#it's worse when people try to keep you in the dark about a subject

[party-skeleton]

media and censorship really do be like that these days :/ protecc and shield the children yes, but do you realise that they WILL, inevitably, experience the world raw someday?? and isnt it better to be aware of the fact that said raw world is not candy land?? isn't it better to be prepared to be slapped in the face, rather than not knowing getting slapped in the face is even an option??

idk

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

And I'm back with Part 3 of the "Merlin accidentally conquers Camelot" au! Thank you all so much for your patience and continued support for this story! It makes me so happy to see people get excited by my silly (and occasionally delusional) au ideas!

NOTE: You can find part 1 here and part 2 here.

EDIT: And you can find part 4 here!

And without further ado, onto the new stuff!

It was rather drafty in the lesser furnished cells of the dungeons. Merlin knew this well, as he had spent many nights during his first couple of years in Camelot trying and failing to get any sleep on the cold stone floors of those cells, kept awake by the freezing chill that would sweep through the dungeons at any given moment.

Merlin also knew that Arthur had never been kept in one of those cells, even on the rare occasions that Uther had him locked up for going against his orders. Whenever Arthur had to be put in the dungeons, he had been put in the fully furnished cells, meant for prisoners who were members of noble families.

Even when they were held in the same dungeon, the nobles and the peasants were subjected to wildly different experiences.

With that in mind, Merlin stopped by Arthur's chambers (or... were they his chambers now? Merlin certainly didn't want to think about that.) to grab Arthur's favorite blanket off of his bed. It was a luxuriously soft blanket, dyed a rich Pendragon red. That blanket was fit for a king and a pain for a manservant to wash, but Merlin had always taken good care of the blanket, knowing how much Arthur liked it.

Merlin folded up the thick blanket with meticulous care, ignoring both his own trembling hands, rendered unsteady by the volatile emotions welling up in him, and Gwaine's presence behind him, silent for once. Despite Gwaine's undying loyalty and penchant for mischief landing Merlin in an even worse situation than before, he seemed to understand the solemnity of Merlin's actions and the profound sense of grief over the life he had lived once before that had been so suddenly torn away from him.

The motions of carefully folding up the blanket filled Merlin with both comforting familiarity and near-crippling sorrow. Would he ever do this again, ever provide support and comfort for Arthur again? As much as Merlin wished to stay optimistic, even if his plan to reinstate Arthur as the rightful king of Camelot succeeded, the darkest corners of his mind hissed that Arthur would never tolerate his presence again, let alone trust him, after usurping him and, in Arthur's eyes, proving everything Uther had ever said about sorcerers to be true.

Merlin's heart plummeted, nearly stopping him in his track towards the dungeon entirely, at the mere thought of what Arthur must think of him now: a treacherous, conniving sorcerer who had manipulated Arthur into becoming his friend only to betray him. Merlin blinked, banishing his tears before they could roll down his face and fall onto the blanket in his arms, and forced his feet to keep moving steadily forward. No matter what Arthur thought of him now, how deeply Merlin has unintentionally wounded his friend, or how catastrophically Merlin's world felt like it was crumbling down around him, he needed to set things right.

Merlin clung desperately to that conviction, the thrumming need to set things right again, as everything else in him wanted to curl up in a dark corner and never move again. After an eternity and yet all too soon, Merlin descended past the gates of the dungeon, where he forbade Gwaine from following him any further, down the noble cell blocks, which were filled with sleeping, but thankfully uninjured knights, and finally through the dark, damp, empty, and cold peasant cells.

He couldn't see Arthur at first, but his magic sensed that he was here. Like always, it jumped, tugging on Merlin to act, whenever Arthur was nearby, causing Merlin to pause his step in order to focus on whatever his magic was attempting to do. This time, it tugged his attention towards the unlit torches lining the walls of the cell block. Light them, his magic seemed to beg of him, our king is cold!

Merlin's immediate reaction was to stop his magic, to push it down so that no one would notice, and, after a deep breath, he did just that. As Merlin stood still, holding Arthur's blanket in his arms and cherishing what would likely be the last few seconds that he could ignore what had happened over the last day and pretend that everything was normal, he heard the voice that he'd been both yearning and dreading to hear for the past day coming from the cell at the very end of the dungeon.

"If you're waiting to sneak up on me, you'll have to try harder than that. I can hear that neither magic nor a crown have made you any more stealthy, Merlin."

Merlin flinched backwards, expecting but yet somehow still unprepared for how much vitriol and bitterness Arthur hissed out his name with. He had heard Arthur yell out his name in variety of tones over the years, ranging from annoyed to bemused to downright furious, but he had never heard his name pass from Arthur's lips like this, spat out from his mouth like it was poisonous and vile. It caused so much hurt to well up in Merlin's chest that he felt it like a bruising punch, causing him to wince in pain, still hiding where Arthur could not see him.

As Merlin stood silently, only a few steps away from Arthur's cell and facing Arthur's well-deserved fury, and tried to desperately blink away the tears gathering in his eyes, his magic abruptly tugged his attention towards the torches again, more insistent this time. Letting out a stuttering breath, Merlin obliged with his magic's request this time, and the torches lining the walls burst into bright, golden flames in an instant, filling the cells with a merry warmth that felt entirely out of place.

Merlin heard a sharp gasp coming from Arthur's cells as soon as the torches lit up by themselves and winced. Right, Arthur was fresh off of Merlin's betrayal, so he was probably pretty jumpy, especially around magic.

Merlin's guilt rose alongside his frustration. Everything he does with his magic, he does it for Arthur, and yet every single damned time it backfires on him and somehow hurt Arthur! A spell meant to heal his father kills the king instead. A battle waged to ensure his continued reign steals his sovereignty instead. And lit torches meant to provide him with warmth and comfort scares him instead!

But before even more guilt could build up inside of him, Merlin heard Arthur's voice once more.

"I won't be scared by a coward of a sorcerer who would steal everything from the man he claimed to serve! Or is the great Emrys too important to even face the fool he tricked into believing that he was his friend?"

Before Merlin's mind could even process Arthur's words, his feet were already carrying him to the end of the hallway, right to the front of Arthur's cell. He needed to prove Arthur wrong here, their years of friendship weren't a lie or a trick, Arthur needed to believe that! Too much of Merlin's life, his very soul, was woven into his bond with Arthur, he couldn't let Arthur have any doubt that their bond was even real!

As he finally arrived at the door to the cell that held Arthur, Merlin's heart stuttered again, this time with grief. Based on the ferocity in his voice, Merlin had expected to see Arthur pressed up against the bars, ready to battle his perceived opponent. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Arthur, sitting alone on the dirty stone floor, his face wearing the same dejected and defeated look it had just days earlier, after Morgana had taken the citadel and Arthur doubted his own ability to rule his people. The only difference was that the lost look in Arthur's eyes from before was gone, replaced by a scornful glare that had Merlin feeling like he was the scum of the earth.

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to apologize, plead for forgiveness, whatever it took to just stop Arthur from looking at him like that, like Merlin was his enemy, but no words could form in his mouth, as too many emotions were welling up in his chest that it closed off his throat entirely. Merlin drew in a deep, fortifying breath, purposefully avoiding eye contact with a still-glaring Arthur the entire time. Once he felt like he had his feelings even marginally under some tenuous control, he finally met Arthur's gaze and held out the blanket like a pathetic peace offering.

"I brought you your blanket. I know it gets cold down here."

Merlin was rather proud that his voice only wavered slightly, not giving an indication of how disastrously close he was to breaking down into tears in the middle of the dungeons. Arthur merely stared at him for a moment, bewilderment appearing on his face for a few seconds before it was quickly wiped away by angry sneer.

"I don't accept gifts from the likes of you, sorcerer! It's probably cursed or enchanted to kill me so that you can finally get me out of your way for good!"

"No!"

The blanket fell to the floor as Merlin grasped the bars of the cell with both hands and pulled himself as close as he could to Arthur, who had flinched back at Merlin's outburst. His magic flared again, wanting to break down this barrier between them so that he could get closer to Arthur, but he denied its request, knowing that such an action would only agitate Arthur even more.

"Arthur, please, I never meant for any of this to happen! You must believe me! I only wanted to for Camelot to be safe from Morgana and for you to retake the throne! I only want to secure your reign, not end it!"

That, it seemed, finally got a reaction out of Arthur, but it wasn't the one Merlin was hoping for. Arthur finally stood up from the floor and stormed over to the cell door, getting close to Merlin, but just out of reach.

"And why on earth should I trust a word you say?! You've done nothing but lie to me for years, even when I gave you my complete trust! I thought you were my closest friend, the one person in my life who would never betray me, but as it turns out, I never even knew your real name, much less where your true loyalties lie!"

Merlin's face fell at Arthur's accusations, knowing that he was, in some ways, completely right in them. Still, he met Arthur's accusing glare with as much honesty as he could. After all that his own actions had taken from Arthur, he owed him the truth at the very least. Merlin spoke again, trying to muster up a calm, soothing tone despite his strong emotions.

"I know that you don't have much reason to trust what I say now, but I will do all that I can take make this right. I was born with magic, yes, but I was born this way for a purpose, and that purpose is you, Arthur. I am Emrys, destined to be the guardian of the Once and Future King, who will rule over the greatest kingdom history has ever known and bring peace the likes of which has never been seen throughout the land."

Merlin could see the moment of realization on Arthur's face as he put together who exactly the Once and Future King was, his eyes going wide with shock. Despite the situation, Merlin has just a bit of a smile on his face as he reminisced on fond memories.

"When I first met you, I just couldn't understand how such a prattish clotpole could ever be a king of legend, but the longer I stayed by your side, the more I could see the king that you were destined to become. A great man, a great leader, who will always stand up to protect his people, even if it means putting himself in danger."

Merlin's speech trailed off as he smiled gently at Arthur, trying desperately to give him reason to believe Merlin, to believe in the prophecy that tied them together, and, above all, to believe in himself.

To Merlin's surprise, he could see Arthur confusion melting into... something. It looked like something along the lines of hope or awe, which gave Merlin hope in return. But just as quickly as it was there, Arthur's expression shifted again to a frustrated anger.

"Even if what you're saying isn't some trick, your little bedtime story is wrong anyways! I can't be the Once and Future King if I'm not even a king in the first place!"

Merlin sighed deeply, knowing that they'd get to this point eventually. He had a plan, but would Arthur ever agree to it?

"I've tried! I tried to simply order the council to make you king again, but they won't do it! Geoffrey stopped me with some old laws that Bruta wrote! He said that I can't abdicate the throne to you because you're no longer legally a nobleman."

Arthur eyes widened frantically at the mention of Bruta's laws, his breathing picking up with panic. He backed up from the bars of the cell and began pacing around.

"Bruta's code, damn it, I forgot that they applied in these situations! Wait..."

His eyes snapped back to Merlin, looking red-rimmed and on the verge of tears. His voice, which was so full of fire mere seconds ago, now sounded hollow. Merlin's hope wilted upon seeing Arthur like this, and his magic flared again, still wanting to destroy the barrier between them.

"This means that the Pendragon house is no longer recognized, doesn't it?"

Merlin could only nod, unsure of what he could do to comfort Arthur. At Merlin's confirmation, Arthur took a shaky breath, trying to collect himself from the inner turmoil that he was surely experiencing.

"Everything... I've lost everything."

Merlin gave Arthur what he hoped was his most comforting smile, but it didn't do much for Arthur's hopeless disposition. After a small sigh, Merlin spoke again in a soft, comforting voice.

"Arthur, all is not lost. I have a way to make you king again! We just have to make you a noble again, and then I can abdicate the throne to you! And luckily for both of us, there's an easy way to make a peasant a nobleman quickly! And you should know, you wrote it into the laws yourself!"

Arthur blinked at him, not comprehending what Merlin had said for a couple seconds, before a sliver of hope showed on his face. However, as soon as it was there, it was gone again, once more replaced by anger and betrayal. Arthur quickly stormed over to the cell door, this time reaching the door itself and wrapping his hands around the bars so that he could yell in Merlin's face.

"I knew it! This was a trick!"

"What are you talking about? How would me knighting you and then giving you back your throne be a trick?!"

"You would have me swear on oath of fealty to you, which would legally, and for all I know magically, put me under your command! This was all just another plot to control me, wasn't it?!"

"Oh come on, you wouldn't have to mean it when you take the oath! You'd just have to say the words and then let me abdicate!"

"So now sacred oaths of loyalty are nothing but empty words to you?!"

"Gods, you really can't make anything easy for the both of us, can you, you prat! I'm just trying to give you your crown back!"

"You would have me disrespect the sacred oaths of knighthood! I would never swear an oath of fealty to you! It is a sacred bond of trust, which is apparently something that you know nothing about, Emrys!"

Merlin flinched back, still unused to Arthur saying the name given to him by the druids, much less hissed out in anger. Merlin backed away from the cell door and took a deep breath, trying to find some solution to this mess.

"So, I take it that you would not accept a knighthood from me?"

"Never."

Merlin sighed again, his eyes drifting around the dungeons as he tried to think of a different way to make Arthur a nobleman. Eventually, his eyes drifted back towards Arthur, who was still holding onto the bars of the cell door. As Merlin looked at Arthur, pondering any solution that he could possibly come up with, a metallic flash caught Merlin's eye, drawing it to Arthur's left hand.

There, the torchlight was reflecting off of Ygraine's ring, the one that Arthur rarely ever took off. Merlin was glad that Arthur still had it with him after everything that had just happened to provide some comfort, but it still didn't present Merlin with any solutions...

Wait.

Oh no.

Swallowing thickly, Merlin called out to Arthur again.

"Arthur, do you know of any, any other ways to elevate a peasant to the status of a noble?"

"I'm afraid not. Me granting knighthoods to peasants was the first legal opportunity for peasants to elevate their stations. There is no other way."

Merlin closed his eyes and tried to hold back his frustration. He wouldn't have to resort to that, surely?

"And you've really thought this through, Arthur? If you don't accept a knighthood, I don't think that there's any other way that I can legally make you a noble again, much less the king. Are you really prepared to go the rest of your life as a peasant with no title, no lands, no riches, nothing?"

Merlin could see that his words gave Arthur pause, forcing him to at least reconsider Merlin's offer. Merlin internally pleaded with Arthur to please don't be an idiot, just take the offer!

Finally, Arthur seemed to have reached his decision, as he glared at Merlin once again with conviction.

"I might be forced to live out my days as a peasant, but at least I'll be a peasant with my honor and integrity intact."

Merlin was, at this point, sorely tempted to bash his head into the stone wall behind him. Why, why did this clotpole have to make his life so difficult?!

Merlin gave a heavy sigh as he nodded, accepting Arthur's decision. Arthur looked rather smug about Merlin conceding to him, which he wouldn't be feeling if he knew exactly what Merlin had in mind as his contingency plan.

"Very well then. You've made it clear that you won't willingly take this one opportunity for me to give you your throne back. But make no mistake, you are the Once and Future King. This is your destiny, and I will see that it comes to pass, no matter what I have to do. I know that it might be unfair, but I only ask that you forgive me for what I do next. Please remember, everything I do, I do for you and the kingdom that you're destined to build."

Arthur's expression had gone from smug to confused to concerned very quickly, but Merlin didn't acknowledge the slight fear that had appeared on Arthur's face. Instead, he carefully pushed Arthur's blanket, which had been lying at the foot of the cell door, through the bars, ensuring that Arthur could grab it.

After that, Merlin turned on his heel and walked out of the now silent dungeons, his footsteps sounding authoritative and ominous as they echoed off of the stone walls.

Despite his measured footsteps, Merlin's mind was moving at sprinter's pace, trying to plan out everything that would need to be done in the coming days. The first thing that he definitely needed to do was let the steward know that he needed to plan a wedding on short notice.

After all, it wasn't uncommon for conquerors to marry their war prizes.

I hope you all enjoyed this continuation! Were you right in your guess as to what Merlin had in mind at the end of part 2? Please let me know if you'd like another part of this story!

I'll try to tag everyone who asked for a part 3 here. Thank you all for your support!

@magic-mushroomss @miyriu @whole-buncha-snakess @achillesuwu @aerismoon

@tidalwavesandthunderstorms @marki9 @isaidno @retro-wallflower @samwinjester

@lascienzadellafantasia @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @theoldfroglady @ryeallytired @mind-of-a-crow

@whynotreinventmyselfeveryday @likeapaperplane @odinjm @orliththedragon @aglmry

@caraspud @aostrek-236 @justaz @slippysalt @coffee-shop-gay

@the-king-and-the-druidess @theroundbartable @fanfic-library-for-me @linotheghost @scuttlingsleipnir

@guiltyscarlet

And, as always, than you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[comingdownwithme]

I love your creepypasta au and designs and lore. Do you have anything for Nina the killer, Jane the killer and clockwork?

Sure! Sorry for the late response! had school n' stuff, and I had to reread the old original stories of some of the creepypastas and catch up on any newer additions since this is (technically) my first run in the fandom.

Anyways! Here's my take on the girls! Hope these are alright! This was like- my first time reading Jane and Nina's and my 2nd time since I was 12 reading Clockwork's ekdjske

Nina the Killer

Growing up with a love for horror, Nina Dagon was a young girl isolated from her fellow peers from a young age, with no one else but her brother and mother to confide in. As she grew, so did her love for the macabre, and that love soon grew into an avid interest in True crime. There, at a young, impressionable age where she's at her most isolated and vulnerable, was when she found the man who would change the course of her life, whether he knew or wanted to, or not.

Out of the Creepypastas I've drawn so far (as of Sept. 2024), she's the youngest adult at 25-ish! (Though this may be subject to change as with the actual ages of other characters ://)

Bilingual! Spanish is her first language, English is her second. She's not the best at it, but she's trying.

Grew up with unrestricted Internet access lmao. This... severely impacted her development and how she acted around people at a young age, and a small part of that influence is still present in her childish demeanor as an adult.

Found out about the death of Mr. And Mrs. Woods, alongside the murder of three other kids in the family's suburbian town following their deaths and the burning of their home, through true crime channels.

That is also how she found out about Jeff and related a little too much to his background (her blorbo from her shows).

Jeff's copycat killer, down to his iconic smile, (though hers is a lot thinner and cleaner than Jeff's). They say that imitation the highest form of flattery.

She gets a chainsaw. I think it looks cool :))

Learned exclusively through true crime. Though she's less graceful or experienced than Jeff, she still managed to keep the police off of her, especially when the first of her bullies had gone missing.

Follows Jeff's murders closely. Wherever he strikes, she strikes soon after.

Jane the Killer

While the fires of his own grief and rage still burned bright, Jane E. Arkensaw was a woman that came home at the wrong time. Despite the risk of death as she stands before someone who's hands were stained with the blood of many- including her own parents- Jane fought with adrenaline and anger coursing through her veins like a drug.

The rest of the night was a blur. All Jane remembers as she looks up at the golden silhouette of her burning home amidst the dark backdrop of the evening was that disgusting, Glasgow smile and the fact that within the chaos, she had managed to hurt him.

Jane was scarred worse than Jeff was if comparing their burns. This was because amidst the fire, Jane stayed in a vain attempt to save her dying parents.

As she stands outside, injured, confused and alone as the weight of exhaustion slowly settles in, she wonders why exactly Jeffery "Jeff the Killer" Woods dragged her out of that house before she could die in that fire.

Jane's father used to be in the military, so she learned a thing or two from him in terms of holding one's own in a fight.

Stole the mask she now wears from a Halloween sale at some nearby store during October. A lot of the things she wears has also been either stolen or bought at cheap from thrift shops.

She a lesbian :))

Hasn't and will never kill anyone. Her main target is Jeff.

Despite that, due to her inexperience and Jeff's tendency to escape without a trace, she's sometimes caught in the scene of his crimes instead, leading her to be indirectly framed when she had first decided to hunt around for the white-hooded killer. She's gotten better now though.

Has a complex relationship with Jeff. Despite her seething hatred for him and his apparent distaste in turn, the killer had helped her escape the cops on several occassions, even feeding her during her earlier days.

Still, she won't and will never forgive him, and she dare not try to make sense of the mind of a literal serial killer.

She was an avid enjoyer of the occult and the supernatural before the incident. She still is now, though she's often busied with other priorities.

Clockwork

Having been raised in a broken family and knowing nothing but pain for most of her life, Natalie Ouelette, even at a young age, felt as if both time and space were working against her, puppeteering her life to entertain whatever twisted Gods were watching over humanity. As the years went on, the line between pain and the mundane- even enjoyable- had began to blur, which is reflected in her art during her younger years which she had used to cope. After a series of continuously concerning events, leading to her hospitalisation at a mental institution, Natalie "Clockwork" Oulette escaped, leaving a trail of blood in her wake, including her so called "family".

Practically homeless (like most of my interpretation of the creepypastas are tbh) and had never changed out of the scrubs she had to wear during her stay at the mental institution.

The mutilation and replacement of her eye was a desperate attempt to regain some control of her life, and in the end, she felt like she had

Often confuses physical pain with other sensations.

Doesn't like being touched. Even with injuries where it would prove easier with someone's help, she'd much rather do it herself, leaving some injuries to heal for far longer and scar worse.

Her jacket was one of the few things she brought along with her after she had ransacked her family home.

Usually targets families, especially its older members. She then stays in the family home for a short moment before she moves on.

[drdemonprince]

Re: autistic advice; i keep seeing people making fun of stuff like "are you in a place to hear bad news" or scripts like that. I grew up in an environment where it was common practice to just drop heavy subjects on people out of the blue, & I still find that intensely uncomfortable. But I've now had multiple people tell me that it makes them feel shitty when I ask, for example, "are you up for a dark subject?" & I don't really know how to square it away. I want to make sure that I'm not stepping on anyone's toes or making them feel ambushed or trapped, but apparently it makes some people feel like they're not allowed to have their feelings. I end up feeling pretty shitty about it, because like... it feels like either I have to be Rude (because it DOES feel rude to just drop a dark topic on someone) &/or risk having something shitty I can't deal with dropped in my lap, or else really upset people. I guess... is there a way to navigate this?

I would recommend being more specific.

People find phrases like "Are you in a place to hear something that might hurt you?" and "Are you up for a dark subject?" to be a bit presumptuous about what their emotional reactions will be or what they are capable of handling. It also can make what would have otherwise been a very unremarkable exchange become tinged with anticipatory anxiety.

When someone asks me a question like "are you up to hear something dark?" I might feel coddled and condescended to, rather than emotionally respected. Or if they ask me "are you prepared to hear something that might hurt you?" / "are you up for a serious conversation?" I think they're about to drop some serious emotional bomb on me, like that they're friend-dumping me for something horrible that I didn't realize I did. Then when it ends up being a meme they want to share or a question about a celebrity lawsuit or something i'm kind of pissed at the false alarm and the coddling that, rather than protecting me, made me feel worse.

In either case, rather than giving me time to emotionally prepare or interact when I am ready, these vague questions have introduced some kind signal of social or emotional threat. If anything, it increases the felt urgency to just have the damn conversation already and see what kind of monster is lurking behind the person's words. It makes me *less* likely to exercise control over when the conversation happens or when I see the upsetting thing.

So be specific. "Do you wanna see a disgusting meme?" "I want your opinion on something, but the question touches on sexual assault. Is that okay to talk about?" "I want to talk to you about a conflict I'm having with my other partner." "Can I ask you your opinion on this transphobia discourse?" Etc.

The more specific you can be about the subject and why you are asking about it, the more power you are giving the other person to actually decide what they want to engage with. When someone asks me if I am willing to discuss something dark, I really have no idea what to say. They're imposing their judgement of what is a dark or upsetting topic onto me, when really they have no idea what I might find triggering and what I might really enjoy getting to talk about.

Rather than trying to protect me from something I haven't even encountered yet, you gotta let me encounter it, and actually trust that I will take care of myself. If I don't want to talk about sexual assault I won't, if I don't want to look at gross imagery I'll say no, if hearing one more bad thing about your other partner is going to make my jealousy fume, I am responsible for handling that. You're not responsible for my emotions.

It's good to notice which subjects your friends are especially sensitive to and what big triggers they have so that you can be considerate. My friends know I cant look at lots of blood flowing out of someone for instance and dont send me visuals/fics that feature, say, wrists being slit or blood being drawn. But if they forgot, I'd understand and just look away and squeal oh no i cant look at that get it away. And that would be fine. They are not responsible for my reactions to things.

[mumms-the-word]

Ascension, Return

Pairing: Gale x You (Reader POV) Summary: You watch as Gale restores the Crown of Karsus and temporarily becomes a god before disappearing to return the crown to Mystra. And you can only hope, now that he is a god, that he will return. ao3 link A/N: I was thinking the other day about how in the ending for an Origin run for Gale, regardless of how he plans to deal with the crown business, he always shows up as God!Gale in front of Mystra before agreeing to hand over the crown or deciding to stay a god. And it got me thinking...wouldn't a romanced Tav who is expecting him to give up the crown see him ascend? So anyway I wrote this to get those thoughts out there. As usual pic of my Tav Dani because I keep forgetting to ask to borrow people’s better pictures

It doesn’t take long for you and Gale to make plans to retrieve the crown from the depths of the Chionthar River. The sooner you get this over with, the better, you think, and yet something about this endeavor has you on edge. You secretly wish you can just leave the crown down below the waters…but then, anyone could get it down there, with the right spells or the right technology. You can’t risk that.

You don’t want it in Mystra’s hands either, but what choice do you have? She, at least, is a goddess interested in balance, neither evil like the Dead Three, nor entirely good and thus subject to extreme corruption. There’s no telling what she’ll do with the crown, but she has offered one thing in exchange—a cure for your lover’s affliction.

He’ll be free of the dark hungering orb at last.

It’s enough to convince you. You retrieve your worn bedrolls from the Elfsong and shoulder your pack, ready for your next little adventure—a small boat ride to the other side of the river, and a few days spent with Gale as he searches the murky waters.

You join him on the banks of the Chionthar, well away from the bustle of the city as it is trying to rebuild, watching over him as he sits, eyes glazed with concentration, guiding simulacrums to walk the riverbeds and floors of the river, combing through the mud for the crown. He could have let his simulacrums search without him guiding them, but he wants to be sure, to search closely. He doesn’t want to waste his time turning away simulacrums who bring back scraps of metal, shrapnel from the Iron Throne, or bits from the carnage of the fight against the Netherbrain. So he looks through their eyes, seeing nothing for hours but hazy water, mud, and river plants.

Though you long to lie back and watch the sails of fishing vessels drift by like clouds on the breeze, reveling in a hard-won moment of peace, you don’t want to miss a moment where he might need you. You do not want him to be caught unawares by some curious animal, or worse, a lingering enemy. So you sit and watch, your stomach twisting into knots as you face what you know will be inevitable—the moment when he finally finds the crown.

It takes all of two days of searching. After hours upon hours of looking, he stiffens, his physical body reacting to something beyond your sight, and you know at last that he has found it. You both stand as his simulacrum emerges, dripping water, with the cold bronze of the crown in its hands. 

The Crown of Karsus.

It’s so much smaller than you remember. When you faced it on the top of the Netherbrain it had easily been the size of a large carriage. Here, on the banks of the Chionthar, it’s no bigger than a normal crown. It looks innocent. Harmless.

But you know better.

The power it releases…you are no stranger to it. You readily recall the metallic taste on your tongue as you drew near it atop the Netherbrain and the way its very aura tried to drive you to your knees. Its power is weaker now, pulsating from the bronze metal like a faint heartbeat, but you know that it won’t stay that way.

You glance at Gale, wondering what you’ll see in his face. Dark hunger, perhaps, or something bittersweet. Reluctance, dread, or tired resignation. But his expression is surprisingly neutral. He doesn’t step forward to take the crown just yet. Instead, he studies it with his eyes before taking a deep breath through his nose and turning to look at you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You blink, a little taken aback. “Of course,” you say. “Always.”

“That’s gratifying to hear. It will take me some time to restore the crown and the Netherstones to their original state, fit enough to give to Mystra. The process will be necessarily delicate, given the orb I carry. I should ask you to keep a safe distance. A city’s worth of space, perhaps, just in case, but—”

You cross your arms. “I’m not leaving your side, Gale. I’m here with you, for good or ill.”

He smiles then, as much relieved as he is amused and resigned. “I know. I expected as much. But I thought it best to offer or warn you regardless.” He takes a deep breath. “Very well, then. We stay together. I just hope you’ll be patient with me.”

You reach out and take his hand, threading your fingers between his. “I will be. I’m here for you. Take all the time you need, my love.”

He gives you a grateful look, squeezing your hand affectionately before leaning in to brush a sweet, gentle kiss against your lips. You let him pull away, slipping out of reach, and watch with bated breath as he steps forward to accept the crown, the mark on his chest glowing brighter and brighter as he nears and finally takes the crown in his hands.

You don’t know what you expect. A light show, perhaps. A wave of dark, Netherese magic, or a black hole effect. You steel yourself to the fear that he will simply evaporate or fall to his knees in pain.

But nothing spectacular happens, aside from his mark glowing brightly. To your eyes, the crown acts as little more than a normal crown. To him…

You see his chest expand with a deep breath, the orb flaring brighter, watch him blow the air slowly through his lips, his face tense. But without the tadpole in your heads, you can’t guess at what he’s thinking or feeling. He closes his eyes, simply breathing, concentrating. Fighting, perhaps. Wrestling with some unseen force. The glow on his chest dims slowly until it is only a faint purple tint on his skin. Only then does he finally tighten his hold on the crown and turn back to you.

You get the sense that he has just won a silent, unseen battle within himself. It occurs to you too late that putting the crown and the orb in close proximity might actually hurt him. But it seems that the danger has passed...for now. If he’s in pain, he isn’t showing it.

“Come,” he says. “Let us make sure we’re a safe distance from the city. Just in case.”

His words don't inspire confidence, but you say nothing. You merely follow him back to your camp further up hillside. You know he has work to do.

———

You give him time. That’s all he asked for. Time to concentrate on the magic. Time to manipulate threads of the Weave. The Mystran Weave and the Karsite Weave. Sometimes you think you understand what he’s doing, but more often than not, you don’t. The magic he is performing is beyond your comprehension, guided by notes in the Annals of Karsus which lays open in front of him. You suspect some of it comes innately to him, an understanding born from carrying Netherese magic for so long. The rest must come from Karsus himself, written down as instructions or incantations. You give up trying to understand and simply make yourself useful. Or you try to, anyway.

All you can really do is linger nearby, keeping an eye out for anything that might interrupt his work. You barely interrupt him yourself, save to place some food and water near him with a soft reminder that he needs to eat to keep his energy up. He’s not a god yet, you tease, but the words taste sour on your tongue.

Yet. But soon.

You don’t feel ready for it. You know it’ll only be temporary. You hope so, anyway. But you’re still not ready.

The day passes by without you noticing. Gale sits with the crown, working, weaving, an illuminated aura around him filled with heavy magic. You leave him to his work as the sun moves slowly overhead toward the horizon, painting the sky in tones of orange, red, and purple. You lay down to watch the swirls of violet and indigo magic that gather around him as night falls, until in your exhaustion, you close your eyes for a moment to rest.

You don’t know when you drifted off to sleep, but you’re awoken in the early hours of the morning by his hand on your shoulder. You stir, blinking groggily up at him.

“It’s time,” he says softly. He helps you sit up, hands lingering on your arms, your hands. The crown isn’t with him, but sits on top of his pack several feet away. “I’ve done all I can. The stones and the crown are together again. Functionally the crown is complete, but…there is one last step I need to take.”

He kneels in front of you, dark eyes searching your face in the dim firelight. No, you realize. Memorizing. You feel a sudden knot in your throat and though you are seated safely on the ground, it feels as though a yawning void is opening up around you, threatening to swallow you whole should you tip too far to one side.

This feels like a goodbye.

“Once I put on the crown, the magic of the orb will finally combine with that of the crown. And I will…change,” he explains quietly, while you try to calm the surge of fear that grips your heart. “The magic of the crown and orb will become one and give me the power at last to meet with Mystra as an equal.”

An equal. He doesn’t say as a god. But you both know the truth.

You can scarcely breathe. You want to trust him. You want so desperately to believe in him. And he is looking at you so lovingly, but the very air seems tinged with sorrow. Nothing is certain. Nothing save his love for you, and even then, the tiniest doubt worms its way into your head and your heart.

Once he is a god…will he even remember to come back to you?

“And then?” you ask, your voice no more than a whisper.

“And then…I will hand the crown over to Mystra. And hope she keeps her word.”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I trust you, my love.” You use the words, saying them out loud, to dispel your doubts and fears. You do trust him. With your life, with your heart, with your all.

If only you could trust Mystra. Can she be trusted to cure him? Can she be trusted to let him return? And if he does return, can she be trusted to let him return unchanged? Chosen or not, will he still be Gale Dekarios, the man you love? You don’t know. But you hope so.

He smiles at you and brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek, his fingertips trailing along the line of your jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He leans in for a kiss and you, selfishly, wrap your arms around him and hold him tightly to you as your lips move against his, wanting to never let go. You rise to your knees, following him as he tries to pull away, kissing him deeply, tangling your fingers in his hair, until at last you are both breathless and you have to hide your face in his shoulder. You cling to him, reluctant to let him go just yet.

“Just come back to me,” you whisper. “Whatever happens.”

His arms tighten around you and you feel the bob of his throat as he swallows with difficulty. He strokes your hair and your back, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your head. You can feel it in every touch and breath he takes. He doesn’t want to let go yet either. 

“I will, my love,” he whispers back. “I swear it.”

It’s enough for now. It has to be. You could delay this day for a thousand days and still never be ready to let him go. But you have to. If he wants to be whole again, free of the orb, perhaps even free of Mystra…he has to do this.

You reluctantly loosen your hold on him and sit back on your heels, meeting his dark-eyed gaze in the early hours of the morning. He takes your hands and lifts them to his lips, brushing kisses against your knuckles, turning your hands over to kiss the center of your palms. Each touch of his lips to your skin is a reverent confession of love and longing and it only makes your heart ache more.

Please don’t let this be goodbye.

“Wait for me,” he says.

You cradle his cheek in your hand, gazing earnestly at him, soaking in every detail of his handsome face, committing it all to memory. “I will, my love. I swear it.”

He smiles at you then, full of love and happiness. He steals one last kiss from your lips before finally pulling away and standing, taking several steps back.

You stand too, preparing yourself for what is about to happen, even though you scarcely have any idea. You expect some of what you expected before, with light shows and waves of magic at best, disintegration and death at the worst, but now it feels even more real. Even more likely. You don’t know what will happen, so you brace yourself for the worst, heart pounding in your throat, gut churning with dread, and hope, desperately hope, for the best, even though you don’t know what that will look like.

You hold your breath as he moves several paces away from you and bends to pick up the crown. This image, too, you commit to memory. The way he looks illuminated by the firelight, the lights of the city glimmering behind and below him, the stars glittering above him. The sight of him with the crown in his hands, contemplating it with an expression of deep gravity. The crown looks small and harmless, despite the sharp curls and the soft glow of the purple, orange, and pink Netherstones that are now set once more in the bronze. But he looks serious, regal even, with it cradled in his hands. Like a king mulling over the weight of his position and the choices that lay ahead. He is beautiful. Heart-achingly beautiful. You wish this moment could stretch on forever, if only because it means not losing him to the crown. To godhood.

He turns to give you one last lingering look, your eyes meeting over the distance between you, before he slowly raises the crown to his head and settles it over his brown and gray locks.

The effect is instantaneous. A blast of magic blows outward from him, kicking up wind and dust and flashing bright enough to rival the sun. You cover your eyes, shielding your face, the light blinding you. Suddenly the air feels electric, tasting of metal and ozone, as though you’re about to be struck by lightning at any second. Wind swirls around you, picking up speed, a cyclone of power and magic with you caught in the edges. You struggle to stay on your feet, your body resisting the pull into the vortex. What little you can see is naught but a haze of magic, purple, blue, and inky black, rushing around you and mixing with the wind. Threads of blue and silver lightning dance around you, passing close enough to make your hair stand on end, shocking you when you take an unsteady step backward. The vortex of wind, lightning, and magic threatens to suck the very air from your lungs until, with crack like thunder, everything around you stops.

The air grows still. It is as though you suspended in time. Held fast by magic. Your ears are ringing with the sudden silence.

You cautiously lower your hand. You have to blink a few times for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, the sight of Gale causes a flurry of emotions within you.

He stands before you as something…more. A god in all but name. He’s taller, you swear he must be, or else his very presence makes him seem bigger. His skin has turned a shade of hard silver, his hair ashen gray. The mark of the orb stands out in stark black on his chest and when he turns his head to examine his hands, his body, you see splintered blue lightning crackling at his temples and down the sides of his face. His brown eyes now glow blue-white with magic, any trace of his former warmth consumed by the light of the power within him. He’s striking, awe-inspiring…

And you can’t help but fear him, just a little. 

On instinct you have the compulsion to kneel, but you don’t. You force yourself to stay on your feet and look at him, really look at him, and try to find the man you love behind this new godly veneer. He has to be in there somewhere. He has to be.

“Amazing,” he murmurs, and his voice is layered two or three times over with a strange echo, one that gives you unpleasant shivers. Even his voice carries tiny waves of power. You already miss the warm tones of his mortal voice with its Waterdhavian accent.

He flexes his hands, raising them before his face, his expression one of wonder and awe. With but a gesture, he summons threads of the Weave together in glyphs and effects you can barely make sense of, though you feel the thrum of magic deep in your chest and know, instinctively, that he is capable of snapping your mind with a thought or destroying you with a word. He smiles, and the effect is strange. He looks like himself but he doesn’t. Something about it seems wrong to you. Uncanny. Familiar and unfamiliar.

The pit of dread in your stomach grows.

But then he catches sight of you, waiting, watching breathlessly, nervously, hoping that he’ll remember his promise to you. His smile fades and for the briefest moment you catch a glimpse of the man you love. Even his blue-white eyes, shining eerily from his familiar face, can’t hide the love he has for you.

He lowers his hands to his sides. “It is done. The crown is fully restored once more.”

You nod. You haven’t the faintest clue what to say next. You’re still trying to make sense of the man-god before you.

He smiles again, and something about it is both patronizing, as though he pities you for not understanding, and sincere, an echo of his mortal kindness and patience. He presses a hand to his chest. “Well, I’d best be off then.”

“Wait—” You reach out as if to stop him and he pauses. Your hand hovers uncertainly in the air before you lower it to your side. "One last kiss, before you go. Please."

His smile softens. "I can deny you nothing, my love," he murmurs. He crosses the distance between you with a strange grace he didn't have before. Before he was elegant, but at times a little awkward. None of the awkwardness remains in him now.

You look up as he stops in front of you, his fingers curling beneath your chin the way he does when he wants to lift your face or guide your lips to his. You stare into his glowing eyes a moment before letting your eyes flutter closed. His lips touch yours...and it's different.

There's a magnetism there now that wasn't there before. You seem drawn in as if by gravity. He tastes of metal and magic, his skin cold but not unyielding. Your lips tingle with each kiss and the moment you seek to deepen the kiss—you gasp as a blue electric shock drives your mouths apart, your teeth practically rattling, your lips suddenly hot, almost burned. You press a hand to your mouth, looking up at him in shock, but he's just as surprised as you are. He seems unharmed, despite the tiny sparks of white-blue lightning still skittering over his lips.

"Ah...what an interesting side effect," he says, touching his hand to his mouth. The lightning calms. "Are you all right?"

You nod, rubbing your lips lightly as the numbness from the shock begins to subside and the tingling begins to fade. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't unpleasant either. Still, you're wary of trying it again.

He watches you, looking torn, before a new resolve settles his features. "Then I suppose that is my signal to go. The sooner I depart, the sooner I can return." He takes your hand carefully, moving it away from your face, and presses a cautious kiss to the back of your hand. His lips impart another, smaller shock to your skin, but this time you're ready for it. Your fingertips go a little numb, but you manage not to wince.

"Wait for me, my love," he says, finally letting go of your hand. "I won’t be long."

You step back, giving him room to do whatever he needs to do, and watch as he begins to glow, brighter than your eyes can stand. You keep your gaze on his until the very last second, when the light grows too bright to stare at. You blink—and then he’s gone, disappearing in a shower of starlight that fades too quickly.

You are left alone in the cool night, with naught but a dying fire for company. 

———

You don’t sleep. You barely bring yourself to tend to the dying embers of your campfire and stoke it back into warm flames. After that, all you can do is sit.

And wait.

And wonder.

And pray.

“Come back to me, my love,” you whisper into the cool night air.  "Please."

You half-wonder if he can hear you. If, on some level, you’re praying to him, the newest of the gods. You don’t know if that thought comforts you or worsens your dread. How does he think of you now, now that his mind is that of a god, capable of seeing beyond the constraints of a mortal’s limited view? If he hears your prayers, does he think less of you, or love you more? Will he remember his promise, or will the power he now holds tempt him to break it? You want to have faith in him—you do have faith in him—but doubt creeps in despite your best efforts.

Come back to me.

You recall what it was like to wait for him at Mystra’s shrine at the Stormshore Tabernacle. How he had explained that time runs differently in the Outer Planes. How he would only be gone for a moment. Each second that had ticked by during that time felt like a year.

Now, sitting on the hillside, every second that passes feels like an eternity.

The fire crackles. The lights of the city begin to dim. One by one the stars fade out, hiding from view as the black of night begins to lighten into the blue hues of pre-dawn. And still, he isn’t back.

Wait for me, he said. And you will. You’ll wait as long as you have to.

But what if…?

No. You can’t bring yourself to put your fears into words anymore. Doing so will only make them seem more real. More feasible. There could be a thousand explanations for why he isn’t back quickly. You just have to have faith in him.

You get up and begin to pace. You start breaking little sticks and twigs into tiny pieces to feed to the fire, piece by tiny piece, just for something to do with your hands. You pluck blades of grass one by one or count the stars you can see. And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Your thoughts are your own worst enemy and you wish you had called an ally to come and sit with you. Even Scratch with his favorite ball would have been enough to quiet your heart and mind. But instead, you sit alone, the crackle of a fire the only sound to break the silence.

Your eyelids are heavy now and your body longs to drag you down into slumber, but you resist. You want to be there when he comes back. If he comes back. When he comes back.

You get up to pace again, rubbing warmth into your stiff fingers, amusing yourself with memories of him. His smile. His sly jests and silly puns. His hands on your body and his body against yours, yours against his. The smell of him, as much as you can remember. The way he looked during battles, magic crackling and swirling around him. The way he looked in your bed, fast asleep. Gale Dekarios in all his mortal glory, the man you fell in love with. The man you wish was at your side once more. 

Gods, but you miss him. You press your hands to your chest, feeling your heart beat beneath your palms. What is taking so long?

The first hints of pink and orange appear on the horizon as you turn to pace away from the fire again, your steps wearing a noticeable path through the grass. At this rate, you fear the sun will arrive before your love does. 

You contemplate how you’re supposed to face the whole of a new day alone when a flash of light illuminates the darkness behind you. You whirl, heart racing, to see a shower of starlight once more—and out of it steps Gale.

Mortal. Human. Alive.

“Gale!”

You fly into his arms, which he is already holding out wide for you, nearly toppling you both into the ground with the force of your embrace. You both stagger, but you don’t let go, and his arms around you are as fierce in their hold on you as yours are around him. He practically lifts you off your feet. You can’t put into words how much it means to you that he’s solid your arms—warm, breathing, alive in your arms.

“You’re back,” you gasp, the tears in your eyes and clogging your throat making it difficult to speak. You don’t want to sob and make it seem like you doubted him, but the emotions welling up inside you are hard to suppress. “You came back.”

“Of course, my love,” he says soothingly, not yet relinquishing his hold of you. “You are everything to me. I could do nothing else.”

You untangle yourself from him to wipe the tears from your face and look at him, looking for any changes wrought by his visit to the Outer Planes or from his brief time at godhood. He looks like himself again, his lightly tanned skin flush with warmth and love, his dark brown eyes as rich and deep as ever. You comb your fingers through his soft hair, once more brown and shot through with hints of gray, rather than all over ashen as it was a while ago. Your fingers linger on his cheek, noticing for the first time that the dark vein-like threads that trailed from his eye to his chest are no longer visible. 

The mark of the orb is gone.

In its place are a series of faint scars in the same threads and shapes as the old mark, appearing just below his jaw and flowing down to form a circle over his chest. The tattoo-like color has faded away entirely and there is no dark bruise at the center of the circular marking. Any trace of Netherese magic is gone, leaving behind little more than scars faint enough to be missed by any who are not actively searching for them.

You trace the circular scar lightly with the tips of your fingers. “Does this mean…?”

“It does,” he says, pressing his hand over yours so that both of your hands are pressed flat to his chest. You feel his heart beating, his pulse perhaps a little elevated, but every beat strong and vibrant. “Mystra has cured me of the orb. Completely.”

You want to hate her, and perhaps you still do, and always will on some level. But in that moment you’re grateful and relieved too. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze him tight, overwhelmed with happiness and relief and joy. Your love is cured at last. The threat of losing him to Netherese magic is at last put to rest. He is whole again. Restored. 

And he is yours. Not hers.

As dawn colors the sky overhead and spills pink-golden light over the both of you, you kiss him, reveling in the taste of him, in the warmth and weight of him, in his hands on you. Not a single spark of lightning threatens to drive you apart, so you deepen your kisses as much as you please. You simultaneously want to push him down into the grass and make love to him there and kiss him for an eternity you know you both don’t have and simply gaze at him in awe and wonder that even while he had godhood in grasp and a crown on his head, he gave it all up for you.

He gave up godhood for you.

You never realized you could love him more than you already did. But you do. Your every heartbeat sings love for him.

You lose track of time kissing him. It could be moments or hours. You don’t know nor do you care. But at last, when you finally pull away from him, it takes you a second to remember where you are, standing out on the hillside across the river from the city. The sun is rising over the horizon now, painting the world in gold and shifting the hue of the sky to a beautiful, cloudless blue. A new day is beginning. 

A whole future awaits. And it is yours to shape with your love at your side.

“What’s next, my love?” you ask. “Now that we have everything we both want.”

“Next? For us?” He chuckles and takes your hand, bringing it up to press a tiny kiss on your empty ring finger. “If you still want me, I believe we have a wedding to plan.”

“I will always want you, Gale Dekarios. Now and forever.”

“Is that a yes to planning the wedding? Because I’ll have you know that Waterdhavian weddings are quite the large-scale affair.”

You laugh, his humor clearing the air like the sunlight warming away the fog of a morning and the dew on the grass. “Yes. Come on, let’s find some food to eat and get started. I can’t wait to begin a new life together with you.”

“My love, that new life starts now,” he says, bringing you in for another kiss. You smile against his lips and allow yourself to be corrected. He is right, of course.

Your new life with him begins now.

[seijorhi]

Tendou and Ushijima are such scary yanderes! Tendou cause he's already kinda insane and Ushijima is like a brick wall when he puts his mind to something.  

i feel like ushiwaka's the type of guy that could pretty easily convince you to start a relationship with him. cuz let's face it he's stupidly attractive, a crazy talented volleyballer and an olympic medalist (to me) to boot, and he's not actually a dick, he's just a little intense. blunt. some might say slightly awkward.

but at the start of it all, you don't see the red flags. you like ushijima. he's surprisingly attentive for an athlete playing at his level, which you weren't really expecting but it makes you feel special. wanted.

and then you meet his friends. tendou, specifically.

the thing is, wakatoshi's kind of a possessive guy. not jealous, exactly. he's not glaring down every guy that dares to look at you that's just his face and throwing punches, he's not even that big on PDA, he just likes it when you're close, when he's got his hand wrapped in yours or resting on your thigh. he enjoys that physical touch, a tangible reminder that you're there, you're his.

he doesn't take it well when other people try it.

tendou, apparently, is an exception to that rule.

while you've been walking around with rose tinted glasses this whole time, ushiwaka's got full on blinders on – at least where his high school bestie's concerned. he almost growled the other night when eita went in for a hug hello, but he's sitting right next to you, seemingly unbothered by the redhead practically draping himself over you, the long fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

you'd knocked his hand away – he keeps sliding it back.

not wanting to make a fuss, you'd kept your mouth shut, only bringing it up with wakatoshi later, when it was just the two of you. but he shrugs, like it's no big deal – no, like he doesn't understand what the issue is to begin with. why you're uncomfortable with tendou being friendly.

and so you drop it. maybe you are reading too much into it. tendou's an odd guy, maybe that's just how he is and you haven't known him long enough to get accustomed to it.

except it gets worse. it's uncomfortable and a little creepy. you're out for drinks one night at a bar, and when you come out of the bathroom, tendou's right there, almost caging you in. it's always a joke, or you think that's what he's aiming for, because he wears that same too wide, glittering grin and laughs when you get flustered and uncomfortable.

he shows up at your job to drive you home when wakatoshi's held up with training. lets himself into your place to 'hang out' while you wait for your boyfriend to get home. always staring. amused, apparently, by the six feet of distance you seem determined to keep between you and him.

the next time you go to one of wakatoshi's games, he's got tickets too, his seat right next to yours, and spends the match with his arm slung over the back of your seat, playing with your hair and asking whether you let your boyfriend cum inside you before the game started. y'know, for good luck.

it's too much. you've tried to talk to ushijima about it but you might as well be talking to a brick wall. in the end, you make a choice.

you like ushijima, you even think there might've been a future there, but if being with him means letting yourself be subjected to tendou's friendliness, then it's not worth it.

when you explain this to him, however, trying to break it gently, you see an odd stoniness cross over his features. the hand enveloping yours tightens for a beat, bordering on painful, before he exhales. 'you want to break up with me?'

swallowing, you nod. it's not what you want, really, but you're not going to keep putting yourself in this position. you're not going to be uncomfortable in your own relationship – and you're not going to have a third party involved at all.

'yeah.'

he breathes in, a muscle in his jaw ticking, and when he speaks, when he looks at you with dark, flinty eyes, there's nothing but iron determination, 'no.'

[miaclemeverett]

amazon standing lamp - using drugs and sex and other unhealthy distractions and coping mechanisms to deal with losing people you love out of your own fault. the top-heavy amazon standing lamp part is a really old wilbur joke (back in 2020 he joked about naming a song this) and it also reminds me of how (i think it was him?) he once said that he moves house so often that he loses so many belongings and only has a few things left that he cares about, i think this pairs really well in the song how the artificial meaningless things are all that remain

mine / yours - the breakdown of a relationship, seeing the warning signs and the things you take for granted assuming a person will stay with you forever despite it all

around the pomegranate - this song reminds me a lot of "since i saw vienna", when a place (california in this song) becomes so married to a person that it serves as a source of comfort and nostalgia for when things were simple and happier. being on the road you can never set down roots and people come and go from your life

i don't think it will ever end - he lives life in front of millions of people (chat in this song) watching his every move, like an actor he either has to play the part he's made for himself or isolate himself from this audience, it's a repetitive cycle that sends him downhill

glass chalet - back in the dark days of 2021 i remember wilbur would always joke (SLASH SERIOUS) about quitting streaming and disappearing off the face of the planet for years without a single word. VERY HEALTHY MINDSET exhibited right here in this song

melatonin 130 - I LOVE 100 GECS!! but in all seriousness the constant reminder that you have mental illness/anxiety your entire life and you can only cope with it, that it impairs you even when you should be happy cus obviously you're living out what you thought was your dream and everyone else thinks you should be on top of the world duh!

oh distant you - JUST KILL ME. your sister was right but WORSE!!!!!!!! again you take for granted that someone will stick with you forever and only after it's over realizing that you can't fill the hole where they were. and again we're back on fixating on who is the villain in this narrative

eulogy - your sister was right but worse 2, this song focuses on the whispers (good and bad) leftover from a relationship. harkening back to screensaver where he says that the subject in talking about their relationship basically makes him sound like hitler, and your sister was right where he talks about the warning signs the subject should have seen, this squarely places the blame on him

dropshipped cat shirt - I LOVE 100 GECS!!! but anyway the grueling day-to-day of being on the move, singing to people who adore you and make up a version of you in their head, latching onto unhealthy coping mechanisms to keep going, you have everything you ever needed and wanted but you're bored out of your mind

the median - short but sweet! as i said earlier, wilbur always has to play a part, and this audience projects their version of himself as the truth

trying not to think about it - I KNOW I PUT DAMN NEAR THE WHOLE SONG DOWN HERE BUT LISTEN. again realizing how much you take for granted the assumption that someone will stick with you forever. wilbur has mentioned before how as a hypochondriac, he's never taken seriously by doctors whenever he doesn't feel well. also this idea of romance and love as something just for the aesthetic, not as something that gives you stability and meaning but realizing that it can be that for you until its too late.

10 week rule - who got him pregnant?? but in all seriousness i think this can be read as a way of turning a new page, but obviously its not as simple as just getting rid of something unwanted

[scary-grace]

hi!! for the prompts: 8 & 28? :D i've only recently found ur shiggy fics and i love them all!! i can't wait to read more from you!! 💗

Hi there! Thank you so much for sending me this prompt. This one is set in an AU I've been kicking around for a little while, with the potential to turn into a longer fic one day -- Shigaraki x reader, no quirks/high school au, zombie apocalypse. I'm still taking prompts from this list if you or anyone else would like to send me another!

'shielding the other one with their body' + ‘feeling for each other in the dark’

“Don’t look.” Shigaraki stands squarely between you and whatever lies half in, half out of the classroom. You try to step around him, and he steps back in to block your view. “Hey. What did I just tell you? Don’t look.”

“Just because I’m a girl, you think I can’t –” Rage and stress make you incoherent enough as it is, but beneath it all is fear. Fear because you’ve come to a stop. Fear because you know they’re here somewhere, but you don’t know where, and in the bloodshed that’s unfolded in the halls of your high school since this morning, you’ve learned to fear silence as much as noise. “I can handle it. Let me see –”

“You think it’s because you’re a girl? I wish I hadn’t seen it,” Shigaraki snaps at you. “If I didn’t want to see it, you don’t want to, either.”

For some reason, that argument works on you. “Do you know who it was?”

Shigaraki glances over his shoulder. His jaw clenches, and he looks away fast. “A teacher, maybe. Whoever they were, there’s not enough left of them to reanimate.”

“Good.”

The words feel wrong even as they leave your mouth, but you mean them. With your survival looking increasingly unlikely, the best thing you can hope for is that you don’t come back after you’re killed. “Good,” Shigaraki says. “Let’s go.”

You nod, and inch past the doorway, careful of where you step, avoiding the smears of blood along with everything else. Shigaraki keeps blocking your view the entire way. You’ve been switching off who leads the way, and now it’s your turn. You hold your hand out behind you for the mirror you’ve been using to check around corners and Shigaraki passes it to you, his fingers brushing over yours in a way that would have made your heart skip a beat this morning. Now, with night falling soon, there’s no room left inside you for a stupid crush. All the space is take up by the knowledge of just how quickly things can go wrong.

It started in chemistry class. Everything was fine until chemistry class, even though it’s Valentine’s Day and Valentine’s Day is the worst day of the year for almost everybody. You and your friends did the traditional single-girl chocolate swap, but you brought another small box with you, in case you got up your nerve. And you did. Instead of leaving it in your backpack to be forgotten or in front of his locker to be stolen, you set it down at your lab partner’s seat before he got there.

Shigaraki Tomura isn’t a nice guy. He’s older than you, courtesy of being held back a year sometime in middle school, and while he has friends, every last one of them has a reputation just like his. When you were paired up with him for chem lab at the beginning of the year, most people felt sorry for you, and they said so. But you were determined to make the best of it, not to get off on the wrong foot, and so you were friendly. It took two months for him to start being friendly back.

Maybe that was why you risked the chocolate. You remembered a conversation early on, both of you complaining about couples hanging out in the hallways and blocking you from getting your shoes back, and he’d mentioned something about Valentine’s Day being even worse – everybody and their cat gets chocolate, and I just have to look at it. Writing is your best subject. You read between the lines. And you decided to bring him something way before you admitted you had a crush.

You weren’t sure how you were expecting him to react. Confusion, or interest – you hadn’t signed your name, and if someone gave you chocolate, you’d want to know who it was. But Shigaraki guessed right away that it was you, and when he turned to you, all you could see on his face was rage. It took you three minutes to get your bearings, to respond. Three minutes was enough to get you both sent to the principal’s office.

And it’s a good thing you were there, wasn’t it? In an office with a door that locked and a closed-circuit TV, so when you heard the first screams, you could look into and see exactly what was happening. Your school was devolving into a mess of blood and bodies, and while you refused to say the word, Shigaraki wasn’t shy about it. They’re zombies, he said. And then: We’re fucked.

You made up your mind right then that the two of you were going to survive – and that you were going to finish up the stupid fight you were having in chem class – but as the day’s worn on, it’s gotten harder to hide the truth. The two of you can sneak around the school. You can scavenge food and makeshift weapons. You can use the zombies’ sensitivity to sound to draw them away from wherever you’re trying to go. But you’re still trapped inside the school. You have no idea what conditions are like on the outside, because the school WiFi’s been shut down, and the building’s a dead zone on its best day. And you’re running out of places to go.

Right now you’re moving from the music room, where you spent the afternoon, up into the higher reaches of the building. Going up feels like a bad idea, except the upper levels have fire escapes, which means any room with a window has a way out. You can figure that out in the morning. It’s almost nightfall, and the power’s out. If you and Shigaraki don’t hurry up, you’ll be fumbling your way through a school full of zombies in the dark.

You check around the corner with the mirror. It looks like a straight shot to the stairs, except there’s a couple of zombies knocking around on the landing below your current floor, too clueless to climb up without something to draw their attention. You beckon Shigaraki forward to look into the mirror with you. “Too much open space,” he says, his chapped lips pressed to your ear. “There’s another staircase.”

“On the other end of the school. It’s too far.” You can’t face picking your way back through the sea of bloodstained classrooms the two of you have already crossed. “If we cross –”

“No.”

“If we cross the hall and throw something back the way we came, they’ll clear out and we can go along the wall. As long as we’re quiet –”

The instant the word leaves your mouth, a distant scream pierces the air, and your stomach clenches with horror. There was someone else alive in here – someone else, who’s about to be murdered, and whose cries for help have jarred the zombies on the landing into motion. “Fuck,” Shigaraki mumbles in your ear. “Your idea. Let’s go.”

In the thirty seconds or so it takes the zombies to fumble their way up the stairs to your floor, you and Shigaraki cross the hallway and glue yourselves to the opposite wall. You’ve figured out by now that the zombies don’t see too well. When they pass by, you hold ridiculously still, barely even breathing, and as soon as they round the corner, both of you bolt for the stairs. The stairs are covered in bookbags, backpacks, coats, water bottles, even phones – anything someone would have dropped as they ran for their lives.

You’re careful with where you step, worried not just about sound but about whatever you put weight on sliding out from underneath you. Shigaraki’s not as careful, and it costs him. He stumbles on the strap of a backpack, turns his ankle, curses as he kicks free. The thump of the backpack as it tumbles a few steps down the stairs makes you cringe, but there’s something even worse – a metal water bottle, rolling from the edge of one step. Shigaraki lunges for it, misses. You go for it, and you don’t miss.

But Shigaraki’s off-balance, and with his ankle turned, he can’t catch himself without making noise. A cascade of backpacks and water bottles tumbles down the stairs, jangling and clattering as they go, and you freeze. So does Shigaraki. If there are zombies on the upper floor, you’re both dead, but you don’t hear footsteps above you. What you do hear are the stumbling groans and thuds of zombies coming from every other direction.

You need them to keep going every other direction. You adjust your grip on the water bottle and throw it as hard as you can down the hall, listening to it clang against the tile floors. That should distract them at least a little. Long enough for you and Shigaraki to get to the upper floor. You reach out, offering to help him up the stairs, but he smacks your hand away and gets to his feet on his own.

The two of you can’t use the mirror to check what awaits you at the top of the stairs, but it’s quiet. Shigaraki’s taller, so he stands up straight, peering into the hallway. “Nothing,” he says, when he drops back down at your side. “All the doors are open. We can pick a room.”

The upper floor is weirdly quiet, weirdly empty, weirdly clear of bodies and blood. It’s like everyone got up and left at once. Every time you peer into a room, you expect a nightmare to leap out at you, but the only things moving through the hall are you and Shigaraki. It’s creeping Shigaraki out, too. “Where did they go?”

“We heard the fire alarm go off. People on the top floor would have evacuated down the stairwells.” You remember this morning’s screams, and the way the fire alarm howled for an hour before falling silent. “The zombies wouldn’t have had a reason to come here. How about this one?”

Shigaraki peers into the room you picked. “It’s tiny.”

“It’ll be easier to keep warm,” you say. He gives you a weird look. “The power’s out. The heat will be, too. This has a window and a fire escape.”

“The door doesn’t lock.” Shigaraki turns the handle this way and that. “We’ll barricade ourselves in.”

“We should check the classrooms first,” you say. “People leave their backpacks in a fire drill. Maybe somebody left some food.”

Your idea was to split up, to check the classrooms one at a time, but Shigaraki follows you, and the two of you pick over your dead classmates’ belongings mostly in silence. Shigaraki collects food and water, and you do the same, although you add in other things that might be useful. Portable chargers, assuming any of them are charged. Medicine – allergy pills, ibuprofen, band-aids. A spare pair of socks, a pencil pouch with tampons and panty liners, a toothbrush and toothpaste. The only things you don’t touch are the packages of chocolate your classmates left behind.

Shigaraki doesn’t ask questions until you’re back in your chosen room, the door barricaded and the spoils from your looting spread out on the floor between you. “What did you grab that for?”

“Stuff we’ll need. For when we get out of here.”

Shigaraki scoffs. “You think we’re getting out of here? They left us. They don’t care what happens to us. Once the military gets its shit together they’ll burn this place to the ground.”

“So we’ll get out before then,” you say. “Why did you grab all that food if you think we’re just going to die?”

“We might as well eat good until then.” Shigaraki pokes at a bag of chips, then grimaces. “These are gonna be loud.”

“Maybe that’s how we sort them. Quiet stuff first.” You start rearranging the supplies, and Shigaraki helps without arguing. Outside the window, the sun is setting fast. “We want to be ready to go in the morning.”

“Go where?” Shigaraki shakes his head. “Even if we make it down the fire escape, we’re just going to land in the bushes. Every zombie in the school will hear that.”

“The bushes are right by the student parking lot,” you say. Shigaraki looks up. “How fast can you hotwire a car?”

“Do you think I was in a gang or something?”

“Do you know how to or not?”

“I can do it.” Shigaraki glances out the window, grimaces. The room is so dark that you can barely make out his expression in the dark. “Let’s say we make it that far. Where do we even go?”

“Anywhere,” you say. “Anywhere’s better than here.”

Shigaraki could argue with you. You even know what he’d say – something about how a zombie outbreak would be even worse in a city, how there are plenty of places the two of you could go where you’d be fucked even worse than you are right now. But he doesn’t argue with you. Instead he slides an energy bar across the floor to you. It’s one of the ones you like, one he’s probably seen you eat dozens of times. You didn’t realize he paid attention to stuff like that.

You pay attention, too. You hand him a package of the cookies he always gets from the vending machine, and the two of you settle down to eat in silence.

You’re both night owls – you know that, courtesy of messaging him late about projects and getting an almost instantaneous response – but without light and with the need to save your phone batteries, both of you settle down early. The door’s firmly barricaded. The only other way out is the window and the fire escape, and zombies can’t climb, which means you and Shigaraki are as safe as it’s possible to be. It’s safe for you to fall asleep.

Your mind knows that, but your body doesn’t. Every inch of you is humming with adrenaline, your limbs shaky instead of sure, and no matter how safe your current hideout might be, you know the world outside isn’t. Shigaraki’s right. Where are you going to go, if the two of you manage to get out of here? The zombie virus always spreads, even in zombie movies with happy endings. How many high schools is it in now? How many towns? Even if you live to be a hundred, you’ll never forget what you saw here. What you heard. What you smelled. But you won’t live to be a hundred. You’ll die. Probably tomorrow.

Even though you picked the smallest room to hole up in, the cold still seeps in. Two people’s body heat isn’t enough, especially not when you’re sleeping on opposite sides of the room. But there’s no way you’re cuddling up to Shigaraki in the middle of the night. Given how he reacted to the chocolates you gave him, he’d probably kill you for suggesting it. Why did he react like that, anyway? You never got an answer.

A hand brushes across your shoulder and you startle so badly that your heart goes still in your chest. “Don’t do that.” Shigaraki’s voice is barely a rasp. “You’re cold, too. If you freeze to death I’m never getting out of here.”

“I thought we were dead anyway.” You feel Shigaraki inching closer to you across the tile floors and make what’s probably a stupid decision. “Why not? I guess you need somebody to throw to the zombies to slow them down.”

“Why, so I can make it another five feet on my own? Not worth it.” Shigaraki settles in beside you, until you’re lying back to back. You’re pretty sure that you have to get closer to share body heat with any effectiveness, but you’re not going to say a word. “It’s better to be on a team. I could do a lot worse.”

The urge to ask him about the chocolate boils up again, but it’s faint, transient. There’s something more important you need to ask. “Shigaraki, I need you to promise me something. If I get bitten –”

“I know. Put you out of your misery.” Shigaraki yawns. “I can do that.”

“No,” you say. “That’s not the kind of movie we’re in.”

“Then what? I’m supposed to drag you with me until there’s a cure?”

You grit your teeth. “I need you to promise me,” you try again. “If I get bitten – just let them eat me.”

Shigaraki coughs. “What?”

“Just let them eat me,” you say. You feel strangely calm. “If you kill me after I’m bitten, I’ll come back as one of them. The only way I won’t is if my body’s too damaged to reanimate. So don’t try to save me. Just let them finish it. Save yourself.”

The silence in the small room is deafening, broken up only by the sound of your breathing and the wind outside. Is what you asked of Shigaraki really that big of a deal? You’re not asking him to do it himself, just to let nature take its course. “No,” Shigaraki says after a silence so long that you thought he might have fallen asleep. “Fuck that.”

“Shigaraki –”

“I said it’s better to have a team. My team is you.” Shigaraki rolls over next to you, then yanks at your shoulder until you do the same, and you’re nose to nose in the dark. “I don’t abandon my teammates. We’re getting out of here. Tomorrow.”

His eyes are clear, locked on yours. You look away. “You’ve changed your tune.”

“You were the hopeful one all day. It’s my turn,” Shigaraki says. He yawns, turns his head to hide it in his elbow without lifting his hand off your shoulder. “Go to sleep before you get any other dumb ideas.”

There’s no way you’re going to be able to sleep face to face with him. You roll over again, putting your back to him, and shut your eyes, ordering yourself not to open them until morning or until something important happens. And something important does happen – or at least, something that would have felt important this morning, before the end of the world. Some stretch of time later, Shigaraki’s arm falls deliberately over your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

[gigidragonbbxxx]

The Dark Side of Loass + motivation

I was on my daily reddit scroll while sipping my morning coffee when I saw something extremely disgusting on my homepage.

It was a manifestation success story by a man who claimed to have manifested his "perfect" gf - the kicker? She's underaged and he is a fully grown man.

The post has been deleted but the original poster's account is still up, as is his comment history. In his comments he details how he essentially used SATS and shot a message to someone he saw in discord. Apparently she is 15, lives with him due to an abusive situation, and yes they are s******y active. Apparently he treats her very well (he even mentioned bringing her to school YUCK) and buys her a lot of stuff and she's happy.

Let me make this clear:

a girl in an abusive home situation is not "saved" by an adult man taking advantage of it in the guise of "improving" her life situation while subjecting her to doing physical things she cannot consent to because she is not a damn adult.

I did some digging and it was not very long until I saw his first-ever comment about it and it was worse than I thought. I was trying to give the benefit of the doubt like maybe he visualized for a perfect gf and he didn't know she was a minor. Well, that says more about me than anything bc yes I found out that he had specified that he wanted her underaged. He literally says in the comment "specifcs that could get me in trouble". He made a lot of comments about her body, etc. and quite literally said something along the lines of "I'm her savior and shes my obsessed loving gf". Keep in mind...one of the titles this man used (he posted twice in diff subreddits) was "I manifested a s** s****e". So. Yup. He's a whole p*do.

I will not be sharing links as I don't want to give that horrible man any more traction but if you read all that and said to yourself, but Gigi whats that got to do with the dark side of the law of assumption? and why would you say there's a dark side to it?

The truth is that the law isn't dark at all, the evil part of the law is the people who use it for evil.

This is why good things can happen to horrible people.

This is why you see villains win.

They may have an amazing self-concept OR they just are under the assumption that NO MATTER HOW HORRIBLE THEY ARE THEY GET WHAT THEY WANT EVEN IF ITS FUCKED UP AND MORALLY TWISTED.

It's why you see nepo babies who aren't talented get shit handed to them - THEY EXPECT IT BECAUSE OF WHAT? WHO. THEY. ARE. SO CHANGE YOUR INNER SELF. EMBODY THAT CONFIDENCE.

This is why I wanted to share that story with you, it is to motivate you: if you know you're a better person than that horrible man, WHY CAN'T YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU WANT TOO?

Shouldn't you deserve even more for being good?

Stop thinking you don't deserve things bc guess what? People who are genuinely criminals are out here manifesting - so stay on your zoom and FOCUS. SATURATE. DISCIPLINE. COMMIT.

and let's all collectively agree to pray for that girl. I'm honestly gonna affirm that she gets saved and ends up in a situation where she is protected, loved, and away from predators.

Do not let evil win. Use it to remind yourself that the law is about BELIEF not FEELING.

with a heavy heart, xx, gigi

[aernx]

꧔ UNDER THE RADAR — ! ❪엔하❫

secret relationships w enha hyung line (separate) non idol! university au （ maknae line ver ）

꒰ warnings ꒱ none i think, mentions of strict parents in jakes part

001. lee heeseung — ❪이희승❫ ᝰ

Subtle glances, quiet “i love you”s as you bumped into each other in the hallway becomes a daily routine for you and Heeseung. Decided to keep your relationship under the radar, you two had no other options but remain intimate behind closed doors. Heeseung has always been an avid believer to PDA and it killed him to not be able to hold you in the eyes of public. But he knew that there were consequences held under his name.

Being the ace of the university’s football team meant being the talk of the university, and you weren’t pleased at the thought of unwanted attention. You love your boyfriend, you really do. But with him being the centre of what’s happening around your university, you can’t help but feel unease if your relationship had been under the lights.

Though, that doesn’t stop Heeseung from loving you any less and vice versa. You know that out of all the attention and support he receives from the public, only yours matters. And in a crowd full of people chanting his name, his eyes will always be on you, only you.

002. Park Jongseong — ❪박종성❫ ᝰ

Jay looks at you with stars in his eyes and his friends wonder how people around you never seem to notice. With you sitting two seats away from him in your economy lecture, it’s hard to pay attention to the professor speaking in front. Especially when the middle seat amidst you, remains vacant.

It took all of his self control to not move over and sit next to you. Holding your hand through the lecture as his other free hand jots down notes of the subject. It was unfortunate that your relationship was kept in the dark, or Jay would be calling your name every time scores a goal for the university’s soccer team.

It’s not that you care about other people’s thoughts that’s why you decided to keep it a secret. But with you being the student council president and him the star player of your university’s soccer team, you both didn’t want to start any unnecessary rumors.

After all, PDA has never been a subject that strongly matters to you and Jay. And you both preferred the privacy. With your relationship being known only to your closest friends and relatives, you feel secure and out of pressure. Away from the prying eyes of others, and the heavy weight of responsibility under your positions.

003. Sim Jaehyun — ❪심재휸❫ ᝰ

The love Sim Jaehyun has for you outweighs any love he has for his grades and for sports. The thought of holding you hand as you both venture the hallways, sitting next to you in lecture halls and in the cafeteria, and overall public display of affection made him giddy to the heart. But he knew better.

He knew it wasn’t possible due to your strict parents. Your parents that loved their child so much that they try so hard to shield you from getting your heart broken by guys. Too bad you were a bit of a rebel.

Jake was your highschool academic rival. And it didn’t change now that you guys are in college and are dating. You knew that if news of your relationship spilled throughout your university, it’ll reach the ears of your parents. After all with your father being the chancellor of the university you both are studying in, it would be hard to keep something like this away from him.

The wrath of your parents was something that you and Jake needed to take count. If your parents ever found out, you fear that they will force you two apart or worse—they will take away Jake’s scholarship.

So you both agreed to keep things lowkey. Only being able to express the love you have for each other behind closed doors. Behind all the cameras set in every hallway in your university, behind the close watch your parents have all over you. Just you and Jake, alone in your own world.

004. Park Sunghoon — ❪박성훈❫ ᝰ

Your friends think that it’s obvious. His accidental shoulder brushes, his occasional glances, and the way his head snaps when he hears your name, it’s painfully obvious.

It’s not as if you guys are trying that hard to hide it anyways. With your position as the star player of the girls basketball, and his as the star player of the boys basketball, you guys can’t really avoid each other that much.

And unfortunately for you, Sunghoon can’t stop straining his eyes on you (not that you mind). It was a silly mission to keep your relationship from your team captains (and the others). The two of you bet on each other that whoever’s captain figured out the first will win and the loser will treat the other for ice cream.

It pains Sunghoon to see that his leader isn’t catching up to his little mission. Whereas on the other hand, Jungwon just shrugged him off thinking that his Sunghoon hyung was just being his odd self.

This bet went over for the span of two months before your captain figured it out. And gosh, Sunghoon doesn’t even care about the ice cream anymore. He’ll buy you all the ice cream you want if it means he’ll be able to hold you in public. If it wasn’t for you being stern on continuing the bet, he would’ve just given up in the middle. But now that it’s over, he can finally embrace you freely, before the news of your relationship spread like a wildfire.

© aernx 2023 / do not steal, copy, translate — hope you enjoy my works! let me know if you have any suggestions ! comment ur thoughts, reblogs n likes wld be appreciated <3

[codenamesazanka]

Does Spinner think of what his family might be going through? I wish we saw more of his thoughts on them.

Ohhhh this is a really fun question that I think of a lot, and I think it exposes quite a dark side of Spinner.

The facts/speculations from facts:

Spinner's family all have reptilian quirks - so it's likely that they are heteromorphs too.

Spinner lived in the countryside and got discriminated against for being a heteromorph; his family must have been mistreated by the villagers as well.

Spinner was a hikikomori NEET - shut in his room, no job - so he must have been supported by his parents, who 'allowed' him to be a hikikomori NEET (instead of kicking him out and leaving him to fend for himself), but apparently wasn't able to encourage him to at least stop his heart from feeling so empty.

Villains' families get subjected to harsh public reaction - see the vandalism on Gentle and Toga's parents' houses.

Put all that together, and you have the horrifying possibility that after Spinner's name and identity was revealed by Heroes to the public, his family - likely already harassed and ostracized by their village - will face even worse treatment. And I think Spinner must have known this would happen, when he left home to go cosplay a serial killer and join a Villain terrorist group. He had to have guessed that he'll be abandoning his family to angry, vicious wolves; not just to heavy national scrutiny because the League is huge news, not just to the stigma of criminal's association for the rest of their lives, but also very likely to the villagers' bigoted justification to abuse them even more.

And yet he still did so. Does Spinner feel any guilt? Does he care what he's put them through? Did he spare a thought for them when he first stepped into Kurogiri's bar, and then every action he's taken then that makes him more and more of an 'unforgivable' Villain? Spinner is not a cruel person - he's shown he's kind and caring for all of the League, for the people he cares about. So... what does this mean about his bonds with his family? What does it imply?

It could be that his family was dysfunctional in some way. They weren't at the levels of some of the families of his teammates, but still fractured. His parent didn't kick him out for being a jobless loser, but they didn't support him much either. They were emotionally unsupportive, they were distant, they gave up on him over the years. And so he gave up on them too, and he doesn't think about them much when he joined the League. Their family ties frayed a long time ago, and it's fine if they break. He doesn't think of them much.

But I personally would like to imagine that Spinner's family loved him, and they tried their best. Made him meals to put outside his door so he won't starve. Tried to make him happy - gave him money to buy those games he loves! - yet that inadvertently enabled his hikikomori depression. The reality is, sometimes love simply does not win out against systemic discrimination and marginalization, no matter your best efforts. Your kid's getting sprayed by pesticides by your neighbors just for going outside, but you can't afford to move. Your kid's quirk is weak he's getting doubly bullied and you can't tell him 'Hey! Show them how cool you are, go become a cool Hero with that quirk!'. Your kid's refusing to go to school, and maybe it's mentally better for him not to because every day there is just torment, but then he's missed too much days and he's failing out and it's too late to fix it. And so Spinner's heart was emptied out anyway and he loses sight of the family; or they fell to his periphery when Stain stirred up passion in his heart. There's still a bond between him and his family - but Spinner tries not to think about them.

It'd be selfish of Spinner, but Spinner is selfish in this aspect, much like the rest of the League. They refuse to suffer in silence, they make trouble. That is how they try to keep sane in this broken world. Still, making his family go through all this - something Spinner did knowingly, and he'd have to take responsibility for. I wished we had seen any of this thoughts on this, too, anon.

This is 90% speculation bordering on fanfic territory, so sorry about that! But we simply have no canon information, so we must imagine wildly. Thanks for the ask!

[namelesssfreak]

Jeremy Knox Theory

Made by an only child but I'm autistic and hyperfixating rn so hear me out (i also tried to cut down words this still ended up being over 2200)

Unpacking Quotes

'Jeremy made it over for dinner every night that week, apparently uninvited from the family table over the state of his hair. He laughed it off when he explained it, but Jean saw the shadows in his eyes and the dark look Cat and Laila exchanged as soon as Jeremy turned his back.'

Honestly, I like the theories that his family don't like the hair cause it makes Jeremy look more like either his dad or the unnamed brother, but the homophobia ones also make sense

Also whatever the reason was, Cat and Laila know it

'Jean knew nothing about cars, despite technically owning one, but he knew money when he saw it.'

'Cat looked weary as she pocketed it, though she had given up protesting his so-called charity a year ago. It wasn't about the money, so he didn't take it personally. Cat was more concerned with how many hoops it took him to pull it together when he was permenantly on his stepfather's bad side.'

"The right therapist can be legit life changing - just look at Jeremy for proof." She jerked a thumb over at Jeremy, who didn't look at all concerned to be snitched on. "I'd say you should ask for her number since we all know she's good, but I don't think any of us can afford her."

So Cat worries about Jeremy getting money from his stepfather, and it's completely plausible that his stepfather paid for therapy because of family image, but Jeremy having an expensive car makes me wonder how recent the struggle to get money is, like if he was on good terms with his stepfather at one point and that was when he got the car

"I wasn't born a Trojan, right? My high school team was just like every other school out there. So competitive, so much bad-mouthing, so many put-downs. And it was just...exhausting, playing like that. All that pressure on one side and all that antagonism on the other." He clapped his hands together as if crushing his past self between the two.'

Surely alluding to Jeremy being not the best person in high school, or anger issues Jeremy

"Jeremy has- three. One sister, two brothers. The older brother's an absolute tool, but there's bound to be a jerk or two once you pass four kids." Jean idly wondered what she'd changed at the last minute and why, but he watched her nervously push her fries around her plate and decided not to ask.'

On this, I think Jeremy only has the three siblings (Bryson, Annalise, and unnamed). I've seen people theories that there's more than three because of her pause, and the line about passing 4 kids, but right before that Cat mentions that she has 6 siblings, so I think it's slightly a nod to that, and her trying to change the subject into more light hearted she hesitated before saying 3 so that Jean doesn't pick up on or doesn't dwell on it. And I like to think she hesitated before saying 2, because I love the dead brother theory, and it seems the most likely to me. Cat could've said 3 instead of 2 either because she doesn't think Jeremy has told Jean yet or she knows he hasn't.

"What's Grandpa think of this investment of yours?" It was obvious bait, but that couldn't keep the edge out of Jeremy's fierce, "He is not our grandfather."

I reckon the investment is probably Jean or all of the Trojans, but I digress. I feel like Jeremy using "our" makes me think that even if his grandfather is homophobic, that's not the main issue Jeremy has with him, cause it seems like there's reason that Jeremy doesn't want his siblings (or at least him and Annalise) to be related to him (me when I struggle to put thoughts into words) TLDR I'm wondering if it's something worse than just homophobia to warrant the use of "our" and not my.

'His phone chimed, and Jeremy looked down to see William’s name on his phone. "Bryson is in the sitting room with Mr Wilshire."

'He could hear voices echoing down the corridor where his stepfather and older brother were having an animated discussion, so he settled for a grateful smile in William's direction before hurrying up the stairs.'

I'm assuming from this that Bryson and Mr Wilshire are on good terms

"Like Wayne did." Jean considered that. "Maybe he will also kill himself." "That isn't a joke," Jeremy said, with unexpected ferocity. Cat winced but kept her eyes on Jean.'

If Jeremy does end up having a homophobic family then it's completely plausible that he may have attempted, but I'm also just a sucker for the dead brother theories

"We can call the police." "I'll send Jeremy away first." Rhemann said, like that would somehow win Jean over.'

Rhemann could have said this to Jean because he thought less people would make Jean more comfortable, but Jeremy was already waiting outside, so maybe he said it because he was under the impression that Jeremy had already told Jean about what happened his freshman year or at least why he doesn't like police officers, and if that's the case then it also means Rhemann and at a stretch the rest of the team (?) knows about it too, and this is not at all important but it's something I noticed

[About Annalise] 'He'd walked through a hundred hypothetical arguments with his therapist in preparation for the day he finally fought back, but every time the chance came, he watched it slip past in miserable silence.'

So whatever happened, between Jeremy and his family, is something that he could hypothetically argue his case for, if he's able to make arguments he could use against Annalise, then it's gotta mean he's not entirely at fault for whatever happened

'The receipt went into the zippered back of his wallet so he could file it later; it was always best to have a paper trail when dealing with his mother's bookkeeper.'

Okay stay with me but adding to the thing of Jeremy possibly not being the nicest person in high school, maybe his mother and stepfather have limits on his money because he spent really irresponsibly in high school?

'His family had its problems - all families did, he supposed - but never in his life had his mother raised a hand at her rowdy children. He couldn't fathom being struck by a parent.'

I feel like this gives us a hint on when his parent's divorce/mother's remarriage took place, seeing as Jean specified his father when talking about the scars, it's odd that Jeremy focused only on his mother in the above quote. Could mean that the divorce was from early in his life, and custody went to his mother, so he didn't see his father much?

"I've never been to Europe. Dad's been stationed there a couple times, but..." He shrugged and didn't bother to elaborate.'

Maybe his not bothering to elaborate is because he doesn't know much else about his father?

My full theory because it's clawing at the corners of my mind to be put into words:

So I'm assuming that his parents splitting up happened in early years, probably after Jeremy and all his siblings were born since I don't think any of them are half/step siblings but early enough that Jeremy doesn't have many memories of him. A bit of grasping at straws but this line, "I've never been to Europe. Dad's been stationed there a couple times, but..." He shrugged and didn't bother to elaborate.' if his dad is part of the army could mean that Jeremy doesn't see the man a lot. I've kinda got two running theories so branching off into those

Theory One:

We've got Jeremy and his three siblings being raised by his mother, because his father is unable to take any custody (due to travelling and being in the army, or for other reasons), which could in itself put some strain on the family with his mother having to raise all 4 kids herself. And then later on in high school Jeremy and his unnamed brother both want to go to a good uni where they can play exy (whether that's USC or not) and their high school team have a really important game at the end of the year that a lot of universities are visiting (this is me making a big leap on how close in age these two are) Depending on how much money Jeremy and his family have pre his stepfather entering the picture, the two of them could have been hoping to be signed with a college team (if I've not worded that right I'm so sorry I'm not American and don't play sports)

And at this game, Jeremy ends up playing really well, but it's at the expense of his brother's playing, so like Jeremy gets all his time to shine but his brother maybe not so much, and he decides to completely blame Jeremy for that which ends in a fight. In this fight, Jeremy's brother ends up getting really injured, like worse than Kevin, like to the point of being unable to play exy anymore. When his mother and new stepfather find out, they decide to completely cover the whole thing up and not tell Annalise and Bryson, part of which involves paying for Jeremy to go to USC for some reason (I can't be bothered to work out the logistics of). Which all works well and good, until Jeremy's brother takes his life because of not knowing what to do with himself after losing his biggest passion (this makes sense I promise codependency on exy is borderline a key theme in these books) and their mother and stepfather dig even more of a hole by covering that up and calling what happened an accident ("There's been an accident," he said, and grimaced like it wasn't at all the word he wanted to use.) and no one suspects anything until Jeremy's freshman year at USC, where he's perhaps not the best at getting on with his new teammates (probably particular the 5th years), still getting used to going from his high school team to the one at USC, also potentially homophobia (Nicky core) but they don't really have any acceptable reason to actually start anything with him, so one of them who had connections with the police (related or something) found out from them about the thing with the brother that had been covered up (He had half a mind to cut through the park, but the sigh of cops lounging at the nearer entrance had him sticking to the sidewalk along Exposition. There was little to no chance he'd know them, and no reason they'd recognize him, but Jeremy kept his gaze forward and his mouth shut until they were past.)

And decided to bring it up at the fall banquet, which caused it to get out and it was mainly contained between the USC team, but the whole team ended up finding out, and also Annalise and Bryson, who don't forgive him for it ("Overdue for a new scandal, hm?" She asked. "End the way you started?") (Once upon a time she'd gone to all his high school games, but once upon a time was before the fall banquet that broke their family in half. She'd gone out of her way to forget exy since then, and she'd never forgiven him for sticking with it.) ("Careful," Annalise warned him as she rummaged for her keys. "You already destroyed the family. Don't destroy my future, too.")

Theory Two:

My other theory surrounding Jeremy's childhood is that either 1 or 2 of his siblings went to live with his dad when their parents split up (their unnamed brother and either Annalise or Bryson) and I don't think that would have necessarily affected their relationship (with Annalise still going to his exy games, though the Bryson being homophobic theory isn't one I'm ruling out yet) Then Jeremy and his unnamed brother both wanted to get into either USC or a good university that they could play exy at, which makes sense if the unnamed brother was living with their dad he could have been hoping to get in to university through playing exy, while Jeremy had the option of his stepfather paying for him. Also potentially the two of them are still in contact but just going to different schools, and are on separate teams for a match between their schools at the end of the year that a lot of universities are attending, that Jeremy's team ends up winning, and then either this follows the same route as the first theory, or the brother gets into another university, and he and Jeremy get into their fight at the fall banquet of Jeremy's freshman year.

I could probably organise this slightly better and might come in and edit this when my copy of tsc gets here in a few days, but heres the random thoughts my brain spat out for now

[luveternals]

paring: 4. simon 'ghost' riley x artist male reader. cw: introvert reader with low self-esteem, there's a waiter whose love language is food, ghost has selective mutism(tell me if I got anything wrong), swearing, the seafront location was originally inspired by Naples' Lungomare, Italy. <- posto da visitare assolutamente, guys. a/n: bam! they thought I was gone, but I ain't. Lol guess whose first language isn't English. anyway, new posts' schedule: still to be decided (check the my pinned post). ~ ~ ~

You've seen this trend around for a while and decide worse case scenario people get offended, call you a creep, and you won’t be able to show your face to the public ever again.

What could possibly go wrong?

Put on the brave face, man, you tell yourself taking in a fortifying breath. It’s not that they don’t know how much of a loser you already are.

Not wanting to be the stalking weirdo on the train or subway, you choose a nearby café. They know you here, at least. Though, you can’t decide if it’s for the better or worse.

The waiter is already setting up a tray on the counter when you open the door, and from the cheeky little wink he gives you, you know it’s for you. Noah knows your goto morning food and drink, though you never told him. He found out all on his own — honestly, you don’t even recall having a favorite to begin with.

“There he is,” he says and pushes the tray towards you when you stop at the counter, “precious little artist. Punctual as ever.”

You try to smile, but it pulls at your lips and you know it looks nothing but awkward. “How do you know I might change my order today?”

“Are you going to?”

You shrug.

“Thought so.” He pokes at the tray and points at your table, set way at the back of the café. “Now, this better not go cold, hmm,” he leans forward and squints at you, “I mean it.”

You huff at him and turn away with the tray in hand. “Whatever, mom.”

“Oh!” you hear him gasp offended, “kids these days.”

Idiot.

One thing is certain, being a loyal customer of theirs has its little perks. One being your usual table has an unspoken reservation on it. Every time you come here, it’s there for you. The fact that people don’t usually sit this far from the counter unless there’s no other option is an appreciated bonus. You place the tray on the table, set your bag on the empty chair next to yourself, and finally take a seat.

Unsure of how to start, you pick Noah as the first subject of your little experiment. He’s been nagging you about making a portrait of him for ages now, so you know for a fact he’s not going to mind.

You start your sketch with his beaming face. A circle for the shape of the head. A downward line at the center to keep everything spaced correctly. Find the position of eyes and nose. Shape of the face. Erase the lines you don’t need anymore.

You brush off the little eraser crumbs away and raise your head to check his face again. He’s turned away though, and your attention slides to the customer in front of him waiting for his turn.

He’s a hulking figure, dark wear and face mask covering mouth and nose. You’ve never seen him around before.

Noah's café is small and cozy, tucked away in a little corner. Tourists don’t really pick this as their first choice.

You move to draw on an empty part of the page.

-

“Oh ho! Looky here.”

You jerk and almost fall off the chair at the sudden presence peering over your shoulder. "Jesus, fu— what the hell is wrong with you?”

He steals the sketchbook and flips through the pages. “Love struck, aren’t we?” he snickers, inspecting the lastest drawings you’ve added to your collection.

You snatch the book back and fight the urge to check if anyone heard. “I thought I told you not to touch without permission.”

“I’m sorry,” he says and raises his hands before him, “I just… it’s been a while since I saw you draw so passionately, and I got curious. thought you lost your muse.” He glances down at the sketchbook and gives you a playful grin, “I guess you found a new one?”

-

“It’s been an eternity, are you ever going to talk to him?” Mr I-don’t-know-how-to-mind-my-own-business sets a second pastry you never ordered beside your empty plate and lean over to look at your current drawing.

“Can you, like, leave me alone?”

“You’re an artist,” he says with the flattest tone, “without me, who would keep you fed and hydrated and alive, you?”

You purse your lips and raise your chin to stare up at him. How dare he? You don’t need no one’s help to take care of yourself, thank you very much. It’s not like you forget time passes when you're drawing and end up with only breakfast in your belly all day. it happened, sure. Still.

“You know what, you’re being a real pain right now,” you say and stand intending to leave the café and head to the park or something.

Of course, your action is too abrupt and you end up bumping into someone who was making their way to a table near yours. And catastrophe happens.

When you turn, you realize the person you knocked into is the man you’ve been drawing these last days. Even worse, his eyes are locked onto your open sketchbook right on the spread littered with portraits and drawings of him.

Fuck.

Here comes the part where he thinks you're a weirdo and leaves the café with the intention of never coming back.

“Oh, hello!” Noah says and wiggles his fingers at the man with an overly cheery expression. “My friend here was just about to come and talk to you about these,” he says, gathering your drawings and shoving them into your arms, “he’s a little shy, so he needed a little push,” he adds, then shoves you towards the other man.

You stumble but recover quickly, and when you turn to glare at your friend he simply sends you a wink and mouths ‘don’t be a loser and ask him out’.

“He’s not even being subtle at it.” You don’t expect the man to talk to you at all, or to stay after that to begin with. There’s amusement in his voice and when you meet his gaze, you find a soft look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. From this close up, his eye color catches your attention and you have to refrain yourself from leaning closer and finding out how it is that it seems to change from hazel-brown to blue and back. “Yeah,” you say again and drop your attention back to your things to stop yourself from staring, “he’s an idiot. But he's a good friend despite it all. He pretty much keeps me alive by shoving food into my face.”

-

Talking to Simon is not as awkward as you'd told yourself it'd be. He doesn’t judge you for all the drawings you did of him and instead compliments you on your skill. He does tease you, though.

“If I knew I was being stared at for so long I would have posed.”

“Shut up.”

“Need a model? I could do naked as well if you want.”

“Ugh.”

His laugh is contagious and you're helpless, so the teasing doesn’t stop.

-

Friendship with him is not the same as with Noah.

The waiter is a beaming ball of life, open and bold and buzzing with energy. You love him but, sometimes, spending time with him is quite exhausting. 

Simon on the other hand, he knows silence. 

He sits at your table, book in one hand and tea in the other, enjoying the simple company that is your presence despite not having said a word since the simple greeting you shared this morning.

Noah gives you a thumbs up from over Simon's shoulder.

-

“Why don't you just use a normal pencil for sketching?”

You peer up at him, hunched over the page. He's not even looking st you, but you know he's waiting for answer, curious and with real interest.

The first time he asked you a question, you've fumbled with your words unsure if he cared at all and if you'd scared him of with your chatter. Words aren't for you, but the longer you talk about the same thing on and on, you figure he doesn't mind and didn't ask just to have some awkward small talk. And so you blabber on about how it makes it easier to distinguish the first quick sketch with a color and the details you've added later with another.

He's eyes are pinned on you now, and you find you don't really mind being stared at like you thought you would.

-

“Ask him out.”

You haven’t even reached the counter and Noah is already at it. “Can you not?”

“Precious, I can see the love struck dreamy smile you give him from a mile away,” he says, adding a second steaming cup to your tray. “Introvert doesn’t mean allergic to people. You’re not the complete failure at socializing you imagine yourself being.” He pushes the tray towards you and leans against the counter. “youst case scenario, if he says 'no' I’ll go with you.”

You grimace. And then wide the look off your face when you register your reaction. “I mean— it's not that I don’t like you, it’s just that—”

“Wow, man. Wow,” he scoffs, “this is worse than when you left the sketch of my face half done.”

Oh, fuck. You forgot about that one?

“Whatever, man,” he says with a roll of his eyes, his lips twitch at the corners. “If he does say 'no', I'll buy you that kit you’ve been swooning over for the past month. Best quality color and all that.” He waves at you to move along, only to pull your tray closer to himself again and popping a tiny little pastry right in the middle. Then sends you off to your doom.

-

“I've been thinking,” you blurt out in response to his ‘mornin’’.

Simon pauses right about to take a seat, raises an eyebrow and finally settles down. “Have you, now?”

“Yeah,” you say and tap the end of your pencil against the table. “Yeah. Do you like the park? No, wait. Do you like going to the park with me— would you…” You take in a breath and raise your gaze to the ceiling, “really, now?”

After a long moment, you shift your attention back to him ready to try again. His eyes are shining, little wrinkles decorating the corner of his eyes.

The mask covers it, but you know for a fact that he's smiling.

You feel your cheeks going warmer and you have to fight the urge to backtrack and hide behind your sketchbook. “Do you wanna,” you say, “go to the park with me?”

-

It's an oddity to find him already seated, no tea in sight either. From the look Noah gives you, after a month of simon coming in every day, this is a novelty for him as well.

You bring your tray to the table and sit beside him without a comment, only a simple greeting and a gentle smile. You set a cup of tea before him, alongside one of the sweets Noah refused to take back when you told him it was probably too much food. He actually looked offended by the comment.

“It’s double the stuff he usually gives me, Simon,” you say when he tries to have you keep it, “just eat it. Or better, help me finish it all, I beg you.”

He stares at the food for a long moment, then visibly gives up on convincing you. He doesn't touch it though.

The tea goes ignored as well.

You purse your lips. Well, that won’t do.

“Say,” you start and tilt your head to catch his gaze, “do you wanna go out for a walk? There’s a place I wanted to show you.”

He watches your face, then shifts his attention around the café, on Noah and finally on the food he left untouched.

“I'll have Noah put everything in a bag. I know he won't mind.”

He hesitates, but nods.

You smile at him and beam when the gesture seems to lessen the tension on his shoulders.

You bring him to a local bookstore. Like with the café, this is a little business famous mostly in the neighborhood. It’s never overly crowded but there’s always a kid or two binging their current read.

You leave him to scan the shelves and move to do the same not far.

Hah! They’ve finally restocked the stationary corner. Hooray! You definitely don’t need another journal, but no one can stop you from staring at them with gut wrenching despair.

Would Simon like it if I bought him one?

At the thought you turn to search for him and find him already making his way to you with a new book in hand.

You've got the membership card here so you manage to convince him to let you pay. Both for his book and the journal you're holding.

-

You don’t know many places to visit, but those you are familiar with are the best for those who don’t care for ‘crowded’.

The seafront isn’t one of them but you hope the view will make up for it.

It’s a risky move, but you think you’ve grown close to him enough to know he's quite comfortable with being by himself, but sometimes silence isn't what he wants or needs.

Noah told you you’re a pretty good observant and that analyzing the world around you is what makes you an artist. So you hope he wasn’t making that up.

There's a little corner towards the end. Here the view is partially covered but when you check his face, you're glad to discover he doesn't seem to mind at all. He hasn't said a word at all since you met this morning, but his attention has been pinned on you all day even after the nonsense rant you've gone on about AI art. 

You pull out a thermos from the café’s cute, little bag and hand it to him like an hesitant offering. His tea has been kept safe and warm inside all morning, but you don't know if he'll accept it after earlier. 

His eyes soften and he takes the thermos with the same care you've handled it with, and holds it in both hands like he wants to keep it safe.

A spark of hope warms your insides, so you take out two pastries and hand one to him. "He's going to make me eat more tomorrow," you say and take a bite, as if to show him Noah does know how to bake — oh, yep, he really does. God. "And you haven't had breakfast yet. Please?"

It takes a moment, but eventually, he turns away from any unwanted gaze, moves his face mask out of the way, and brings the food to his mouth to take a bite.

It slow, delibeate and so very careful, but he's eating, and now you finally understand. How Noah cares so much about keeping you fed. 

~ ~ ~ a/n: I'm not entirely sure if I got it right. Here's what I was thinking: noah is there to keep the reader from neglecting himself; ghost is a new face at the café and with a little push they become friends; reader starts taking care of ghost end consequently takes care of himself. comment, reblog and/or follow. yadda, yadda, yadda, this blog feeds off feedback or it'll go boom! don't just like please...

[trickstarbrave]

Actually b4 I sleep:

I see in the bg3 arguments (carried over from ppl rules lawyering 5e too hard) that if a character wants to do something it is unethical or “gross” to use persuasion rolls to convince them out of it. Examples: that you should let Astarion ascend because he wants to, or let Shadowheart become a dark justiciar because “it’s all she’s ever wanted”

These arguments are stupid.

Normally I don’t go hard on the “this is a stupid argument” bc most of the time complex moral situations require nuance and you shouldn’t try and call ppl stupid for differing perspectives but. No this one is stupid.

Persuasion rolls are not magical mind control. They are literally using the force of charisma (whole other conversation but again it isn’t mind control) to talk about something to a character and have them see it from different perspectives. High rolls are not you overriding their will power or decision making—if they rly didn’t wanna, they wouldn’t do it. You can do this for objectively horrible end goals, but also good ones.

Not to gamify real life tragedies but IRL, talking someone down from a suicide attempt would be a charisma roll (I’ve been suicidal so I’m using this example). The person really “wants” to kill themselves—or at least, they really think they do. This isn’t a choice made in a vacuum. Ultimately people want to die when they think there is no way out of their problems be it bad mental health, abuse they’re constantly subjected to, insane amounts of debt they feel they’ll never be able to pay off, social isolation, grief, and so on. It can be a combination of factors, but really what they ACTUALLY want is a solution to the problems that are overwhelming them and making them feel like being alive is worse than being dead. Talking someone down from suicide is not a BAD thing to do. In fact it would be morally bad to go “well we have to let people do what they want. Go for it man here’s a loaded gun and some pills”. But you have to persuade them to help them. Because they’re in a really dark place and can’t see reason.

Shadowheart was raised in a cult. She doesn’t actually want to be a dark justiciar, she wants to feel accomplished and like she belongs. She has been punished, isolated, and hurt her whole childhood and had her suffering justified by those in power above her. She’s been abused and told being a dark justiciar is the best thing a sharran can be. That it is the height of Shar worship. And that Shar took her in and “loved” her when “no one else wanted her”. Her ideals and goals are built upon lies and abuse. You, as an outsider, can give her that perspective and tell her that no matter how hard it gets she is worthy of love and can uncover the lies used to cover up and erase her past. She is just so narrowed in on what she thinks is “right” based on what she’s grown up with that she is not thinking for herself, she’s falling back on cult doctrine to think for her.

Astarion “wants” to ascend because he wants to feel like no one can ever hurt him again. He wants to spite Cazador. He wants to feel safe. And not worry about burning in the sun too. But are those things worth your actual fucking soul and your ability to love and connect with other people? No. Astarion doesn’t actually want the power, he doesn’t actually want to rule the world, and this power will not actually keep him safe. He has mistaken power for freedom because of 200 years of abuse and also was almost killed via human sacrifice like a minute prior (turns in dnd are only 6 seconds). He isn’t exactly thinking rationally give he’s been free for a week and nearly died a few seconds prior. He’s running on base instincts. He’s leaning into the lies Cazador has drilled into his head: the weak suffer because they are weak and the only way to be safe is to be the strongest person around. But this is an ideology that isn’t true. Cazador wasn’t safe. He wouldn’t have been safe even ascended. Astarion won’t be either. It’s literally a Faustian bargain and the game hits you over the damn head with it multiple times. Talking him out of it means you to see Astarion for who he is: as a person beyond his abuse and what makes him useful or not.

Hell, on a smaller level, Wyll wanted to kill Karlach. You can find out very easily though that she’s not actually a bad person, it’s just a technicality of Wyll’s contract. Or are you gonna say Karlach is manipulative and immoral for telling the truth and pleading for her life??? Because it’s getting in the way of what Wyll wants to do! Mizora told him she’s heartless! He’ll suffer if he doesn’t! Gale wants to blow himself up and thinks it’s the right choice, better miss out on all of act 3 because why are you trying to convince him out of it???

You can still ofc make different choices in any storyline bc this is s video game I’m not here to tell you what you can and can’t do. Just arguing “actually it’s morally bad that I have to roll persuasion—“ is a dumb argument I need people to stop making.

[jackdaniel69nice]

As far as the adults in their life, is their any pros/teachers/etc that Tokoyami and/or Dark Shadow have a negative view of? Whether that be theyre afraid of them or dislike them or what?

Once again tokoyami is very cooperative and has a motto in life (from his grandfather) to “make friends, not enemies” so there arnt very many people he dislikes. But! I just made a post about eraserhead/aizawa and how their relationship can improve. Another answer is how tokoyami obviously wasn’t very fond of hawks when they first met. Toko saw some videos of hawks online before and decided he was very pompous and “fake” but when he was offered an internship he still jumped at the opportunity. Getting such a high up connection with the number three—then number two—hero would provide a great safety net and open up better opportunities, not to mention hawks obviously has skills and he can learn some things. Of course that all went down the drain when all hawks wanted from him was information, the reason he came back the second internship was mostly spite but he still wanted to form that connection. He was very caught off guard when hawks took him for that night flight and inspired him. He was very excited about meeting with hawks after that and the rest is history ;)

The REAL answer to this has to be Endeavor. There are multiple good reasons for this. Endeavor has a temper and large threatening presence, he seems violent. That isn’t really a problem until you throw in his intense flame power. Tokoyami has had trouble with police and low power hero’s in the past. Some part of him is still scared Endeavor would find some reason to go after him and arrest him, he’ll do anything to avoid that. On top of that there has been some hinting that endeavor follows an antiheteromorph rhetoric and is a misogisnist based on things dabi and shoto have said (that they probably learned from him). He’s just an old man with an old backwards point of view.

Then there is the biggest issue in that he is shoto’s abuser. Tokoyami is fiercely protective of his friends, we know this, and I do not doubt he would hold a grudge against endeavor for abusing shoto for years. Tokoyami does believe people can be redeemed, but he doesn’t want endeavor anywhere near himself or shoto. Even if Endeavor never lifted a finger towards Shoto again it doesn’t take away all the hurt of the past. Shoto shouldn’t be subjected to his presence nor does Tokoyami want to be in his presence either. If Endeavor didn’t care about hurting his own son he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt tokoyami. Dark Shadow is even worse about this because they struggle with split thinking and view him as 100% evil. They logically understand he is trying to change but their rage overwhelms them in this case and they would throw hands if they could.

Technically that is the end of my answer but it’s interesting that hawks is so close to endeavor and tokoyami avidly dislikes him. I also find it odd that hawks is still willing to be close to endeavor when he himself has abused by his father the takami theif. I know endeavor is the one who inspired him to be a hero and he’s the one who put takami in jail…but still. Maybe it’s because hawks only met endeavor after his redemption arc had begun, he’s only ever seen the better side of him. I feel like tokoyami would keep his dislike of endeavor to himself to keep from hurting hawks feelings. Which isn’t great because that’s still kinda suppressing your feelings and he needs to stop doing that just because he doesn’t want to upset other people. I bet dark shadow would blurt it out and they would have a real conversation about him.

[darylthekidd]

i don't care much for dogs

pairing: aizawa shouta x puppy girl!reader

summary: shou never thought that he'd be up for adopting a dog. they were clingy, hyper, dumb, and gross. or so he thought.

warnings:

this had to be a joke, right? the one time eraserhead steps away from his patrol for the night, he's gotta be the hero again. well, according to himself anyway.

you were just chilling, huddled into your dingy, makeshift bed that you had long outgrown. here in the Tourism Sector of the city. you must've been dodged by a previous caretaker.

not that shouta was looking, but he noticed how you looked. your adorable ears, hidden poorly in your sparkly, dewy fro. you had on simple tops and bottoms but he wondered if that shake was real. your small, chubby self just perched so cutely, he didn't like dogs but he would tolerate them for you.

as he took a step to try and wake you, he heard a meek growl sound from you. had you been awake this whole time? you must be a light sleeper.

"m'not drunk 'n' m'not going back to the hold. not with you." the girl mumbled, shouta just bent down a little to see her a bit more. he was treated to the smell of dog mixed with a fading perfume. it was a strange smell.

"hey. i'm eraserhead. can you tell me if you're alright?"

you peaked up at him, your nose all ashy and twitchy. dehydration. "if you come any closer, i'll rip your heart out through your chest. stay back. what do you want?"

the whiplash?!?

shouta just fought the urge to be irritated by some random pup being rude. this dog probably had ran away rather than be dumped if the way she watched him was any sign.

"are you alright?"

"yea, m'fine. do i need'ta move?"

the way your cheeks seemed to fluff out as you glared at him sent flutters into his throat. you were kinda cute. if he had any say in it, he would've offered to become a very temporary caretaker for you. he still wasn't too much of a fan of dogs.

shouta shook his head, "nah, as long as you're okay. i'm a hero and i want to help."

she lowered her body back down, still keeping her eyes trained on shouta's silhouette through the dark.

"i'm trying to stay on the low. i'm running from a big hero corporation. thanks but no thanks."

he was right. "okay. i'm gonna go then. make sure you stay safe out here."

he wasn't sure why he said that, but as he left the cute, little, floppy-eared hybrid as per her request, he felt differently than he had maybe a few minutes ago.

if he's being honest, he would've forgotten all about that random late night interaction. in fact he did. that was until he saw her again during his mission. she was out, but he suspected that the bloody tears in her skin were from tranquilizers. if she was any bit as fierce as she was when he first saw her, she probably gave the kidnappers hell right back, if not worse.

"okay, you watch her while i go get the boss. careful, she bites. fat bitch."

"she is chubby and she is a female dog. that's literally what you're saying. or do you mean it as an insult?"

the goon just smacked his lips, aggressively sighing while throwing his arms up. "dude. stop bringing your weird ass simp feminism bullshit up. literally nobody cares, it was just a joke, bro."

shouta wanted to punch his lights out, but he was undercover as a neutral party investor. he couldn't let them see him fight. so he just nodded and let the subject fall for the moment.

"sure.. i don't care."

"if she wakes up or even looks like she's getting ready to move-" the goon pointed to the tranquilizer darts and gun sat on a window sill behind shouta's head, "-shoot her with that. it's the only way we can safely show her to folks. she usually just tries to scratch off people's faces. we wouldn't want your face ruined since you're such a good investor, mr. mooney."

as soon as the greasy asshole left, shouta stretched and got relaxed on the only clean couch. if it took as long to find and get the ringleader to see him as it usually did, shou was going to just catch some sleep.

"eraserhead? you're here, too?"

shouta's eyes shot to see the short, dog hybrid sitting up. he hadn’t notice before but while her eyes were wrapped, her cute, little, floppy ears still poked through her now unkempt hair.

"yea. i'm undercover. i need you to not expose me, please."

"ow! what the fuck?"

before he could ask her anything, in the way she cradled in to herself, shouta could just barely see a blackened burn. a branding, probably. not a great sign, but not as bad as it could be.

"they fucking burned me." tears streamed down her face, "and i fucking hurt everywhere. oww..."

ok, so the situation is worsening. "i promise my colleagues and i will help you out, but i need you to be quiet."

"...do you need to put me out again? if they find out i'm up, they won't be so easy with you. i can take it, but i don't know what you do as a hero so i'm not so sure how much you can take."

"no need to worry. just trust me. okay?"