#it is 3am as I am writing this post

[selfinserttothestars]

MY EWFIE IS HOME MY WIFE8

Heishome!!@W Im happy

[erinwantstowrite]

i think im not a fan of what dc keeps doing with jason because they keep having him, the abused, become an abuser in some way shape or form. and the classism they don't want to talk about (i am being so for real there is a genuine problem of both writers and readers who do not understand jason's background and it pissed me off so bad because it always shapes their opinion of him in the wrong way and they don't care to even try to listen). and how if they were going to have him come back they should have had delved into his identity crisis and the inherent horror of coming back but not knowing how or why or what to do about it and not knowing what you were doing while dead and having to deal with time jumping forward on you and the fact that you will never get the time back and no one will he the same as they were before you died and how isolating and lonely that would be. and they also definitely weren't prepared for the fact that jason was grieving his life and his death and his hopes for his mother and his dad who didn't get there in time and the dc writers are fucking cowards. which brings me to my next point: why do we keep listening to them about shit because they are quite literally always fighting with each other and projecting their own personal biases into characters (i.e. making them worse than they are/2 dimensional/trying to make them iredeemable so their favorite character gets to shine) and also they are all freaks of nature with a consistent problem of being God Awful People who why would we trust them with these characters. jason todd they don't get you like i do

[zivazivc]

Sorry if this has already been asked before but why did the band break up? And did they break up on decent terms? Do they still talk to each other sometime?

It has been asked before, I just never answered jshfbdjcbh I'm still piecing everything together and stuff is changing or getting tweaked all the time, so I'm always super hesitant about answering these types of questions, afraid that people will take whatever I say as the final answer. So basically what I'm going to answer now will already contradict what I told some people already. And maybe in the future the story might go a little differently too (although I'm pretty satisfied with the current events)

Uhhh, get ready for a long info dump. I didn't expect I'd write this much...

Floyd basically stayed with the band for 8 years (from 14 till 22) and got pretty messed up in the process. The rest of the guys are all quite older than him so I guess I could say they were more responsible, or at least had a better understanding of their own limits (also they grew up in this kind of environment or grew up aware of it, while Floyd was oblivious and naive about all of it) and while they do get drunk and do drugs often, none of them are really dependent on them. They are also pretty good judges of character and know how to avoid trouble. Floyd on the other hand drove in with no breaks and constantly got himself in trouble that the rest (mostly Les) had to drag him out of. He also developed bipolar during this time (in my story Floyd constantly fluctuates between being saturated and being desaturated because of this) and his manic and depressive episodes started getting out of hand after his teenage years. (None of them are aware it's a mental disorder that's making him act so out of character.)

Floyd was becoming miserable because of this and all of his problems pilling up, and started blaming Les for the way he was. Les never argued this which only fueled Floyd to blame him more. In the end he was getting so frustrated and irritable that Floyd constantly tried starting arguments with him, even putting him down and getting aggressive at times because Les gets very unresponsive and closed off during personal conversations (guy is a giant onion of suppressed trauma that Floyd is hellbent on peeling open).

Eventually there was one fight too many, terrible things were said, some objects flew through the air, and Floyd walked out (or Hed kicked him out, I haven't decided yet) with the promise of going home and never seeing them again.

So, yeah, it was very messy and Floyd was the primary asshole, even though he's not really to blame either...

But Floyd didn't make it home (was too scared to sneak through Bergen Town to get to the tree (i don't think i can judge him for that either)) and he just returned to the reckless lifestyle, this time without anyone being there to keep him safe. So if he was messed up before, this is the time period where he got absolutely fucked up. This is also when he got heavily addicted to sour worms. And when he chronically slept around (half the time just to get offered free worms or have somewhere to sleep, other times because he was having manic episodes and was feeling hypersexual). (This is also potentially the period when he had the two eggs with that techno troll, but I'm still thinking if I want that to be canon to the story or not.) During this time he also grew to become very anxious and his self-confidence went to shit when he was being himself.

Then after about three years of that, he bumped into Les at some party. He wanted to dodge him out of shame but Les grabbed his arm and manhandled him outside to talk. Floyd felt like shit about the way they had split up and tried apologizing for all the stuff he had said and done to Les, but Les wasn't having any of that because he wasn't angry at Floyd, he was just worried about him. Les is also insanely empathetic like Floyd, and he knew that Floyd never really meant any of it, and that he was just looking for an outlet when he was hurting. Also he does think he is to blame for the way Floyd ended up.

Les wanted to know why he didn't go home like he had said (because that was the only reason Les had even let him walk out in the first place). A few exchanged words later and Floyd broke down telling him all the awful things he'd done, and Les promised to help him, feeling insanely guilty. Floyd wondered if he was allowed back in the band but Les made it clear that the band wasn't good for him and that he was never taking him back. Instead Les helped him go though rehab. I don't think trolls have those institutions (or at least not many are aware of them or how they work (I'm sorry but I refuse to believe the Trolls world has internet and cellphones, Mountrageons can keep that for themselves lol)), so it was more or less just Les finding Floyd a job and his own place to stay in the middle of bumfuck nowhere where he had no option but to detox, and constantly checking up on him to make sure he was doing okay. During this time they grew pretty close again. Or maybe the better term would be that Les slowly started putting his walls down again.

Hed needed a while to warm up to Floyd again. He's almost as protective of Les as Les is of him, and he resented Floyd for the way he had treated him.

Flea is pretty phlegmatic when it comes to any sort of arguing or drama. He was casual about seeing Floyd again, they were never super close anyway.

And Liv, she left the band when she and Hed broke up (haven't decided if that happened before or after Floyd left), so Floyd didn't get to see her again after bumping into Les at the party. And I haven't thought yet if they'd ever meet again somewhere later in life. But if they did, I think they'd both be happy to see each other.

Anyway...

Floyd managed to detox and successfully kept the job for about a year, but then he became manic again and messed it all up. After that he returned to his nomadic lifestyle, but he never fell as hard as those three years again. In my story Floyd's life is a constant cycle of getting his life together and fucking it up and booking to the next place. And he and Les are trapped in a never-ending cat and mouse game where they're both trying to fix each other.

So, uh, Les and Floyd are still very close and see each other somewhat often...

(sometimes monthly, sometimes yearly)

Yeah...

I am so fucking obsessed with them I'm gonna hurl. Please take this song before I combust:

[readthephible]

can we talk about this. please

[someiicecube]

I still meant what I said in that reply to the height chart though, lmao

It might be 3am here, but the thought of the player being able to choose their height in game for added flavored dialogue has been in my noggin since last year.

It won't change too much of the dialogue, but it's just enough to make the experience feel a bit more personalized.

Imagine being an extremely short MC that has to break their neck every time they have to meet Kuras' gaze. Imagine the look Mhin gives you if you dare call them short.

Imagine being a tall MC peering over people's heads, and most importantly, being so close in height with Ais provides you the best look into his eyes when you're hiding in a shady alley together.

Oh, but imagine being average height in that scene and choosing to look forward only presents you with a wall of man tiddies.

Not to mention that one Mhin scene where they pin you against the wall and, despite their small stature, manage to lift you off your feet by the collar? Like, okay? How would they, 168cm, do that with a theoretical 187cm MC? Hm?

Like, I need me that—

"Their fist curled, white knuckled into the front of your clothing."

if player_height == very_short or short or average:

"And with surprising strength, they lift you off your feet and against the wall, knocking the breath out of your lungs."

elif player_height == tall or very tall:

"And with surprising strength, they shove you against the wall, knocking the breath out of your lungs."

[chimerahyperfix]

This loop has to be the one. Nevermind that you said it last loop, and the one before, and the one before that, and most of the ones before that. THIS was the one you'd stop the King in his tracks. You push a few of your many potions to the side to make room on your desk. None of them worked to stop him, so they were useless. He's still about twelve, fourteen? hours away, so you have enough time to make the bomb, eat and take a fat nap before you go pick a fight. Maybe this time, it'll work! It has to!

You've gotten better at making the Craft Bomb. It hasn't blown up on you before you intended to use it in... a long time. You can make it fast enough, now, for it to still be light outside! You've become silent while you work, which Mirabelle has told you is ''worrying'', but you don't see why it is. Are you really that loud? (Yes. You are.)

It's hard work. Soft light bathes your desk, your work, you. You reach out, past your potions, and grab your water bottle. Take a big swig, and

Hmm. That's not water.

How. HOW do you keep making this mistake. You look at the bottle in your hand, and sure enough, it’s one of the potions; your water bottle is shoved in the back of the collection of other containers. The taste is caustic, your throat begins to burn. You shouldn’t be this calm for having just drank something that’ll kill you in a handful of minutes, but it’s happened before. Despite the pain you don't bother trying anything. Just push the finished bomb to the side and lay your face against the wood of the table. Feel the blood start to pool in your mouth and dribbling out, staining the wood. Mirabelle, or Euphie or whoever comes in next, they can use it this loop. It's not the first time you've drank one of the many, many dangerous potions on your desk, and it's probably not the last. Maybe you'll actually clean the crabbing thing off before you work.

Whatever. You have next time. You have all the time.

Perhaps a bit too much, actually.

[the-cursed-thing]

I wouldn't be surprised if the reason for there being such a difference between how Aaravos treated Leola and how he treats Sir Sparklepuff is due to how much losing Leola hurt. Like it devastated and destroyed him so much that his mind has just defaulted to the mentality of "If I don't ever get attached to anyone ever again, then I won't experience that pain of loss ever again".

[tenderfxck]

hello!!! i really like ur sub characters they make me giggle ngl cause like awww <3 if it’s okay can I request a Zhongli x reader where during the night he lets his half dragon form out while he rests, so he has his horns and tail out but still looks human (I think that is his morax form) however the reader doesn’t know about him being a dragon so one night as he has his form out, she is having a wet dream and poor Li’ has to grit his teeth and try not to whimper and buck his hips up as she grinds and humps his tail :(( poor baby is getting all the stimulation but not enough at this same time :(( Eventually he’ll come and twitch while slapping a hand over his mouth to stop his whining as his beloved continues to grind all over his tail, rubbing its most sensitive parts and he just has to endure the overstimulation. (Have a good day!)

zhongli//restless night//f!reader//18+

contents: half dragon! zhongli, f!reader, somno, accidental voyerism, shit anon you got me good T T

notes: AAAAAH i'm so late, sorry this took forever, there was a whole lot going on in my life but i’m still so happy you sent this spicy prompt to me, it was so much fun to write💕

it was a time of rest. a time when he allowed himself to relax just enough that he wouldn’t have to keep up the appearance of a human anymore.

the long amber horns were allowed to sprout from his temples, while his long tail resembling that color of oudh wood was permitted to spread itself across the fine sheets that wangshu inn provided.

and yet, now you have spread yourself across him. . .

this certainly wasn’t the plan, but can anything ever go accordingly when it comes to you?

zhongli wasn't expecting to be in such a vulnerable position with you. he was typically vigilant about hiding his dragon-like form, dismissing himself from your company to his own room for the night before unwinding.

but tonight, wangshu inn was fully booked except for one solitary room.

with only one bed.

you fussed about the arrangement, but zhongli merely chuckled, assuring you that as long as you were comfortable, he did not mind the prospect of sharing.

so the two of you shared this bed together. zhongli had thought absolutely nothing of it. he'll just retain his human form all night.

well, that was the plan, until he felt your weight dip the other side of the mattress, settling so comfortably against his form as you quickly dozed off. he could smell the sweet scent of your perfume, feel the soft cotton of your nightgown against him. it was just so. . .cozy. warm and safe

soon enough, zhongli could feel his human form slipping, sprouting those more dragon-like traits without him noticing.

well. . .then he'll just wake up before your pretty eyes even think to flutter open. zhongli will change back and you'll never be the wiser to this altered state he finds himself in now.

yes, a fine plan.

(and one that would let him indulge in the warmth and comfort of you as he dozed off)

but of course, that's when you saw fit to strike upon him.

it is had all started so innocently. just you clinging to him, snuggled up so cutely even as he faced away from you. you had been positioned against him, cradling his back as you spooned his resting form. his great tail was in between those soft thighs, but zhongli had decent enough self-control to ignore it.

that’s when he first felt the thrust of your hips.

he was on the cusp of waking and asleep until the sudden motion enticed him away from the edge.

he thought nothing much of it. just the shifting of your body to a more comfortable position. he was settling in to his pillow once again when he felt the rock of hips against his tail again.

a gasp was caught in his throat, unsure if what happened wasn't just an active imagination on his part. zhongli held his breath, waiting to see if it was just a trick of his mind.

and then there it was again. a long, drawn out stroke of your hips. and this time, the heavenly sigh of your voice to accompany it.

zhongli grit his teeth, listening intently for any sign that you had awoken, but all that graced his ears was your soft snores accompanied by tiny little whimpers escaping you.

unknowingly, in a fit of passion only clear to you in whatever blissful dream your sleeping form had conjured up, you were nonetheless grinding upon zhongli’s ridged tail in what was now becoming a slow, yet steady pace.

“a-ah~ excuse me,” he stuttered, barely able to process the scene enfolding behind him. he stumbled over his words, desperately searching for any way to wake you up without mortifying the two of you. “you seem to be-aah!” zhongli couldn’t contain that little outburst. he gasped at the steady friction you provided.

zhongli couldn’t believe the circumstances. he turned his head, chancing a look back upon your peaceful form.

sure enough you were still soundly asleep, unaware of the lewd situation playing out before you.

it didn’t help that his tail was overly sensitive to stimuli (something left over from more primordial days) and especially that of your wet cunt catching on each prominent bump along his long tail.

“a-ah, wait, that’s. . . nngh!” zhongli tried to protest. he knew the implications this would have if you were to wake up and discover more than just the illicit situation you found yourselves in.

but zhongli had desired you for so long. thought about just what noises you would make in circumstances like this long before he found himself here tonight. and now it was all coming true. right in his ear.

and right against him. . .

fuck. your needy pussy humping his sensitive tail was just too much. the worst part is he could feel just exactly how wet you had gotten using him to get yourself off. he grasps at the waistband of his pants, dragging them down and letting his already weeping cock spring forth from the cotton confines.

it’d shame him to admit just how quickly this little routine had him stiff and aching in his pants. but his self restraint had already eroded to much.

if you were enjoying yourself, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to indulge himself as well?

zhongli took his cock in hand and began to slowly stroke, focusing on the distinct feeling of you moving against him. he bit his tongue, willing any moans to die on his lips before he dares disturbs your slumber.

it continued like that for archons knows how long. the thrust of your hips, followed by zhongli silencing his moans and fisting his cock quicker, all while enduring all those sweet little whimpers escaping you as you chased your own pleasure on his tail.

it was too much. too much stimulation, too many little sounds. the slick of your cunt against him, the wet noise of him fucking his own fist, the knowledge that you were so close, using him to get yourself off while that pretty little head dreamt about all sorts of perverse things.

too much. too much. he’s gonna-!

he comes with a particularly deep grind of your twitching pussy gliding against his now glistening scales. he clasped a trembling hand over his mouth, willing himself quieter as dragon fangs catch against his palm, feeling himself finally come undone. he basks in the sensation of you humping so diligently against his most vulnerable area as he spills his thick load all over himself.

he panted, tremors still finding their way through his body as he lay spent, thighs and stomach covered in his seed.

he gasped, moaning and twitching in the aftermath.

yet you still continued.

fuck. fuck. archons, you weren’t stopping-!

you kept on grinding onto his newly overstimmed tail, letting out those sweet little whimpers, chasing that high while zhongli has to sit and bear this whole lewd scene as he writhed and panted against you.

this was going to be a long night. . .

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[boyfridged]

in your fic “paint it over” is that how you imagine jason making it out of the explosion at the end of utrh? not exactly the events that follow, but the preferable characterization of bruce digging jay out of the rubble and carrying him to help. and how do you think jason made it out canonically (without the help of bruce) also!!! what are your thoughts on the specifics of jason’s scar and how he’d behave toward it. i liked the part of your fic where jason was temporarily unable to speak due to the trauma his neck received. i think the scar is something that rests on the junction of his shoulder/neck, and that can be hidden with whatever clothes he wears -> no one knows he has it (or how he got it) either. i like to imagine while bruce knows his batarang made contact with jason’s throat it’s never fully registered to him that it scarred until he sees it for himself (and while i believe bruce would turn the moment in head over and over again until it’s engraved in his brain, his delayed realization—to me—is due to his repression of the occurrence)

oh i adore this whole ask. some of it i explained in my notes, but this fanfic is quite dear to me, so i will elaborate.

short answer to whether this is how i imagine jay making it out of the explosion: not exactly?

the premise that i wanted to explore with paint it over is almost the opposite of a fix-it, and definitely not what i believe it should be in canon.

what i wished to explore there is, however, the part of utrh that is perhaps the most shocking to many readers: that bruce leaves jason to die.

in-universe, i think the answer why it happens is surprisingly simple enough: bruce does not come because he is just... not there. my understanding is, that in a way, the events of under the red hood did not happen. there is nothing to follow. that purple mist in the finale of the utrh, that is often read as a force resurrecting jason (not technically wrong, either)- i believe that is the timeline already rewriting itself, making the whole story into something that was not.

and the reason for the above is the infinite crisis. if i'm not wrong, it's also the inifinite crisis miniseries where bruce meets dick right after the explosions in (or of) bludhaven-- that in batman clearly happens in the background of his confrontation with jay. however, in infinite crisis (#4, just checked it now), bruce tells dick: "i wanted to make sure...you're alright... i was in new york when it hit. got here as soon as i could." which could be a lie or a matter of the editorial not being synced enough- but i'm willing to give them a benefit of the doubt given how it ties with that sudden, stunted ending of utrh.

this makes sense for canon for several reasons. in the animated movie, since it spares us the infinite crisis tie-in, bruce says of the whole incident: this changes nothing. it changes nothing because although aditf isn't, utrh is a tragedy; it changes nothing because since his death, jason is necessarily always pushed at the peripheries of the narrative, no matter how much the fate itself tries to fix it, becoming a tragic footnote. the dead have one right and it's the right to remain silent. and that is ironically ensured on a cosmic level, with his violent attempt at being seen hidden in the folds of the timeline. you can also see it clearly in canon -- i believe it was not until the infinite frontier that the events of utrh got just tangentially mentioned (before that, even lobdell barely touched upon it). other than that, they have no consequences; they are barely ever spoken of; they seem to slip out even from jay's solo comics.

this move was necessary for batman, as a character and as a title: let's say bruce does hold red hood as he does in the alt cover of annual 25 (and the cover of the deluxe edition of utrh.) that would implore a reckoning with his failure and his (suddenly non-productive) grief that would either reconstruct the whole myth or lead to some terrifying implications. these terrifying implications are, essentially, what paint it over is about. it's about the worst happening and about there being no way back from it. and jason, in receiving what he wanted (his father's love and care) wants to deny that reality. they both want to. yet even jay cannot ignore it completely -- and i chose to use the batarang injury to emphasize it.

and about the scar: i mentioned it briefly before, but in the au jason aggravates the wounds on purpose, hence it will scar worse and cause long-term issues for his voice. it's a theme i also keep in some of my other stories (to come...) and i very much think this is what would happen in canon if he had to take care of that injury. yet as it healed, i believe he'd take to hiding it, mostly. still, as it stands, my primary take might be that in canon (if it was to follow the interference into the timeline from the crisis at least) jason would simply end up with no scar at all, and only memories for evidence of what happened, which is perhaps worse for him too (but of course better for bruce. and as it happens, this is bruce wayne's story and everyone else is just living in it- or dies in it- for better or worse. and if we're ignoring that metaphysical timeline bullshit, as you said, i believe bruce would repress it all anyway.)

[20cm]

hi, i unfortunately need help covering a combined bill that rounds to roughly ~$1500 due to the vehicle i share with my mother + my only transportation to work being suddenly very out of commission.

$500 is renting the cheapest vehicle we could for a week, the rest is for the part we need to repair it and the repair itself. the issues with it have already cost me hours at work.

i work 'full time' (a little under 40hrs) making minimum wage to support myself + my mom and our animals and we'd been coasting by despite having a $600 vet bill we were chipping away at. right now im prioritizing trying to get this $1500 off our backs.

if youre able anything helps, truly, even just reblogging this. thank you so much in advance (pls dont tag with b00st/etc)

♡ v3nmo: @/rookwind

♡ p@/pal: @/ceeqyinn

[gatzbright]

sweater weather

dnf fic, 1.6k, one shot, general, ao3 link [Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Fluff]

A cry escapes George’s lips. “Dream—” Dream brings George closer, holds his face in two large palms. “Tell me when you’re hurting, sweetheart,” he whispers thickly, “and I can try help.” George shakes his head. “No,” he says, weepy, “‘s’too much—” “Never,” Dream says. He holds George’s gaze. “You’re never too much—nothing you ever feel is ever too much.”

[Or, The tide brings in old feelings, and George feels the ache.]

[obstinaterixatrix]

Usopp asks sanji to write out the recipe of a favorite dish of his and let him borrow the kitchen to make it but sanji keeps Observing and Hovering

set vaguely after arlong park I guess??

—

Despite what anyone on the crew might think, Sanji isn’t actually against having other people in the kitchen. Working in a restaurant means working with a bunch of assholes who know how to sauté shit without setting themselves on fire. But while the bastards on the Baratie could barely be considered chefs, they were still—technically speaking—chefs.

He doesn’t miss the cacophony of steel and iron, of stupid banter, of order after order after order. He doesn’t miss elbowing past Patty on the way to the fridge, or heckling some dipshit’s new recipe until it’s actually worth serving, or cleaning with the geezer at the end of the day.

What he does miss is working with someone who knows how to hold a knife.

“That’s not how you fillet a fish,” Sanji says. Once he’s sure Usopp’s not in danger of accidentally cutting himself, Sanji reaches over to reposition Usopp’s hand, finger off the spine of the blade.

Usopp makes a face, probably torn between deferring to Sanji or spinning some story to brush him off. They’re still feeling each other out—it’s been a weird leap from ‘reluctant waiter and picky customer’ to ‘crewmates bound by the whims of their idiot captain.’ In the end, Usopp nods, carefully cutting into the pike while holding the knife in his new and improved posture (smart choice, less chance of losing his grip and a finger).

“You’re not cutting close enough to the—“

“Do you not want me here?” Usopp blurts out. “In the kitchen, I mean,” he clarifies, and for a second it looks like he’s going to continue, but he. Doesn’t. No backpedaling, no deflection, no convoluted over-explanation, which—isn’t Usopp supposed to lie? That’s his whole thing. Sanji knows that much, at least (but not much else).

“I’m trying to be nice,” Sanji says, eventually. To his own surprise, he means it. “If I didn’t want you here, I would’ve kicked you out.”

“…Oh.”

Usopp continues filleting the pike, and Sanji doesn’t point out the bones that are stuck in the pieces.

Alright, so, the thing is. Spending nine whole years surrounded by thugs will apparently have an impact on someone’s social skills. Which doesn’t matter with Luffy—he doesn’t really care about what Sanji says (unless it’s about food). It doesn’t matter with Zoro—Sanji doesn’t give a shit about that mosshead. And with Nami-chan, Sanji doesn’t have to think—a single glimpse of her radiant beauty is so soul-stirring that Sanji’s simply helpless against the flood of praise that springs forth ❤️

So how the hell is he supposed to talk to someone like Usopp?

Thankfully, it’s not a question Sanji has to consider for too long—Usopp clears his throat, taking the lead.

“I actually did this a lot before joining the crew,” he says, which—knife technique aside—sounds plausible.

“Yeah?”

“I must’ve grilled a thousand—no, ten thousand fish,” he continues, which sounds like bullshit. “By the time I was eight, the whole island was lining up for a taste of the great Captain Usopp’s legendary fire-grilled fish! Using spices foraged from the forest and fish caught by spear, not even the most refined palate could resist the food I poured my heart and soul into! But you see—” and here, he smiles, bright but somehow bittersweet, “I’d only cook it for my loyal crew and the princess we’d all sworn to protect.

“Now, as astounding as my own recipe was, I’m man enough to admit when I’m beat. And yours beats mine, no contest. So someday, I’d… like to cook it. For my old crew.”

It’s impressive, the way Usopp manages to be blindingly honest while lying his ass off. Sanji’s not quite sure what to make of it. If anyone else was feeding him this crap, he would’ve told them to eat shit, but…

…

“Hey,” Sanji says. “Tell me about your old crew.”

And, with a wide grin, Usopp does.

(The fish comes out fine. A little over-seasoned, but edible. They’ll work on it.)

[crescentfool]

i love ryomina

no but seriously. even when i’m thinking about other things that captivate my interest, i find myself coming back to them and feeling like i fell down three whole flights of staircases every time i do. they are one of my favorite pairs in media and are very special to me.

it’s the way that ryoji and minato’s lives are inevitably intertwined with each other due to the circumstances 10 years ago on the moonlight bridge. without no minato, there is no ryoji. minato as he is today is because of ryoji. they have irreparably affected each other’s lives that you cannot discuss one without bringing up the other one.

ryoji mochizuki, who is death, pharos, thanatos, nyx avatar, the man of many names and identities, is the perfect summation of p3′s messages and themes.

minato arisato, the wildcard and protagonist, who has boundless kindness in his actions despite the unfortunate cards handed to him.

the two of them complement each other and tell a beautiful story from start to finish.

minato’s personas capture this perfectly. he awakens to orpheus, who’s flames burns bright, is snuffed out by thanatos during the encounter against the arcana magician. a visual precursor of the idea that ryoji stole from the life that minato could have had.

it’s the way that over the course of the game as minato interacts with pharos, talking throughout the dark hour, forging a bond that cannot be broken, that allows ryoji to exist. minato humanizes death.

november. the bells toll, calling the appriser. and yet, it’s peaceful... quiet, and full of life. ryoji, who breaks free from death’s chains, refusing his role, is given the chance to live for a month. to make the most of the humanity that minato has given him over those ten years. and what a life he lived. ryoji’s life is a reflection of what minato’s life could have been like in another universe.

it is the way the two of them are reflections of each other. ryoji with his hair down is just like minato. they are both stubbornly committed to choosing to be kind, to love life, yet are chained down by the cards the narrative dealt them with. they finish each other’s sentences, knowing each other intimately in a way no one else does.

how is that, a boy who lived for only one month, profoundly changes the course of the narrative? he is simultaneously relevant and irrelevant. blink, and you miss it, the beautiful life that he led.

ryoji is horrified at the revelations of being the appriser. he who so desperately wished to forget that his existence was meant to bring the end to all life, was unable to escape the inevitability of death. in a non-human way, of course. he becomes remorseful. a shadow of his brief time as a human who was enamored by the small beautiful things that life had to offer.

he is swallowed by grief. grief knowing that his very existence will take away not only minato’s life, but everyone else’s. the very thing that ryoji loved- life, fundamentally went against the role he was born for- to be the harbinger of death. and unable to grapple with this sadness he believes that the best thing for minato to do is to kill him, so that SEES can live in bliss not knowing about their inevitable end.

SEES is left rattled, calling into question what the meaning of life is and what they do when faced against the inevitability of death.

and!!! minato chooses!! for ryoji to live!! even in spite of what ryoji is MEANT to embody, minato still stubbornly chooses to defy death itself! and if that’s not cool i don’t know what is!! minato wants everyone to have the chance to live!!

so he climbs. he ascends tartarus, to meet ryoji, again, who is now the nyx avatar. and i just think there’s something so so beautiful about being able to use messiah, minato’s ultimate persona, against nyx avatar.

messiah, being the fusion of orpheus and thanatos is peak ryomina to me. because ryoji and minato have established an unbreakable bond from having been entwined for 10 years, minato still has a piece of death with him, and by proxy!! ryoji is able to defy and rebel against nyx trying to bring the fall! and i think that’s fucking cool shit if you ask me!

even when all of the arcanas have been gone through, it’s still not enough to stop the fall. and yet. minato knows. in the way that ryoji was sealed in minato 10 years ago by aigis... minato becomes the great seal so that everyone can live. it comes full circle.

march rolls around. he fulfills his promise to SEES on graduation day. minato dies from exhaustion. but goddamn does his sacrifice make me weep- he’s had such, such a tiring journey. he’s been through so many things because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. but at the end of it all, he’s reunited with ryoji in death.

and i think this is why ryomina continues to evoke so much emotions for me, to this day. the relationship that they have embodies so much of persona 3′s messages and themes that it makes me feel like a microwave with nothing running in it.

p3′s message is very hopeful, for me. my favorite takeaway from it is that even if death is inevitable, appreciating the life that we were given and choosing to live as best as we can with kindness (even if we can’t feasibly do everything), is just? really nice? and you see this manifest in both ryoji and minato’s personalities and what they do for the other characters.

ryomina just feels so distinct to me, the flavor that their relationship ties back to my favorite takeaways from this game and im just!!  god!! i love you minato arisato! i love you ryoji mochizuki! im so glad that i could meet them! i’m happy that they changed my life! they made me want to appreciate the connections in life even if they were fleeting! they made me!! want to pay attention to the good moments in life and cherish them!

i love ryomina so much!!! i’m so glad that these two could bring so much joy into my life! and i hope that others can have this joy too! 💛💙

[conquerthenight]

I’ve been thinking nonstop about the time someone on ao3 mentioned that Maxim took on some of Rebecca’s worst traits as a way to cope with (or that some of his own worst traits were exacerbated by) the abuse he endured by Rebecca’s hand. And that honestly makes so much sense.

None of this an excuse for how he behaves, but I think it could be an explanation.

I mean, think about it. We know he has quite the horrible temper. In the musical Beatrice states that he was “the same way as a child” meaning that his anger issues have always existed in some way. Of course that is most likely true, but take that and add in years of emotional abuse and it’s certainly a recipe for disaster. What used to be an ordinary bad temper became something border lining on volatile over the years. We see that in those moments Maxim snaps at his second wife. In the musical, during the first boathouse scene, Maxim rushes after his wife who had run offstage in terror, as if he was about to hit her before ultimately realizing what he was about to do and stopping himself in his tracks.

We know that Maxim can be quite cold and distant when he wants to be. At times he is also super patronizing and mocking. In the musical it’s a bit less so (but even that has the “you react like a child” line) but in the book he’s constantly talking down to his wife. Perhaps he does so because Rebecca did the same to him? Of course, Rebecca definitely didn’t compare him to a child as Maxim did to his second wife, but she could have mocked him with his insecurities (his obsession with holding up his family’s reputation, his intense desire to be seen as a strong figure and the toxic level of pressure he puts on himself as a result).

And of course, we can’t talk about Maxim or Rebecca’s worst traits without mentioning manipulation and the abuse of power dynamics. And what’s more is that both of them are fully aware that they are manipulating the situation. Rebecca sought to control Maxim by holding her affairs, Manderley’s standing, etc. over his head knowing full well he either wouldn’t or couldn’t (or a combination of the two) divorce her. See the lyric in “Kein Lächeln war je so Kalt”: “Divorce was taboo for the de Winter family. The family honor was worth more to me than my pride, and she relished in her triumph”.

Likewise, Maxim knows full well that his second wife came from basically nothing. He knows she’s financially dependent on him and that should their marriage fail in some way, she would have nowhere to go and no one to turn to. He even outright admits to her that he “did a selfish thing” marrying his second wife and that he “should have waited and let [his wife] marry a boy of [her] own age”. He knows that he has (and arguably still is) manipulating the dynamics in his own favor until the very moment he confesses to Rebecca’s murder and the power shifts from Maxim to his young wife.

Both Maxim and Rebecca know that they are absolute monsters. But it’s important to also note where they differ. While Rebecca revels in her absolute assholery and abusiveness, Maxim’s situation is the opposite. He hates himself for his own assholery and has basically condemned himself to a suffering of his own making.

Ironically, Mrs. Danvers said it best: “He’s made his own hell, and he has no one but himself to thank for it”. Was Mrs. Danvers just trying to get under the new Mrs. de Winter’s skin and hit her where it would hurt most? Yes. Was it said out of bitterness over Rebecca being replaced? Yes. But was she correct in her assumption? Also yes.

And of course, the key difference between Rebecca and Maxim is that all important shift in power. Rebecca held the power for almost the entirety of their relationship, and Maxim sought to take that power back through any means necessary resulting in Rebecca’s murder. When Maxim eventually confesses to said murder, it serves as an act of giving up that power he had claimed by killing Rebecca. He can no longer hold the weight of it because he knows he is damned and thus power transferred itself to his second wife. Where he was previously codependent on Rebecca, his second wife became codependent on him upon their marriage, and ultimately he became codependent on his wife upon his confession.

This is where the adaptation of Rebecca’s traits begins to fade. Maxim becomes basically a shell of himself, barely keeping it together through the rest of the story if not for the influence of his wife. He becomes as reliant on her as she had previously been reliant on him. This toxic cycle is only truly broken with the burning of Manderley. Only then are they equals. Only then do they begin to truly grow.

Rebecca, on the other hand, never got that chance. It was taken from her by the very man she had ill used. She knew that her “pregnancy” was a lie. She knew that her cancer diagnoses would damn her to a slow and painful death. Did that stop her from perpetuating the cycle of abuse? No. Instead she continued with it until her last breath, passing the torch to Maxim in the process.

Maxim certainly was no innocent. He perpetuated this toxic cycle as well. The only difference was that the person he passed it onto ended up not only breaking the cycle, but also gave him the opportunity to heal from it. He knows he isn’t worthy of it. We as the reader/viewer somewhat know that too. And yet the second Mrs. de Winter unknowingly grants him this post Manderley fire. Maxim has the opportunity to redeem himself where Rebecca did not.

Whether he takes the opportunity or ultimately succumbs to his inner demons (figuratively or literally) is completely up to the one consuming the story.

Personally my opinion is ever changing. While the optimistic part of me believes that he does work to better himself and ultimately succeeds in doing so, the realistic part of me wonders whether that’s the case. Of course, when I am of the realistic opinion I don’t think he reverts back to the traits he took on from Rebecca and those that were made worse during his relationship with Rebecca, but rather he wallows in a state of being that is just numb to it all. He is stagnant in his recovery because he believes, he knows, that he is beyond help. Things don’t get worse, but they certainly don’t get better either.

Ultimately Maxim de Winter is a character that foretells the tragedy of abuse and how the cycle of abuse can continue in ways that those trapped within it don’t comprehend until it’s too late. He is and isn’t a victim. He is and isn’t a perpetrator. We root for his relationship with his second wife on our most hopeful days and yet we don’t on our most cynical. He is an asshole. He is a dick. He isn’t exactly the best of men. And yet he is also broken. He is lonely. He is lost.

He finds what he is looking for in the end to an extent. A love that, while not exactly the healthiest, sets him on a path to becoming a better person. The relationship between Maxim and his second wife is in a way just like the drive leading to Manderley itself. Constant twisting and turning, plenty of bumps in the road, obstacles that temporarily prevent them from moving forward. And the beauty of it is that they do, in their own twisted way. They move on from the cycle of abuse they started in, however irreparably damaged and emotionally numb Maxim may be by the end.

“Love that liberates”. I’ve seen plenty of debate over whether that signature line from the musical is applicable to the story of Rebecca and the journey the de Winters take. My two cents is that it is, although the love itself isn’t what liberates the de Winters, Maxim in particular. Maxim may delude himself into believe that the love his second wife shows him despite his crimes is what liberates him, but while it certainly sets the foundation for their liberation from the cycle, in the end it is he who must crawl out of the hell he created for himself. No one can pull him out of it but himself.

[nonbinarygamzee]

in general i feel like people often miss the mark in discussing the underlying homophobic disgust going on in homestuck when trying to criticize hussies “problematic” nature. in quotes because the word has lost meaning for me not because i think that he isnt, obviously. when i go looking for people criticizing this (DONT do this) it often boils down to guy said f slur, rosemary is flat, dirks shit but usually wrt a framing of dirkjake rather than, like, the underlying assertion of violence and misery. none of these are wholly invalid things to criticize imo especially if you have any of the context of how hussie talked about homosexuality in previous works but they just.... fail to look at the bigger picture, at the context of this being a person using his own fiction as identity exploration even if he insists upon being too detached to give a shit. and like. largely i think people can look at these things too textually, when the actual layers of disdain and bias end up exerting themselves moreso in the imagery, in the invocation in the first place regardless of what context we can derive from the story. the same way that troll society lacking sexuality labels doesnt save it from upholding heteropatriarchy.

the only mspa work ive reread in recent years is homestuck so honestly i just do not wholly remember a lot of the things i want to pull from here Right this minute, sorry, but i have done quite a bit of backreading on TSO and co, plus his other little assorted comics and something that is asserted repeatedly is hussie, as the author of these gags, as an outsider to homosexuality in the same ways he is positioning himself as such in the extremely racist, misogynistic, and ableist ones. and this varies in impact from mostly harmless little quips where gay people are stupid because everyone in the world hussie paints for these strips is stupid, to.... implications and imagery meant to invoke disgust in a ‘degenerate weirdo’ way. the same way that the bro stuff does when positioning him as not only explicitly abusive but explicitly invested in pedophilic content wrapped up in layers of irony, or the weird anxiety surrounding miscegenation as it relates to masculinity going on with him. the same way the gamzee stuff with tavros is injected for no reason except that it sets up context for a scene where one of the only male same gender attracted trolls (and honestly the only guy up to this point whos same gender attraction isnt able to be dismissed as a joke or Freudian-slip of sorts from the character) is doing something basically with the sole intent to invoke disgust and am insinuation that the attraction he experiences as something oppressive and predatory. we can talk context all day about whether gay characters can be bad people, how trolls dont Have sexuality or whatever. but that doesnt really change them as decisions being made by an author and especially doesnt do so when said author is far from unfamiliar with treating homosexuality especially as it relates to manhood and the performance/failure of masculinity as grotesque.