle of old springs sounded like a reminder of where she was now and how much she wanted to go home.

Lily closed her eyes, trying to squeeze the events of the night out of her mind, but they immediately surfaced in front of her, as if there was nothing but memories in the deafening darkness. The flames - bright, ravenous, bursting out of the window, black smoke billowing upward, and her, kneeling, watching the ashes settle to the ground like black snowflakes.

It seemed to her that the more she rubbed it into her memory, the sooner the pain would subside, but every time she returned to those images, Lily felt something akin to anger flare up in her chest. It wasn't just anger at those who had started all this chaos, not anger at injustice or at her own powerlessness. It was rage at herself, at her helplessness.

She ran her hand over her face, feeling tears rolling down her cheeks that she hadn't even noticed. Tears that had seemed so unattainable for a long time, and now they were finally released.

"I can't take it anymore," Lily whispered into the void, hoping that maybe if she said those words out loud, they would have the power to change something in this world where she didn't have to kill people for her own safety.

As if on automatic, she got up from the couch, headed to the bathroom again, and mindlessly began rubbing the same shirt she'd already washed a few minutes ago. The soap foamed between her fingers, and she kept rubbing, as if trying to wipe away not only the dirt, but all the horror that lingered in her soul. She repeated it over and over again, as if in a trance, until she finally stopped, feeling her fingers freezing from the water and her wrists aching from the strain.

"Love," James hugged her from behind snuggling his nose into her red curls.

Lily flinched, not expecting his presence, and froze, not taking her eyes off his whitened hand. She knew it was James by the warmth that spilled down her back, the familiar scent that wrapped her from head to toe, allowing her shoulders to relax at last.

" We've lost everything," Lily whispered, finally breaking the silence. - The house, all of our things... Everything we'd built."

" You didn't lose me," James reminded her, turning her toward him. His dark eyes, reflecting the light from the dim bathroom lamp, seemed deeper than usual, full of determination. "As long as you're here with me, I'm willing to tear those bastards to shreds just to give you the peace of mind you deserve.

"You know they won't stop," Lily looked at him. "They will come again and again until they kill us. James, I'm so afraid of losing you."

James hugged her tighter, letting his arms slide down her waist.

"How long can we live like this, James?" - she asked barely audibly, her voice breaking with the emotions that had built up. - "How long are we going to run and fight? When will it end?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took her hand, frozen and still smelling of soap, and pressed it to his chest, to where his heart beat.

"Just a little longer, my love. It will all be over soon."

"We'll get through this, Lily," James continued confidently. "Now I want you to hear me out. I was going to do this even before those bastards attacked us, but never got the chance, we were constantly on missions."

Lily blinked incomprehensibly, feeling him suddenly drop to one knee, still holding her hand. "James, what are you...?"

"Lily Evans," he inhaled deeply, obviously choosing his words, "When I first saw you in the Hogwarts corridor, it was like I was electrocuted. I think that was the first time I realized what love was. Yes, we lost a lot today, but you the only thing I can't lose"

Lily stood, paralyzed, feeling the tears come to her eyes again. "James, you..."

"Let me finish," he smiled gently "Lily, marry me. I want to spend every day of my life with you, to wake up and smell your citrus shampoo, kiss your smile, stroke your freckled shoulders, and love, love you until the day I die."

There was absolute silence in the room for a second.

"You're crazy," she whispered through her tears, but the corners of her lips trembled in a barely perceptible smile. "This is absolutely the wrong time to propose, Potter."

"It is the perfect time," he replied stubbornly, rising to his feet and hugging her as tightly as if he was afraid she would disappear.

Lily laughed through her tears, snuggling her face into his chest, feeling her own heart beating frantically . "Yes," she whispered, lifting her gaze to his face. "Yes, James, I will marry you."

Their faces were only a few centimeters apart, and she could feel his breath touching her cheeks.

"You said 'yes'," he whispered, as if he himself couldn't quite believe it had actually happened.

It didn't take James long to realize it. He took a step forward, brushing her disheveled red strands away from her face, his fingers trembling faintly.

Their lips finally met in a tender kiss. Lily felt his hands gently rest on her waist, pulling her closer.

Their kiss grew deeper and deeper, turning their feelings into one big hurricane.

As their mouths melded together, the world around them ceased to exist. All that mattered was the feel of each other's lips, the taste of longing and sweetness.

For a moment, all problems, fears, pain and worries disappeared. There was no burning house, no threat of death - just the two of them, their kiss, their embrace, their breath mingling with each other. Lily felt the hot tears flowing down her cheeks again, but this time they weren't from pain, but from something else. From relief. From happiness.

When they finally pulled away from each other, both breathing heavily, James looked up at her, still holding her face in his hands, and said quietly: "I love you so much"

"I hope our children don't inherit your sight, problems" Lily said suddenly with a smile and felt lightness fill her heart again as she looked at her fiancé's surprised face. Fiancé...How nice that sounded

James raised his eyebrows, pretending to be offended. "Lily Potter, actually your future husband is a professional Quidditch player."

"James, just because you played on the school Quidditch team doesn't make you a professional," she continued, rolling her eyes"

James raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I was a great Quidditch player'. And actually our kids will inherit my intelligence and your beauty."

"You probably mean my intelligence and my beauty?"

James laughed, his laughter was like a balm to her tired soul.

"Of course that's what I meant, my love."

"I can't believe we're getting married before Sirius and Remus."

"Potter, if you proposed just to piss Sirius off, I'll chop your head off and make myself a widow."

"Don't worry, I've been preparing my speech since first year when you sat next to me in potions class" James laughed, hugging her. "I wouldn't want to end up without a head, that sounds pretty painful. I was just thinking that if Sirius found out we got married before he did, he'd be beyond furious."

[itsjustmylifeconfessions]

Whenever I doubt myself I remember that there are people with 0 brain cells that are writing the biggest show in the world.

Blood and cheese was terribly done. Absolutely awful writing, especially adding Alicent and Cole at the end, that was ridiculous. To make Daemon want Aemond instead of actually having him order the killing of a boy? I hate how scared they are to make team black bad people. They are all bad people, from both teams. Daemon ordered the murder of a child but these idiots don't want to make team black the bad guys, ever, so let's write him not ordering this and make it another misunderstanding, why not?

Ridiculous.

It's not just about b&c, but their refusal of making team black grey characters, from the start, is so stupid. They can't be villains, they are the heroes, good people suffering an injustice, and we can't have our heroes doing a terrible thing like this!

That is the mentality of a middle school writer working on a kid's play. If you can only write black and white characters you shouldn't be writing for asoiaf.

The interesting part of the story is that they are all doing bad things, that's why fans like the book so much, cause it's fucking interesting to see them all doing bad shit.

I'm not upset cause I'm team green, I just hate bad writing so much...

Yes I'm aware that Daemon smirked when the guy asked what to do if they can't find Aemond, probably telling them to get one of the kids instead (but not showing us this of course cause we can't have even more proof that this man is a piece of shit), but that is not the same as him actually ordering the murder of a little boy with his own words as the first choice.

They turned one of the most gruesome and horrible moments in the story into a 3 min point and run moment, with a laughable 'catching your mom having sex is weird right?' ending. This takes away all the pain we are supposed to be feeling in that moment. This takes so much from Helaena as well, what the book describes is so fucking sad and gives her character so much more depth.

I also wish they had given more for Phia to work with, she was incredible but that was a pivotal moment for her character and she deserved to be given more in that scene. And don't tell me they didn't do it like the book because it would be traumatic for the kids because yes it is possible to shoot that with and without the kids, you just have to be specific about the framing and shots you use, it's all about camera work.

Do I understand Helaena dissociation in that moment? Absolutely. Did I want to see a little boy getting his head cut off? Absolutely not, no one did, we are not psychopaths. But it does piss me off that they wrote such a pivotal scene in such a bad way, that was supposed to be red wedding levels of shock and pain, and the most shocking thing was Alicent on top of Criston (good for her tbh she deserves to have fun).

They have been terrible writers from the start, for both teams (Rhaenys in the coronation is pure comedy to me), but this to me is painful how bad it was. The only good thing about that scene is Phia's acting.

Anyway that's just how I feel about it. I have so many thoughts about this but I don't think I'll write more, so I'll just say this:

Don't give up on your dreams guys. Anyone can do it. Anyone.

[mrchiipchrome]

can i have steph catley with prompt 69 and 84?

if you want to request, there's a prompt list linked in my masterlist :)

prompt 69. -The band is playing, -One of our old favourite songs.

prompt 84. -We have all the time in the world.

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

The ceremony couldn’t have gone better, Steph’s vows bringing you to tears. She was the only one who made you feel so worthy and loved at the same time, she was yours and only yours, just as you were hers and only hers.

She makes you feel like the early morning sun, like you’ve won a chess game, she makes you feel like you’re floating. She’s your purpose as much as you’re hers.

The white of her dress is as pure as the falling snow to a child, her smiling eyes meeting your hopeful ones. She looks so beautiful and you can’t help the tears just streaming down your face when she takes your hands in hers, one of them coming up to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

You use the tissue you had stored in your back pocket when she tells you her vows, the embarrassing amount of times you’d already cried showing just how much you love her.

The first kiss you share as a married couple can't be described with words, it would just do it an injustice. As much as you’d loved your first ever kiss, second kiss and the thousands of other kisses you had shared throughout your relationship, not a SINGLE one of them compared to that kiss.

There was just something so spectacular about that married feeling, Mrs and Mrs Catley-Y/l/n finally together until the end, permanently.

You bring your joined hands up to your lips, kissing the back of her hand softly as she stares at you with pure adoration in her eyes.

“You’re all mine now, until the end of time.” She mutters in your ear as the two of you get ready to enter the venue for the after party, dark red blush on your cheeks as you two enter hand in hand.

It isn’t until the first dance that your wife gets the surprise you planned for her, Strawberry Kisses being played by the live band as she laughs in surprise.

“Oh no you didn’t…the band, they’re playing-” 

“One of our old favourite songs.” You move around the floor to the silly song, some of your Aussie teammates singing along to the song softly. Her head rests on your shoulder softly, whispering the lyrics to you until the very end of the song.

As the last note of your song rings out throughout the venue, your wife pulls you even closer than you thought possible and gives you a quick and sweet kiss. The people flood the dance floor, all dancing like they were to die if they didn’t, and yet you stayed in each other's hold. 

It’s like the fact that Steph’s finally your wife hasn’t set in yet, her rich brown eyes looking into your eyes. 

“Hi wife!” She whispers to you.

“Hello wife!” You whisper back, the intimate moment between you and your WIFE just absolutely surreal. “I don’t think it’s set in yet, I HAVE A WIFE AND I LOVE HER SO MUCH THAT I’LL EXPLODE” The whisper shout reaches her ears and she blushes at the words.

The hand that was once settled on her waist slips down the back of her dress slowly as the two of you sway back and forth. When it’s fully settled on her ass, she takes hold of your wrist and pulls your hand back up to her waist.

“Baby, we have all the time in the world for that later. For now let’s enjoy this.” She winks at you slyly, her hands playing with the collar of your shirt. 

“I know, I just want you closer to me love, you’re not close enough.” 

“I’m as close as I can be” 

“It’s not enough.”

“Well we’ll just have to wait until we can sneak away then…” Her seductive words make your knees weak, but you decide to protest.

“No, we can wait until our honeymoon, can’t we love?” 

“That depends…”

Your honeymoon was filled with loved up moments and other activities…

[pendragonsclotpole]

succession but bruce wayne is 45 and tired of having to attend pointless board meetings when he’d much rather be plotting how to get rid of all the stupid money he has (he’s tried everything, invested all of his funds into gotham, secretly funded the justice league and hid it from his tax returns in hopes that the irs would bust him. spoiler: they don’t, they consider his anonymous donations to be charity AND WRITE HIM TAX BREAKS. he’s even given everyone at WE a living wage, offered free daycare, amazing healthcare, in hopes of making running WE so expensive it drives down profits, but all it does it ramp of productivity and stock prices. he’s in too deep. let one of his children handle it pls).

candidate #1: dick grayson-wayne, bruce wayne’s eldest boy, former cop, circus acrobat, college dropout and style icon (TM). he immediately takes himself out of the running when a pap keeps calling him “richard” and he shouts back “dick.” that’s his name, but no one cares. also his pics from his mullet era resurface. the world is never the same again and the board summarily agrees he’s too divisive.

candidate #2: jason todd-wayne. initially the main contender when alleged footage of him breaking into a very important wayne warehouse leaks. he’s shouting “reclaim the means of production.” wayne enterprise stock falls but the internet is in favor. he’s unfortunately taken out of the running as all legal records indicate—he’s dead? but there’s cute footage of a 13 year old jason todd ardently defending the historical accuracy and superb writing of jane austen’s pride and prejudice. he loudly proclaims he’ll marry mr. darcy at the end. his candidacy remains very popular and the internet starts publishing memes about converting to satanism and practicing necromancy to revive jason todd-wayne.

candidate #3: tim drake. a popular front runner for the old guard of gotham as tim’s also the heir of the drake fortune. unfortunately, he runs away screaming every time someone comes up to him asking about the possibility of taking over WE full time. a major scandal breaks out when he’s caught buying something in a shady alleyway, and people are convinced he’s another partying rich boy. until the full footage leaks and it’s revealed he was buying coffee beans from a barista in the alleyway behind a newly opened coffee shop. multiple coffee shops then make posts online that yes, bruce wayne has called each of them and offered them copious sums of money to NOT serve tim drake or anyone representing tim drake caffeinated drinks after 5pm and before 5pm. many of the videos feature framed photographs of fake wanted posters featuring a very tired looking tim. tim, on a caffeine withdrawal posts a tiktok ranting about the injustice of tyrannical parents think this energy:

and the hashtag save tim wayne trends.

candidate #4: damian wayne. except as a twelve year old he’s not really in the running, except he’s the only wayne by blood so some members of the board are gunning for him. one of them kidnaps him, huge mistake, and footage leaks of him chasing his kidnappers with a katana? appears. he’s officially out of the running but it also fuels calls for bruce to be liberated so he can actually parent his children. joke’s on them, damian’s damianess is 99% thanks to richard grayson.

candidate #5: cassandra cain-wayne. she takes herself out of the running but she’s a dark horse because everyone loves her youtube channel Cass Cayne and her business decisions for brand deals are top tier. bruce makes background appearances and the internet learns cass is def the favorite.

candidate #6: stephanie brown. she’s not a wayne? people think? are 99% sure? but like she’s always there? she dated tim drake? maybe? she calls bruce dad!

[shrimpalbuspotter]

Do you think that If there were other wealey/potter kids in slytherin that it would take away from albus's story and character? Also what do you think are the certain traits that are a must for writing him? Like AUs can change his character but what things need to be the same to still be albus?

GREAT QUESTION BECAUSE I ALSO WONDERED THIS A WHILE AGO.

No, I don't think Albus being in Slytherin was the root of his problems. Yes, people wouldn't care as much because he isn't the FIRST Potter/Weasley, but he's STILL Harry Potters child and unless it was James Sirius that was Slytherin, it would have still been a big deal. (It would've been a big deal anyway). Now if Harry was the one in Slytherin, nobody would care. Infact, Slytherin would gain a pretty good reputation. BUT there's one issue, Albus Potter is terrible at magic, and he hung around with Scorpius Malfoy. THAT was what really made all the bullying start, so that would keep his character on track and not change much of the story. We even see in the play that Albus and Harrys issues don't lay in him being a Slytherin, so they'd still have the fight, and he'd still try save Cedric!

Now onto the next question. Some quintessential Albus things that I personally think are important to his character are these:

1. Being a Slytherin. I think taking away this key part of him, or even just any of the traits that come along with it, ruin his character. If you show me an Albus who is brave and disregards his safety and would throw himself infront of an avada for people, I will not recognise him.

2. Being sharp tounged/surly. This may just be me, but i think him being able to bite back at Harry on the spot in a way that really hurts and isn't just a playground taunt is amazing. He had to go through shit to get a backbone and by god he won't let it go to waste. Timid, shy Albus just doesn't work well for me, it feels like doing an injustice.

3. Being bad at magic. One of the biggest things with Albus is the fact he has no talent. His dad was Harry Potter and he's the saviour of the wizarding world, who learned to cast a Patronus at 13, who tutored a group of students in DADA at 14, who survived the killing curse 2 times, and many more things. Albus was terrible at spells, he was surprised he could perform Incendio whilst going into third year (a first year spell), he only learned expeliarmus in 4th year, and he couldnt even get his broom to lift. But these things are IMPORTANT! Because he has so much pressure put onto him as Harry Potters son and he SHOULD be working extra hard to make up for being in Slytherin, but he doesn't even try. He only learns spells that would be useful to him in a situation, but otherwise he just can't find it in him to even care. I dunno this is just important okay okay.

4. His relationship with Harry. I dislike people thinking Harry should've been the perfect dad, and that he should've understood Albus. Harry probably doesn't even accept the fact he experienced abuse or bullying, nevermind trying to understand his son who is open with the fact. Their relationship and their reconciliation at the end of the play is essential, because it shows that they both care about eachother so much and just don't know how to show it. It's sweet.

5. Scorpius always has to be his bestfriend. Even if it starts with them being enemies and becoming bestfriends. If he isn't even mentioned in a fic or characters act like they don't know him... God... SOB.

6. LOOKING LIKE HARRY. Albus needs to look into the mirror and feel sick at the sight of his face because a young version of his dad stares back at him. He needs to become a teenager and find appreciation in the sallowness of his face, in the murky green of his eyes, and the awkward way he stands, because he finally looks different from Harry and its all he wanted. He loves his dad, but he needs people to know he's a seperate entity. Yeah... yeah this is essential for sure mhmhmhm

7. DRY HUMOR. THATS IT. PLEASE MAKE HIM SARCASTIC.

Okay that's it uhh I guess SOME of these could be taken away and it'd be fine but overall Albus needs to be characterised as a self proclaimed git who pretends to hate his dad that he is a replica of and is always sad slash angry except when he's around his bestfriend. Thanks you for the ask..🙏

[nonasemporium]

character meme 2 electric boogaloo: awake remembrance of these valiant dead!!!

send me a character [Commander Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity] and i’ll list:

favorite thing about them: I love her rage, I love her justice, I love her determination, I love that she forces John to say her full name, that she rejects everyone's attempts to twist her. I love her passion, her meanass laugh, her fucking commitment. If something's gonna get done, she's gonna do it.

least favorite thing about them: I get why she was doing what she was doing, but smashing a baby into the wall is very battle of Troy of her lmao. Same with teaching Pash to be a child soldier. I get it though, she's living in a horror where the alternative is worse.

favorite line: When she demands John say her name, when she says G1deon deserves that at least, the line about her nose, the line about her meanass laugh, the fact she called Gideon "Bomb", crying about all of it.

brOTP: Love her proud auntie vibes at Pash, but actual brOTP is probably with We Suffer, lmao. Idk it just seems like the kind of history that fits both of them.

OTP: G1deon/Wake/Pyrrha <33333 Literally OT3 of TLT for me, I love it so much. Pyrrha being bold enough to kiss her but apologizing, Wake not letting that go, not taking the bait to just kill her, nah, she's going to let her live with that, they're going to be something so explosive.... Then her realizing the ways G1deon and Pyrrha are separate, loving them both, perhaps even learning to love G1deon through conversations with Pyrrha over him as well, the way it must ache for Pyrrha so so deeply, punishment and relief. The way Wake talked about them till the end. The trust but also the knowledge that it only goes so far. The way she knew what G1deon was and she knew what Pyrrha was and ugh.

nOTP: Keep John the fuck away from her unless she's killing him, thanks. Love she got the last laugh, may she get more.

random headcanon: That she has a toothgap, that she has freckles, that she has two laughs--one where her teeth are bared like a threat and one where instead her cheeks fold up her eyes cutely. I also think that despite everything, she did have a fondness for Gideon in her own way, for "Bomb." There's something in naming a thing, there's something in the fact Gideon was initially a sacrifice for her but also meant to be a sacrifice for everyone. That she carried her under her heart for all those months ready to sacrifice her for the literal world, putting her body on the line but also like. She's actually a very loving person. Her rage is the rage of someone who despises injustice, her rage is the rage of someone who has plenty to lose, her rage is the rage of someone who has a people that need her. And this horrible little thing she grew in her despite not having the plans for it--she had to think about what made it worth it and you know what made it worth it? That this baby was meant to end the suffering of THEIR people, that this baby would be the key to kill the father, that this baby was where all their hope was placed, that this baby had to carry all the "sins" of both sides of this war, do you think she ever had a moment wondering if the baby, if this little Bomb, this little flesh of her flesh and blood of his blood, would forgive any of them for it? I think also of her trapped body and trapped soul, of her in that sword, how that sword in Harrow's hands was furious, was rejecting, but how in Gideon's was a weird comfort. How Gideon went to her bones, forced to labor under these people she fucking despised, do you think she heard Gideon? Do you think she heard Gideon speak to her bones, do you think she felt Gideon's prayers for a mother, do you think that fury she had was also the fury that this weird thing that she had never intended to have was being twisted to serve the empire she was going to be sacrificed to destroy? He deserved that at least, she said about G1deon. He deserved that at least, so what does Gideon deserve? The language was dehumanizing but not without fondness. Wake just seems so much the type of person, the kind of resolute and almost-humorous who might accidentally get a spot, soft and tender deep in--she said she carried Gideon under her heart. Under her heart. She didn't say in her gut, she said under her heart. And under her heart, I really think there's a tiny part of her still there for Gideon, for Bomb, for the thing that maybe in another life could've just been her and G1deon's weird little explosive tyke. In another life, that could've been the shitty love child of her goofy ass situationship and that little thing could've held Pash's machete and learned to build bombs to take down the Houses, or in another life outside of that, in a life without Jod at all, maybe that thing could've just been a gap-toothed kid with a meanass laugh and no need to carry the fate of humanity. I think of how Wake is Mary. How Gideon is the Jesus she has to give up for humanity, that she was fully prepared to give up, but I also think of how Wake gave herself up as well. Pregnancy is incredibly difficult, and in the end she was killed--not necessarily by her actual pregnancy, but. I just have a lot of emotions. When she was preparing herself to sacrifice Gideon, to sacrifice "Bomb," do you think a fondness grew specifically to how this baby was meant to save them? Do you think she thought "at least if this kid is going to have my dna, it's going to use that to take this fucker down finally," do you think coming so close made that little bit of potential pride slip in? And then she's her sword and her bones are on those fields and not only is her body made slave, her soul made bound, but all that fucking hope is chained down alongside her, stripped from any knowledge, any fucking purpose, molded instead for the very thing she carried it to destroy. Emotions.

unpopular opinion: Apparently that I see her as Black, lmao, it was from the description of her hair and nose, which doesn't have to mean Black, but it's how I see her.

song i associate with them: Okay well obviously fucking 'Lose Yourself' by Eminem, boo, tomato tomato, but another one that maybe isn't as often tied to her is 'Wygd' by Empara Mi. For funsies, I also do literally always associate her with 'Are You That Somebody' by Aaliyah. Darlin, I know you wanna light me up~

favorite picture of them: I'll post my sketch here because I do like showing part of how I see her, even if I may never clean up or do more with the sketch, but also I love this and this (sobbing about baby Bomb).