#i guess he have a mind of his own because it just happened

[aurumalatus]

two.

a short series in which you share a multitude of kisses with childhood friends to lovers!kinich over your lifetime.

your bedroom feels overwhelmingly hot.

the a/c is on, you know because your curtains are billowing from the cool air pooling from the vent underneath them. summers are always this warm, when the humidity grows high and sweat sticks to your skin in layers.

kinich is laying on your bed, fanning himself with a stray magazine he had plucked from your nightstand. on days like these, it's too hot for you to even make the walk to the park down the street, or to the skatepark. you'd be drowning in sweat before you made it there, you're sure.

"so you've never kissed anyone?"

you don't even really remember how the conversation started. all you know is that the two of you had been talking about things you'd never done before, and you'd arrived at this. the girls in the locker room had been discussing it—their first kiss—including who it was with and what it was like.

the mere thought makes you gnaw at your lip, tension filling the room.

"...have you?" you reply, glancing over to your best friend. he doesn't seem nearly as bothered by the subject matter as you are.

"nope. i don't really care though," he sighs, which is so typical of him, you think. unlike you, kinich cares very little what the other kids in your grade think of him.

but you care, and you're starting to worry that you're falling behind in that...developmental area. you've managed to deflect any questions about the topic from the other girls in your class, but you fear that you won't be able to keep it up for long.

kinich sits up, shuffling forward on your bed to stare at where you sit on the ground. his gaze is inquisitive, and you suddenly feel very vulnerable.

"but let me guess," he starts, tossing his makeshift fan aside, "you care."

as always, he has you all figured out. after a moment of hesitation, you nod.

"i do. i know it's lame, but i feel like the other girls will think i'm..."

"a prude?"

you sigh. "something like that."

another moment passes before kinich is crawling off the bed, sitting cross-legged before you. his proximity makes the heat worse, but you don't hate it.

"alright," he shrugs, scooting closer. "then i'll kiss you, and you can tell everyone it was me."

you flinch in alarm, head knocking against the drawer of your wooden dresser. kinich's eyes widen, hands already outstretched toward you, but you interrupt him with your own spluttering.

"wh-what?! what are you talking about? you can't just do that!"

he tilts his head. "why not? is it because you're embarrassed for it to be me?"

"no!" you defend instantly. you'd never be embarrassed to be around kinich. "but...don't you want it to be with a girl you actually like?"

"i do like you."

you shake your head. you know what he means, but you were implying a different kind of like. still, the thought of sharing your first kiss with kinich isn't...awful. it's a bit comforting to share it with someone you trust, even moreso when you know that he hasn't done it before either.

finally, after thinking on it a bit more, you nod firmly.

"okay."

kinich raises a brow. "okay?"

and then he's leaning in, and you don't know whether to close your eyes or leave them open. you're trying to remember every teen romance movie you've ever watched after your mother went to bed, but your memory fails you. but he's already so close, and you rush forward a little too fast and—

your lips bump together clumsily, and you wince at the feeling. it's weird, certainly, and you're honestly not sure if you're doing it right at all. you can feel kinich's lashes brushing against your skin, and the feeling makes you shiver.

it's chaste, so brief that it's over before it even really registers in your mind that it happened. your mind is racing by the time kinich pulls away, and you find yourself meeting his eyes far too quickly.

his gaze is warm. "that okay?"

you nod, wondering what the blooming feeling in your chest could mean.

"yeah," you reply, swallowing thickly. "it was okay."

[potchi-fics]

attention

i | ii | iii |

 an engineer is what you are in piltover. your life mostly consists of work, work, sleep, more work, and helping people when you have free time, so just more work– it’s all you’ve known for whole your life. 

so tell me why you’re in Zaun, hiding under your cloak, gripping your dagger tightly in your small but calloused hands. you do not belong here , you think to yourself. you feel uneasy, anxious, fidgety, tense, on edge; hell, all the synonyms for those words. the thought of zaunites being violent has been engraved in your brain, all the years you’ve been in topside are to be blamed. thuds of your boots meeting the wet ground reach your ears and you cant help but feel their stares, glares , on your figure so you do the next thing that pops up in your mind: enter the bar .

you heave out a sigh at the sight of the bar, drunkards sleeping on the counter. you turn your head and you see a group of people playing cards. you turn your head one more time to see some shady stuff happening in the corner so you choose to ignore it and make yourself seated on a stool– a couple of chairs away from a snoring drunk. 

“what’ll you have?” a rough voice interrupted you from taking a longer look around.

       your gaze falls onto the bartender, catching a glimpse of his name tag: markus. opting for a light drink, you ordered a beer. finally settling down, you feel your muscles relax, convincing yourself that you’re safe.

a clink from the glass cup brings your attention back to markus, still a bit jumpy. “first time?”

“what?” your voice is thick with surprise, unintentionally exposing yourself. 

“not a speck of dirt on you,” he starts, “not even a speck of dust on you. what are you doing here, topsider?” 

       markus’ eyes doesnt judge you, the use of his nickname topsider does not hold any judgment. your shoulders slump down slightly as relief washes over you because, for some reason, you just know that he wont rat you out to the public.

beer almost escaping the cup seeing you quickly bring it up to your lips, “to be honest with you, i dont even know, man. i guess i just got curious?”

he snorts, busying himself with cleaning other cups, “curiosity will get you killed, lady.” 

       you talk for a few minutes before getting interrupted by a sudden yelling. you dont bother to look around– given the sounds of punching, groaning, and more punching, you figure to mind your own business. instinctively, your hand reaches for your dagger just in time when a drunkard sluggishly approaches you.

slurred words, a stinky smell fills your aroma which makes you wince, “what’re you doin’ here all ‘lone, pretty?”

you try to ignore him.

“hey,” he puts his hand on your shoulder, “im talking to you, bitch.”

       blink and they’d miss how you swat his filthy hand away from you just to stab it into the counter. screams of agony filled the already noisy bar but you could only glare at the man– your eyes soulless and dead. 

he grabs your wrist holding the dagger with his other hand. “you bitch,” he manages to snarl out. 

“yeah? sorry,” you finish him off by slamming his head on the side of the counter, “didnt hear you.” you spat out.

       effectively knocking him out, you angrily take back your dagger, making eye contact with the scared bartender. his eyes widening signaled you that someone was behind you, ready to strike. mentally thanking him, you took a step to the side, barely escaping an angry fist. men are such babies. seeing an opening for a strike to his head, you took it– mustering all the strength in your body to punch him. he stumbles back a bit while holding his head before charging at you– however, you were much quicker: you threw your remaining beer at his face, distracting and blinding him for a moment. but a moment is all you need; you stab his side, lifting his head by pushing his jaw upwards, you pull out your knife before sinking your lovely knife into his shoulder. he didnt get a chance to scream since you grabbed his head with both of your hands and forcibly slamming his face down on the stool.

“fuck,” you pant out, adrenaline pumping in your veins now. “fucking stupid ass fucking bitches gettin’ on my fucking damn nerve. what is wrong with you drunkards.”

      with a crouch, you snatched your dagger from the man’s shoulder, wiping it on his clothes in the process of cleaning it. once more, you look at markus– taking notice of the eerily quiet bar, shit , the curse echoed in your mind.

you bring your finger up to your lips to signal him to be quiet. one last look at the man on the floor, you throw change into the bloody counter and leave the bar as fast as possible. you turn to alleyways to alleyways to run away from a bar because you know that you made a scene, and the last thing that you want is attention.

what you dont know is a cloaked figure, smoke coming out of her cigarette is already watching your every move. you dont know that you’ve caught the eyes of a one-armed army, her mechanical arm softly humming as its gears and fans do their jobs.

       you dont know you’ve caught the attention of sevika.

[imnotditzy]

Captain Marvel doesn’t know what a normal death is

(TW: mentions of death, brief mentions of murder gang violence)

No but really if you ask a street rat, literal living lighting, a bunch of ancient immortal people and a really wise king from a bajillion years ago, why would a reasonable answer be an option?

Like Billy thinks that if you’re 60 one of your feet are in the grave. Why? Because that was the life expectancy in the 50s. He's also homeless so he’s already more exposed to crime anyway, I wouldn’t doubt he thinks death by “minding someone else’s business” is common enough to be recorded as such in its own category and not murder. Also, he literally fights supervillains who try to kill him everyday? His view is skewed so much, that the damage might be irreversible. 😭

Moving on, Marvel is literally sentient magic. They can’t die, and if they can it’s not a thing that’s very easy to come by. The amount of work it takes to even do the equivalent of a paper cut is excessive, the concept of them dying would take a lot to set in. And they are a lost cause when it comes to knowing what a normal death is. The only “normal” deaths they’ve really paid attention to are the deaths of the Champions…and none of them had anything close to a normal death. (One of them literally gets hacked in two 💀)

The acronym; do I even have to explain? All of them besides Solomon, Heracles and Achilles literally haven’t died. And literally no hero in Greek mythology dies normally. Solomon is the only one who’s died of natural and normal causes, but he was alive in the BCE. That is a long time ago.

Now, Combine all of them together and what do you get? Captain Marvel: someone who does not have a correct interpretation of typical death!

This would probably concern others around them. Especially the JL, because I feel like Captain would mention this randomly.

—

(Green Lantern [Hal] and Captain Marvel were sent to investigate a crime scene together and they stumble upon the body.)

Captain Marvel: Aw…seems like their time came. (Captain’s got a sympathetic but large smile.)

Green Lantern (looking down at the stabbed body): Um, Cap?

Captain: It’s a shame. But I guess nothing could be done…

Lantern: Captain, they were stabbed???

Captain: Oh, I know. Happens to the best of people, right?

Lantern: Uh —No? Captain this is…worrying??

Captain: They’re in a better place now. Maybe.. ☺️

—

(They’re now back at the watchtower for a debrief, but it somehow turned into Batman questioning Captain Marvel.)

Batman: Captain can you explain why the body was not concerning to you?

(Batman’s staring at Captain intensely.)

Captain (confused smiling): …because there was nothing to worry about?

Batman (raising an eyebrow): Why?

Captain (hesitant): Because there’s probably not a serial killer or whatever running around? They killed an insider, it was gang violence.

Batman: How were you sure?

(Captain looks up to the side like their remembering before shrugging)

Captain: …Oh, I’ve seen similar bodies like that before.

—

(This occurrence is reason #5738 on why Captain Marvel cannot interact with civilians. But in Captain’s defense, how was Billy supposed to know lifespans updated?)

Captain Marvel (pointing at an “old” lady): Oh, she’s 62?

Citizen: Yeah?

Captain (sympathetic): Oh. It’s good she’s still on her feet though.

Citizen: What?

Captain: She’s thriving for her age, right?

Citizen: C—Captain Marvel, she’s 60 not 99. She just retired.

Captain (confused): Really? Why would they have her working so long if she’s nearing the end? (The lady turns around with this expression on her face: 😟)

Citizen: Because she wanted to?? Captain are you ageist?

Captain (never heard that word a day in his life): Uh, I don’t think so? What does that even mean??

(The media later somehow gets ahold of the footage and it becomes such a scandal it reaches the JL; Captain Marvel is then forced to have a public statement. At the giant press conference, Mary and Freddy are there standing next to him and laughing.)

Captain Marvel (whispering): Shut up, it’s not like you thought any different.

Miss Marvel (also whispering): Yeah but we’re not stupid enough to say it to their face, Captain.

Captain Marvel (still whispering): It’s not like you guys would have any less scandals than I do if you were in the media as much as I am.

Reporter (impatiently): Ahem. Marvels?

(Both siblings look like deer in headlights while Freddy laughs at them. They both apologize in unison.)

(Captain then clears their throat, they look like they’re dreading this.)

Captain Marvel: I am terribly sorry for what I said about [62yo citizen]. I hadn’t intended to be rude, but I seemed as such because I had a gap in my…

Solomon (telling him what to say): …Knowledge. I was under the assumption that the average lifespan wasn’t much longer than a person’s 60s…

Captain (repeating what Solomon’s saying): I now know that, while once true, that information is outdated.

(Billy went on for three more minutes, only stopping because the DTC got too bored and people were starting to give him funny looks.)

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

can i pretty pls request a fluffy nash oneshot 🙏🏻

one with banter somewhat similar to how he and libby talk 🙏🏻 (in the tiny moments we get of them 💔)

thank you so much for this request!! I know it was requested a while ago, so sorry it’s taken me this long. I gave it a go, but I don’t think I hit the nail right on the head with what you requested, sorry!!

title: comfort from a cowboy

pairing: nash hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you had a not-so-nice interview and nash comforts you

warnings:

a/n: for @kit4strophe 💖💖

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast

My head rests against the hard wall behind me and I’ve been sat on the floor for so long my bum has gone numb. But I can’t be bothered to get up and move, I don’t have enough energy.

I replay the interview - or should I call it an interrogation - that had happened just a few hours earlier. It’s been on a sort of loop in my brain for a while now. The same blood boiling questions over and over and over. I never want to go through that again.

I hear my door open which is odd because when it’s shut usual no one bothers me, they know better than to. I don’t open my eyes immediately. I play a little game with myself, a silent game - ‘who is at the door’. Jameson? Unlikely. Grayson? Almost a definite no. Alisa? Don’t see it happening. Xander? A possibility. Nash? I doubted it. Avery? Wouldn’t be surprised. Oren? Only if there’s an emergency. Libby? Most likely.

I open my eyes and to my surprise my guess is annoyingly wrong. Usually I’m quite good at guessing games but I supposed today was an exception. Maybe it’s because there’s so much on my mind.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, scrunching up my nose at the sight of a certain texan cowboy motorcyclist.

“Careful,” he warns, the corners of his lips turning up in the slightest way, as he saunters in and sits down beside me, “you almost look happy to see me.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeat, not really in the mood for his games or anyone’s games for that matter.

“Sitting beside you,” he replies simply.

I narrow my eyes and shoot him a look, “don’t be cryptic.”

“You asked,” Nash shrugs, acting so laid back he was nearly horizontal.

“Why are you here?” I rephrase sharply, a tone he couldn’t ignore or twist or make light of.

“To make sure you’re alright,” he answers me earnestly, something in his deep hazel eyes that resembled concern.

“Well I’m fine, there we go,” I say shortly, “end of story, goodbye, the door is to your left.”

I close my eyes again and tilt my head back to rest on the wall, assuming he’d leave at my finalisation.

“I’m very aware of where the door is,” he drawls, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to use it.”

I internally scream in frustration and then open my eyes to meet his.

“Look I’m not in the mood for socialising right now,” I explain, trying hard not to sound too angry and defensive otherwise me might keep prying.

Nash is understanding. If I told him this, maybe he’d understand a kindly leave me be.

“You don’t have to socialise with me,” he says calmly, the soothing quality of his voice making it almost impossible for me to be mad at him.

“Fine,” I snap, standing up and perching myself on the end of my bed.

I won’t socialise. He can sit there bored out of his mind for all I care, in fact I hope he does. I lay back on the bed my head hitting the mattress with a soft thud. I want to sleep and rid myself of being such a prisoner to my own thoughts but for some reason I can’t bring myself to. And I know that reason is called Nash Hawthorne.

“Say something,” I groan sitting up.

If we have the conversation he so clearly wants, then he would leave, then I could sleep. Simple.

“What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Just say something,” I exasperate, “the silence is killing me.”

A small smirk plays on his lips, “what happened to no socialising?”

“Just shut up and stay something,” I nearly yell.

“That phrase is one confusing oxymoron,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re a moron,” I reply, snarkily.

He laughs at me. It was a real laugh, not a pity one. His eyes are lit up and the smile fills his face. It is a pretty laugh, I think that’s what annoys me the most. I liked it.

“Tell me something,” I press on, “anything.”

He pauses for a minute. And then another. And then another. Until the pause is so long I wonder if he’s going to talk at all. Slowly he makes his way beside me again and looks deep into my eyes like he can read them.

“You don’t like all this,” he begins, “you didn’t ask for it, you wish you could go back to your old life but feel selfish and guilty to wish that because people would die to be in your situation.”

I try not to betray my shock but I’m awful at hiding my thoughts and feelings. My face probably says it all. Part of me is angry. He shouldn’t know this. I shouldn’t be this easy to read. It’s not fair. The other part is touched that someone care this much.

I fold my arms protectively across my chest and raise my eyebrows, “and who are you to tell me that?”

“An observer,” he says, almost gently.

“Stop observing me,” I tell him, “I’m not a project.”

“Oh I would never dream of considering you a project,” he replies, his voice deep in the back of his throat.

I move in closer, pinning him with an accusing look, “then what do you consider me?”

“Hold your horses, darlin’, I’m asking the questions here,” Nash grins, something about the way the light sparkles in his eyes gets under my skin.

“Says who? And don’t call me darling,” I tell him bluntly.

“Says me,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

He doesn’t add a darlin’ on the end and part of me respects him for that. If I’d been talking to anyone else they probably would’ve tried to piss me off even more. But Nash isn’t like that, he never has been.

“Well I don’t care what you have to say,” I quip.

“I never asked you to care,” he replies, his voice reminding me of a waveless sea.

I glance at him and find his eyes are already on me, I exhale slowly and ask him one more time, “why are you here?”

“To make sure you’re okay,” he answers in an instant. No double meanings, no puzzles, no avoidance, just a straight answer. But it takes me by surprise just as much.

I try to cover my true feelings, “why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I saw it,” Nash tells me softly, apology decadently laced through his eyes.

He was referring to the interview of course. I didn’t know he watched mine like I watched his.

“I told you not to watch,” I scowl.

“I’m not very good at listening,” he shrugs.

“Clearly,” I roll my eyes, playing with the fabric of my jumper sleeve to avoid looking at him.

“So are you okay?” he asks, again his voice stole that gentle tone that made my heart melt into mush.

“I’m fine,” I reply, keeping my tone cold and hard.

Of course I’m not fine. I am anything but fine. But saying you’re fine is so much easier than talking through the hard parts, the truth. And sometimes if you pretend it’s fine for long enough you can trick yourself into believing it too.

“I know what happened,” he reminds me with a tenderness that made my limbs ache to curl against his body.

“And I’m fine,” I say sharply, still in denial, still trying to be too stubborn for my own good.

“Well now you’ve told me twice it makes it all the more real,” he barks out a laugh.

I roll my eyes.

“Why do you care so much anyway,” I scoff.

“You’re important.”

The answer is lightning fast, almost like a reaction. It doesn’t have to be thought about, pondered or even considered. It’s just engraved into his brain as the thing that feels more natural, the most ‘right’ to reply with.

“What?”

“You’re important and I care that you’re okay,” he says.

I don’t know what mix of emotions hit my chest, I just know they hit with an impact that knocks all the air out of my lungs. He cares. I’m important to him. He wants to know I’m okay.

“What are you hiding under that cowboy hat?”

He almost chokes on his own spit in surprise. Then gain composure and leans back, raising an eyebrow, “you’re changing the subject?”

“Answer my question,” I demand, narrowing my eyes.

“What do you mean what am I hiding under my cowboy hat?” he muses with a sweet small smile.

“Well you have it on 24/7,” I explain, “so I presume you’re hiding something.”

“Just because something is covered up doesn’t mean it’s hiding something,” he says ,”and it goes both ways, just because something looks normal doesn’t mean it’s not hiding something.”

I have a feeling he’s not talking about cowboy hats anymore.

“I did what I had to do,” I reply.

“Stayed silent?” he asked.

“It was better,” I press on.

A flicker of rage flashes through his face, “people don’t get to talk to you like that.”

“I know,” I yell back.

“Then why did you let them,” he asks me, annoying not raising his voice to escalate the situation.

I fancy a good yelling match in this moment with all the anger built up inside of me, he can see that and he isn’t giving in. I can’t tell if I like him more for doing that or not.

“Not every battle is worth fighting,” I snap back, “you should know that better than anyone.”

“I do,” he replies, almost cautiously, “but some are.”

“If people see you’ll fight everything you throw at them they will use that against you,” I tell him, “if you act unbothered in the first place you can surprise them one day and fight back.”

“You’re a tactical thinker,” Nash comments.

“Who cares what I am?” I reply.

His voice softens with every feature of his face, “I care.”

And there it is again. That mix of emotions with impact just hurling towards my chest. I never know what to say, it steals all my words before I get to say them. So silence consumes us, as if we’re two eskimos dead in the snow, the frostbite gnawing at our frozen bodies.

“You don’t have to act tough in front of me darlin, I can see right through you,” he murmurs, so softly I wonder why I didn’t just melt on the spot.

“Don’t call me darling,” I snap, avoiding his eyes.

I’m worried if I look into them I’ll tell him everything. And I can’t risk pouring everything out, not when I’ve hidden it so well for this long.

“I’m here,” he says desperately.

I feel as his hand clasps around mine, giving it two squeezes. Reassurance. My heart pounds in my chest. I want to tell him, I want to be free of my problems, I want someone to help me. But I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

“I know,” I pause for a long while and he lets me, “it’s just hard.”

My voice cracks at the last word. After being so steady for so long it was bound to happen at some point.

“I know,” he says delicately, “believe me, I know.”

I let one tear slip down my cheek but as it rolls down, for my dignity he pretends not to notice. Always a gentleman.!

“I hate people,” I whisper, “they really suck.”

It was all I could manage without completely breaking down.

“I hate people too,” he agrees. I let him put an arm around me and I hesitantly lean into his chest.

I make a strangled laughing sound, “we should start a club.”

He sighs and quietly asks, “do you want to leave this place?”

“No,” I hesitate slightly, “and yes, but I’m not going to.”

“Is that what you really want?” Nash asks earnestly, a kind look in his eyes that is rare to find in any human being.

“Yeah, for now,” I nod.

“Good,” he says, “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“You’d miss me if I was gone?” I look up to him and raise my eyebrows.

“Of course,” he replies, “you’re one of us, your family now.”

I smile, my cheeks warming up to tint a rosy colour. I sniff as I let him wipe my final tear away with the soft pad of him thumb. There’s a moment that we lock eyes and neither of us dare look away. We both are very still. It’s like time isn’t moving.

When his thumb finally leaves my cheek all I can think about is how I want his touch there again. It’s like I need it now. Like how a drug addict craves a needle in their arm. The absence of that feeling of his skin on mine is horrible.

“Besides who will I have to call me a moron if you go away,” he jokes, tilting his cowboy hat towards me.

“You are pure cheek Nash Hawthorne,” I poke my tongue out.

“I’ve heard that one before in many different contexts,” he smirks with a wink.

Who knew Nash Hawthorne looked so good when he winked?

I gape in shock, “who knew you could make crude jokes!?”

“I may be the eldest and most responsible but who do you think taught everything to Jamie?” he asks.

“I’d never thought of that before,” I reply.

He shrugs in a very Nash kind of way, “welcome to the inner workings of being a Hawthorne.”

“Should I be flattered to be so privy to such important information?” I grin batting my eyelashes at him.

He moves in, “that depends on how much you value it.”

Our faces are inches apart. I feel something in my chest. Aside from my heart racing, there’s a feeling deep within my heart. It’s warm and tingly and tender. It’s sweet but bitter at the same time, and yet I still crave it.

“Let’s make a deal,” he whispers, our noses so close they could be touching.

“Is this a Hawthorne kind of deal?” I question in a murmur.

“Well what other kind of deal would it be,” Nash says, pulling back a little disappointing me slightly.

Still, I raise an eyebrow and cock my head to the side telling him to continue

“You don’t put up your wall anymore and you talk to me about your problems,” he proposes.

“A deal has two sides Hawthorne,” I remind him.

“Indeed it does,” he nods, “so name your price.”

“You learn when to shut up,” I say.

“What?”

“When I say I’m not in the mood for socialising understand it and move on,” I reply.

I wouldn’t be having the conversation if he’d just left me alone to start with. Not that I’m complaining, this conversation is rapidly becoming my favourite yet, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Deal.”

We take each others hands and with a firm shake the deal is bound.

“Starts today,” Nash adds, “now.”

“Perfect,” I smile mischievously, “then I think you should stop talking.”

“See I don’t think I-“

“Shhhh,” I shush him.

“But-“

“Shut up.”

“Mouth is shut!” he exclaims trying not to laugh.

“Forever?” I challenge.

“Can’t keep me quiet for that long darlin’,” he drawls.

“I can try,” I reply.

“You’re setting yourself up for failure,” he sing songs.

I put my finger on his lips and this time physically he can’t suppress him smile.

“How does failure taste?” I murmur.

“Like something you’ll enjoy,” he counters, talking against my fingertips. I can’t help but grin.

“Wanna get out of here for a bit, get some fresh air?” he asks me.

“Do I,” I sigh, dropping my hand from his mouth, relieved he finally asked

“Come on darlin’,” Nash says.

I don’t tell him not to call me darling. In fact it’s growing on me. He holds my hands, they’re warm against my cold palms and gently pulls me off of the bed.

“Where are we going?” I stand up, tilting my head to the side in question.

He flashes me a grin, “how do you feel about motorcycle rides?”

I did my research girl 🤭🤭 a little reread of tig never hurt anyone and the libby/nash content is too cute!! I feel like I didn’t really capture the right kind of banter because it was more sensitive so maybe I’ll do another one with more banter, so sorry about that xx hope you enjoyed anywaysss and thanks for your request

[viajandopelomar]

Rhys fcked over all of Prythian for one twinkle city. Tamlin fcked over all of Prythian for one person. Both‘s goal was to align with the enemy but secretly spy on them to end them. How are they different?

I guess the only thing that‘s different is that the one person trade is a bigger deal than the city trade. The fandom conveniently forgets that Tamlin was trying to find a way to end Hybern, just like Rhys tried to end Amarantha, and only focus on the fact that he traded Prythian for one person. The fandom only acknowledges the fact that Rhys saved his own, favorite city, nevermind that he caused trauma all over Prythian, 2/3 of his own court included, under Amarantha‘s command.

How different are these 2 exactly? I‘ll always laugh when I come across the „Stop comparing me to him, I‘m not him!!“ scene from Rhys, Denial is a river in Egypt…

MY FIRST ANONYMOUS MESSAGE 🥹

First of all, I think the levels at which they fucked Prythian were different. Rhysand massacred people from all courts, all of them. Massacred families. Whereas Tamlin's actions were limited to the spring, but obviously had consequences beyond the territory, and I also think it's valid to wonder how everything would have happened if Feyre hadn't implanted false memories in the sentinels and manipulated things, you know? Like, would the spring have stayed in the state it's in? Would Tamlin have been able to find out more about Hybern and the war wouldn't have seen so many losses? I think it's a valid question.

About the exchange between territory and city, Feyre and the alliance with Hybern... The people of the spring didn't seem so opposed to Tamlin's intentions. You realize that they still remained loyal, and still welcomed Feyre even when she was the reason for the alliance. Because THE WHOLE COURT WANTED FEYRE BACK, everyone thought she was under torture and abuse in the night court. Everyone welcomed her and trusted her lord, even the fairies from other lands. They all hoped that Tamlin had more behind his intentions. On the other hand, Rhysand had always been hated by everyone outside Velaris, even though he was raised and grew up in Illyria and had fought in the war with them.

Rhysand lived in the camps for around two hundred years and never, at any time, did he get anything but scorn, even though he was the crown prince. The plot never delved into this detail, but I also think it's worth thinking about.We also have the legions that Rhysand hunted down for allying themselves with Amarantha. Those males were hunted down and killed for doing the same thing as Rhysand: allying themselves with the enemy so that their family would survive. But only Rhysand is right, so he hunted and killed them all even when he knew about the war with Hybern beating his ass, and that's never mentioned again either.

Rhysand allied himself with Amarantha after she had decimated half of the excavated city, and then he went and decimated the other territories (if it had been written by another author, perhaps another lord would have allied himself with Amarantha just to destroy Rhysand. But they just kept their heads down) while Tamlin sheltered refugees and fugitives and gave them jobs. Tamlin also only sent his sentries to the human lands at their own insistence, and Rhysand claims he was annoyed that he took so long, he was also pissed that Tamlin didn't give in to Amarantha like he did.

Here's how I understood it: Rhysand was angry that Tamlin protected his own and didn't send them to their deaths, and he was angry that Tamlin didn't want to prostitute himself.

The main difference for me is that Tamlin's people trusted him and were with him until Feyre entered their minds. Rhysand confessed that he enjoyed destroying Amarantha's enemies and is still hated by his people even when he claims to have protected them (he was hated before too).

I also want to point out that in ACOSF Cassian tells Nesta that Emerie came out of a terrible UTM place (I won't remember the exact words, but he said something like that) where the lesser fairies were kept. So in the end Rhysand didn't protect them that well and it was all down to Velaris.

I use a translator called DEEPL, so apologies if anything is confusing.

[gothamite-rambler]

Aftermath of Nightwing's Fear Toxin Freak-Out

Dick Grayson sat outside on the patio, staring down at the table and tapping his finger as he mulled over the events from last night. Tim Drake, his younger brother, sat next to him with a teacup, keeping him company even though Dick had remained silent for the last hour.

Dick (dejected): I really hate Scarecrow.

Tim (nodding in agreement): Mm-hm, the guy loves to make people miserable. He has a habit of making his fear toxin even more “powerful.” Like Cell from Dragon Ball. Honestly, I’m still concerned about the fact that he respects me.

Dick shrugged, avoiding eye contact with his younger brother.

Dick (deadpan): You walked through his toxin once without batting an eye.

Tim: True, but I was spiraling and sunk into the darkest pit of my own mind during that time, guess it has no affect on you at that point.

Dick hummed softly, wanting to agree, but guilt washed over him from how he had acted last night. Tim smiled gently and leaned closer to his brother.

Tim: This isn’t about me, though. How are you doing?

Dick (insincere): Fine.

Tim: You sure?

Dick (wanting to avoid bringing up that painful memory): I... don’t want to talk about it.

Just then, Jason walked outside and plopped down in the empty chair at the table. He sighed, completely exhausted, then bent forward to rest his head in his hands. Tim chuckled, causing Jason to glance at him with annoyance, but he opted to stare at his legs instead of retaliating.

Tim: What’s got you down? You weren’t hit with the fear toxin.

Jason (rubbing his forehead, frustration evident): Last night was insane either way. So many people freaking out, children crying. I found out what happened with Dick, and now I can't do anything about Catalina because Bruce thinks I’m overreacting. It’s some bullshit, man.

Tim glanced at Dick, whose jaw was clenched as he struggled to suppress a smile.

Tim (with a knowing look): That was a crazy revelation, wasn’t it? I’ve known about it for years, and I had the same reaction. Barbara wanted to run over the demon woman with her car, but Dick always told us she wasn't worth it and that he wanted nothing to do with her.

Jason sat up, finally leaning back in his chair.

Jason (grinning a little): That'd be too quick a death. Oh, wait, um... you probably don’t want me talking about this.

Jason looked over at Dick, who rubbed his eyes, forcing a chuckle to reassure the two that he was on the mend.

Dick (sitting up straight, serious but composed): I’ve had plenty of violent, intrusive thoughts about Catalina, but I always argue that it’s something I’d regret. If I killed her, back then or now, she’d win. She wanted her horrible essence stuck to me, no matter what. I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t care about her. At the end of the day, she’s pathetic. A monster like her isn't worth obsessing over.

Jason nodded, a small smile creeping onto his face.

Jason (prying): But if she died randomly, you wouldn’t mind? You can be honest. Bruce isn't here.

Dick (with a morbid grin): I mean, I wouldn’t throw a party, but I wouldn’t exactly be upset either. Party poppers would probably be involved. That sounds awful, doesn’t it?

Jason (laughing, shaking his head): I’d gladly piss on Joker’s grave, dude. You’re being too nice.

Tim (thoughtful, with a hint of dark humor): I’d burn the bodies of the people who killed my parents and then toss the ashes into a pit of Joker toxin or something. Wait—that might reanimate them into even worse zombies. I stand by the first part, though.

Jason burst into laughter, patting Dick on the back. Dick shook his head with a smile, swiping his hand across his left eye to catch any stray tears.

Dick: Thanks for stopping me from making a big mistake last night and for putting up with my terrible singing.

Jason (grinning): I’m just glad I could save you. Plus, your singing wasn’t that bad—just a little pitchy.

Dick (pretending to be offended): That’s a lie—and you know it. I have perfect pitch!

Jason (smirking): Whatever you say, bud.

Tim (perking up with excitement): We should hit a karaoke bar tonight! Or wait—how about a rage room?

Jason (nodding eagerly): That sounds like a party! We can break random stuff for an hour. Let’s put pictures of our enemies on the stuff we destroy.

Dick (chuckling, shaking his head): You guys are insane, I swear. But I’m not against the rage room idea—Tim says they're really fun.

Jason: He can thank me for that.

Tim (smirking, feigning innocence): Okay, he took me there, but I was depressed at the time. When I went afterward, it was because I wanted to keep going!

Jason (laughing, pointing at Tim): Oh God, you can’t take credit for the stress relief I showed you! I’m practically a therapist, and you can’t even acknowledge that!

Tim stood up, crossing his arms dramatically, wearing a mock-serious expression.

Tim: They know my name there. Doesn’t that mean something?

Jason (mockingly, standing up as well): It means you go there way too much.

Tim (defensively): I can’t help it if I have a lot of stress to relieve!

The brothers bickered playfully, their banter lightening the mood. Dick watched them with amusement, grateful for the loving chaos that was his family. Before either could ask if he wanted to join, he stood up and followed them back inside.

Dick wasn’t okay after last night. He knew he would never fully be fine with what Catalina put him through. But with his family by his side—and the therapy that had helped him before—he felt a flicker of hope.

Tarantula wouldn’t be what broke Dick Grayson. Letting go of the past was hard, especially after what she had done. But Dick knew he had to keep fighting, to keep being a hero despite the shadows hanging over him.

For his family.

For himself.

"I'm a poison... I couldn't save them," Nightwing cried, the fear toxin invading his mind.

[mymegrokosmos]

coffee dates with seungkwan are your favourite. he's always late but it gives you the chance to take your time, lingering on the menu and finding a nice table where you can watch the people walking by. you like sitting on the patio. partly because it gives your boyfriend the freedom to be as loud as he wants while he vents about his day and fills you in on any new drama happening on set. partly because it's usually a good way to get him to sit closer or to end up bundled into his sweater or jacket.

you can’t complain. well, you could but why would you want to? the view is nice and he always pays. one thing about dating boo seungkwan is that you're absolutely spoiled. you get the princess treatment every day and you couldn’t feel luckier.

"y/n, love?"

you blink at the sound of your name, turning from where you were watching a cute little dachshund in a sweater to find your boyfriend hovering over you. he stands beside your chair, eyebrows slightly furrowed as you push away your thoughts, sweep away the mind cobwebs of whatever daydream you were stuck in for a minute, and smile up at him.

"hi kwannie, have you been there long?"

he shakes his head, sliding into his seat across the small table from you and trying to see what you're looking at. you laugh softly and nod towards the puppy.

"cute, right? look at his little boots."

seungkwan just shakes his head but he's smiling as he picks up the iced americano you ordered for him, using his card of course because he sulks every time you try to pay for coffee on your own delivery or order ahead apps.

"a little silly but I guess it's probably practical."

you nod, sipping your iced latte. "mm, I imagine a lot of things are much harder and more inconvenient when you're that small living in a world made for much bigger beings and you can't even speak to them about it. not in a way that we understand well at least."

your boyfriend just blinks at you. "I've left you alone with Dino and Vernon too often."

you rest your chin on one hand and blink back at him. "and what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

"you're spewing scenarios other people would never think of because you're bored. there are so many people you could be watching right now and instead you decided that, while waiting for the love of your life to arrive and grace you with the blessing that is his presence, you wanted to wonder what it would be like to live as a dachshund for day."

you considered this. "okay, fair point. however, I stand by my decision. it was fun."

seungkwan sips his coffee. you smile.

"how was your day handsome?"

and just like that, you fall into easy conversation. the words always flow with seungkwan. the rhythm is soothing, familiar, and when he gets up to drape his sweater over your shoulder after you shiver one too many times (one, that's already too many in his mind why are you even cold to begin with the weather should just immediately conform to your every whim frankly) it feels like home.

you smile, slipping your arms through the sleeves of the thick hoodie and snuggling into the leftover warmth of seungkwan's body. it smells like him, clean, sharp, citrus and a hint of something slightly woodsy. you blush when you glance up to meet his fond gaze, eyes soft as he watches you with a small smile.

"what?"

he shakes his head and takes another sip of his coffee. "nothing, you're just cute."

you scrunch your nose up at him and he laughs. you sip your drink and stretch your legs out, foot just brushing his ankle before you sit back again.

"ready to head home?"

he nods. "we're still on for dinner together, right? and a movie? I already told jeonghan hyung to clear out for the evening."

you nod, smiling as he offers you a hand up. "mm, you know we are. that sounds perfect. please tell me you're making those mimosas you tried out last week?"

his hand moves to rest on your lower back, guiding you back through the restaurant and out into the world again. you lean into him as you cross the street, head resting against his shoulder just slightly as you walk close enough to bump hips every few steps. neither of you moves to fix that. you just smile and let it happen.

"i'm making pizza, mingyu helped me prepare it all ready to pop in the oven when we get back. I just need to preheat it first and use that pizza stone he got us for Christmas."

"ooh what kind of pizza."

"I hope you like margherita."

you nod. "that sounds perfect kwan."

and it is. domestic seungkwan is one of your favourite sides of him. you like when he gets to relax like this. seeing him in comfy clothing, bare faced and with his hair all fluffy from running his hands through it. you sip your drink and watch as he shuffles around the kitchen, humming along to the playlist he put on and you move to light some candles.

it gets dark so early in autumn and while his apartment gets great light, his walls of windows can't compensate for a sun already fully sunken on the horizon. you find yourself smiling as he puts the pizza in the oven and sets the timer, reaching over to pull you into him and spinning you both around the kitchen.

you just watch as he sings to you, swaying with him as you dance to the rest of the song before stilling. his hands rest comfortably on your hips, like they belong there. they do, you think so at least. his expression is soft again, happy, and you can't help leaning up to kiss him.

"what was that for?"

you mirror his words from earlier. "you're just cute."

he sighs. "what am I going to do with you darling?"

you grin. "keep me, I hope."

and just like that you fall into the arms, and charms, of the one and only boo seungkwan. yet again. like you always do. because there's nothing that melts your heart quite like the smile on his face and the sparkle in those eyes. his happiness is truly the most beautiful thing you've ever witnessed, and you want nothing more than to keep being a part of it for as long as he'll let you share in this. in these moments.

in this laughter. in this lifetime of soft, safe, warm, genuine love. the kind no one ever warns you is addicting. the kind that doesn't judge. okay so maybe a little bit. but it's worth all the hard moments, every fight or argument, every little speed bump you have to overcome on the way. it's all worth it when you get to come home to this.

unconditional love, thy name is boo seungkwan and thou art everything.

[mc-lukanette]

Thanks. I should be there in five minutes.

The reply came a few seconds later.

Okay! I'll keep an ear out for you!

Near the end of those five minutes, Luka was still dashing down the sidewalk, mentally cursing himself for daring to almost be late. They didn't have any particular plans and he'd only really said it as a guess that didn't mean much, but he could just imagine Marinette standing by the door with her hearing trained intensely on it.

It would've been cute if he wouldn't have felt bad for it.

He knew it wasn't technically his fault. He'd nearly been recognized and she tended to be his safe place to go to, but then most of the detours he knew of had him running into more risk. Hiding his hair and the lower half of his face apparently weren't enough anymore to stop people from doing a double take at him.

Maybe he'd been in this place for too long on his break, but she was there. He simply didn't want to leave, not if it meant losing the "rock star's safe haven," as he called it in his head.

Footsteps still pounding as he ran, he was within arm's reach of the door when it flew open. Without a word, he slipped inside and Marinette shut it behind him. He let himself breathe, pushing his hood up and pulling his face mask down.

Sighing in relief, he said, “You're a lifesaver, as always,”

She laughed him off. “You don't have to go that far.”

“But I do,” he replied. “You're risking a lot letting me hide here. If anyone finds out you're doing it—”

“Stop.“ She raised a hand, turning her face away from him with a faint blush. “It's really not a big deal.”

He pouted a bit, but let the praise go for the time being. He understood, on some level, that she'd done it before for other famous people she knew (the people he'd have to thank if he ever met them, since it led to him meeting her), but it didn't make it any less special.

Not to him, anyway.

Marinette, strolling across the room and waving a hand at all the seating in the living room, asked without looking back at him, “You want any snacks?”

Any kind of food sounded good after the running he did. “Please. Anything's fine.”

As she left the room, he went and plopped himself down on the recliner, going about removing the hoodie he'd been using to keep himself hidden. He also took off the face mask entirely and set them both neatly on the table.

She returned from the kitchen a moment later, tossing a bag of chips at him and sitting down on the couch with one of her own. She popped it open, then hesitated before asking him, “Do you like soup?”

He nodded impulsively, though he honestly was neutral to it overall. “Why?”

“I was gonna make some later, and I—” She made an unreadable gesture. “—I bought too many ingredients when I was at the store, so there'd be leftovers if you didn't have any.”

Huh. Luka didn't doubt that she could've made a mistake on her mental shopping list, but more of all of her ingredients sounded too odd to be a mistake. He could've sworn as well that she'd told him how much she didn't like leftovers, back when she'd ramble about her creative process and forcing herself to take a break by cooking or baking something everyday.

Unless, of course, Marinette had intentionally prepared to make more because of him, in which case he wasn't lying anymore about liking soup.; it just so happened to have shot up on his list of appealing foods all of a sudden.

“We can't have that,” he said with a grin, opening the chip bag in his hands. “Do you mind me staying that long?”

“Not at all!” she insisted. She dug into her own bag and pulled out a single chip, telling him before she put it in her mouth, “Besides, I want to catch up. Have you come up with any new music?”

“No—” He caught himself, realizing it was the instinctive answer he'd been giving to anyone involved with his rock star life, then corrected to, “Nothing I want out there.”

“Oh.” She leaned back, thoughtful. “I get it. Sometimes I make something just for me without wanting to put it out there. I didn't know it worked the same for music.”

He tried not to be obvious about the hearts in his eyes he was throwing her way. She just got him so easily and he did the same for her. He didn't have that many creative people in his life, but even those he did have saw creativity as something so casual. He cared dearly for his sister's wife, for example, yet knew that the finer nuances of creating things went over her head.

Marinette hummed, somewhat disconcerted. “You're not in any... trouble, are you?” She pouted, twisting a corner of the chip bag to the point it formed wrinkles. “I know how much people think we can just rush the process.”

He smiled, appreciating the concern, and shrugged at her. ”They do want me to get back out there, but I'm not going to force it.”

There was a flicker of what he was fairly sure was disappointment in her eyes when he mentioned touring again. He didn't comment on it, but silently hoped he'd caught it correctly and it wasn't just him.

Reaching into his bag for a few chips, he took one between his lips and tipped his head back, opening his mouth to send the chip fully in from the momentum. He chewed, swallowed, then gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Or maybe I'll just retire.”

“Wha—?” Marinette was so shocked that her tightened grip on the bag audibly crushed a couple of poor chips. “Retire?”

Luka had never said it aloud to anyone before, but he had been thinking about it for a few months now. At first, it was more like a joke to himself, an amusing musing on if he did quit and how much chaos that would've spread across the world from the suddenness of it. Then, it became more serious the more he joked about it, thinking about how free he would be and how much he wouldn't have to wither away like whenever he was forced to make something he genuinely wasn't invested in. He thought it would be easier when he initially started out, that he could just create and wouldn't have to bear witness to parts of himself he didn't like.

In what should've been obvious to him, it hadn't ended up that way. He glanced over to check Marinette's reaction and, rather than any displeasure with the idea, she appeared sad for him.

“I didn't know it was that bad,” she admitted. “I thought you just didn't like people recognizing you in your off time.”

“I don't, but it's everything else too,” he explained. Giving her a reassuring smile, he added, “And you couldn't have known. I've never told anyone else before.”

Her cheeks turned to his favorite shade of pink. She averted her eyes to her chips, taking another couple into her mouth and chewing them as she thought over what he'd said. Letting out a small, puzzled noise in the back of her throat, she finally asked the obvious, “Why haven't you yet? Retired, I mean.”

He'd finished the other chips in his hand by then and set the bag aside to focus fully on her. “I... don't have that many places to go. I live on my own, so it'd be hard to not go out. I'd just get recognized all over again, and my sister's famous and married, so I can't stay with her while I wait for everything to die down.”

As much as he would've liked it to be simple, it wasn't. Also, while he wouldn't have told Marinette as much directly, he wouldn't have wanted to give up on their time together. It might've been a little selfish of him, but—

“What if you stayed with me?” she blurted out, turning her body and leaning onto the arm of the couch to face him.

He opened his mouth, almost instantly saying “yes,” but stopped himself to ask, “...What?”

She pushed against the couch with the hand not holding her bag of chips, straightening herself back up and awkwardly elaborating, “Because—well, you already come here? It's already safe, and if you were okay with it then why not, right? I won't bring anyone here either, so...”

“Wait,” he interrupted because, as fast as his heart was pounding at the opportunity, he wouldn't dare risk holding her back in any way. “I don't want you to stop yourself from bringing someone home just for my sake.”

“Huh?” She blinked at him, as if he'd somehow misunderstood whatever she'd been trying to say. Then, wide-eyed and blushing deeper, she shook her head. “No, it's—I meant... I'm not going to bring anyone anyway. That's why it's alright.”

A beat of silence passed between the both of them. Luka knew from all the little moments when Marinette had spoken about romance that she wasn't aromantic, nor had she ever talked about giving up on love entirely, yet she seemed certain that he wasn't going to end up as a third wheel in her house.

He considered asking, considered multiple possibilities without assuming anything specifically, but she bounced up from the couch before he could get anything out.

“O-oh wow! I should really get started on that soup and, ah—don't worry, you don't have to give me an answer right now!” She turned away swiftly, took a few steps, then paused and looked at the chip bag in her hand. Without glancing back, she tossed the bag towards him and offered, “You can finish that if you want.”

He caught it with both hands and watched her go. After she'd disappeared from his view and into the kitchen, he let his eyes drop to the bag, seeing the chips and the crumbled pieces from when she'd gripped it earlier.

Despite that, his own bag didn't look as appetizing anymore, so he plucked a single, broken chip and slipped it between his lips. His mind was already conjuring scenarios in his head without any effort on his part, imagining what it might be like if he actually lived with her instead of just visiting.

He could still make money with music so long as he could do it without showing his face, thus there wasn't much worry about not being able to pay for his staying there. He was certain that Marinette would give him the guest room, and then they'd end up spending their mornings together. He could find ways to lessen her stress or help out around the house, and he would be there whenever she came home after going out.

To say it was tempting was an understatement. Even the clamor of pots, pans, and the openings of the fridge and cupboards as she shuffled about for her ingredients was like music to his ears.

Swallowing the half chip and finding that it suddenly tasted sweet going down, he thought to himself, No excuse anymore, Couffaine.

[arcane-ish]

I have my issues with season 2 and how Vi's story went is a huge part of it (so much I wrote an entire meta just about how bad Act 3 was for her). But I find his answer fairly understandable.

"this is a story of 2 sisters"

Just because Vi wasn't the lead anymore doesn't mean the wasn't about the sisters. You can just as much read it "season 1 was the story from Vi's point of view and season 2 is it from Jinx's pov". I would read season 2 as being very much about Jinx wrestling with her relatioship with Vi and making a decision about it.

Like it’s your fucking JOB to service and write these characters to the best of your ability

That is just an odd complaint to me. Starting with: how do you know that that isn't the best of ability? Considering that he had never run a tv show before?

And I don't see how that somehow includes the mandate to never be allowed to change main characters or tell more than one story? He's allowed to love multiple characters and tell multiple stories.

If he just genuinely happens to be passionate about multiple characters why wouldn't he try to bring it all into a tv show. Especially if you read some of his other statements, he is deeply commited to the idea of doing the League of Legends experience justice where there are over 100 "main characters" and every fan group of an individual character would love to see "their" main as a lead.

It's just a normal League thing to me that you have a handful of "mains" who you all love (the way League is structured as a game usually forces you to play more than one character) and that's kind of how he reads to me.

To be honest, I genuinely blame Amanda here at least as much as him if not more. Amanda is the one who has genuine tv experience and who advertises herself as the big ViCait champion and she should have been aware that Vi not having a true status within season 2 and particularly in the finale also slightly dulls Vi and Cait as a couple. (my take: if the show was going to remove us from Vi's shoes compared to what we had in season 1, then she at least needed some wins to compensate)

IMO it is possible the gracefully go from lead character to supporting character. The problem is that even as a supporting character you need at least a an arc or a clear plan or a payoff.

You can have good and decent and appealing stories despite being a supporting character (even though the Mel fans will disagree, I think Mel is an example, as is Ekko, we can debate whether Jayce was supporting or lead. Heck even clear supporting characters like Heimerdinger or Isha whose job it was to go towards their own heroic sacrifice still had a clear progression)

I love her as a character outside of her relationship with Jinx and Caitlyn, however we didn’t get to see that this season.

I don't think the problem was that we didn't see her outside of her relationship with Jinx or Caitlyn. It's that the writers 1.) weren't really able to tie it all together as a whole. 2.) that Vi lacked agency in her relationships with Jinx and Caitlyn in many ways.

(I mean did we really see that much more of "Vi in relationships outside of Jinx and Caitlyn in season 1?" I guess you can say she Mylo/Claggor and Ekko? But in the end she was deeply defined by her relationship with Jinx in season 1 as well as her blooming relationship with Caitlyn. And we see many examples of other characters within the show who can pull off a satisfying arc despite a much smaller set of important character relationships than Vi had in season 2)

I just wanna ask him then why make vi main character!?

I can't read his mind but my assumption would be because he likes her too (as one of many) AND presumably he thought she would be a really good character to initially introduce us to the world?

I'm not saying that he doesn't have many flawed approached (I have ranted extensively at what I perceive to be as the "vignette" structure of season 2). But I can totally see why one might for example really love Jinx as a character, but think she isn't the best character to start the story with or to spend the entire season in her point of view.

Season 1 played A LOT with the idea of perception and then underminding it. And similarly they might have seen it as a cool approach to first see Jinx more through the perceptions of others and then switch towards telling her point of view.

(for what it's worth, Jinx interacting less with Vi in the last act to me feels like a consistent choice IF you read season 2 as a story from Jinx's point of view AND that it's heavily about her decision to split from Vi/to let Vi go. Within Jinx's stoy she actually still interacts quite a bit with Vi, I'd argue (it's more a problem that within the finale battle the Caitlyn versus Ambessa stuff gets a ton of room and basically doesn't tie back at all with either Vi or Jinx))

Christian has said a lot of things that makes me want to tear my hair out with how stupid I think it is. But imo this (in essence "well we love multiple characters and we wanted to tell those stories too") is imo a very human and relatable answer especially if you combine it with his other answers about how he and supposedly many other creatives were very desperate to move on after 2 seasons (actual quote: " Even key talent that works on the show that, simply put, is getting tired cranking away at this incredibly long season and project over multiple years. Don't forget that at the end of the day, this is just a collective of human beings, of people.").

(compared to his braggy "I'm proud of our season for pulling off so many varying things ... that nobody asked us to pull off" [=my paraphrasing] statement for example)

Vi season 2

Saying this about Vi, considering the fact that fundamentally the very basis of the show is about the relationship between her and Jinx is INSANE. The description for the show literally tells the audience it’s a story about two sisters and because the writers grew uninterested with one of them, they sidelined her.

I’m happy she got her happy ending, and i do believe that her writing remained consistent, my biggest issue with Vi this season was that she did feel sidelined, THAT was very obvious. I love her as a character outside of her relationship with Jinx and Caitlyn, however we didn’t get to see that this season.

Regardless if the ending stayed the same, Jinx and Vi barely interacting in the last act felt off. It’s really disappointing to see that one of the shows main and most important characters get sidelined in favour of others

anyway yeah there’s my rant bc seeing this shit on twitter has been pissing me off

[starryaugust]

100 au!Jason Todd - Backstory

Jason was orphaned at a young age, his dad died when he was just a baby and his mother died a few years later. He can barely remember her.

Like Dick, he was raised in the orphanage.

He fought to survive, for every bit of food. No matter how little it was.

When Dick arrived, he was suspicious. Why would someone want to help without gaining anything from it?

It took some time, but eventually he started to trust Dick. And in the end, he started seeing him as a brother. And he started to come back to who he was before the orphanage, before learning the hardships of life, before the corruption.

When Dick was arrested, Jason decided to replace him. But security was more careful, he was caught and put in the sky box quickly.

When the guards came to get him, he fought. He punched a guard and they had to tranquilize him, when he woke up the 100 were already on their way to the ground. And Dick was next to him.

Jason was the first person to step on the ground for 100 years,

or at least that's what they thought.

Unlike in the series, in this au no one from the 100 doesn't go straight to mount weather. They decide to assemble a camp before and scavenge and hunt for food.

A few days after they landed, Jason was exploring the woods and was taken by the grounders. They almost killed him, only to heal him.

The 100 threw a search party, and a few days later they found Jason as a trap for a tiger. He was dying.

At the end, with the help of Bernard and Steph, he survived. But he wasn't the same, the hopeful ball of sunshine he used to be was gone, for good this time. He returned to the shield he put back in the orphanage, but it was rotted deeper this time.

So when the 100 tried to decide what to do about the grounders, he said peace wasn't an option.

He wanted revenge, he wanted a war, and he got one.

After everything happened, he thought he was finally safe.

But then mount weather took the 100.

He didn't trust Lex Luther, he thought the peace he was offering was a facade, nothing was that simple in the world they were living in.

So he investigated, and when he found the grounders, he wanted to come back to Dick to warn him. But he was caught by Luther's guards.

He ended up managing to escape with the help of a grounder, an archer.

Roy Harper.

Roy helped Jason realize that peace with grounders could be an option.

So Jason found the survivors of the arc, while Roy went to Polis. Together they worked for a truce. And they succeeded.

Jason still didn't fully trust the grounders, but he was ready to do whatever it takes to save his brother and friends.

Together with Tim, Bruce, Roy and the grounders Heda he managed to come up with a plan to save the 100 and the grounders trapped in mount weather.

This plan obviously went to shit.

And Jason and Tim needed to make a choice, their people or the people of mount weather.

They choose their people.

[laugtherhyena]

Oh right uhh, Kokoro lives in -2+2 (And Emma, and also Hibiki)

[maliciousalice]

Hear me out (or don't... it's fine I'm just venting and mean) yeah um I don't believe Chakotay was saved in Prod*gy s2.

[lokh]

oughh i wanted to do a cute laishuro take on the blu ray extras (what if laios had been eaten instead) but lets be honest. they absolutely would not have made it as far without laios

[corfisers]

i really need to finish this one day

[idkmanwtfishumanityanymore]

hi i’m here for my routine (not really) random autistic screeching about a character from my childhood that I adore.

today’s victim;

“Oh” FROM DREAMWORKS’ HOME!

look at this man and Tell me he’s neurotypical.

look at him. He is so the first autistic Boov that didn’t mask.

he’s just like me fr fr.

like- LIKE.

[yo9urt]

ball dur's gait 3 is ruining my life