#idk how to tag I never posted a fic

[lluu50]

Too Cold to Handle

Madara just wants to get done and get home, but this winter day is getting to his nerves.

The sun was shining on the horizon and Madara checked the time, 15:30. He had to leave the building to go catch a package that had just arrived in the mail for him. He had even gone to work earlier today and prepared everything so that he could get done with everything while there still was sunlight.

General Audiences | 450 words | Gen

on AO3 <3

[mint-fixates]

I want to make an AU where Bill was never evil but his personality is still the same outside of that so the Pines twins show up to stay with their Great Uncle Stanford and he introduces them to his husband who's just. A funky little chaotic triangle creature from another dimension. He gives them deer teeth as welcome presents and both he and Ford (who is extremely accustomed to his weirdness after 30 years together) act like that's a Perfectly Normal Thing to Do. Dipper is LOSING it, Mabel is LOVING it (she makes a necklace and earrings out of them)

[dykedvonte]

Mouthwashing is genuinely one of the first fandom spaces in a while where I’ve seen people outright refuse to curate their own personal spaces and try to shame people for not making what they personal like/believe

Like this is not saying ignore any issues that come up or whatever is serious but like on the general terms of just not interacting with things that are not your personal take or interpretation, a genuine refusal to just look at and create things that you like.

Constantly seeing people repost art without credit to shit talk it and excusing it because “well it’s bad cause insert deeply personal and not actually a valid justification”, calling out people for silly comics or differing interpretations. Its not just a holier than thou mindset it’s just a weird hatred for things not specifically catered to you or your view point at this point and like it’s seriously the case of just follow and like what you want to see and block, mute or whatever doesn’t fit it.

Take this out of context all you like, but I just so odd to me to try and force people to interpret and engage with a media that is supposed to be purposefully vague and open in certain areas. Or just be mad that people like to play with and explore the characters outside the story, in different settings or with twists in events.

Like why is it an issue that someone is having fun with the game in a different way than you?

[philsmeatylegss]

Have said it a million times and will never stop saying it.

Phannies whose first language is not English, please write as many posts and fanfics you want.

This includes phannies who aren’t completely fluent and or have poor grammar/spelling.

Please rant and engage and be as chaotic as the rest of us. Even if you cannot express it in English.

I personally have always found it so impressive and admirable when I learn a phannie mutual of mine has a first language other than English. Your ability to participate as much as you do while having to translate every video, every post, is something I am always so impressed by.

Please participate as much as you want in the phandom. Even if you only feel like posting in your first language, even if you know your grammar/spelling isn’t perfect, please share your thoughts and feelings!!!

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning. 

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

[emily-mooon]

Noticed there wasn’t a ton of photocheer fanart and I wanted to change that (which why isn’t there more these two dorks are so cute together!!!!)

[cowchickenbeefpork]

so. A year or two back I remember seeing a post talking about how mayor Oswald was based off Donald trump when he was being written and since I don’t want to rely on hearsay I looked it up and yup it’s real. Look here

I have…multiple problems with this when it comes to this source of inspiration for Oswald. I have around four or five, but the last one or two are long enough to be its own paragraph so let’s start with the first three. The first three are honestly just the first point if I’m being honest lol.

First off, Oswald is a Gay, gender non conforming man who used to be poor. All of these things make him have a different feel to him demonizing the marginalized than someone like trump, famous womanizer and said “small loan of a million dollars”, doing it. It doesn’t feel the same at all, you’re going to have to put more emphasis on the similarities between them besides that demonization and make ____ great again shit to make it land. You would need to and they just don’t ever do that in the show.

also Gotham the reason why what trump did with his generalization and demonization of minorities is bad is because people in those communities are fucking evil to their cores! That’s literally all we see of Hugo strange’s arkham experiments, so by trying to draw this connection to the demonization of them and actual minorities, you’re going to have to write them in a more complex manner, which Gotham doesn’t. Overall this writing choice of inspiration desperately needed this arc to be longer, to have Oswald’s demonization of the outcasts to have serious repercussions and consequences. But it doesn’t, it never does, the show doesn’t even bother to humanize the people they’re using as a vague allegory for what happens in real life. It’s so fucking stupid, this would need a great deal of moral ambiguity but no, the most the Arkham experiments get is at most one scene humanizing them as a whole to my memory of the show.

I’m not saying this as I wish Gotham made Oswald one to one with Donald trump, I’m not and don’t take this post as that. What I’m saying is if you want to make commentary on bigotry, you’re going to have to humanize the outsider group in question, which Gotham doesn’t do because of how much buildup that would take. Oswald doesn’t hold actual disgust for minorities when it comes to his bigotry (though he probably holds some for the poor. Don’t fucking tomato me). His brand of bigotry is more opportunistic to me, seeing the fact people are hating the out group and catering to that in order to get success.

We could’ve genuinely gotten to see a gender non conforming gay man who used to be poor use the same tactics hurled against him throughout his life against a new marginalized group and all the baggage that comes with that. But since the Gotham writers commit to nothing, they didn’t do that since it would require too much work to explore that. It just sucks, it would’ve been so cool to see something that happens in real life so often politically be in this show but it never was since the writers didn’t know how to convey that. It would’ve been fantastic and a great display on how his greed and need for praise hurts other people, but we never got to truly see that, did we?

[crosbyism]

Okay, hear me out:

I’ve been thinking more about Sidney Crosby and his masculinization kink and the Sid/nate of it all. But I think there’s also a universe where Sid needs all the dicks and a large variety. And over 18 years in the league he’s been with quite the array of players. In my mind it goes something like this:

- gets to NHL, finds out someone, likely MAF is bi and that he isn’t the weirdo for liking men and being obsessed with cock. MAF ends up inviting him for a threesome with Vero, Sid is only focused on Marc and vero ends up just watching

- after a nasty game between the pens and flyers, Sid ends up going home with Giroux, who introduces him to daddy kink, but with G as the daddy. It gets Sid real riled up and horny, he realizes he wants to be the daddy for someone else

- queue a few younger players that already worship Sid that he introduces to the world of gay nhl players and daddy kinks, taking each boy to his lake house, slowly corrupting more and more of the league and getting a boy on each team. Note exactly corrupting though, it’s more about showing them that they can be their true selves in the league and that he, as daddy, is there for them in more ways than one.

- Nate happens. He becomes the ultimate corruption project. Nate is absurdly into it as well. Sid doesn’t want to be monogamous, Nate is at first upset until he realizes that he actually likes hearing about Sid’s exploits.

- we get to the 2015/16 draft classes and Sid really gets it going with Marner in particular, but also Draisaitl and Tkachuk.

- the USNDTP boys in 2019 almost break him. Especially Cole Caufield.

okay okay sorry sorry but the last two bullet points took me tf out. i have simply been in hrpf fandom for too long and know too much fandom history. bro i cannot imagine sidney crosby, who rode shea weber’s dick throughout the 2014 olympics, before cole caufield even hit puberty, being broken by those little twinks in any way, shape or form. tzegras didn’t even realise he was dating jamie drysdale before drysdale got traded, man, wdym “they almost break him”, those two guys didn’t even know they liked dick lmao

side note: the mentions of cole caufield and daddy kink reminded me that i have an unfinished pwp that’s cole caufield/shea weber where shea weber goes “come be a good boy and fill daddy up with your big cock” and there’s a bunch of size kink involved. if ur interested i can dig it up for u, seems like it might be up ur alley

HOWEVER i think you live in a beautiful world and i fully support you living your dreams of NHL daddy sidcroz fucking all your blorbos. frankly we do not have enough poly/open relationship sid who is like, allergic to monogamy. even though i think it works great for him! personally i’m not too big on the “all the blorbos are queer” trope, so that’s not necessarily my personal jam, and I tend to think about this more in terms of Sid figuring out his sexuality away from hockey. but i think you should go forth and write all your heart’s desires. have fun! i do think it’s both a hilarious and incredibly fun idea to have sid, as the mid-2010s hit, increasingly have a harem of rookies dying to fuck him. like, they all want him so bad and also know nothing about gay sex. i’m sure you could have loads of fun writing about sid inadvertently becoming a daddy and also a gay sex fairy godfather for NHLers. kind of like in Pass It On but more hands-on, raunchy and way less monogamous or vanilla. he uses the house in montana as a sex house. there’s a sex basement. why not.

i LOVE the concept of sid and nate, non-monogamous partners, dirty talking to each other about the sex they have with other people. there’s one or two fics like this out there already and i’m frankly obsessed with them. those guys are SO horny and they deserve to fuck so much.

i love a loving MAF/vero threesome (although i also love a delicious fraught fuckbuddy situationship with geno before geno met anna). tragically i think Giroux only got daddy vibes with his beard, which happened quite late, post-2015, so I would wager that IF sid got introduced to daddy kink by an NHLer it’d probably be more like. someone on the 2010s or 2014 olympic roster. these were unfortunately the years when claude giroux was greasy AF and was giving more “incel in the basement” than “daddy in the penthouse”(and also either banging danny briere or sad about not banging danny briere anymore. although hm claude being a daddy for danny briere? compelling actually).

[misty-moth]

I’m having an “is this how you get an OC?” issue lately.

‘Cause this lady just showed up out of nowhere in my subconscious and won’t leave.

Me: Tf are you supposed to be?

Her: I think I’m an OC.

Me: I don’t have an OC.

Her: Well I’m not in canon, yet you know my name, appearance, setting/game, personality, likes, dislikes, history, and future goals… you know, like an OC.

Me: 🤨

Her: 🤨

Me: …but I don’t have an OC.

~So anyway~ I’ve been writing about this random lady that showed up unintentionally, so that should be fun. Definitely not an OC because I don’t have an OC.

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Just saw this comment on a story posted a month ago.

*cries in Eddie Munson Solo Series no one wanted to read, interact with or request for*

No shade to the person that commented this on their own fic if you recognize it. It's not their fault. I'm not mad at them. More crying in the tags.

[jrueships]

Ure art is so gorgeous. How come u don't post more?

bcs i may not be well

[the-everqueen]

re: WIPs, i have several sandman fics i'm working on and i'd like to finish. these are informed as much by (my opinions on) the spinoff comix and the actors' choices in the tv series as the original comix. also the neilman doesn't get any money from me having better opinions about the Corinthian and Rose Walker than he did back in the 90s (or now tbh). regarding the allegations - i believe the victims, i'm disinterested in any discourse that dismisses them or other women as liars in order to preserve this one man's fragile ego, and i don't want to materially support him via books or events or streaming. but i understand that some of my mutuals need to totally disengage from anything related to him. i'm fairly religious about my tags, so moots feel free to blacklist as needed and/or request specialized tags to avoid potential triggers. (this also extends to other things: if you need accommodations for specific tws, please ask.)

[junkissed]

😶‍🌫️

[w1lmutt]

Take that might send me to the shadow realm but uhhhh

Runaway kid/the runaway/Rk >>> seven

🏃

[damianosismyking]

So you have an au about damen being abusive with laurent ?????

Please let me know more?? Any hcs or thoughts or anything pls

The capri fandom needs some dark aus fr

~🦌🌺

hello my darling!

I've been gone so long that I have no idea when you sent this and I'm deeply sorry for that!

I came up with the idea for an AU in which Damen's abusive way back in 2019/2020 (2021?) and to say I was a different person altogether back then is an understatement. I also haven't re-read the books in a long while so I can't say I recall everything I had imagined for this fic to begin with BUT!, I've got some fuzzy thoughts stored in the back of my mind that may satisfy some of the crave for Dark Damianos (a concept deeply slept on in my honest opinion but with how much people like to hate on him for free, it's best if we keep it sleeping lol).

DISCLAIMER: in my very private opinion, Damen has a natural darkness to his character that I find appealing (or would be appealing if I wasn't a coward) to explore. Those are the lenses through which I approach the abusive patterns he could come to develop in a relationship with an already emotionally/psychologically vulnerable Laurent. And also in my very private opinion, Laurent is a vulnerable character (for all reasons we as a fandom dwelled on to the point of exhaustion, but, most of all, in relation to how he sees and thinks of Damen — in terms not only of admiration but almost adoration, just as he did with his brother).

We all rememeber the scene at the end (?) of PG when Laurent is stepping on Damen's toes by saying bad things regarding his family and how Damen loses his temper and hits Laurent hard enough to draw blood. The guards step in to arrest Damen for hurting the prince and Damen takes full blame for doing it without showing a single bit of remorse whatsoever. Laurent is the one to talk his guards down from arresting Damen by pinning the blame of being assaulted on himself and that is it.

This idea (of an AU that never came to be) was forged mostly on the side of Damen's character that has a tendency to jump believe he is always right in the assessments he makes and proceed to never question the truth behind his own reasoning. And on the side of Laurent's character that always blames himself for every bad thing that has ever happened to him despite his own helplessness, and nurtures an unhealthy need for a role model to hold on to — once his brother, now his lover.

I'm going to leave all my thoughts for this AU bellow the cut, in case some people may find the matter too upsetting to read about. Trigger warnings for domestic, physical and psychological abuse, obviously! Proceed at your own accord and don't come whinning later🫰

so putting two and two together:

Damen is prone to angry outbursts or just violence in general. We see in more than one occasion that it doesn't take much for his 'bad side' to come out, which is a characteristic a lot of aggressors in this very patriarcal society we live in also showcase. And as their universe is ALSO incredibly patriarcal, this would check out.

As aforementioned, one of the most significative intances of Damen's violence is the day (after he had already slept with Laurent, after he admitted to himself he was in love with Laurent) where he he baits into Laurent's provocations and hits him.

Laurent's edge, I personally believe, though attenuated as it may be by the end of the cicle of abuse he endured all the way from his late childhood throughout his adolescence, will continue to be in place. It was wired into him as a survival mechanisms and old habits die hard. Whenever he is overwhelmed or any of his emotions slip from his iron-cast grip, he will likely spit fire and try and hurt whoever is within his reach.

Honeymoon phase being over, let's say the kingdoms were in fact merged (not going to get into any of that). Let's say Damen is the king of Vere as much as Laurent is the king of Akielos. Let's say their troups, their guards, palace servants — they are all unbiased and answer to both Laurent and Damen as their true kings equally.

Let's say Damen and Laurent continue to get at each other's throats. Lets's say they still got plenty to disagree upon and that their personalities continue to make them butt heads. Let's say their grudges, though they have agreed to leave the past be in the past, hold and come up again. An underlying resentment inate to their love. There's a lot of tension that I can see surrounding L/D's relationship. If you don't believe that it's fine, if you don't see it, that's more than okay. But I'm asking you to bear with me here.

They are having a heated argument in their palace about something that wasn't (shouldn't be) personal, but all of a sudden is. Damen says something that offsets a chain reaction in Laurent and he becomes a boy in selfdefense mode resorting to the good old habit of pushing Damen's weak spots just for the pleasure of making him angry and miserable. Damen has had a long day, he is weary, he is fed-up with all the kyroi, all the councelors making demands and telling him how to do his job. Laurent says the wrong thing at the wrong time and a moment later he is on the floor, with his hand on his cheek touching the burning spot where Damen slapped him. He bit his tongue in the impact and he can feel the blood in his mouth which he swallows.

There are no guards that come in this time, because they know better than to step into their king's quarrels. Damen tells himself it was Laurent who pushed him too far, he didn't mean to do it. Laurent agrees — Damen would never have done that if Laurent himself hadn't asked for it. Damen was good. He's only ever been good. He doesn't do anything without a good reason. Laurent is the one who fucks things up and pushes people too far. They make up.

Next time isn't that different. Nerves were high for a thousand different reasons. Laurent maybe got up from the wrong side of the bed. They argue. Damen pisses him off so he goes on to piss him off in return — just to give him a taste of what that feels like. In the back of his mind he remembers what happened last time they argued but he brushes it off as a mistake. Damen wouldn't dare to make the same mistake twice.

Then Damen does. And just like the other time Laurent loses his footing from the strength of the blow. His eyes tear from the pain but they don't fall. Damen is fumming over him, telling him how Laurent pushes him over the edge. Damen, who is such a just, charming, fair king. A much better king than Laurent is, with his head in place at all times in a way Laurent's own never is. If he lost his temper, it was because he was forced into it.

Laurent is the one who went too far again; Damen simply reacted to it. He stands and tells Damen he was wrong for saying the things he said. He shouldn't have. Damen agrees; Laurent shouldn't have. They make up.

Every time Damen is forced to loose his temper with Laurent he get angrier with Laurent and becomes a little wilder. Laurent should not make him keep doing it! He doesn't mean to do it! When the anger subdues, after they make love, in the morning after, Damen shows Laurent the tokens of the love he still has for him — a new mare of an excellent breed for Laurent's private stables, a new imported book he would like for his personal library, a new delicacy their cooks learns to make as sweet as a human can handle just the way Laurent likes it.

Damen is a good lover. Most of the time. If only Laurent stopped bringing out his bad side.

Laurent understands how every time Damen hits him it's his own fault. He tries to stop himself from causing their arguments but he can't. He always ends up saying the wrong thing, he always disappoints Damen somehow and though he can keep his stance straight and his face void, deep down he's terrified he will eventually drive Damen away.

After the loss of his entire family, after the death of Auguste, of living so many years under the sadistic regime of his uncle, Damen is everything Laurent has. And Laurent, warped as he is by nature, tainted and wrong and bad at his very core, doesn't deserve him. He knows he doesn't deserve Damen, who is so honorable, so good a leader, so righteous and mighty. But he wants Damen and he wants him to stay. He wants to be good for him and for Damen to think he is good.

So when the slapping evolves into punching, Laurent searches his own words, his own actions for where the fault lies. And always he finds it. The exact word he said in a meeting with their kiroi and councelors that undermined Damen's authority. The exact moment he stopped to speak with an ill-intentioned courtier who flirted with him and he must have unintentionally flirted back. The provokation implied in a comment he thought was innocuous. And the fact Damen only found more and more of reasons to be dissatisfied with Laurent, despite him becoming evermore self-aware and trying so hard, so much of the time, to please Damen, meant nothing more than the fact that Laurent was a man full of flaws. It wasn't on Damen.

They both agree Damen's assessment and his morals could never be wrong. He is too good and honest a man for that. Laurent is causing all of it.

The oldest members of their guards notice the slow, steady shift. Those that used to compose the old Veretian prince's guard are worried. They whisper among themselves when they see a new bruise blooming in their king's fair skin or hear the shouts coming from inside the royal chambers. But no one dares to raise a voice against king Damianos. Jord or Lazar (or whichever of the prince's guards you like best) goes to Laurent to raise their concerns and ask if everything is all right between him and Exalted. If there is anything Laurent needs. Anything at all. They will stand by him come what will. But Laurent berates them and tells them to keep their noses out of royal business.

Damen is approached by Nikandros and inquired about it when one day Damen unintentionally leaves Laurent with a black eye. Damen finds that is the perfect opportunity to lament about all the ways Laurent has been driving him insane and making him miserable. That he is getting worse with time where Damen had hoped he would have settled and his temperament improved. That years after the events they lived through, he keeps holding Damen accountable for things that should be left in the past. That Damen doesn't blame Laurent for killing Kastor, or torturing him in Vere anymore, so why should Laurent still resent him for Auguste.

Nikandros understands. He feels sorry for Damen, that Laurent makes his life so difficult. He has witnessed their quarrels before, had seen the way Laurent evokes Auguste's name as a dagger to dig into Damen's heart.

Then it becomes common knowledge all around their court: Laurent is as unbearable and hard to reconcile with as he'd ever been, prideful and resentful and cruel. And Damen is the poor man who has to handle him atop a whole kingdom he has to rule. There is no soul in their kingdom that doesn't feel bad for Damen's situation.

What no one seems to notice is that Laurent has taken to flinch whenever Damen lifts his hand. That he tenses when he raises his voice. That he is much more succint and careful with his words whenever Damen is around, because he doesn't want to upset him.

All they notice is Laurent's worsening moods. His renewed bouts of broodiness and anger. That he takes anything and everything out on everyone — the servants, the guards, officials, nobles of the court, the walls and the furniture. Nothing seems to please him anymore. Everything sets off his rage. Which is something else Damen has taken to punish him for, in the privacy of their chambers.

Laurent never cries. Not when Damen tell him how difficult he is, how impossible he makes to love him. Not when he sees the several shades of new and healing bruises all over his body, not when he gulps mouthfuls of his own blood. Laurent hasn't cried since he was thirteen. But he gets more and more hopeless each day that passes and he is proven again no good man could ever truly love him because nothing good and pure remains so in his presence.

Laurent always brings out the worse in people, no matter how he tries to get things right.

But he keeps on trying. Because maybe one day he can. And maybe Damen will see there is good left in him to love even though he makes his life hard and harder every day. And maybe one day Damen will love him easily.

Because all he really wants is to be worth it of Damen's love.

And that's all Damen wants too. He already loves Laurent so much. He would never, ever hurt him again if only Laurent would stop provoking him into it.

[skitskatdacat63]

I meant to write more for a pt 2 lore post earlier but didn't end up doing so, so pls take these AU sketches(Mark & Jense and then some assorted sketchies)