#i still have so many thoughts about why he is the way he is

[purinfelix]

beautiful stranger ₊˚⊹♡ - franco colapinto

summary: as your city's turn to host a Formula One race rolls around, you're not surprised when your usual morning commute is disrupted. the arrival of an unexpectedly charming face, however, takes you by surprise w/c: 1.2k

a/n: yes this is inspired by a post i saw saying that franco insists on catching local buses instead of a car when going to the Williams factory - he is just so cute i cannot handle it

Your bus stopped to a screeching halt, almost throwing you with it as you made a last-ditch attempt to hold onto the rail with all your might. Silently, you thanked your many years of committing experience, having lived in a busy city, for saving you from flying into the nearest person.

Your relief was short-lived though as you caught sight of the long line of people waiting to get onto your bus, many of them donning racing-related merch. Letting out a sigh, you tried your best to shuffle out of the way to let them in and maintain your patience as you got shoved every which way.

For the most part, the public transport in your city was manageable - but being home to a Formula racing track made particular times of the year insufferable. It seemed that this time had finally come again, and it was just your luck that the track was on your regular bus route. Maybe this was the reason why you had never cared about the events, only seeing them as pure inconvenience - you probably couldn't name a single driver if you tried. You never had been that big of a sports fan, and motorsports were certainly no exception.

You're once again reminded of this fact as your bus makes a stop outside a train station and yet another hoard of people clamber on. Halfway through groaning in frustration, you lock onto a pair of green eyes, your grip on your bag slacking slightly.

If you hadn't been so taken aback you would've assumed him to be just another crazed fan, especially considering that he's wearing what you assume to be racing merch. Though as he squeezes into the bus, conveniently into the spot right next to you, you notice that the team shirt is all that evidences this. Everything else of his is completely normal, from the cargo pants to the backpack he slips off to place between his legs - well everything aside from the fact that you feel out of breath just looking at him.

You watch him brush his deep brown curls out of his face, sending you a smile - one that's polite, and nothing more than that - but your heart still skips a bit at it. Your eyes dart to the floor between your feet, desperate not to make a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger and an entire bus full of people.

Though fate has never been kind to you, taking complete advantage of the fact that you're not paying attention to where the bus is - sending you flying the next time it screeches to a halt. Flying conveniently into him.

"Fu- shit," you gasp, first at the feeling of losing your balance and second at the feeling of his large hands - one around your waist and the other catching your arm.

"Woah," he exclaims. There's a moment of silence, an agonisingly long one, which you take to regain your balance and try your best to comprehend what just happened. If you didn't know any better you might've thought you had bumped your head too hard and woken up in a romcom - and as you turn to look at him, you consider the chances for just a second, because maybe being in a romcom with him wouldn't be so bad.

But the minute you feel the hot flush of your cheeks and your heart leap into your throat, you're reminded of the cruel reality. "I am so sorry," you breath out, hands reaching for the nearest pole which so happens to be the same one he's holding.

"No, it's alright, I've got you," he laughs, and god you're wondering how even his laugh is gorgeous. "Just be careful, it's packed in here."

You laugh nervously in agreeance, "Yeah, I mean no wonder why."

He tilts his head in confusion, and even though it's adorable you're more distracted by his cluelessness.

"The Formula One race? It's today, don't you know?"

"Ah, of course!" it's his turn to let out a nervous chuckle, as your eyes dart between his face and his shirt.

"Are you not a fan?"

"Well not really, I'm-" he begins to talk, but stops himself before he can explain. "It's my sister's shirt, I'm actually on my way to work right now."

"Right," you say, drawing out your response to show you don't entirely believe him, though you're glad the conversation has swung in your favour - and now you're not the only one who seems embarrassed. You decide to take the opportunity to push further. "I'm headed to work as well, how come I've never seen you before?"

"Well normally I catch the later bus, but I thought I'd beat the crowd today." This time his response seems more natural.

"Right, of course," you nod, "What do you do for work?"

"Oh, I'm a driver."

"What, like for Uber?"

"Uh, yeah something like that."

"I see," you reply unconvinced, though before you can ask for more details the two of you are pushed even closer by more people boarding the bus.

"Is it always this busy around races?" He asks, his face mere inches away from yours.

"Oh yeah," you sigh, "it's such a pain."

"I take it you're not a fan?"

"Not really, I don't really get what all the hype is about."

"It's pretty interesting to watch," he says, looking out the window. "At least, that's what my sister's told me!"

You laugh, "you're funny."

He smiles shyly, letting out a soft laugh as well. "I think you should try watching a couple races, who knows it might be your style. Plus, I hear some of the drivers are pretty good looking as well."

You quirk an eyebrow in response, "Really? I don't know if they'd really be my type."

"You never know," he hums to himself. You're just about to throw another snarky response but the bus stopping interrupts you once more. It's the stop right outside the race track, and so immediately the people around you start filing out, chattering so loud you almost don't notice your new companion moving alongside them. You raise your eyebrows in interest, though figure an Uber driver could probably make good money at an event like this. Before he gets too far though, he manages to call out to you again.

"Pay attention to this one driver, Franco, I think you might like him!" He sends you a wide smile and a wave as he steps out and blends into the crowd now flooding through the gates of the track.

What a strange guy, you think to yourself settling down into a free seat, your bus now mostly empty as it drives off. It hadn't been the morning you were expecting, but at least you've got an interesting story to tell your coworkers once you finally got to work. That is, after you look up this 'Franco' guy he told you about.

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@spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk

[pickingupmymercedes]

That girl (woman) - Lewis Hamilton

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: That girl - Olly Murs

pairing: Husband!Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: fluff

a/n: tried a little something different with the pov and the narrative, let me know what you guys think.

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

It was a regular Wednesday mid-autumn, the kind of quiet morning in the Hamilton household that felt precious in its ordinariness. Lewis sat at the edge of their bed, balancing a tray loaded with her favorite redberry pancakes and a fresh bouquet perched precariously on the side table.

Before we dive deeper, let me share a little secret about Lewis. He’s a legend on the track—speed, skill, mind, the whole package. But there, in their Monaco apartment, watching his wife sleep soundly as morning eased into afternoon, he was just a man.

And as he gazed at her with a strange mix of tenderness and a touch of guilt, it was clear he was reflecting on what he nearly threw away once.

You see, Y/n hadn’t been just any woman in his life. She’d been a force, a renowned stylist, beloved by many. And Lewis, in a past he now could only shake his head at, had once thought he was doing her a favor by pushing her away.

He’d believed that she deserved someone less weighed down by a career that dragged him across continents, with fame that threw him, and her by default, under every public spotlight.

So, in a moment of misguided self-sacrifice, he’d told her she deserved better. Needed to leave him, he’d said, so she could find someone who could give her the life she deserved.

But she’d seen through his words. She’d planted herself firmly in his life and told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he truly wanted her gone, he’d have to make the effort to really let her go.

He hadn’t, of course— couldn’t. And now, there she was, their child growing inside her, still by his side.

Back in the bedroom that overlooked the Mediterranean Sea, Y/n began to stir, her dark lashes fluttering as she woke.

The sunlight had climbed high, a clear sign she’d overslept. Not that it was surprising. Lately, the exhaustion came in waves—pregnancy was starting to demand more rest from her.

She shifted slightly, her bump visible under the soft rise of his oversized T-shirt she’d claimed as sleepwear. Lewis smiled at that, too, how she’d taken so much of him as her own.

As Y/n stretched, blinking sleep from her eyes, she spotted Lewis there, looking all too pleased with himself, balancing that breakfast tray as if he’d been waiting an hour to make his grand entrance.

“Why, Sir. To what do I owe this royal breakfast treatment?” she asked, her voice still drowsy, as she raised an eyebrow playfully though she wore a faint smile.

“Oh, nothing much,” he said, setting the tray in front of her. But there was something about the way he lingered, how his eyes traced her face a bit longer than usual, and how his hand found its way to her bump, lightly brushing circles over her stomach.

She noticed it too, of course. Y/n’s gaze slid from him to the pancakes, to the bouquet of wildflowers he’d set down beside her. His hand was still there, fingers spreading, gentle against her skin.

She tucked into the pancakes, savoring the tart sweetness of the berries, though one eye was still on him. He was keeping quiet, which was unusual enough to make her pause, fork halfway to her mouth.

He didn’t speak, but his fingers had settled in, tracing softer circles on her tummy, as if trying to connect with their child through her skin.

“Alright, spill it, Hamilton,” she said at last, her eyes narrowing slightly with suspicion. She hadn’t missed the glances, the softer smiles, or how his usual self-assured charm was just a little off this morning.

He fumbled. Oh yes, THE Lewis Hamilton—six inches taller than everyone else when it came to confidence—stumbling on his words now as he looked back at her, gathering himself as if preparing to speak before a packed audience.

“It’s nothing. Really, I just…” he hesitated, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to thank you. For yesterday. For coming to the factory with me.”

Ah, yes, the visit. Y/n had been there at his side all day, chatting with engineers and mechanics, giving them warm smiles, sometimes asking the kind of questions that endeared her to the team.

She’d been there, even though they both knew she’d been exhausted—he’d seen it in the way she leaned against surfaces or rested a hand on her bump when she thought he wasn’t looking.

But she’s the kind of person who’d walk the extra mile without a second thought if it meant making him feel grounded

“Oh” She waved it off. “I just know it’s important for you to have your support system there. Besides, we’ll leave you alone to those visits for a while, after this one gets here.” She gave him a smile, and it was enough to make Lewis sit back, humbled and deeply, thoroughly grateful.

Because that’s the thing about Y/n. She didn’t just say the right things. She showed up. She showed him, again and again, that he was worth it to her.

When he’d told her to leave, thinking he was noble, sacrificing himself for her own good, she’d thrown it right back at him. Said if he wanted her gone, he’d have to be a man and make it happen. He hadn’t. And in not doing it, he’d made a choice just as firmly as she had.

He reached out then, brushing his fingers on her cheek, his hand lingering for a moment, as if memorizing her face.

Y/n, ever observant, took his hand, resting it over hers. She could feel the weight of everything unsaid—how his grip was just a bit tighter, his thumb brushing her knuckles in slow circles. Her eyes softened, and for once, he allowed himself to drop the pretense.

“I know I’ve said it before,” he started, his voice quiet. “But I don’t think I can ever say it enough. I’m grateful. For you, for our little one. For everything.”

She let out a small laugh, rolling her eyes. “Lewis, you don’t need to go poetic on me. I’m not going anywhere.”

He chuckled, but even then, there was a solemnity in his expression, an echo of the worry that had lived with him since that fateful night years ago when he’d tried to push her out.

He leaned in close, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering just long enough to let her know he was serious.

They didn’t need words, not really. She knew, and he knew she knew.

That’s the magic they’d always shared. She didn’t need a grand speech to understand that in the way he carried her breakfast in, the way he’d brushed her cheek, he was telling her a thousand times over just how lucky he felt.

For Lewis, that single kiss said everything he couldn’t.

They sat there in quiet contentment, her finishing the last of her pancakes, his hand tracing that rhythmic pattern on her bump again, as if communicating with their little one in their secret code.

“Now” she said, breaking the silence as she watched him circling his fingers on her belly “I need you to go. This mama’s got work, and so do you, unless you plan on spending the rest of the day like this.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing” he said, flashing a mischievous grin.

But he stood regardless, though he couldn’t resist stealing one more kiss. Because that’s also the thing about Lewis—he’d had a brush with losing her once, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

So there he was, savoring the sight of her, engraving this moment into memory. After all, being wrong about her had been the best mistake of his life.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

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@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[osakanone]

🎵 4Aesthetics

I don't believe they did copy his older works given how much of a departure most of the designs are and how much osmosis has happened since Kawamori's last contribution to Armored Core prior to 6 was Armored Core For Answer and only the NEXT, White Glint in 2008.

AC6 went in to development in 2018, which puts a full decade between Kawamori's prior work and the nature of mechanical design is like that of horizontal gene transfer: there's an enormous amount of contact inheritance, so much so that you can't really use terms like copy and instead iterate or explore is better -- which 100% happened given the length of the timegap.

Mecha evolution is parallel, as many have said before and Argonbolt recently reiterated -- though from a presentation standpoint the taxonomic format of the video feels shitposty, I think taxonomic-adjacent descriptors are a really good way to think about mechanical design, and design as a whole.

I haven't yet gotten around to a translated read of ARMORED CORE VI FIRES OF RUBICON OFFICIAL ART WORKS as I'm busy with other projects right, and I'm a lot less enthusiastic about 6th gen than 4th gen so its kind of on the backburner.

tl;dr of why I'm less enthused: I very much agree with the Steam page that AC6 is based on the concept of Armored Core, but I wouldn't say that it is Armored Core, truly since it lacks the fundamental combat calculus defined by rates which is why AC6 is so statistically biased over being mechanically balanced. This is why the combat doesn't resolve in a satisfying way, and why the meta keeps dancing around its fundamental problems. I noticed this before the game was released based on the motion footage we got that was leaked. Following the game, my suspicion was confirmed by Inveigh and SilverGlint who felt the same way, who I consider far more hardcore players of the game than me, and I got a few apologies from people who thought I was exaggerating the design issues. I'm still very sore about AC6, both its gameplay and its story. <grievences>

Moving along:

To my understanding, Kazutaka Miyatake, Takayuki Yanase, and Ikuto Yamashita were staff designing for Armored Core 6?

Kawamori only designed IBC03/HAL826 and IB07/SOL644 afaik.

Like he gets a lot of credit, but the idea that he does "all of the design" for Armored Core is a massive misconception.

I don't know if Makoto Kobayashi or Wataru Inata, Masahiro Miki, Akihiro Goto, Kaichi Satou or Tetsuya Taniyama have returned.

I don't understand the capacity Kawamori functions under when he staffs at FROM, but if I had to make an educated guess I'd say he either briefs other designers, or serves as a means of keeping other designs cohesive in design reviews. There isn't a lot of discussion about this.

Like Okawara, he's a designer who needs very strong direction to produce good outcomes, and I get this might be heracy but his newer work while more mechanically cohesive in terms of the ability to execute on it as a physical product like a model toy is far less stylistically ambitious with its forms.

It has a far more passive appearance which in 2024's design climate (especially that of twitter or pixiv) feels very strange in a post-Syd Mead and post-Yuzo Kojima era.

This is characterized by narrower hips and a greater emphasis on chasing a more humanoid form which ironically is less characterized, less recognizable and less iconic.

I consider this kind of strange, given that Kawamori's original trick was that audiences were really really forgiving of what a robot would look like despite being somewhat strict about vehicles, and he used this to his advantage throughout many of his transforming designs.

It feels like the problems of the mechaical designs and how hard they are to realize into functioning models in Macross Plus kinda... Haunt him? Like he girlbossed too close to the sun?

My personal theory is there's a habit of mechanical designers who get typecast or trapped into redesigning the same problem for a really long time: Just like neural networks can hallucinate or hypernormalize values beyond norms to chase a utility function the same is often true of design.

I think this is what Takeshi Murakami was trying to say in his sculpture, Second Mission: Project Ko^2, which is an anime style naked girl of the era and style of Studio Nue (when Kawamori afaik got his start) transforming into a fighter-plane in an act of fascinating if grotesque body horror.

aside: I wonder how Kawamori feels about Second Mission Project Ko^2 almost daily, and if I go to Osaka Expo 2025 (which two people want to take me to) I want to ask him since he has a booth but I feel it would be really impolite???

This is how you get really strange gangly forms, or structures which don't make a ton of sense, and is honestly the work image collaging AI systems were most interesting doing.

Human designers replicate this too:

You see it with the recent BMW car designs with their giant snouts, and you also see it in Apple's fetishistic obsession with less buttons reducing to one button with the iPod nano 3rd gen which was considered unusable since users had to memorize tap sequences to use it.

Its like a kind of Fisherian Runaway but for design

I think too, we also see this in some of Mamoru Nagano's work on GothicMade, where his reinterpretation of Mortarhedds has become hypernormalized.

I'd really need to think more on this.

I don't know why this giant discussion fell out of me, and I'm not even sure how "factual" a lot of it is.

I feel a lot of what I'm saying is probably rude or perhaps even parasocial on some level, and the thought of actually testing any of this or publishing properly would insult an entire industry of wonderful people I hold nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for.

That said, I still feel compelled to write.

Its very vibes based and while I'm providing evidence, I'm probably either making a massive mistake and confabulating information/hallucinating linkages as a mentally compromised individual with autism who thinks far too hard about fictional robots and the schools of design that link them together or I'm making an insight that people will talk about long after I'm dead if my blog survives.

Then again, maybe the fact I'm even contemplating that I might be wrong might mean I'm actually covering my bases and I might actually be right? That's... The feeling I have? I wish I were brave enough to make video essays.

The thought that someone might actually read any of what I write, and even enjoy it is one of the seven thoughts that helps me keep going through my depression.

Take care.

Remember, the ask button exists.

Armored Core VI Fires of Rubicon Official Art Works

[cxffecoupx]

asking to place lipstick marks on 'it'

seventeen x reader 18+, nsfw, svt down bad warnings: suggestive content, love making wc: 1.0k author's notes: such a CRAZYY thought to have, so i decided to do it :) but i cant believe it took me this long to finish writing this (read: uni is kicking my ass). anyways, wouldn't say i'm very satisfied with it, but i really hope you guys like it!! also, special thanks to @simpxxstan for giving me ideas for a few members

➼ choi seungcheol

very interested in the idea. would get so excited for this. would ask if he can select the shade of lipstick and runs to your dressing table when you agree. but most likely would end up buying a new set of lipsticks because the shade he wants 'is not there' (it's an excuse for him to buy you a new set). by the time you're able to finish your mission, you're over three rounds and he's a sweaty, moaning mess. neither of you sleep that night.

➼ yoon jeonghan

would become so smug when you suggest it?? like full on smirk on his face and just goes, "if you wanted me to fuck you, you could have just said that." but will eventually agree when he sees your boba eyes and gets excited seeing your excitement. will probably squirm and whimper because of the sensations at first, but the sex later on is crazy.

➼ hong jisoo

confused eyes. looks so adorable you end up smushing his face and kissing his lips in fondness. man is actually so clueless at first, but then ever more confused when he realizes what you meant. becomes beet red until you promise him it's just for fun and not necessary until he's okay with it, hearing which he quickly agrees cause if you're gonna have fun, why would he not indulge you? would become so adorably shy when he sees the result. makes you cum with just his fingers and mouth as thank you.

➼ moon junhui

mindblown by your idea. becomes so excited; it's like a child waiting for candy. so endeared by you that he ends up making you smooch all over his face. then he starts kissing all over your face. the lipstick marks meant for his dick end up on your faces, but neither of you could be happier than at this moment. slowly turns into a gentle love making session.

➼ kwon soonyoung

you ask him in a very usual way, but it's only after he accepts that you realize this is a great opportunity to tease him. asks if he can record it (because he's very amused by this idea) and searches for the perfect lighting and angle while you prepare. thinks he's so prepared for it, but starts shaking and pleading the moment you start kitty licking his tip. by the time you're finished, he's panting and wanting for more.

➼ jeon wonwoo

you ask him while he was gaming; he leaves the game so fast you wonder what went wrong. but then he goes and picks up a random shade of lipstick and pulls you in between his knees as he manspreads on his gaming chair. holds your hair as you work on him. hours later, the lipstick and your clothes lie forgotten by the bed.

➼ lee jihoon

wants this whole event to occur in his studio. literally agrees when you offer to come to the studio for it. he'd be acting so nonchalant but you can clearly hear his heart racing in his chest and his ears going red. also likely to voice record the whole thing with your consent to use as 'inspiration' later (will use it to get off during desperate times).

➼ lee seokmin

another one who'd get red. very shy. "woah where do you even get ideas like these?" as he goes wide-eyed and still manspreads on the couch to invite you in. goes weak in his knees when he sees you make eye contact with him as you look up from between his knees wearing a shade he considers sexy. you have to abort the mission because he ends up pushing your face few many times.

➼ kim mingyu

GIGGLY MESS. you don't understand what he's been giggling about ever since you proposed the idea, but you're currently down on your knees in front of his naked body and he just cant stop giggling??? when you ask him about it though, he says he's way too endeared by this whole task and wants you to kiss every inch of his body. so, an hour or so later, you're panting, straddling a happy mingyu who's entire body is covered with lipstick stains. time to make a new folder in your gallery.

➼ xu minghao

lowkey becomes concerned about you. he already suspected you were upto something when you approached him with a cheeky smile, but he never thought it'd be this... wild? almost instantly rejects until he sees you get down and look at him with such hopeful eyes that he cant resist. still finds it weird as you mark him, but gladly indulges you. takes photos of it (without you knowing,,, or so he thinks) because you are the artist, and he ends up liking the art a little too much.

➼ boo seungkwan

lowkey judges you first, before highkey agreeing to it. it's one of the "how dare you make stupid decisions and do them without me" moments. judgmental most of the time: "is that the shade you're choosing? it doesnt look good on my skin tone," "the lip shapes arent perfect, pucker them a little more," etc etc. after lots of advice and nagging, you finally finish the job. you get up with a satisfied smirk as you look at his pretty pink cock and his spent form.

➼ chwe vernon

deeply contemplates it. quickly nods when you say, "it's for the art" and asks for some time. leaves. comes back saying "okay, let's do it." when you ask him where he went, he goes "i had to be clean and ready." waits for you to prep for it, but almost cums then and there when he sees you naked, wearing only his favourite shade of lipstick. by the time you could finish the task, he's lost all his marbles and begs you to ride him. finishes with his cum painting your chest and stomach.

➼ lee chan

turns red as a tomato. one moment you suggest the idea, the next he has to physically pull his head outta the gutter because his thoughts escalated into something else. and no matter how hard he tries to deny that he was indeed having very mature thoughts, the blush creeping to his cheeks screams the truth. asks somewhere in between if he can mark your chest with his lipstick marks, and honestly? who are you to resist? by the end of the night, he's spent and at your mercy and you havent yet completed the task.

[dadvans]

Any more sneak peeks of the pregnancy fix it?

“Hey,” Buck echoes, taking in his button up, his jeans, the way he’s put together so easily, so solid and real and normal that Buck feels like tinker toys in comparison. Tommy looks good, somehow more handsome than Buck remembers. Infuriatingly so.

They stand in the doorway, quiet settling between them. Tommy’s arms cross his broad chest. Buck pretends not to take the hint. “Can I come in?”

Tommy blinks, nods, looking a little wary as he shifts so Buck can push past him. “Yeah, of course. Sorry. Eddie texted. Told me it was important.” He closes the door and takes his time following Buck into his living room, but he stays standing. “So I’m guessing you’re not here to give me back my lucky flannel that you said you couldn’t find.”

“I couldn’t,” Buck lies. The flannel stopped smelling like Tommy two months ago, but Buck still hasn’t been able to bring himself to wash it. He looks up to find Tommy’s staring down at him, searching Buck’s face, his own serious, at odds with his cavalier tone. He looks nervous. Scared, even, of whatever Buck has to say. “And no, it’s not about that. Uh—“

“Are you sick?”

“What? No. I’m pregnant,” he says, almost surprised at how it just slips out.

“Pregnant?” The concern across Tommy’s features shifts, and it sours something in Buck to note that he looks more like a spooked animal, cornered. “I didn’t know that was a possibility for you.”

“Trust me, I didn’t either. I guess my parents just never got me tested growing up. Probably too afraid of it coming back positive. Like they knew, somehow.” He breathes out slow through his nose, trying to keep himself steady. “Please, you’ve got to believe me. I would never lie about something like this. I’m not trying to trick you or trap you or anything. But I thought you should know. If—If you wanted to be involved in any way.”

Tommy finally sits down, on the other end of the couch, too far away to touch. “So, you’re sure it’s mine?”

Believe me, he wants to say in the moment, right now I wish it were anyone else’s.

“Yeah,” he says out loud. “It’s yours. Ours. My doctor says I’m just over twelve weeks.”

Tommy scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands and nods to himself, mouth pinched.

“I know it’s a lot,” Buck continues. “You don’t have to commit to anything today, or uh, ever, if that’s what you decide. I’m telling you now so you don’t hear about it from someone else or think I was keeping this from you. Word seems to travel fast between stations.”

“Okay.” Tommy looks back over at him, gaze shifting down to Buck’s stomach, it’s slight swell disguised under several layers. “Is it okay if I take some time to think about this?”

Buck gulps back his disappointment. The fresh wound of rejection, scabbed over but far from healed, splits back open, the sting of it ripping through him. He’s told himself so many times that this was always a possibility. Tommy wasn’t ready for something serious with him, so why would he be ready for this?

“Of course,” he says, so grateful his own voice doesn’t betray him. “Of course, Tommy. I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. You didn’t know. You don’t owe us anything.”

[foolishaetherguardian]

Bruce knew that Alfred had an arsenal hidden throughout his house. A half dozen would be thieves had been filled with rubber before he had finally accepted that no matter how many of them he found the old man would have some guns hidden away. However, it was still a shock to see the entire dining room table completely covered in firearms and demolitions equipment. Especially considering the table could comfortably sit 26.

"Ah Master Bruce" Alfred barely even looked up from the pile of weapons he was sorting through to greet him. "I must apologize for the mess but there has been a family emergency."

Those last two words set every thing in Bruce on edge. "Who was hurt?" Damien was on a school trip, Duke was still on bedrest due to a concussion, Jason was out of town with the Outlaws and Dick was in Bludhaven. That left Cass, Tim, Barbara and Steph. Cass would likely find her way home even if Gotham was reduced to a pile of rubble so she was probably fine. Tim had survived the end of the world, three times at least so he would be fine too. Steph or Barbara then.

"My niece. Or rather her son." Alfred had settled on the small arsenal he was taking and began to load the dufflebags he had set out. "There is enough food in the freezer to last 3 weeks. All meals are labeled with your names and heating instructions." Four large bricks of clay and wires went into another dufflebag. C4. Why did he have C4? Who was Alfred up against here?

"Alfred..." Dammit words, words were always hard. Especially when it came to family. Maybe it wasn't words that were hard. Maybe it was the truth? Something to look into later. "I can help. We can help."

"I'm afraid you can't Master Bruce. At least not with what I need to do. You are after all your father's son. A man of steel morality. You cannot bend for anyone." And then a moment later almost to soft to hear. "Much less for family."

Alfred had always insisted on a bit of distance between them. Bruce was Thomas' son. Martha's son. His master. So his whispered addition made Bruce's mouth twitch, a smile despite the seriousness of what he had said.

"And before you ask Master Bruce, I have already taken two beacons. Just in case. Young Master Jason will be back tomorrow and he has already agreed to take care of the mess I have, quite regrettably, had to make."

Every question he would have asked, every thought, every delay was headed off. Alfred had raised him. Had seen him at every low and every high. So he knew the questions before Bruce even asked them.

"Miss Cassandra and Miss Brown will find instructions in their rooms. I've left a bit of a puzzle for you on your desk as well. If you could solve it before I return I would be most grateful."

"When is a meta not a person? When they are dead."

The riddle and the list of several dozen environmental control and protection acts, all with riders regarding ectoplasm, had spun in Bruce's head for the better part of the week. Cassandra and Stephanie had already completed the cleaning of four suites in the servant's wing and Jason had nearly hurt himself laughing at the dining room table before all the weapons and explosives vanished in an alarmingly short time. So it was just Bruce left with homework. Tim had offered to help. And he almost accepted the offer. Almost. Then he found the three paragraph ride in the Energy Policy Act of 1992.

"All beings showing an Ecto (3775.1 A) signature are considered to be non sentient Ecto waste to be disposed of according to the Nuclear Waste Policy Act of 1982, Section 101, Paragraph C."

An answer finally. Hidden throughout nearly 100 years of environmental protections and culminating in the government authorized execution of any being showing an above average radiation level.

Bruce suddenly had a few calls to make, and more than a few favors to call in. Someone was about to have to cover up the one man army ripping through Midwestern Black Sites in search of something or someone.

Dcxdp

Biofam 4/5

Maddie didn’t speak to her father, as did her sister. Unfortunately, that made it hard for them to contact their favorite uncle, but when they left at eighteen, they both agreed it was for the best. Even after they found out the old man was dead, they didn’t reach out, unsure of what they would say.

That was then.

Now, with shaking hands covered in ectoplasm,(god her baby was hurt, she had been hurting her baby, THOSE BASTARDS IN WHITE HURT HER BABIES) she dialed the number that she had never managed to forget.

“Hello, who is this and how did you get this number?” The British accent soothed a part of her she hadn’t noticed was tense.

“Uncle Alfred.” Maddie could barely choke out his name, hands still shaking. “I need help.”

[aro-culture-is]

aro culture is i lost a friend I've known for decades because his romantic partner demanded that i, along with many other platonic friends, should gtfo his life. I know this isn't an aros only thing but I am aro and i never thought that this shitshow would happen to me too. So it's only a matter of time before i get yeeted out of all of my friend's lives because for some reason the romantic partner is of higher importance than the platonic companions. God.

... so like. I just want to be clear: when a romantic partner insists that their partner should not have friends (whether along gender lines or not), that is either explicitly an act of abuse (isolating them from other social structures) or at minimum a red flag of emotional immaturity (ie, jealousy) that will often become a component of abuse. it is not a normal thing. it is, at times, normalized by a culture that expects unhealthy relationships, but it is a blaring red siren for problems.

there is a huge difference between the friend themself choosing to leave you and their partner demanding control over their social circle. it doesn't make being thrown to the curb hurt less, but I do highly recommend leaving the door open for him, and in some way explicitly saying he can always still talk to you, even if you are upset with him. generally, at this point, it's not worthwhile to say "I think that this person is abusing you", because the control is being initiated and is actively monitored at this stage; you saying anything bad is going to be used as why he should cut you off, because "I can't believe you'd be friends with someone who hates your romantic partner!" is a thing.

If you can, please please read up about how to help friends in emotionally abusive relationships. the main point is: be open to listening, never initiate a negative comment about the abusive individual, but if he starts it? Listen. Say how you can see that, how does he feel about it? Does he want to do anything about it? If not, you gotta learn to say "Okay. Let me know if that ever changes." and move on. If he's not ready, it's way more important that he's still able to come to you and doesn't feel pressured, because then when he is ready, he knows who has never pressured him, always listened and let him make his own choices, and offered to help.

[experimentalmadness]

The Last of Regret

A little Emmrich/Rook fluff near the end of the game. I thought a certain moment could have used some more power so I gave it a go. We do love seeing a slightly more disheveled and panicked Emmrich, after all.

I'm being a bit vague on details because it contains massive endgame spoilers if you haven't finished the game. Suffice to say. If you want some good Emmrich and Rook hurt/comfort and angsty fluff, I've got what you need.

There was no air here. 

No sound. Not even the whisper of wind. 

All color had lost its saturation. 

There was no warmth, nor was it cold. And still Sivan shivered, hugging herself. This was not like the rest of the Fade. And this was all there was. All that there was ever going to be. Forever. One long endless looping staircase with only the dead for company. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, eyes closed. She couldn’t feel if she was crying. Her heart hurt, but all sensation had lost its bite. She wished she could cry. Or scream. How long had she been walking in circles?

Varric told her she had to let go. She had to accept what had happened, but how could she when this was all her fault? She should have stopped Varric from confronting Solas, she should never have sent Harding out with such a small team, and Bellara….she hadn’t been fast enough. She should have caught her, should have chopped off the blight tendril before it had snatched her away. 

Too late now. She was just some stupid city elf up against literal gods. Why did she think she could win? She was never good for anything. She’d failed Varric, failed her own city, failed…oh no. No, she couldn’t think of Emmrich. Not now. If she thought about him she’d sink to the ground and never get up again. 

C’mon kid, what did I just say?

”It’s too hard!” She cried. “I’m not ready!”

No one’s ever ready, but you can’t stay here. 

Varric wasn’t really here. It was only in her head. All of it had only ever been in her head. Stupid, stupid; should have known Solas would play tricks on her. Should have seen it coming. But the part of her that could hear Varric knew he was right. She couldn’t stay here. Even if she couldn’t defeat the gods she couldn’t fade away in this prison. A clean death, a good death in a fight, that was the way to go. Not disappearing like this. 

As if tugging her boots through swamp mud, Sivan made herself climb the endless looping stairs. She did not look up. It would be Harding’s face again, Varric’s, Bellara’s, even her own parents’ and she couldn’t face them. Couldn’t let them see her like this. Failure, worthless, mistake…

I thought I felt it over here!

The sound was far away. “Lucanis?” Just another memory, another lie. 

It’s faint, but he’s definitely on to something.

”Neve?”

Sivan stopped, looking around. But the expanse was as gray and devoid of life as ever. Maybe that was all there was. Echoes. But her heart stirred. 

The Fade is distinctly thin here.

”Emmrich?!” There was no mistaking it that time. She had heard his voice. Bright, with his usual encouragement, but with a note of unmistakable panic that sent her running up the rapidly forming fade-steps. “Emmrich!” 

Did you hear that?

That was Davrin! She could hear them! It wasn’t just the hollow sorrow eating her alive. 

The Fade shimmered ahead and Sivan felt air in her lungs for the first time. A sheen of white glinted against the gray. Just like the small Fade tears she had seen so many times before. There was hope here, fragile and wild and oh it was so good to feel something, anything outside of the crushing regret. 

She went running into the white tear and the solid arms that caught her. 

I’ve got her!

We’ve all got her. Pull!

Sivan spilled out into the bright light. Her heartbeat resumed in her ears, the blood in her veins moved again, and she could feel. Everything. The colors of the Lighthouse almost made her shield her eyes. Her lungs felt as if they would burst. 

But she was out. 

On the crumbling courtyard stones. 

And she was certain she was alive. 

“Rook!” Davrin laughed in astonishment and it was such a good sound, such a pure sound. 

It was then she realized the arms around her had not let her go, but were in fact squeezing ever tighter. “Darling, my darling…”

Sivan wrapped her still nerveless arms as tight as she could around Emmrich. He was real. Her hands went over the back of his coat, up to his jaw, her fingers skimming through his gray hair. He was here. She kissed him even though she knew how particular he was when it came to public displays of affection. She didn’t care. She had to feel him, had to make sure this wasn’t another one of Solas’ endless tricks. 

He returned her kiss with such fervor she was grateful she was already kneeling on the cobblestones. Her eyes spilled over with tears. He crushed her to him as if needed to check if she was as much a reality as she herself doubted. She didn’t care if she couldn’t breathe. 

“Think we could give ‘em some fucking privacy?” Sivan could have laughed at Taash’s words but her mind was far too jumbled. Everything was so bright, so loud, so solid. 

But Emmrich was all warmth and safety and familiarity. Already he pressed light kisses against her cheeks, the tip of her nose, under each eyelid, and with each she felt a little more real. “Extraordinary as ever, dearest,” he said softly. “Only you could return from the very Void itself.” 

“A prison,” she gasped, trying to order her thoughts. How to even begin to explain? “For the gods. Solas…he…”

”Breathe,” Emmrich commanded gently, a hand on either side of her face. “Slowly.”

His dark eyes were welcoming, guiding—was he crying? She flailed in a poor attempt to reach out for him again, but he held her still. His chest rose and fell in a deep rhythm that she felt compelled to mimic. The tightness in her lungs eased in pieces. Emmrich brushed the curls from her eyes and when she felt less like she was choking she let herself relax against him, tucking her head under his chin. 

“Darling, should I take us inside? You would be far more comfortable if—“

”No,” Sivan said against his coat, burrowing as deeply as she could, curling around herself. “Stay. Please.”

”But you’re shivering.”

”No’m not.” Her teeth chattered. 

“Rook, it is a delight to have you contradict me again, even though I admit I have no desire to let you go as yet,” Emmrich said with a laugh that sounded so tired, so grateful. “I thought that I might not…that—to have the last things we said to one another be that horrid argument…”

Sivan reached up and placed a tentative finger against his lips. “Love you too much to care about that.”

“What?” 

Her dear man looked so shocked. And how Sivan adored those looks of bewilderment when she would sneak in a compliment here and there. His tear-stained eyes went wide. “Was scared to say that before, too,” she admitted. “Everyone I ever loved, they’ve…”

It was his turn now to stop her thoughts from spirling. The blanket void of regret was going to be hard to shake, Sivan realized with a pang. 

Emmrich hushed her, his fingertips skating down her cheek. She knew when he was studying her. His deep look of intent and awe stilled some of her shivering. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said it so suddenly. Stupid! She should have planned it out better. Made some sort of occasion out of it as he no doubt would have.

“Say it again, dearest. Please.”

His faint, pleading voice undid the last string of regret tied about her heart. Sivan smiled. “I love you.”

Emmrich swallowed up her words with a kiss that nearly knocked her backwards. Heat pooled within her as she tried to match him. This, oh this was never something she would ever take for granted. The sterile edges of what that prison had done to her sloughed off. 

“To think you lost only to hear you say that,” Emmrich said as Sivan rubbed her forehead to his, taking comfort in simply sharing the same breath. “You truly are indomitable, Rook. One of the many reasons I love you, too.”

Her face hurt from smiling. When was the last time she’d heard those words? When was the last time anyone had ever loved her? Ghosts now, all ghosts, but Emmrich was here. Alive. And wholly hers. 

“I think I can stand now,” she said. Her body was still shaking, but from something other than grief. 

“Then I will help you up, my love.”

[feministbirdcreature]

you are right. Men are strangely united. When we look at other species a lot of the males can’t even be AROUND each other lol. I remember when I was a kid my parents had a big fish tank and they always used to explain to me that we couldn’t have 2 male Bettas in the same tank as they’d just fight each other.

I think I’ve just come up with a theory on why men hate us so much, and it’s nothing to do with womb envy like some radfems theorise. I think it’s a lot simpler than that. I think they started to resent us because they have wayyyy higher sex drives than we do, to the point where many men’s lives purely revolve around sex, to the point where they are utterly obsessed with women, and it pissed them off that we’re not as horny as they are because that gives us more freedom and independence. We’re not controlled by our urges to the same extent as they are. I think they know their horniness clouds their judgement and makes them more irrational. You can even see this be demonstrated in modern times when they tweet stuff like “If women didn’t have vaginas we’d be hunting them for sport”. this is of course disgustingly offensive and misogynistic, but I find it slightly hilarious in a way that he basically just admitted he hates women but he’s so controlled by his urges like a lower life form that he’s still drawn to us

I’m assuming at some point in human history men started to collectively realise they were all united by their resentment towards women and started to slowly impose more and more control over women while teaching their sons to do the same. and eventually religion became a thing, allowing patriarchy to spread easily around the world (which is, I think, one of the reasons why religion was developed in the first place). Once Holy Texts like the Bible came into existence, I think that is truly when misogyny became entrenched forever because now entire populations can be more easily brainwashed into hating women, even women themselves! Just teach them from the moment they were born that they were created from Adam’s rib.

I feel like this would explain so many of the insults they hurl at women because it’s so obvious that they’re projecting.

“Women only exist for sex” says the guy whose thoughts revolve only around how he will get his next opportunity to have sex, the same guy who changes his entire personality to suit the new woman he just met because he’s empty inside and his only purpose in life is to get laid so he’s more than happy not to be true to himself for it

“Women are so emotional” says the incel who’s planning a school shooting spree in his head because a girl rejected him

“Women are sluts and whores” say members of the gender who admit they’d sleep with any woman who approached them

“Women are nothing without men - they cry every day about the thought of not getting married one day” lol I thought there was a male loneliness epidemic? There’s literally incels threatening to kill themselves if women don’t have sex with them?

So yeah, I think maybe they’ve developed psychological issues from constantly having to address the fact that they’re more obsessed with us than we are with them and they don’t have the emotional intelligence and empathy required (whether from nature or nurture I do not know) to deal with it in a rational way. And now that religion is a thing patriarchy is truly a deep-rooted disease.

Human beings are so susceptible to propaganda and now we just have state-sponsored religious propaganda out there preaching the inferiority of women. So I feel like even a guy who is somehow sexually satisfied (I feel like this is rare because they always want more than they have, but let’s just pretend for a second) could still be a misogynist because he’s been raised hearing these misogynist religious principles.

I learned of a Tiktok 'trend' recently of men taking their female family members, friends, partners etc out on a lovely nature walk, then starting to record and saying "I bet nobody would be able to hear you scream here."

There is not ONE video that the woman laughs in, even when they explain the prank. Not one. For a sex who have been socialised to nervously laugh when uncomfortable, not one of them found it funny. It was mothers who stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes filled with fear. It was girlfriends who started running away in fear, to the laughing taunts of "it was just a joke come back!!!!!". It was sisters who stared these men down, unable to process what this male had said to them.

First of all, the timing is sociopathic. It's not an accident. With Nick "we control your bodies b*tch" Fuentes doing a monologue that undeniably sunk into the psyches of most men, AND the general political landscape for women atm, they feel joy and pleasure at unabashedly making their female friends and family suffer. They giggle at the prospect of making them fear for their life, and they film it for other men to get off on.

Moids continually stun me. After hundreds of thousands of years of oppression you'd think I would understand and expect it, but they reach new heights every time I blink. Deep down, I'm just a hopeful girl who sees men as humans. I try not to assume they're beyond saving, but they're making it harder to believe. They just seem wired for pain and suffering and destruction.

My heart bleeds for the women and girls in places where they have full reign. These demons won't stop until they have raped and destroyed the planet in pursuit of more intense porn to feel a sliver of the emotion women possess.

[the-boy-meets-evil]

as wild and untamable as the sea | l.c (teaser)

pairing: greek god!chan x reincarnated sea nymph!f!reader genre: angst, smut | (very minor) reincarnation, fantasy, greek gods!au rating: explicit, minors DNI (for full fic, nothing in this teaser) word count: 850 for the teaser (TBD on full fic, prob 10k+) warnings: none for the teaser (full fic: explicit smut, past unhealthy relationships, plays with greek mythology, etc) post date: november 16th (hopefully)

summary: Chan remembers everything. Every little thing that's happened to him since his days as one of the twelve olympians. Poseidon to be exact. Even though he tries not to think about it now that he's living in modern times running a sad little aquarium, some memories are more vivid than others. Then, you stumble into his life and he can't explain the draw. You can't seem to figure out how this man is keeping an aquarium like this running when it seems like it's not that busy. Something about him really seems to put you off, despite the fact that he seems drawn to you. None of it makes any sense...until you start to remember.

a/n: this is for the 13 Gods of Olympus collab that @beomcoups & @wooahaeproductions have been tirelessly working on. thank you so much for hosting this! it's been fun (even if it's a challenge) to get lost in an entirely different world.

if you want to be tagged when i post, leave a comment or join my taglist here

Another day, another dollar. 

Wasn’t that what the humans said about another day spent working at some mindless job? Despite all the years he’s spent blending into their world, Chan still doesn’t really understand the humans. Doesn’t really understand why they put up with so many things they seemingly hate. Doesn’t really understand why they waste their short lives on something that makes them miserable. But, in fairness to the humans, Chan has also never had to worry about the trivial things that come along with working like money, possessions, or a home. When you’re one of the original gods of Olympus and life is seemingly infinite, money isn’t really an issue. 

That’s who Chan was in another lifetime: Poseidon. The God of the Sea, among other things. At least, until Olympus fell. A painful thought that he usually tries to push from his mind.

In the early days after Olympus fell, Chan still went through life acknowledging who he was. He leveraged his powers for favors or for payment. He used his control of the water and everything in it to get him what he needed. But, the years went by and the Olympians became the stuff of myth. Of stories. The kind of characters that you read about in books. Only the most eccentric members of society continue to worship the Olympians as if they’re real. Which they are, Chan reminds himself. Or, they were. As the faith faded, so did the Olympians’ belief in restoring themselves to full power. One by one, they gave up the task of finding a way back until it was only Chan and Zeus left. Two of the brightest minds of Olympus. Even they had to admit their own defeat. 

Which leads to the present day. Chan has taken on a new persona, for the…well, he’s lost track of what number this one is. He’s just thankful for his ability to shapeshift into someone new whenever he needs to. Takes a new name every time, too. At first, he tried to keep in touch with his siblings and the other Olympians. That, too, fades over time. It’s been at least a century since he’s spoken to any of them. Though, occasionally, he’ll catch wind of something through the chattering of local sea creatures. Something that says at least some of them are still out there.

Chan sighs. There’s really no reason for him to be wandering down memory lane in this way. He thinks, not for the first time, that maybe he needs to pick a different cover job. One that will keep his mind a little more occupied. The reality is, though, he’s tried nearly everything he could think of over the centuries. Changing professions is a frequent occurrence when he doesn’t want to let his body show too many signs of age. Not that he minds, it’s just that people start to ask too many questions about how he’s handling things someone “his age” shouldn’t be able to handle. In the end, working with sea life has always been the best. And this set up, where he’s running a smaller aquarium off of some long forgotten boardwalk in an area that doesn’t get much traffic, is also great. It isn’t even that Chan doesn’t like being around people. He finds humans entertaining in most senses. It’s just that nothing in this life is permanent for him. He’s not going to fall in love and grow old with someone. Best to just keep things at arm’s length. 

Most days are more or less the same and Chan works the majority of them. On the rare days off, he’s not far away since his little house is within walking distance of both the aquarium, the boardwalk it’s on, and the water. He trusts the limited staff that he has because he pays them well. Better than any other similar business, but he values loyalty. And they don’t seem to question how he’s able to make things work. That is largely due to the anonymous donors that make monthly contributions to the aquarium. Really, it’s just Chan funneling money that he’s earned over his many years on Earth so that he can keep a business afloat. Nobody seems to have anything to say. Beyond the staff not asking questions, they are all very good at their jobs. It makes life easier for Chan that way because he doesn’t have to micromanage them. Everyone knows what they’re supposed to do and will only ask questions if they hit an actual block. No, the aquarium runs very smoothly. It just doesn’t get a lot of business.

Since every day kind of blends together, Chan almost never realizes as days or weeks or even months pass by. He’s in a sort of autopilot where he also knows what he has to do and just does it without question. It’s just rinse and repeat day in and day out. 

Until it’s not. Until the first day that he notices you in his small, out of the way little aquarium. Until the day that everything starts to change.

[suzukiblu]

Day twelve of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim clears his throat and adjusts the collar of his shirt for honestly no good reason, and Kon keeps doing–Kon keeps beaming at him. There is just . . . there is just so, so much beaming happening right now, and it is very, very hard to concentrate on anything else. Or even, like, passingly think about anything else. 

Kon looks–he just looks happy, and Tim feels flustered and overwhelmed and vaguely nauseous, but like, in a good way, somehow, and . . . it’s a lot. Yeah. Just–Tim is currently feeling a lot of things, is all. Just . . . a lot. So much. 

Tim wonders if he could figure out a loophole to “legally” marry Kon despite the fact he’s fifteen and Kon is only maybe legally a person and/or citizen in the eyes of the government, because in that case even once Kon gets bored of Tim Drake he’ll be able to send him alimony payments or whatever, so– 

Actually, Tim realizes as he looks at Kon’s beaming face–at Kon’s beaming face beaming at him–and feels Kon’s hand still gripping his easily and comfortably, and Kon still leaned in closer than necessary even as they walk along the sidewalk together . . . 

Actually, he doesn’t feel like Kon’s getting bored with Tim Drake at all. 

. . . . . . huh. 

Weird, Tim thinks, a little too bewildered to figure out why he feels that way. 

“Oh, hey, that looks good,” Kon says, perking up a little more as he looks at something over Tim’s shoulder and points past him with his free hand. “We need a new dinner place, right? Wanna try it?” 

Tim looks where Kon’s pointing and frowns in confusion, because he’s pointing at a skate shop, of all things, not a restaurant or cafe or even a bar. 

“I haven’t touched a skateboard in months and also I have no idea what that has to do with dinner,” he admits, still frowning in confusion, and Kon laughs. 

“The food truck, babe,” he says with a snigger, pointing more emphatically. “You skateboard?” 

“Uh–sometimes, yeah,” Tim says, refocusing his eyes to realize–yeah, there is in fact a food truck there, parked just to the side of the skate shop. It’s very . . . yellow. Very, very brightly yellow. 

He can absolutely never, ever tell Bruce he missed something as obvious as a huge neon yellow food truck, Tim swears to himself, and then he actually registers what the truck says and . . . blinks, very slowly. 

“Is that the one-dollar grilled cheese truck?” he says. “I thought that was a meme or something.” 

“I mean, probably some bargain-basement content creator who thinks they're an influencer is running it as some publicity stunt shit, but one-dollar grilled cheese,” Kon says reasonably, except for how Tim cannot even imagine what about that statement would be “reasonable”. 

“You want to get dinner from the one-dollar grilled cheese truck?” he asks, a little incredulous about the idea. 

“We could get so many, babe,” Kon says with a gleeful grin. Tim, instinctively, is about to protest that they could get “so many” of whatever Kon wanted, in fact, and a truck that says both “cash only” and “no change given, figure out your own shit” in Impact font is literally just . . . what. What? But then he has a brief remembered flash of Dick saying there wasn’t any “one size dates all” and talking to him about circus tickets and tailoring dates to the other person's tastes and, well . . . 

“Um, sure?” he says, still vaguely bewildered. Kon needs more expensive tastes. He needs to get Kon more expensive tastes. And also maybe, like, better standards for a “nice” dinner. 

Kon beams at him again, giving his hand a squeeze, and Tim disassociates for a minute or two in an attempt to process any of that and entirely, entirely fails to. 

. . . alright, maybe some of Dick’s dating advice was helpful, he reflects. 

. . . . . . also to be fair, this also might be the Condiment King or some other D-lister about to start some shit, in which case it wouldn't hurt to throw a superhero at the problem anyway. 

And at least it's gonna be a lot of calories, right?

[absolutepokemontrash]

Ignore how late I am but I saw the post and I feel the the need to complain about this. A squick I have when it comes to fics and headcanons is when Belphie is completely villainized while the rest of the brothers hate him with their whole being while also depicted as perfect. And while that's annoying on its own, whenever this happens everyone else in the work also gets fucked over.

I specifically mean works where Belphie gets reduced to "the cold and callous villain who killed MC" and that's it. No acknowledging any circumstance around or about why he did it and making being manipulative his entire personality trait. And the rest of the brothers hate him for killing and manipulating MC, which I would understand more if this didn't so frequently come with them acting like they've never even hurt MC before.

The brothers love and protect MC by lesson 16, yeah, but they also almost put MC six feet under on multiple occasions themselves and only just got used to seeing humans as equals. They would be upset with Belphie for killing MC, but they wouldn't hate or never forgive him because they've been brothers long before MC got there and it would be hypocritical.

And this causes the rest of the brothers to act extremely out of character as well. Especially when it comes to why the brothers can't forgive him. Sometimes the brothers will hate Belphie for "killing Lilth" or hurting her descendant which is??? Or they'll treat MC like they're a replacement for Belphie, which is also???? And in these situations, MC acts like they're the antagonist of a replacement AU.

For some reason in works where Belphie's personality or lore gets tossed out of the window, so does everyone else's and both of these are so nerve grating to me. Okay, done complaining.

I have so many thoughts and opinions on Belphie and the fandom’s treatment of him, that I could deadass write a peer reviewed thesis on him…

TLDR: The mischaracterization of Belphie in the fandom is so rampant that I’m convinced some people writing him or complaining about him haven’t played the game.

Just to get this out of the way, Belphie’s character redemption arc suffered due to the 20 lesson limit in season one. His grand evil plan got put into motion in lesson 16, and we had to spend the entirety of lesson 17 (and into lesson 18) turning him into a viable Husbando (tm), therefore, his redemption and development was incredibly rushed.

Onto the good stuff 😈

My take on Obey Me and the brothers as a whole is that while yes, the writers have been woobifying them a whole lot, a LOT of their “toned down” behaviours can literally just be explained by them not having a *reason* to be assholes anymore because MC has done so much work to help them repair their relationships with each other.

I was raised Catholic (decently progressive Catholic, still got the fun guilt though lmao) and the way I was taught to view sin, was that it was an act of violence against someone else, and/or yourself, because there is some kind of deficiency or problem in your own life. It’s that whole “hurt people hurt people” thing, and you can literally SEE it with the brothers.

Lucifer isolates himself and puts on the persona of the tough, scary, intimidating eldest brother when in reality, he’s scared, and guilty, and fucking embarrassed about what happened with Lilith. You can see this when Luke took the Grimoire, Lucifer wasn’t acting out of rage, he was acting out of fear and disguising it, and then lashed out at Luke and MC and only stopped when Diavolo told him to because Dia is literally his boss.

Now what does this have to do with Belphie? Belphie is downright homicidal when the game starts in season one (which is why Luci locked him in the attic, to protect him AND the exchange program), now the question is “why?”

To put what Belphie has been going through in perspective: this guy has been drowning in guilt, trauma, grief, and self loathing for thousands of years. He feels guilty that Beel saved him instead of Lilith, and most importantly, he feels guilty that he led Lilith to the human world to begin with. He’s lashing out because he’s been grieving for thousands of years with no one to turn to about it BECAUSE THE OTHER BROTHERS ARE ALSO STILL GRIEVING

Now of course, this doesn’t excuse what Belphie did to MC, but it does EXPLAIN it. He’s so angry at humanity and himself that he’s the emotional equivalent of a suicide bomber. He’s self destructing and trying to take the people he’s blaming with him and praying that makes the guilt go away.

Finally, when Diavolo and Barbatos reveal Lucifer’s secret about what really happened to Lilith (how she was reincarnated and got to live a happy life as a human), this is the kick that gets ALL the brothers to finally be able to move on. We spent the entirety of season one making pacts and going on silly little adventures with everyone, all the while being the support system they needed to finally move on from their grief.

So THAT is why it makes me so angry when people act like Belphie is uniquely The Worst.

This is coming from someone who doesn’t mind writing the brothers at what I believe to be “their worst” in terms of shitty behaviour (if you want an example, look at how Asmo is currently behaving in A Lovecraftian Exchange Student). But I think characterizing Belphie as some pure evil villain is a massive disservice to him as a character. (Ignoring his survivor’s guilt and grief etc etc)

Also, to act like the other six brothers would immediately hate and despise Belphie over this is so wrong, I’m sorry but it’s grossly wrong. Belphie is their sweet baby brother, yes they love MC, but guys, especially at that point in season one, yes they liked MC, but BELPHIE 👏 IS 👏 THEIR 👏 BABY 👏 BROTHER. I think they’d be disappointed and maybe angry at him, but they’re not going to just up and abandon him, no chance about it.

I’d say the brothers didn’t truly begin to love-love MC until the end of lesson 18-20 after they’ve done some growing as people, but that’s just my interpretation.

Finally.

Y’all.

Did you forget that Belphie literally offered a pact to MC, SPECIFIED THAT IT WASNT BECAUSE OF THEIR CONNECTION TO LILITH BTW, and did this entirely of his own free will because he liked them???

Guys, a pact is offering control of the demon’s entire being! Belphie had grown enough in trusting a human to the point where he was willing to put his life in their hands!

This was so ramble-y and confusing, I’m so sorry- I just have so many thoughts about the brothers and Belphie in particular 😭😭😭

[lostsyren]

i have a request for a scene based on these seemingly cut out scenes in episode 4 for part 1

https://x.com/rafeslut/status/1848180750941552843

maybe how it would've turned out if it had not been cut out and how it led to that contemplation scene and eventually influenced his decisions in episode 5 in goat island, idk if that makes sense

𓆉 ❀ 🫧 the right thing

{a/n: thank you for the request, sorry it took me so long to get to it, but I hope you enjoy it and I hope it’s what you expected of the deleted scenes!}

{summary: what happened between rafe and sofia after the showdown in s4 episode 4 on the beach, and a little context to the deleted scene pictures we got from them!}

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼

It was downright cruel the way they were all treating Kiara and her friends, Sofia thought, face etched in concern as Ruthie plowed straight through the group all waving their hands at her to stop– to no avail despite their persevering efforts. Ruthie was like that, in the months Sofia got to know her– relentless.

Sofia glanced over at Rafe, who had a small smirk on his face, as if he was trying to hide his glee, but failed, even letting out a little laugh. Her discomfort grew, squirming as she listened to the defensive outcry coming from the other side of the beach.

She inhaled deeply, wrapping her arms around herself. At least it was over now.

But then Sofia heard the low rumble of the engine revving yet again, her frown returning.

The jeep sped up, sending sand flying in its wake, as Ruthie and Topper once gain hurtled past the pogues, who all dove for cover, before Ruthie tipped out her drink over Kiara.

Sofia’s heart sunk for the girl, as she lay on the ground, crestfallen with her hair dripping wet. The way Sofia’s supposed kook friends treated all the pogues made her wonder if they’d do the same thing to her, if it wasn’t for Rafe. The thought made her nauseous, imagining being humiliated the way Kiara was right now and like she was a couple days ago, when she’d overheard Rafe, Topper and Ruthie ridicule her behind her back.

Sofia looked over to Rafe, she didn’t know why, (perhaps for backup, perhaps for comfort), but he remained indifferent, gazing at the scene across the sand with a cool stoicism, lazily sipping at his beer. She shook her head in disdain, finding his behaviour repulsive. She didn’t care about Ruthie, Topper and the others– she cared about Rafe, still, even after he slandered their relationship to his friends.

Sofia spotted Kiara stride over to them, her face twisted in anger.

“Here she comes guys, on a warpath– get ready.” Topper teased with a deriding tone. Sofia observed from a safe distance, mouth still pursed in reproach.

“Look what you did– is this ok?” She yelled, holding out her hands. Sofia peered over to see a baby turtle, crushed in her palms, granules of sand stuck to its lifeless body. Ruthie glanced away, her mouth twisting in an unreadable emotion.

“No look at it! There was a turtle hatch you idiots– you drove right over it!”

Sofia had to avert her gaze, a sickness settling in the pit of her stomach. She hated being on the wrong side of this– being one of the people Kiara was yelling at.

“I understand you’re upset Kiara-“ Topper began.

“I’m more than upset Topper.”

“Alright but it was only one and I mean look,” Ruthie pointed out, tone casually cruel, “there’s so many more of them. A hatch is what? A hundred turtles? Most of them don’t make it anyway.”

“I think it’s like one in a thousand.” Topper added

Kiara shook her head in disbelief. “So?”

“So I think you should go throw that to the seagulls– cycle of life right?” Ruthie plastered on a scornful smirk, her eyes squinted as she stared down Kiara. Sofia could feel the tension fizzle between them.

“Cycle of life? Getting flattened by a truck?” Kiara jumped up suddenly, shoving Ruthie square in the chest.

Sofia bristled in shock, her arms falling away from around her waist as she stepped back from the commotion. Looking around for Rafe, she found him topping up his empty beer bottle, just disregarding the spat completely. She couldn’t help but scoff in annoyance at his as insouciance whilst Topper pulled back Ruthie and JJ reined in Kiara.

“Your move Kie, what are you gonna do?” Ruthie goaded.

Topper held out his hands placatingly, “I would just walk away ok? We’re not doing this.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you people.” Kiara avowed, Sofia glancing down at her feet at her words, a sinking shame tricking its way down her insides, before Kiara spun around back to her friends.

“Yeah that’s right, go back to your side Kie!” Ruthie called out, right before Kiara shoved their speaker to the ground.

“You come near her or any of us ever again, and I’ll come back and kill every single one of you.” JJ warned, before joining Kiara as they walked away.

Sofia hated this. Hated all of it. Her frown was stark on her face as she ignored the chitters of laughs and fragments of conversation around her, from people she barely knew.

She huffed a deep breath, before stepping back to look for Rafe– someone familiar, someone comfortable.

“I mean did you see that?” Ruthie commented as she walked past Rafe, Sofia hovering a couple feet away from him. She was waiting for him to say something…anything. He could’ve put a stop to this– Topper would’ve listened to him. But no, all he did was watch in silence, drinking like he always did.

“I saw it. All good shit, Ruthie.” He chuckled. Sofia crossed her arms around herself yet again. All good? It wasn’t all good, and she wished that her boyfriend had done something. These were his friends, not hers.

Sofia waited for him to come her way, her hands resting on her hips, face a picture of dismay. He locked eyes with her, and she hoped he’d apologise, criticise what had just occurred. say anything, but all he did was look at her with embarrassment, as if he forgot she was there.

“Not cool Rafe.” She scorned, as he walked past her to take a seat in one of the beach chairs, inciting Sofia’s rage to burn hot and fast.

“They deserved it,” he muttered.

“I wanna leave.” She instructed, her lips twisting in ire when he had to audacity to glance back at her with shock.

“Now!” She spun around, not waiting for him to follow, ready to gather all her things and head home, her mind swirling with shame, rage and disgust.

“What do you mean you wanna leave? We just got here!” He called out from behind her, as she frantically stuffed the sun screen and lotion into her beach bag.

“You serious right now Rafe? You feel good about what just happened?”

Some of the people surrounding them cast glances their way, beginning to whisper and quietly snicker behind shrouding hands.

“Ooo Rafe’s in trouble,” one person chided.

“Why’s she so pressed for?” Another pestered.

“Because she’s a pogue herself– didn’t you know?”

Sofia didn’t care though, but she could tell Rafe did.

“Look just chill ok? I thought you wanted to sunbathe?”

“Yeah well I don’t anymore– I want to go home.” Sofia pulled her tube top over her bikini as Rafe warily eyed everyone around them.

“Baby, just stop a minute yeah?” He tried a more consoling tone, which only cause Sofia to get even more angry.

She stepped through her white skirt, slipping on her sandals, and hoisted her beach bag over one shoulder, before wrapping her arms across her chest.

“I’m going.” She said with a stern face, turning on her heel ready to leave the beach.

Rafe ran a hand through his cropped hair, cursing under his breath before following Sofia down the sandy trail where his car was parked.

“Why are you so mad for?” Rafe wandered after her, easily keeping up with Sofia’s irascible stride with his long legs.

“The fact you have to ask me that is making more angry.”

“Oh come on, it was Ruthie and Topper, what was I supposed to do?”

Sofia stopped in her tracks, swivelling around to face him. They were far away from everyone else at the beach, protected by the thicket of trees encircling them.

“You could’ve said something– anything, but instead you just stood there and watched.”

“Yeah well I didn’t see you speak up either.” He muttered with an eye roll.

She scoffed, piercing him with her unwavering stare, “because in case you’ve forgotten Rafe, I’m a pogue too. You heard they way they were speaking about them– how do you think they’d react if another pogue told them to shut up huh?”

Sofia’s words were thinly veiled from her own insecurities, her hurt and rage at his previous comments resurfacing like flotsam that thrashed in the waters of her heart.

“I’m not living with a pogue…I have standards…”

“You’re not…” he trailed off, for once thinking before her spoke. “it’s different.” He didn’t elaborate how it was different though.

“Whatever Rafe, I saw you laugh and smile as if it was just some big joke– it wasn’t funny, it was straight up bullying.”

Rafe let out a short laugh, “bullying?” He scoffed, “that’s nothing compared to what they all did, they deserve whatever bad shit comes their way Sofia.”

“Yeah well I want no part in it.”

She left him, heading to his car, getting in the passengers seat with a sigh. She hated fighting with him. They both could be so different sometimes, and when they didn’t see eye to eye, it was never a good thing. She was stubborn like her father and Rafe was so…rageful– never towards her though, but when he felt strongly about something, she could feel it radiating off his body in scalding waves.

A moment passed before he got into the drivers seat. She could see him pace the leaf-strewn path, his ring clad fingers running though his buzz cut and he breathed in and out. She rolled her eyes at his dramatics.

The car door shut behind him with a loud bang, Sofia unable to see his face since she’d twisted away from him.

“Are you going to be mad at me for the rest of the day now?” He asked, tone sharp, as he tried to make eye contact with her.

Sofia just shrugged non-committaly, gazing out of the window.

“I did nothing wrong Sofia.” He tried to reason.

“You didn’t do the right thing either.”

Rafe didn’t respond to that.

She felt his hand hover over her knee, “look Sof, I don’t want to fight with you ok? Especially over something as stupid as this, yeah?”

She turned round to face him, her mouth still folded in a frown, “I want to go.”

He retracted his hand from her leg with a deep sigh, “fine– stay mad.”

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼

Rafe had tried everything to get her to speak to him normally again. When they reached the house she’d left straight away to have a shower, locking the door– she never usually locked the door.

And when she got out, she got dressed and went and made her own dinner as the sun began to set, the sky doused in the orange glow of the Outer Banks.

Rafe entered the kitchen, hoping to try and make amends yet again.

“Hey baby, what you making?” He murmured gently, sliding his hands around her waist from behind. His fingers brushed away the strands of her freshly shampooed hair, the decadent smell of strawberries filling his nose as he inched his head down to press soft kisses against her neck.

She quickly shrugged him off.

“I’m not in the mood Rafe.”

Stepping back, he tried to hide his dejected expression, leaving her to cook alone in the kitchen, disappearing in the study to let her have the house to herself for a bit. Maybe then she’d cool down.

It was getting late– they’d usually go to sleep around this time. So Rafe got up, shutting his laptop and left to go to their bedroom.

He heard Sofia brush her teeth in the en suite so he went and sat down on the mattress, waiting for her to come to bed.

After a while, she did, entering the room an impassive expression on her face. He tried to smile at her, but she didn’t look his way, instead walking up to the bed and grabbing a blanket, turning back around again.

“Wait, where are you going?” He asked getting up from off the bed, his brows stitched on confusion.

She remained calm, face as still as a lake. “I’m sleeping on the couch,” she said plainly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Sofia… you can’t still be mad at me?”

“I’m not mad…I just need some space.”

“I won’t get too close then.”

Sofia shook her head, “night Rafe,” she said softly, before heading out of the room, blanket trailing behind her, leaving him to curse exasperatedly under his breath– leave it to the Pogues to find a way to mess with his relationship too.

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼

After an hour or so fruitlessly grasping at sleep, Rafe paced the bedroom, biting at his thumb.

“You didn’t do the right thing either.”

Sofia’s words spun around his brain, making him think about all the shit he’d done. The memory of seeing Sarah today had lingered with him surprisingly, their silent gaze across the windswept beach reminding him of the terse look they shared a year and half ago on the tarmac, where he unknowingly sent his father to his death.

“Look it’s Sarah, do you think she’d want to talk?”

Sofia had asked him as she sat beside him earlier on the warm sand, with that sweet, gentle voice of hers. She always seemed to nudge him to do the right thing– the moral thing. And he always seemed to do the opposite. Rafe realised he couldn’t stand to disappoint her.

Quietly exiting the bedroom, he pattered down the stairs, heading to the living room. There she was, nestled into the sofa, the blanket fallen on to the floor. Rafe smiled to himself seeing her look so pretty and serene, noiselessly approaching and draping the blanket over her exposed legs.

He then meandered over to the gaping window, the cerulean night sky silhouetted by the swarthy trees and faint shape of boats lining the dock.

His eyes snagged on to the picture frames he’d packed from Tannyhill, the final memory of the family he once had. In all honesty, he was going to put them in the trash, or at least let them gather dust in some storage unit miles away; Sofia had been the one to convince him to keep them when she was helping him move out of Tannyhill all those many months ago.

“They’re your family Rafe, you can’t just throw them away like that, come on I’ll help you pack them up.”

It hurt to see that picture of him when he was in his early teens, making Sarah what? Ten? Eleven? Because all he could think about was how she looked when he held her under the water– the terror in her eyes, the tremble of her body. She’d turned into a little girl in that moment, so frail and scared..

“It’s Sarah…it’s your sister…please stop.”

She’d begged, clutching at him, clawing at him. The recollection made him nauseous.

His father used to always say “Family is the most important thing” and here he was alone and unmoored, his two baby sisters no longer with him. His heart ached with a sudden and deep grief, as if he’d just realised the extent of what he’d lost.

But he wasn’t completely alone…he still had Sofia. He sometimes thought of her like light– she had this effervescent, incandescent quality to her. The way her eyes would light up like liquid gold, how her hair glinted bronze in the sun, her smile exuding lustre. She’d make him feel lighter too. Rafe mulled over her words again.

She had a point– he didn’t do the right thing. And he was going to fix that by amending his relationship with Sarah, getting Wheezie back from Rose’s clutches, and finally start a family of his own– with the woman he loved. Sofia wouldn’t lead him astray.

Rafe walked over to her slumbering body, crouching down as quiet as he could be, taking a seat next to her. She stirred slightly, but stayed fast asleep, almost subconsciously nearing him in her dream state. The thought brought a small smile to his face.

His thinking drifted back to the morning, when they were getting ready for the beach. She was telling him how maybe Hollis’ deal was legit, about how the patrons of the club were all gunning for it.

Rafe knew how to show her he listened, show her he valued her– he’d take Sofia’s advice seriously. And with Goat Island soon to be his, Rafe could start that new life and finally start that family, all with Sofia by his side.

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜ 𓆉︎ ☼

[threepandas]

Bad End: Century Demons

The steam engine blasted vapor into the air. Cacophonous chatter from the crowds all around us, pressing like a physical weight. I truely did hate traveling. Granted, there was nothing for it, we were needed. Being their Majesty's Special Task Force and all. But STILL! Awful. Just, awful!

It was the pushing, really. The constant shoving. Flashs of insight into lives I wanted nothing to do with. That individual? Marriage was collapsing. This one? Had debts. The girl who just stepped on my foot, thought she was in love, but honestly? Any adult could tell you how badly it was going to end. He was using her.

Frankly, I wish we could walk. At this point? I would honestly take a flipping DONKEY! But nooooo! What has my husband decided to do? "Let's take the TRAIN, darling! It'll be an ADVENTURE! Save so much TIME!"

He's lucky I married him AT ALL. Fuck. I HAD options! Could have been a Baron's wife. Well-to-do! But NO, I wanted to HELP people. Like a FOOL. Gods, my mother was RIGHT! Cute air-heads WOULD be the death of-!

I finally spot Arthur, the sweet idiot, looking lost by our baggage. Map in hand. Like a confused puppy told to do arithmetic or be scolded, his anxiety is palpable. I gather my skirts and shove. Fuck being polite. Everyone ELSE seems to be fine, being stampeding herd animals. Why not I? Move!

"O-Oh thank goodness! Darling!" Arthur gasps, nearly dropping the map as he reaches for me as I get close. His eye are wide and his expression frazzled. Tone as though someone has been compressing his chest. "There are-! There are so many PATHS! I didn't-! And I-! Oh dear. W-what do we do? Darling, I can't-! It's so-!"

Damn it! I KNEW this would happen! This was an awful idea! Reaching for my husband's face, I cup his cheeks, propriety be damned. Pull him close to press his forhead against mine. Match my breath, dear. Focus, darling, just... focus. Close your eyes. You do not See. Curse crowded places and what they do to us. We should have moved to the countryside years ago.

But no, no Arthur would never leave his Sister. And I'll not leave him behind. Damn it all, why? WHY?

Why did she have to pick the Nobility Route?

It was bad enough, remembering this world "wasn't real". That it had a "plot" for Gods sake. Bad ENOUGH to realize that the monster under the bed very much WERE a real and present threat, that I SHOULD be concerned about. But fool that I am? Did I HAVE to fall in love with the Protagonist's brother? Sweet and foolish? A simple, if air headed man? Apparently!

All I could do, now, was try to protect him. Try and protect myself.

Ignore the nasty, judging looks, being sent our way. Piss off! The lot of you! I took no vows to YOU. Stood in no church! There us exactly ONE person in the train station I care about, and it is NONE of you, so keep your snide opinions to yourself! Breathe, Arthur. There we go, dear.

Pulling back slightly, I check his eyes. They flick and track things unseen. He is still unusually pale. He... he will be rather disappointed. He was excited to try the trains. To him? They are a bold new technology.

Maybe once we get farther from the city. Here, at least, he is drowning.

Then, a change. Sudden and swiftly building. Whatever Paths my husband traced were disappearing, narrowing, even as terror sweeped across his face. Only twice I had ever seen this before. Once, was an earthquake. The largest seen in over 400 years. The other? A bombing just before the royal wedding, we had been still engaged then. But the way he had frozen? Mid-sentence?

It is BURNED into my mind. Just like the horror that followed.

Bellowing, I command everyone to get out. Evacuate.

NOW.

But already... it is too late. Down the line of the train, terrible symbols flash into being. Molten red metal, on the side of the train cars themselves, instants before the BLOW. Unspeakable shrapnel bombs. Made of people and metal and MAGIC. The train cars lifted from the tracks by the knock back, smashing into fleeing crowds, even as the next car goes off. And then the next. And the next.

A writhing chain of death.

Like the dying spasms if a great snake.

My husband is frozen. No. As I drag him down? I realize with horror, worse. Seizing. It has NEVER been this bad! What is HAPPENING?! What Path is he SEEING that could cause such OVERLOAD? Terrified, I watch as thin trails of blood, seep from his eyes, his nose. Oh Gods. Oh GODS! Arthur? ARTHUR!

Love! Stay with me! Please! D-Darling, Please! Focus on my voice! You have to let them GO! Close your EYES, Arthur! Don't look! Please, DON'T LOOK! It's KILLING YOU!

"That's rather the point."

I stop. From on the ground, where I crawl. Dragging my unresponsive husband to safety. My gaze finally whips around to ahead of us. Amongst the chaos... stands a conductor. Pressed uniform clean and hair entirely too long. His eyes... oh Gods, his EYES. I do not need to touch him to know. That? THAT is not a human.

Not anymore.

Shrapnel flies harmlessly over us, but comes no where near him. As though where he stands is Forbidden to touch. All around him, those fleeing? Suffering? Do not notice him. Do not SEE. Yet, on instinct alone... avoid him.

Because, of course they do. B-because that?

That Is A Demon.

We weren't even remotely prepared for this. And even if we WERE. Everything is packed away. Pressed to the floor, all I can do? Is drag my husband close. Feel tear begin to fill my eyes and choke my throat, as I curse the Gods. Damn it. D-Damn it! I drag Arthur under me. A-as though... as though we were just... just resting at home. Cuddling, as we so often do.

I-It will be okay, darling. Come back to me. Arthur... Please...

(We promised to go together...)

"He really is useless, isn't he? Can't protect you. Couldn't warn you. Can't even die, where he's supposed to be. Really, how hard is it? To just get on the damned train? Quite inconsiderate, your worthless lump of a first husband. It really won't be hard, no doubt, to surpass him in every way."

I drag Arthur closer. Cradling his head to me chest. You'll have to go through ME, you fucking monster! It's.. it's a laughable defense. I'm tissue paper. We both are. With out supplies and the proper anti-demonics? H-he's going to SHRED us. But... but! I took a VOW.

Married this man.

I... I love him.

Even if he's not awake. Even if he's trapped in his own gifts by this BASTARD of a Demon. That's.. That's okay. I'm still here. W-We're still together. And I love him. Silly, ridiculous, air-headed fool that he is. My quite scholar. M-My best friend. I glare at the damnable creature before us.

"You really do have such lovely eyes." It notes, tilting it's head. "Does he appreciate them? Somehow, I doubt it. He makes you live in squalor, after all. Dresses you in rags and works you like an animal. You were meant for so much... more. I can feel it."

With a boneless grace he squats, bringing him closer even as I try to drag us away, he reaches out. One hand both perfectly human yet tipped with claws. In the distance, I hear doors being forced open. Commanding voices. Prayers and the glimpses of shining light. The Paladins are here.

Too late... I... I fear it is too late.

Demon skin touchs my face and I scream, as I am cast beneath the waves. It is so dark. Oh Gods. OH GODS. IT IS SO DARK. HELP ME. HELP ME! IT HURTS! It HuRtS! HELP M-!

"Shhh, drink deep and sink down, Love. I will be there to catch you. Forget about him. Forget about everything. You are made for so much more. We were meant to be together. Just let go, sweet."

"Just let go..."

[wisteria-lodge]

do you think lucius only realize he don't want to be a death eater after voldemort was defeated in the 1st war or even during it?

speaking of what are your thoughts/hc on why narcissa didn't take the dark mark despite her sister and her husband doing it? tbh i always wondered how she could've avoided it? i mean she was part of it right, she was in the meetings too

I always thought it made sense that Draco was a difficult pregnancy.

I say that because Lucius and Narcissa seem like the sort of couple who would have loved more children. Narcissa was close with her sisters before things fell apart, and Lucius was an only child... but he's so social I think that must have been lonely for him. I think he would have loved it if Draco had a younger brother or sister. And the only barrier they'd be dealing with there would be a medical one, so.

(also, I love whenever the the Malfoys and the Weasleys are foils, and the idea of Draco and Ron being born at pretty much the same time - but Ron is one of many, a little neglected, mom is a little disappointed he's not a girl etc. while DRACO is so wanted and so special. That's good stuff.)

I also think that if the Malfoys were dealing with fertility issues, Narcissa suffering, maybe even having a miscarriage - that would have made early-twenties Lucius grow up REAL fast. Because yeah, I do think that when Draco was born - about a year before Voldemort's downfall - Lucius' priorities shifted completely, and he started looking for a way out.

And I say that because Lucius rode the wave of the first war really well, coming out with his money and prestige so intact, which would have taken some planning. Lucius is also one of very few Death Eaters who actually got off using the 'imperius curse' defense. (I think the only other one is Avery.) I like the idea that he did actually plan that. Like - okay. You could have someone you trust (Narcissa, maybe Severus) put the imperius curse on you for a couple months, and that way when you're asked "Were you directed to follow Voldemort's orders under the imperius curse," you can say yes, even if you're under Veritaserum.

(Nott senior also seems to have also come out of the first war basically unscathed, but he also seems much more cautious than Lucius. I'll bet he was very good at making sure that there was never much actual evidence against him. Crabbe and Goyle senior also seem to be doing fine, and I tend to think it's because Lucius got them out (possibly because their wives were close with Narcissa? All three women would have been pregnant at the same time.) Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle are *quite* committed to keeping Draco Malfoy in one piece. I love Draco, but he does spend several books being a little shit with no ability to defend himself, so they do have their work cut out for them.

I also think a Narcissa who spent the first Voldemort war dealing with pregnancy-related health issues could explain why she doesn't have a Dark Mark, when honestly she really should. Her husband, sister, brother-in-law, underage cousin... they're all getting them. So why was Narcissa skipped (but still allowed to remain in good standing?) I think she she stayed out of the spotlight, using her delicate health as an excuse. And then the second war comes around and she... fades to the background again, makes herself useful, and hopes that the issue never comes up. I don't think she'd say no to a confundus, or even a memory charm if she were really put on the spot.

(but the real, Doylist reason Narcissa doesn't have a Dark Mark is because JKR has a very strong aversion to writing villainous mothers. See: the very odd framing of Merope Gaunt.)

[yanderes-galore]

may i request a romantic yandere concept for Lucifer with Fallen Angel! Darling? Maybe he used to have a crush on them before he fell, so seeing them again after such long time just makes his old feelings come back in the worst way possible..

Thank you so much for giving me a background, lol! It helped a lot when working on this ^^ Sorry for the long wait, hope it was worth it.

Yandere! Lucifer with Fallen Angel! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Possessive behavior, Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Forced relationship.

Before Lucifer fell? What a long time...

Yet he no doubt remembers his time up there.

I imagine Lucifer knew you before he seduced Eve and married Lilith.

He kinda has to, right?

You were probably his first companion... Possibly a crush he had no idea how to act on.

He was quite... naive? Young?

Either way, back then he was rather inexperienced, even as an angel.

He always asked too many questions and seemed to stick his nose where it doesn't belong.

You knew him well back then.

You were two close friends, Lucifer had always remembered you fondly.

Everything about you was, well, angelic.

Your smile, your gaze, your pretty pure wings.

Like many things in heaven, you were a beauty to behold.

Lucifer, in hindsight, wishes he spent more time with you.

Things were simple back then.

Just two angels, sharing some talk.

There was no Hell yet and Lucifer was still that beaming dreamer that many found troublesome.

But you never thought that.

You were just as curious.

You were curious about him, humankind, and all of creation.

Even before Lucifer met Lilith it seems he was corrupting you.

Lucifer often told you of the dealings he and Lilith did.

He wasn't sure why... but maybe it was because you'd always perk up with stars in your eyes when you listened.

Although... Once temptation was introduced to humankind...

You were forced to watch Lucifer fall from grace.

Lucifer still remembers the fear in your eyes when you watch your companion fall.

He had always remembered you since that day.

Yet he was also occupied with his new wife, Lilith, deep in this new kingdom created by their hands.

Hell.

Honestly, Lucifer didn't think he'd see you again.

Why would he?

Far as he knew, you were quite the pure angel.

You belonged up there... while he deserved to take his punishment.

Lucifer didn't start thinking about you again until Lilith disappeared.

It was then, when he was alone with his rubber ducks, that he began to realize how much you meant to him.

He's a king... yet he's a pitiful king in this state.

Even now he misses the companionship you two would share.

But then there's... news.

A fallen angel has entered Hell.

Lucifer would normally not care when another soul enters Hell.

But an angel?

That's already surprising enough.

He probably met you after helping Charlie rebuild the Hotel.

Which only seems to surprise him more.

At first, well, he thinks he's dreaming.

There's... There's no way you're here!

Yet when he gets a close look...

It is you.

This was really you.

You look different due to the fall... but you.

Lucifer probably tears up when he sees you, like seeing a long lost friend.

A long lost love...

He's been alone for so long.

I don't doubt him hugging you when he sees you, baffling you and the other demons for a moment.

Until Lucifer starts dumping info, saying you two were close in Heaven.

Lucifer is quite excited you came down here.

He isn't sure how you ended up here...

Yet he's happy you are!

It's for... selfish reasons, but that's expected of a demon.

With you here, he's no longer alone!

He has his fellow (fallen) angel friend to keep him company!

Not only that... but he wants to show you the world he's been thriving in for... who knows how long?

You're scared when you first arrive... Completely expected.

You fell due to following Lucifer's teachings and agreeing with Charlie's plan to reform sinners.

Which is how you end up falling into Lucifer's new home.

Knowing how delusional and alone Lucifer is at this point, even after reconciling with his daughter, he'd probably think this was destiny.

You two were meant to meet again!

You were meant to save him from being lonely like the angel you are! (were?)

You'd no doubt be Lucifer's next love interest, even if you were technically his first.

Sometimes he's sorry for being away for so long.

You two would've been cute together up there...

....

But that can still happen, right!?

Lucifer definitely shows you around his home and reminisces about your time together in Heaven.

To you, he's like a friend who simply hasn't seen another friend in a long time.

Yet that's such a naive view...

In reality, due to his fragile mental state, Lucifer is quickly falling in love all over again.

I imagine now, in Hell, his feelings get twisted.

After all, he's no angel anymore.

You aren't either.

He can be possessive, he can be manipulative...

He's clingy, desperate, and hopes you still enjoy his presence.

To him, everything about you is still beautiful.

He hopes you're still a dreamer.

He hopes you understand how he feels.

He's delusional, probably accidentally confessing within weeks.

Then when he realizes it, he begs you to stay.

He's a king now!

He'll give you everything and anything!

Please don't leave too!

If... If you do...

Maybe he needs to clip your wings?

Lucifer doesn't have many... morals in this state.

Again, King of Hell and all.

So keeping you with him by force, even if he doesn't fully realize it, doesn't register as wrong to him.

He'll manipulate you or straight up lock you away.

If he wanted to restrict your power, he probably could since you both are fallen angels.

He's desperate to not be alone again.

He clings to you, perhaps even in demonic form, pleading you don't leave.

When you try to pull away, try to reason, try to run from your corrupted friend...

He merely strokes your wings in a comforting touch, whispering sweet nothings...

Before locking you away, chaining your wings, just so he can keep his closest companion.

Your wings bleed with your attempts to flee... the glowing ichor staining your skin.

You're miserable... tortured by your delusional companion's obsession...

But to Lucifer...

It was torture losing you... torture being alone...

But now, you're in his territory, his domain...

Now? Well, now you'll never leave him!

He won't let it happen.

He's sick of being alone.

He just wants to hold you... kiss you... love you...

He wants you to be his.

He's waited a long time for this.

He knows you're scared... but... you'll grow used to your new home...

He'll take care of you, he'll love you until he sees that familiar sparkle of happiness in your eyes...

But just when he thinks he sees your eyes sparkle when you look at him...

He quickly realizes it's tears.