#let me know if there's something else I should tag

[rebelsabers]

Your tags:

You’re using disability as a weapon against me in an attempt to silence me and avoid addressing the actual point of this conversation, and that’s something I won’t stand for. I don’t need anyone to define my position on disability or what it means to be a victim because I live it. What’s even worse is the narrative you’re trying to push about disabled people in the tags. You said disgusting things in the tags that should never have to be read by anyone, especially someone who has men in their life who are visibly disabled, and survivors of things similar to the character you’re claiming to defend. I shouldn’t have had to read disgusting comments in the tags that apply to people I know in real life. It’s sickeningly offensive. The assumptions you’re making about my experiences are not only misguided—they’re deeply disrespectful and actively bigoted. The idea that you think it’s okay to reduce the complexity of disabled people’s lives into a simple narrative that fits your argument is disturbing.

I’m tired of seeing these disgusting, baseless accusations thrown at me in the guise of trying to protect some idealized version of a character’s arc. You have no right to weaponize these kinds of assumptions to invalidate my perspective, and frankly, it’s inappropriate. You don’t get to ignore my lived experiences and create a narrative about me based on your own discomfort with accountability and desire to flee responsibility. The real issue here is that you’re deflecting from the actual point—the way Sam Wilson’s journey is being sidelined by this constant focus on Bucky—and instead, you’re using these attacks to distract from your own inability to engage with the conversation in a meaningful way.

Stop weaponizing disability, stop making wild, inaccurate assumptions about me, and let black characters/Sam Wilson have his moment without trying to erase him for the sake of your favoritism of a white character. This narrative doesn’t belong to you, and it’s time to stop pretending that it does.

It’s time to stop making up false narratives and take a hard look at why you’re so intent on making this all about a white character’s past instead of allowing a Black character to have his moment. This isn’t about ableism(and it never was. You brought that out of nowhere to deflect and derail the conversation)—it’s about allowing Sam to have his own space to be Captain America. Your continual attempts to push Bucky’s story into his space while making disgusting assumptions about my beliefs are doing nothing but harming the conversation.

Your disgusting deflection and fictional rhetoric about me aside, let’s get something else out of the way.

First off, don’t try to belittle me with “calm down” or “sounding paranoid”—that’s just a deflection and frankly, dismissive. I’m calling out a pattern I’ve been seeing, which is fans continually sidelining Sam in his own movie for the sake of focusing on Bucky. It’s not a joke when people repeatedly insist on making Sam's film about someone else. Sam deserves his moment without being overshadowed, especially by a character who’s already had multiple arcs. And for the record, Bucky having a 1-minute scene doesn't change the larger issue: this is Sam’s movie, and constantly bringing up Bucky detracts from Sam’s growth and journey.

This isn’t just about Bucky or Sam. This is about respect for Sam Wilson, a Black character finally getting his own movie and story after years of being in the background. It’s frustrating that every time Sam has the chance to stand in the spotlight, people seem to want to pull him back and make it about Bucky or Steve. This is a clear example of the systemic issue where Black characters are constantly sidelined in their own narratives in favor of white characters. Sam is finally becoming Captain America, and yet there’s this need from some fans to focus on Bucky’s backstory—again. Why? Because he’s a white character? It’s no accident that the same fans who are trying to make Sam’s film about Bucky are the ones who refuse to let a black character have his own arc. This isn’t about fandom preferences; it’s about the fact that black characters are too often given less room to develop on their own, while white characters are constantly shoved into their space.

Bucky’s story is important, absolutely—but let’s be real here: this movie is not his. We’ve already seen Bucky’s arc in The First Avenger, The Winter Soldier, Civil War, Infinity War, Endgame, and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. He’s had plenty of screen time and emotional exploration. Sam has not. But instead of letting Sam have his time, you’re trying to pivot it back to Bucky. That’s the problem. There’s a deep-seated history of white characters being allowed to dominate narratives at the expense of characters of color, especially black characters. Sam having his own movie, his own arc, should be celebrated, not minimized by those who think it’s somehow acceptable to sideline him for someone else’s story.

You can claim this is all about “Bucky’s trauma” all you want, but what you’re really doing is excusing a harmful pattern where the emotional journey of Black characters is undervalued and overshadowed by the the fandom’s favoritism for white characters. What you're doing—trying to make it all about Bucky—reinforces the idea that it’s more important for Bucky to get more screentime than for Sam to have a moment to be his own character, especially in the context of being a black man taking on the mantle of Captain America. Sam’s trauma is deeply tied to the weight of being a Black man in America, and that’s something that can’t just be glossed over by making it about Bucky every time they share a scene or talking about how bucky should be there. You can’t just keep deflecting Sam’s journey and importance because it’s more comfortable for you to focus on a white character. It’s dismissive, it’s disrespectful, and it perpetuates the narrative that black stories are secondary.

I know i’m being overly repetitive for a normal person, but you really seem to be the kind that need it explained to you multiple times to get it. Especially since you keep trying to to deflect, derail, and make so many excuses for this behavior.

You can’t ignore the fact that Sam, as Captain America, isn’t just a superhero—he’s also a black man who has to overcome systemic oppression, and that needs to be explored. But instead of letting Sam shine, you’d rather focus on Bucky. It’s frustrating, because people of color often have to fight tooth and nail to get space in these narratives—and then, when they finally get it, it’s undermined by others who refuse to let them exist without constantly dragging them back into someone else’s story.

So, yes, this is a problem. It’s not about the fact that Bucky’s trauma matters (which wasn’t even part of the post and isn’t relevant)—it does—but the problem is that you and others are so focused on his past and his character, that you’re missing the point of Sam’s story. Sam Wilson, as Captain America, is carrying the weight of history. He’s carrying the weight of being a Black man in America, and that’s something that deserves to be explored without being overshadowed by Bucky, Steve, or anyone else. No matter how much you like that character. You can keep saying Sam has more screen time than Bucky in this one film just for once, but the issue here isn’t about how much time Bucky gets; it’s about how much space Sam is allowed to take up in his own movie. You’re contributing to a culture that consistently tries to diminish the importance of Black characters and their stories.

Sam deserves his own moment without constantly having to support a white character’s journey. So, no—this isn’t about ableism, and it isn’t about invalidating Bucky’s trauma or anything else you want to deflect the conversation with. It’s about the simple fact that Sam Wilson is finally getting his moment, and it’s being undermined by people like you who can’t seem to let go of the need to make it about someone else, someone who’s already had their time in the spotlight.

Someone white.

That’s what this is really about.

"Sam, you are not going to believe how exponentially badly my day is going."

"Probably not as badly as mine, Buck"

[muqingslover]

[ Caleb canonically doing MC's laundry has set something off in my brain so here I am. Also, happy Valentine's day ! here's a longer one as a treat from me ;) I've been posting kinda of non-stop haha ] if you saw me post this before no you didn't

This has happened before. In fact, it had happened a few too many times for his sanity's sake. Whenever Caleb offered to do your laundry to be helpful he always had to deal with the strain in his pants that he pretended wasn't there by covering his lap with a magazine and thinking about literally anything else besides that tantalizing piece of fabric. He's been a good man, or at least he's always tried to be one for you. But was it really his fault if the situation was presented to him with a quite literally adorable little red bow?

Still, he has an admiring amount of self-restraint and for days he told himself he should give them back to you. Every time you two met he kept waiting for the moment to return it, clutching the fabric in his pocket, but all he received were reasons not to. Or perhaps, he just saw what he wanted to see. That's how a week turned into months and then the tortuous years without contact that drove him to the brink of insanity. Fighting back the urge to find you again and do everything his mind has fantasized about countless times was one of the hardest battles he ever faced, and that was saying something.

"Fuck..." He exhaled shakily. His head hit the wall behind him and he spread his legs further on the chair of his private quarters, keeping a firm hand wrapped around the base of his cock. It started after he found the old pair of panties that he had so carefully stored away and now all his mind had to offer were twisted fantasies. Caleb was in biiig trouble— He had to leave in less than fifteen minutes for a meeting and there were security officers constantly passing by his door, but he was past the stage that a simple cold shower and mental math equations would make the issue go away. The images of how the fabric would've adorned your curves in all the right places were soon followed by the memories of how sometimes he'd get a sneak peek when you bent over in front of him and gods that was the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

His metallic hand clutched the delicate fabric tighter as he trapped the lace between his teeth to force down another low groan when his palm began moving up and down again and the faint smell of your soap made his mind feel fuzzy. He was so sensitive that it ached to be touched— He was sure if this was your hand he'd have come on the spot the second your fingers brushed against him. Hell, if you breathed a bit too closely to his cock he'd fall apart like the pathetic man he is and he can only picture how your beautiful face would look covered with his cum. Can you blame him though? He's never even considered doing this with anyone else, nor will he ever do that, and his busy military life didn't leave much space for his own...moments.

He released the lace from his teeth and pressed the red fabric against his swollen tip, accidentally letting out a strained moan that was a bit too loud as his eyes rolled back into his head. He decided to quickly shut himself up by pushing his dog tag into his mouth to bite down on the metal, otherwise everyone outside his room would know just what the colonel was doing. Caleb imagined that the wet line his precum had made was because of your arousal for him instead. The way it would seep through the thin fabric and mark your pussy for him in such a filthy way. The way he'd lick along the damp spot and enjoy each and every sound that he'd surely drag out of your throat while he had your thighs around his head.

His hips jerked as he thrusted himself into his hand, into your panties, into you. The room filled with his barely contained ragged breathing as he hoped your pussy would be as much of a slippery mess as his cock was right now when he pushed past your slit, stretching you open so good yet so agonizingly slow. His grasp around his length was tight when the friction of the thin fabric against his dripping cock sent him over the edge and he came so hard his body twitched non-stop. His dog tag slipped from his lips, dangling around his neck again as he slumped back against the chair after his strength left his body momentarily.

His eyes landed on the red panties that were now coated in his thick, white cum and Caleb raised his hand to bring the messy cloth to his lips. He pushed his tongue out and licked along right at the middle where your soaked cunt would be, tasting his own release and wishing it was yours. It was a shame he had gotten such a pretty and precious thing dirty but, not to worry, he's always been good at cleaning up.

[lieslab]

Go fish

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: You decide to go on a fishing trip with your boyfriend, not realizing that it means you have to actually fish.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Which member of management do I have to fight to let Minho make a fishing video? Let him show us his skills. I haven't forgotten that he's wanted to make one for a while now. Until it happens, I imagine it'd go something like this if you were there and hated fishing.

_ _ _

“This is the worst day of my life,” you mumbled beneath your breath. 

Across from you, Minho looked over with an unamused frown. “Hey, I heard that. I don’t know what you’re talking about. This morning, you were so excited to come with me on this trip. I told you what we’d be doing, but you were all like ‘no, I want to go! It’ll be so much fun!’” He kicked his leg up and waved his hands around to mock you. 

“Don’t belittle me. That was before I found out you were going to use actual worms. That’s disgusting.” 

His dark eyes squinted. “How else do you plan on catching fish? Have you been watching too much American TV? Are we going to go fishing with our bare hands?” 

“I thought you were using rubber ones!” 

“The correct term is fishing lures.” 

With a huff, you silently pouted beside him. High on his own amusement, he popped the plastic lid off the worms he purchased twenty minutes ago. His solo fishing trip turned into a duo trip. Never in a million years did he think you’d join him for something like this, but here you were beside him. 

Your nose scrunched up in disgust. The pink-noodle worm squirmed along his fingers. Bits of damp dirt clung to its naked body. With the lid off the container, the wet mildew smell floated your way. You pinched your nose and turned around. “How can fish eat that? It stinks.” 

“For the same reason you like blue cheese, you think it tastes good.” 

You shot him another glare. He grinned, held out the worm in your direction, and let it dangle. “So do you think you can bait your own pole or should I do it?” 

“You do it. I don’t want to be responsible for causing the worm pain. It’s going to give me nightmares.” 

“It’s a worm.” 

“And hooking the worm is going to hurt it. Don’t you have ear piercings? You know what it feels like to be pricked with a needle. It hurts.” 

He sighed, attached the worm on the string, and casted the string out into the murky water. “You know how a bobber works, right? You know how to reel in a fish slowly and then-” 

“Okay, just because I didn’t want to put the worm on the hook, it doesn’t make me stupid.” You grabbed the pole from him, headed towards the edge of the bank, and focused on the white and red bobber. 

“You’re going to be in a world of trouble when I pull out the fileting knife.” 

“I’m going to filet you.” 

“Tough talk from the person who couldn’t put a worm on a hook.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him and took your attention back to the bobber. Your feet dug in the oversized grass and you stayed quiet. Behind you, Minho began to set up a new fishing pole for himself. Attached with a worm and a hook, he set up a few feet away from you and threw out his own line. 

For months, he spent so long talking about how eager he had been to go fishing. When the cold cleared up and the sun began to warm South Korea, he planned a fishing trip. He never planned for you to tag along, but you insisted. 

He didn’t find your presence annoying, but rather amusing. For as long as he dated you, you were a little more sensitive. Your ideal free time wasn’t spent fishing, but rather hanging out with your friends or watching Netflix. He started to pack up when you asked if you could join him, but he agreed instantly. 

He learned how to fish years ago. Childhood was full of his parents, family friends, and his own friends trying to see who could catch the largest fish. Bets were made. Recipes changed over time. The wholesomeness and memories created, they were irreplaceable. 

Something about taking the time out of your day, catching the food, preparing it, and consuming it; it made everything extra special. The taste of fresh fish, not everyone could recreate that flavor. The extra work made it all worth it. 

“It’s moving! I caught something! I caught something!” 

Your voice broke him from his own bobber. He glanced over and, sure enough, your bobber slowly moved towards the bank. With each rotation of the handle, you tugged it closer and closer. Water splashed, a yellow webbed tail smacked the water, and disappeared beneath the surface again. 

He dropped his pole and hurried over to you. “Do you have it?” 

“Yeah, but whatever it is, it’s huge. I can feel the weight on the end of the line.” You continued to slowly bring it in. When it jerked and the bobber tugged, Minho leaned over to assist you. 

After a few moments, the tip of a face popped out from the surface. Beady rotten eyes caught yours. A mouth opened and shut. Sunlight reflected off the glimmering scales. 

“No fucking way,” he mumbled. 

“What? What is it?” 

“Hang onto it, I’m going to get the net!” He spun around and hurried back to his car. A metal hoop laced with a black net and a long handle. 

You gagged when the fish splashed water. Water splashed over your legs, soaked your shoes, and seeped into your socks. You grumbled, feeling disgusting, but kept your hold on the handle. 

Minho rushed back, trailing through the grass. The netting disappeared through the water, tucked beneath the murky surface, he clung to whatever you caught, and yanked it up. His eyes widened when he brought the fish to the surface. “Oh my god.” 

“Why is it that size? Are fish supposed to be that big? Is that normal? Is it sick?” 

The seriousness of the moment chipped away with your concern. His infectious laughter filled the air. “You c-caught-” He burst into another round of laughter. 

“It’s not funny!” You cried out. “Why is he that big? Minho, he’s like a fucking giant! Is it normal?” 

He nearly dropped the net back into the water. Sniffling, he wiped at one of his eyes. “This is what we call a Common Carp. I don’t know how you managed to catch one this size. It’s got to be over ten pounds, at least.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“It means that we don’t have to spend hours searching for dinner.” 

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped. “We’re going to eat him?” 

“It’s a fish. You don’t know the sex, but yes. We’re going to eat this fish. Do you think I came out to catch fish for fun? If I’m going to put a hook through the mouth, I’m going to consume a fish or two.” 

You grumbled and groaned. Like a lost puppy, you followed Minho back up the bank. The mildew colored fish’s mouth opened and shut, trying to gain air. The moment Minho put the net on the ground, it flopped out. 

“No!” He cried out and reached for it. The wiggling fish managed to avoid his grasp. Squirming and flopping back in the direction of the water, you dropped down in front of it on your knees. 

A wet tail slapped a small section of your bare ankle. You gagged, but didn’t pull away. Instead, you stretched out with two hands, dived forward, and pinned the slimy creature to the ground. Fish slime hit your tongue and you nearly lost your lunch. Thankfully, Minho dived forward and took over from there. 

Once he removed the hook, he grabbed the lower jaw and placed it in a large blue bucket of water. And you? Well, you lost it. You gagged and fought against the urge to vomit. Your hands splashed the murky water repeatedly. The scent of wet fish clung to your skin. 

“Are you okay?” Minho called after you. 

“I’m fucking dying. He touched me with his germs! I’m going to have-” You gagged again and spit. You vigorously rubbed your hands against the springy-green grass. “Ew, gross! I can still feel the scaly skin!” 

“You big baby. How are you going to learn to filet a fish, if you can’t handle catching one?” 

“Don’t make me do that. I don’t want to watch! I’m going to-” Another one of your loud gags tipped Minho over the edge. He burst into another fit of laughter and collapsed to his knees. 

“Hey! It’s not-” Another gagging sound brought tears to his eyes. He tried to stop, but you looked so distressed. Fishing had always been normal to him, but you acted like you touched bio-medical waste. Your reaction was so dramatic, he couldn’t help it. 

“Stop laughing at me!” 

“Stop g-gagging!” He shot back, breathlessly. He sucked in a deep breath and tipped his head towards the ground. “I think I’m going to pee myself from laughing so hard.” 

“You’re not helping!”

It took a while for the two of you to contain your composure. He rose back to his feet, grabbed his pole, and started to try to catch another fish. Minutes ticked by, but the water remained still. Not daring to touch your pole again, you walked back to the bucket the carp was in. 

“I’m sorry I caught you.” You plopped down beside him. “Soon, you’ll be in my stomach and I apologize for that. I was trying to do what was best. I didn’t realize we were going to eat you. If I would have known, I wouldn’t have stuck a pole in the water, Mr. Fish. “

“Stop talking to the fish,” Minho called over his shoulder. “It can’t hear you. Fish don’t speak English.” 

“Tough talk for the guy who barely speaks English himself.” 

You didn’t know what he said in Japanese, but you could only assume they were strings of swear words. You sighed, turned back to the bucket, and leaned closer. “I’m really sorry about all this. Soon your suffering will end and-” 

Splash! 

Minho glanced back over his shoulder to see you frantically wiping at your face. “You stupid fucking fish! Screw being nice! I’m going to eat you with zero remorse!” 

Minho blinked, taken back by your sudden change to demeanor.  “What did you-” 

“He splashed me!” You grabbed the edge of your shirt and wiped it over your face. “I’m going to get pink eye or something!” 

He sighed, tipped his head back, and rolled his eyes to the sky. Maybe this would be the first and only time the two of you went on a fishing trip together. Fishing obviously wasn’t your forte. 

After your fight with the fish, and no luck catching another, Minho packed up the pole to go home. You sat in the passenger’s seat with your arms crossed. The bright blue bucket held steadily between your legs. The oversized fish rocked with the sloshing water. 

Silence sat between you and Minho. In his head, he focused on recipes he could make with fresh fish. You avoided looking into the bucket, until you gave up. You sighed and glanced down at the fish. 

“I’m sorry that I said I’d happily eat you. I didn’t mean it. The words came out in the spur of the moment. I grew angry at you because I don’t like fish germs.” 

Only the sound of sloshing water greeted you. You looked further down and your face softened. Beneath the murky water, beady dark eyes met yours. Your heart ached at the idea of being pulled from your home and being forced into such a confined small space. Like being trapped in the jail cell, the fish did nothing to deserve it. 

“Minho?” 

“Huh?” 

“How are you going to kill him?” 

“As humanely as possible. Just because I’m going to filet him, it doesn’t mean I have a black heart. I’m going to show what compassion I can. Just because we’re larger beings and above fish in the food chain, it doesn’t mean I want the fish to die in a tragic way.” 

“I don’t want to watch.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m going to name him Minnow.” 

“That’s a carp, not a-” 

“Minnow. Short for Mini Lee Know.” You glanced over innocently and smiled. “Because just like him, you’re a pain in my ass too, sometimes.” 

“You’re lucky I love you, you idiot.” 

“Yeah, I am.” 

“You’re on fish cooking duty.” 

“As long as you promise to do the filleting and cleaning, I have no problem doing that.” 

“Wanna scale him?” 

“Over my dead body will I ever touch another disgusting, slimy, wet, smelly fish ever again, bucko.” 

And from that point on, you kept your word; never again. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght

Masterlist

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Ko-fi

[simplybakugou]

Story Mode 2 | Mystic Academia: Sero Hanta's Route

⋆ PAIRING: hacker!sero x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; slight angst ⋆ WORD COUNT: 547

A/N: back to back written story modes YUUUUPPP. this would’ve been done sooner but i’ve been thriving lately with the eagles winning the super bowl, securing tickets to see beyonce, and getting numerous snow days from classes LOL HOWEVER i am back to working on this hehe. this part is lightly based off of one of the story mode’s from seven’s route so apologies for the minor angst lol. here's to the last part of day 3!!

NOTE: credits to @eraserhead-transparents for the sero cap

Mystic Academia: Sero Hanta's Route Masterlist

The alarm continued to blare and pierce your ears and you winced slightly. Sero walked towards the door, pulling the electronic pin pad out and rewiring it. He reset the password and he wasn’t going to let anybody else break into the office again. While simultaneously fixing the door, Sero pulled his phone out from his pocket and with a push of a single button on his screen, the alarm ceased immediately.

Just as the alarm stopped, with its remnants still ringing in your ears, you realized how fast your heart was beating. The gravity of the situation hit you in that moment and you felt like you were going to collapse to the floor. Unknown had been targeting M.F.A. for three days straight and had finally targeted the office for who knows the reason. And it seemed as if Sero recognized him, considering the fact that Unknown referred to Sero as “Cellophane.”

A million questions began buzzing in your mind and you finally snapped out of your daze. You looked at Sero who had a blank and unreadable expression on his face. You couldn’t decipher how he was feeling but he just looked… devastated. 

“Should we evacuate? You said there was a bomb that was about to go off,” you asked, your tone full of worry.

Sero snapped his head up, as if he finally broke free from the trance he was in and realized where he was. “Oh, the bomb? I lied to get S–”

Sero stopped speaking immediately, pursing his lips together as if he was about to say something he shouldn’t. “I lied to get… that guy out of here. It was just a fake alarm. There’s no bomb.”

Sero’s sentences felt short and to the point, sounding like a robot that was programmed to say these things. 

Despite not being able to fully grasp the situation, you took notice of Sero's hand that was shaking from how tightly he was gripping his phone. You moved towards him. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

He immediately took a step back, causing you to stop in your tracks. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about it.” He turned around, looking up to the lofted second floor of the office and he began to ascend up the stairs. 

“I’m going to work on fixing the security system up here. I don’t want you to get hurt so I need to make sure no one else can break into the office again.”

You nodded, watching as he sat by your desk and pulled out a computer from a backpack that you hadn’t noticed previously. “Let me know if you need any help.”

“There’s nothing you can help with,” Sero said curtly in a manner that made you flinch. “Just focus on the party.” 

“O-Okay,” you stuttered due to the harshness in his voice. 

Sero began working immediately, typing away at a speed that you didn’t think was humanly possible. He stopped momentarily. “Don’t tell the others what happened.”

You were taken aback. It seemed like an important and big thing that everyone in the organization should be aware of. Before you could question his decision, Sero shut you down by taking out a pair of headphones and putting them over his ears.

JOIN THE TAGLIST

[kingsmoot]

ok we're back with ten more image slots to talk about joffrey's inherent badness because the text argues vehemently against this thing that people keep saying in my tags that joff is just uniquely bad and wrong and was destined to be a cruel, violent, spiteful despot. someone said that robert hit joff so hard he got brain damage and that's why he's Like That™️. this is no different than saying that joff is A Bad Apple because he is a bastard born of incest, abhorred by the gods. or that he is bad because his mother is a lannister and so he is of tainted, evil stock. the argument that joff is not only uniquely but inherently bad is refuted time and again by the text, and by me. let's discuss.

agot; chapter 30, eddard vii

above, robert confides in ned that he loathes his son and heir. cannot abide him. is terrified that he will one day take his throne. he claims that ned does not know him as he does (when ned has suffered far more for joffrey's actions than robert! his lady wife's hands disfigured by joff's hired catspaw, his daughter's soulbonded warg beheaded thanks to his lie that both his parents accepted) and crucially, robert blames cersei's parenting and joff's lannister blood on the fact that he is unfit for the throne.

yet joffrey is the image of his father (robert, not jaime). he acts in ways that he thinks will earn robert's approval. he acts out because of robert's disdain and abuse. robert (and many others) says he sees nothing of himself in his son, and yet this is time and again proven false.

asos; chapter 53, tyrion vi / asos; chapter 63, davos vi

cersei and stannis both recall the incident where robert was so enraged at joffrey that he hit him hard enough to knock out two baby teeth. hard enough that stannis thought he'd killed him with the blow.

and the act of animal cruelty that provoked this ire in robert was a clear mirroring of (genuinely i cannot remember if it was ser amory lorch for real or gregor clegane who did this idr which version of the story is a lie) presenting robert with the dead and mangled bodies of princess elia's children, who were viciously butchered in their beds. it would make perfect sense for joffrey to have heard that story more than once, and to have understood the pleasure robert took in seeing the dragons slaughtered. killing a pregnant cat and presenting robert with her dead unborn kittens is something a small child exposed to his father's brutality and violence would do to please and emulate him.

(much pithier post by @visenyaism about this same passage: https://www.tumblr.com/kingsmoot/724517618713837568)

and, of course, none of the three adults in the room with joff when this happened thought to teach him anything about why this was not something they wanted him to do. his father beat him while his mother (robert's property even more so than joff. understandably helpless in this situation) and his uncle (not helpless. should have opened his mouth) watched. there is always an adult in the room and they are always doing nothing.

and even after this. years after this!! after who knows how many more instances of scorn that would not have registered with the other adults present because they were not physical violence, joff still tries to emulate his father:

acok; chapter 53, tyrion vi

asos; chapter 77, tyrion xi

WELL A SON TAKES AFTER HIS FATHER :(

could it be that there is somewhere else in the text where we have seen a father disparage his cruel, violent, monstrous son on the basis of his inherent wrongness? absolving himself of his own responsibility for the boy's behavior? 🤔

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

i've made one post before comparing joff and ramsay as expressions of their mothers' rage and as characters driven by the entitlement their mothers sowed in them (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/723616029989896192/) but this time i want to focus on their fathers' culpability and denial

i do not draw the comparison between joff and ramsay to either:

absolve ramsay of his responsibility for his actions as a serial killing serial raper who tortures theon and donella until they lose every last shred of their humanity. he's like thirty. OR

compare or equate the actions of an adult man doing leatherface/otis driftwood shit to a little boy being supported in his terror and violence by the huge and powerful group of adults around him (ramsay's violence is his own. he is skinning and raping women in the woods. he is killing children. he is torturing theon and donella and raping jeyne. joffrey's violence is not his own. it is carried out by willing participants thrice his size and twice his age at least.)

i draw the comparison because roose and robert both blame the intrinsic, immutable, corrupted nature of their sons on why they are monsters, and yet both of them also acknowledge (subtly) that the fault is theirs.

robert's "jon despaired of me often enough, yet i grew into a good king! (...) ah, say that i'm a better king than aerys and be done with it!!" to ned is telling. he knows that he's a horrible king. he knows that he hasn't grown out of anything. (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/773495838881333248/) he claims to ned that there is something wrong with his son and he blames the lannister bitch for it, but somewhere deep down in the parts of his grey matter the light or the conscious can never touch... he knows what he is. and he knows whose son joffrey is. and he knows what that makes the both of them.

and roose, who blames his son's monstrosity on his bad blood, leaves us with the very obvious question of whose blood it is that's in him? roose's preoccupation with his own bloodletting takes on a very different cast after this exchange with theon. the leeches suck the bad blood away, all the rage and pain. the rage and pain ramsay is filled with would poison even the leeches... but how much rage and pain does roose need removed?

roose sent a serial killing serial rapist to raise the child of a woman he brutally raped and whose husband he murdered (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/757215882916265984/) and acts as if ramsay growing into the kind of man that he grew into is an issue of his low birth out of wedlock. robert is a huge violent wife beating drunk who delights in the gruesome slaughter of babes in their beds and acts as if joffrey's cruelty and violence is the frigid lannister bitch's fault. can you see how the text purposefully sets up two of its most vile and overtly hateable characters to have the exact same justification for their sons' actions and how by doing so it is suggesting that you, the reader, should not believe them?

overall, the asoiaf series stands in staunch opposition to the concept that your birth determines who you are (yes, even with the prophecies and the chosen ones and the many heroes' destinies). to believe that joffrey baratheon was born bad is to misunderstand the core of his character and also to forgive and absolve the many characters who have actual power of their responsibility for "his" actions, and to forgive (and praise!) robert, cersei, tyrion, and jaime for their abuse.

to believe that there was nothing anyone could do to stop joffrey baratheon's reign from driving westeros into the ground but to kill him, is to concede that the murder of children is justifiable and necessary, something that the text pointedly and repeatedly refutes (the murder of elia and rhaegar's children repeatedly defined as a fracture in ned and robert's relationship and a stain on his reign, jon snow switching gilly and mance's babies, stannis' refusal to burn shireen, davos' saving of edric storm, cersei's murder of robert's bastards, the list goes on and on and on and on)

joff is literally 13. how is this lost on the vast majority of asoiaf's audience. have you ever met a 13 year old? he's a 13 year old boy who was beaten and neglected. the fact that a traumatized child has the "power" to doll out life and death sentences is in fact a structural issue. the fact that a bunch of 30+ year old professional body guard attack dogs nod along and happily beat the living shit out of the 11 year old girl joff is engaged to is very pointedly not joff's fault. would you, tumblr user reading this, beat the shit out of a child if another child told you to? probably not, right? that would be fucking insane, right? you would feel that it was your responsibility to NOT beat the shit out of a child no matter what position the other child telling you to do so had above you, right? you know that the smallfolk of king's landing, who were literally being shot at and murdered by joff with his automatic crossbow, also said that it was the adults on the counsel's responsibility to reign in the boyking on the throne? ok well they are imaginary people being shot with an imaginary crossbow and you as the real flesh and blood audience have so much more perspective on this situation than them. OK, GOOD TALK.

[ratanslily]

Just Ask.

Book: hsr. Pairing: AnnaLane. Ratings: G. Words: 782-ish. Warnings: none, just fluff. A/N: ooc to the max I'm sorryyy. Dmitry being a grumpy older brother. Tags: @rc-catalog Feb 7: only one bed | blanket-sharing, a gift for @agattthaa happy valentine's and fck aleksandra‼️

"Are you serious, General? No girl advice for me? You're a freaking general. Kira is literally all over you."

Anna fixes her brother with a glare, crossing her arms over her chest, mimicking his stance. To which he just sighs and shrugs his shoulders.

"C'mon, Anna. I have more work than being a matchmaker for you. Just, I don't know. Kiss her or something. Get her to cuddle you. I've literally put you both in the same room, what else can I do for you?"

"Ugh, fine. I'll handle it myself."

--

And that's how Anna found herself in front of Lane's bed, cooking up all sorts of excuses to get into hers.

"You see, my bed's all wet. I dropped tea over it and I would appreciate it if you could just-"

"-Let you sleep in mine?"

"I- Yeah. Exactly. If that's fine by you, I suppose."

".."

Lane isn't exactly comfortable sharing her space with others, but.. it's Anna. She's been sharing her outfits with her selflessly, so why shouldn't she share her bed with her? It's just for one night, right?

Right.

She scoots over, making way for the scientist to slip under the heavy blanket, onto the warm bed, leaving enough space for her to fit in comfortably.

"Thanks."

Anna watches as Lane pulls the blanket over her, and traps them underneath it, a world of their own, cut off from everything. From Rotkov, from abominations, from heaven and hell. Their shared space, warm and comforting.. theirs alone.

Maybe she should initiate something?

"Kiss her or something. Get her to cuddle you."

Dmitry's words ring in her mind. But damnit, how the hell should she do that? She's right there in front of her, so close. Just one lean forward, and her nose will touch the mole on her face. So close, just one, oh one freaking step! But she only manages to say, over the beat of her heart pounding in her ears,

"It's cold."

"I know."

"Can I come closer?"

"Wait. Stay there, I'll do it."

Lane shrugs, and scoots closer to her nonchalantly.

"Better?"

Anna sees a chance, and grabs it. She responds by placing her arms on Lane's waist.

"Yes. Now, better."

Theres a certain satisfaction in seeing Lane's usually relaxed eyes widen that bit. Her usually composed body, now tensing up at the contact. Her cheeks turning red from brown. Her breathing turning deep, apparent by the way her chest heaves. It makes her feel oddly satisfied. She did.. that. She caused it.

She wonders how far can she go. How far she'll allow her to go. Will she allow her to cuddle her? To press herself onto her warm body? To rest her head on her heart? To feel it beating wildly, mirroring hers?

A kiss, maybe?

Only one way to test it out..

Anna musters her courage. Under the proximity of the blanket, she inches closer, and closer, like the first snowflake drifting through the misty air from the cloudy sky.

It feels like forever, it feels like time is stuck in place, as if watching them get closer herself.

And finally, the snowflake lands onto the warm ground, melting into it.

...Finally, her lips meet Lane's soft ones, her lipstick giving off a sweet scent.

At first, she's scared. What if she pushes her away? What if she gets disgusted? What if, she doesn't want to kiss her back?

BUT her fears were for nothing!

Lane blinks a very "what are you doing?" look, but kisses her back anyway, as if starving for this very moment since the moment she stepped into their lair. Her hands in her hair, Anna's bangs tousled from the action. From where does her body end, and from where does hers begin? She doesn't know. All she knows is the feel of her lips on Lane's and her tongue mingling with the latter's. Her hands go up her back, feeling her spine, feeling each curve, each bone, feeling her arch against her.

Sheets rustle, and Anna wraps her legs around her waist, drawing her even closer.

So hot, so intense.

maybe, even too hot.

Unfortunately, Anna's glass fog up, which is how their kisses stop, and they pull away from each other, Lane suppressing a chuckle at that.

It was a cute sight, Anna taking off her glasses, and frantically rubbing it against her shirt to clear it off.

"Why on earth would you wear glasses to bed?"

"To see you better, duh."

"Contact lens exist. And you like them."

"Eh. Uncomfortable while sleeping."

"And glasses are comfortable for that?"

To which Anna doesn't have an answer. She got her there. Why did she even not notice her glasses were still on? Maybe it slipped though her mind..

"And just so you know, I saw you dumping your tea over your bed.."

Uh, yikes. Awkward.

"Well."

"If you wanted us to share a bed.."

Lane continues, entwining her fingers with hers and looking into her eyes.

"You could just ask, you know."

And that was all Anna needed to hear.

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Kaiju!AU Rewrite Snippet

So as stated in a previous post, I've started rewriting the chapters I currently have for the Kaiju!AU due to the original not meeting my original vision and my own pacing minimizing the quality (in my own mind anyway). I'm still on hiatus from answering asks for imagines for the AUs, but I am still working on the ideas at my own pace and will slowly reintegrate myself into something comfortable and enjoyable.

Anyway, this is set shortly after Yuu discovers the ship and plane graveyard from the original prologue, expanding a bit more on the island itself...as well as meeting someone MUCH earlier than I had planned the first time around. >v>

I've still got much to finish writing for the first chapter and get it to a point where I'm satisfied with it, but I'm happy that I've been able to add more of the worldbuilding ideas I had discussed in previous posts so far!

In short: Story begins relatively the same, but it's been expanded a helluva lot more than before and will progress differently now that I'm gaining more confidence in my own skills since first attempting this AU!

Warnings: Some swearing in the snippet and some implied blood. If I need to tag anything in here a specific way, please let me know so I can keep it in mind whenever I post the final product!

//////BEGIN SNIPPET//////

The sun was steadily rising now as they continued their search, somehow managing to escape the giant metal deathtrap maze and into a wide clearing. Up ahead they could see a jungle tree line, immediately recognizing the cluster of yellow at the top of one of the trees. Relieved to have found a food source, they ran as fast as they could towards the trees. As they grew closer and closer, however, their excitement turned to confusion as they slowed to a trot. Still the trunks of the trees continued to grow bigger, dwarfing Yuu as they stopped and stared up in horror at the sight of the trees looming over them like towers.

“What the hell is going on,” they uttered, slowly turning in a circle as they realized just how small they were compared to the foliage. Plants that should have come up to their waist or shoulders were large enough to form a canopy, shielding them from the steadily growing harsh sunlight. Trees that should have been easily 15-20 feet tall were easily three times that height, fruit that should have been easy to pluck and gather now swayed threateningly like a boulder ready to be dropped.

Buzzing overhead caught their attention as they looked up, pure terror filling their veins as they saw what could only be described as a giant dragonfly-like creature flitting about. It hovered close to a flower, the downdraft of its wings buffeting Yuu with strong winds as it landed on a petal—and disappearing the moment the flower snapped shut around its body, clamping down like a vice as it struggled to escape.

“Nope! Nope, nope, nope, nope!” was all Yuu managed to say before they scurried away, not wanting to find out if anything else had a taste for flesh. “Giant food is one thing, but I draw the line at man-eating plants!”

Giant food, giant bugs, giant plants, a deserted island, and an entire graveyard of ships and planes? This had to be a fever dream or a nightmare of epic proportions! Yet it was getting harder and harder to find logic in anything they were seeing. None of this should even be possible, and yet…here they were, stranded in the middle of nowhere with no idea of who they were, how they got here, or even why they were here. And if the insects and plants were enormous, what else was even bigger than them? They didn’t even know if there were any other survivors out the-

‘Get a grip, Yuu!’ they thought, managing to stick close to the edge of the jungle on their right and keeping the shore on their left side. ‘Panicking won’t help anything, and you need to stay focused. Food will have to wait, so let’s just find water and shel-‘ the ground collapsed under their right foot, sending Yuu sliding down a steep incline with loud, “Aaaah!!”

Whud!

“…ow,” they uttered, groaning as they slowly sat up. Glancing back where they came from, they spotted the steep slope that had been concealed by one of the leaves. The dirt was smoothed away to reveal red and yellow clay, as though someone had carved out the opening with a tool to remove any bumps or ridges. Realizing that it would be too steep a climb to get out of the ravine, they sighed and shook their head. “Great…is everything on this island trying to kill-”

Thoom…

“…me…” Their voice trailed off as another thud hit the ground, the earth vibrating beneath their feet as they slowly turned towards the densest part of the forest. Something was coming, the sound of branches creaking and snapping reaching Yuu’s ears as they slowly started to creep behind a large rock formation—before finally noticing the razor-sharp teeth and the empty eye socket. They clamped their hands over their mouth as a massive black shape began to emerge, ducking into the gap of the skull until they could peek through the socket.

The creature that emerged was gigantic, towering beyond anything they could imagine as it crept into the area on four legs. The sunlight fell across its body, black and green feathers gleaming while its beak—wickedly sharp and deadly—was slick with something damp.

‘What…what the fuck is that thing?!’ Yuu thought, pressing their body against the inside of the skull as they watched the monster move.

It sniffed the air, its four glowing golden eyes scanning the area. It sniffed at the colorful crystal formations at the base of the tree. A pair of thin, small arms extending from its chest as the strange hands grasped at the stones, snapping them from the base. When it opened its beak, the sun glinted off of sharp rows of teeth before it crunched down on the crystals. Once the crystals were gone, it sniffed around for a moment before it stood on its hind legs and leaned against one of the trees. Its neck stretched out further than they thought was possible, its sharp beak plucking at the fruit that seemed so ridiculously small in comparison. From this angle, they could see a pair of massive wings pressed tightly to its sides and a long serpentine tail lazily sweeping across the ground.

‘Okay…whatever the hell that thing is, it seems only interested in fruit, so maybe it won’t mistake me for a bug and eat me…?’

Something skittered across the bark near the monster’s claw, and a moment later its head had darted forward. A giant spider-like bug with crystalline spikes was squirming in its beak before it tossed its head back, swallowing it whole before continuing to pluck at the fruit with a distinctly happy trill.

‘…yeah, that makes more sense,’ they thought, feeling their heart beating heavily in their chest. ‘Dammit…I can’t run or that thing will spot and eat me like that spider! Maybe I can just…wait here in this skull and-”

Beep-bwoop!

“Shit!” Yuu whispered under their breath as they immediately reached down to the ankle bracelet. To their horror, the bird-lizard monster’s head immediately snapped towards their direction, the two feathery ears popping up and swiveling left and right—searching for the sound again. ‘Dammit, why is the universe trying to kill me?!’

THOOM…THOOM…

Each footstep from the monster made their heart jump as they pressed their body against the wall of the skull, bracing their feet against the other side to avoid falling over and making more noise. They could hear the beast sniff the air, the musty smell of rotting meat and fruit washing over the area while something loud scraped against the ground around their hiding spot.

‘Please don’t beep again, please don’t let it find me, please, please, please, please!’ they thought, staring at the bracelet as the light blinked mockingly up at them. The monster sniffed—horrifyingly close now—as a wave of hot air rushed through the eye socket. Through the gaps in the skull’s teeth, they could see its shadow blocking out the sunlight, the tips of what they realized were its massive claws beginning to curl underneath their hiding spot and starting to lift. ‘I just woke up, I don’t want to die!’

Just then, in the distance, a loud, echoing roar filled the air.

Immediately the bird-lizard let out a sound akin to a chirp as it dropped their shelter back down, the quiet crooning it was making earlier devolving into a terrifying hissing snarl and caw. The earth shook as Yuu heard it bound away, branches and leaves snapping in its path as they heard it barrel through the forest. Then…

Silence.

///////END SNIPPET////////

MWAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!! This is only a snippet of what to expect once I'm finished with my rewrites! Something I've come to realize is that whenever I introduced some of the Kaiju, I never really elaborated on their appearances outside of the basics from that species list I wrote before. Definitely going to be making more of a point of describing how they look to make it easier for my readers to imagine!

[deadbeatbirdmom]

Happy Valentine's Day my fellow RWBY fans. This should be a day focused on love. Which is why I'm going to talk about something that's been troubling me for a while. This isn't about any single post, and I'm not singling anyone out. I'd put this under a read more cut but I think it's important enough not to do that. Scroll down for TLDR and a poll.

One of the common courtesies of tumblr etiquette is: don't tag hate with things like a ship tag or character tag. Or should be common, but let's face it, it's more like uncommon.

A good chunk of tumblr users who I end up blocking are those who post hate in tags like the 'Bumbleby' tag, or 'Yang Xiao Long' tag (it'd be the 'RWBY' tag too, but I don't often go there and rarely post in it). No, it's not toxic to block people, it's how you control your tumblr experience. It's how I avoid seeing hate, or try to.

But there are some tumblr users who I don't want to block but also end up putting hate in the tags: some of my fellow fans. It's not intended the same way as those who do it out of spite, but the end result is the same: your fellow fans end up seeing stuff they might prefer not to.

There's another rule, an old one that predates tumblr: don't feed the trolls. Don't give them attention. Please delete anon hate rather than answer it, although I definitely understand how trolling trolls can be fun. Just please don't tag it with the main tags or you'll do the anon's work for them if it's hate about a ship or character.

I see all too much fan art around that gets far less engagement than posts trying to fight back against hate (and unfortunately share the hate at the same time, especially when it's something from elsewhere like reddit or twitter). If you like the art, don't only hit that heart button, reblog it too!

RWBY fandom isn't dead, but we do need to do our part to encourage artists to make and share more art. Likes alone don't help the art get in front of more fans. I don't think everyone looks in the tags to find art, some will rely on those they follow reblogging art. This goes for sharing fic too! And giving fic writers comments (and kudos on AO3).

This is an appeal to keep negativity out of the main tags. I'm not saying you can't post whatever you want, just when it comes to tagging: please spare a thought for your fellow fans who are incredibly tired of negativity. If all else fails, maybe include a tag that can be added to filters? 'Wasps' for posts about Bumbleby hate, maybe?

I don't know about anyone else, but if I wanted to see hate and get angry, I'd be on twitter or reddit. I check tags here on tumblr to find fan art, and to see fellow fans talking about how much they love RWBY and its characters and ships, and find interesting theories and analysis.

I'm also not entirely sure how tumblr works with followed tags and words mentioned in posts. Do untagged posts still show up if the word appears in the post? Does that mean breaking the word with a backslash or something to avoid it showing up? I don't know, perhaps something to consider.

TLDR: please don't feed the trolls and don't tag hate with main tags. Show RWBY fan artists and fic writers some love and reblog their posts, and comment on fics!

One last thing: a poll to find out if I'm an outlier and posting hate is actually normal in this post-twitter world.

[cod-thoughts]

And all this devotion rushing out of me

Word count: 1k

Relationships: Andrei/Vladimir, Makarov/Nolan, Makanolan

Tags: Established Relationship, slight hurt/comfort, possessive behaviour, falling asleep

Part of a project that has a tiny explanation here. Keep reading under the cut!!

AN: A gift for the wonderful @panchulien Happy valentines day Oliv!!! Its been so cool to see you get more and more brave to share your stuff on here you're really good, i love reading your writing and your tags on things??? That pure joy and excitement is so wholesome it always makes me smile. You're so sweet and so kind, its always a joy to see you around <33 This was my attempt at these two, i dont know that much about them yet but i couldnt help myself, i had to try for this so hopefully you like it aaaaaa <33

The mission had been a success, though the world would not see it that way. The air reeked of smoke and metal, the kind of stench that clung to skin, to cloth, to memory. But here, in the dimly lit confines of the safehouse, the world did not exist. Only him.

Makarov sat slumped in the chair, exhaustion creeping in at the edges. He did not yield to it, of course. He never did. Even with sweat and blood drying on his skin, even with the weight of a battlefield's worth of chaos pressing upon him, he did not allow himself to falter.

But Nolan saw it.

He was the only one permitted to. The only one allowed to witness the moment Makarov’s shoulders dropped, the mask of ruthless ambition cracking, if only in the quiet solitude they carved out for themselves.

“Stay still.” Nolan’s voice was softer than usual, but there was no mistaking the command laced within it. He crouched beside Makarov, cloth in hand, dabbing at the cut along his jaw. It was shallow—hardly a concern—but Nolan cared anyway.

Makarov did not flinch, did not push him away. That alone was a kind of indulgence, a kind of trust.

“You should eat.” Nolan knew the answer before it came.

A scoff, the barest curve of Makarov’s lips. “Later.”

“No. Now.” Nolan’s fingers curled against Makarov’s jaw, tilting his head slightly so he could work at a particularly stubborn smear of blood. His thumb smoothed over the skin once, then twice. A touch that lingered longer than necessary. “No good to me half-dead, Vlad.”

That earned him a chuckle. Makarov’s gaze flickered up, tired but sharp, always sharp. “To you?”

“To me.” Nolan did not hesitate. He never did, not when it came to this.

Silence stretched between them, thick with understanding, with possession so deeply ingrained it no longer needed to be spoken aloud. Nolan finished cleaning the wound, setting the cloth aside before reaching for the tin he’d pilfered earlier—something sweet, something small, something Makarov would not refuse if it came from him.

Makarov watched him, amusement glinting in that ice-cut gaze, but he accepted the offering. Only because it was Nolan.

Only Nolan got to see this—Makarov indulging in something as mundane as a biscuit after a bloodied mission, leaning into Nolan’s touch with the barest shift of his weight. Only Nolan got to take care of him.

But Nolan was not satisfied. He could never be satisfied.

Makarov was his, and yet, in moments like these, it was Nolan who belonged to him more. He dipped his head, pressing a kiss to the corner of Makarov’s jaw, just where the blood had been moments ago. A silent claim, a lingering touch. Makarov exhaled, barely a sigh, but it sent something electric through Nolan’s spine.

“You fuss too much,” Makarov murmured, but his hand settled on the back of Nolan’s neck, fingers twisting into his hair. Not pushing him away. Holding him there.

Nolan let himself sink into it, pressing his forehead against Makarov’s, their breaths mingling. No one else would ever have this. No one else would ever get him like this.

They stayed like that for a moment, bound by something deeper than mere loyalty. Nolan's hands traced over Makarov’s shoulders, finding the tension hidden beneath the fabric of his ruined shirt. He kneaded at the knots there, slow, deliberate, his movements bordering on reverence.

“Mmm, warm,” Makarov muttered, his voice slipping into something softer, something only Nolan would ever have the privilege to hear.

A faint smirk tugged at Nolan’s lips. He reached for the thick blanket draped over the back of the chair, pulling it around Makarov’s shoulders. The world outside was brutal, unrelenting. But here, in this stolen moment, Nolan could soften its edges.

Makarov let out a quiet sigh, barely audible, but Nolan caught it. He always did. He guided Makarov’s arms under the blanket before settling beside him, their legs brushing as he leaned in, the heat between them a stark contrast to the cold war that waited beyond these walls.

For a moment, Makarov let his guard down completely, resting his head against Nolan’s shoulder. It was not a show of weakness. It was acceptance. A silent understanding that Nolan was the only one permitted to see him like this.

“You let me take care of you.”

Makarov’s lips twitched. “And what would you do if I did not?”

Nolan’s answer was a whisper, almost too quiet for even Makarov to hear.

“I would tear the world apart.”

A hum of amusement, followed by the faintest press of Makarov’s fingers against Nolan’s wrist. A silent tether, a quiet promise.

Nolan exhaled, eyes slipping shut for just a second, allowing himself the smallest indulgence. Because Makarov might have been ruthless, might have been merciless, but in the quiet of their sanctuary, with the weight of war pressing against the door, he was soft.

And that softness was only Nolan’s to see.

But Nolan wanted more. He always did. He shifted, guiding Makarov’s head to rest against his chest, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against the nape of his neck. The gesture was almost absent, something that might have gone unnoticed if not for the way Makarov’s shoulders finally, truly relaxed.

“Sleep,” Nolan murmured, the weight of the night settling over them.

Makarov huffed, a faint, amused sound, but his eyes had already slipped shut. He would never let himself be this vulnerable in the presence of anyone else, never let anyone else see the exhaustion steal over his sharp features. Only ever around Nolan would he let his guard down.

And Nolan, greedy, possessive, and wholly unwilling to share, pressed a kiss to his temple and held him close, unwilling to let the world intrude just yet.

[lillaydee]

The Unlucky One Part 12

Joel Miller (No Outbreak AU) / F Reader

When it comes to love, Lady Luck seems to have lost your address. After being left at the altar without so much of an explanation, you decided love is no longer something you are interested in. Not even meeting an unlucky-in-love-himself Mr. Grump could change your mind.

Right?

Let me know if you want to be tagged, or if you want to be removed from the tag list.

WARNINGS: Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Idiots in Love, unlucky in love, Child Abandonment, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us)

@peelieblue, @vickie5446, @harriedandharassed, @lovefreylove @martuxduckling @kikookii @liciafonseca @wowitsafemale @noisynightmarepoetry

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 11

---

***WARNING***

Implied sexual assault and child pornography ahead. Also, some vague descriptions of a murder.

“I had to, Aria,” she told you. “I had no other choice.”

You sat across from her, a police officer standing right behind you, just in case.

“I know you hate me. I know that. I hate me too. But I needed you to hear this from me.”

You didn’t move, didn’t react. You just listened.

**********

Mother never let Nell forget she was adopted. The day she was brought home, the car ride was filled with Mother reminding her that no one wanted her, that she should count herself lucky to have someone as good as her to take such an unwanted girl in. You will want for nothing, she had told Nell. You will have everything you had ever wanted. Mother’s got you.

Nell had been excited to see you when they got home. She finally had a sibling! You were nice to her. Tried to play with her, talk to her at the beginning. But no, Mother warned her that you were deranged, not right in the head, that you may seem all sweet, but you were pure evil on the inside. That you had turned your grandparents against her, that you turned your father against her. You would turn everyone against her too.

It didn’t take long for Nell to believe her. You would disappear to your Dad’s, and Mother would tell her that it was because you didn’t want to see her face. Every time you came back, you would have new clothes and books and toys, all of which she really wanted, but Mother told her they didn’t have the money to get them. She believed Mother back then but would get sad that she didn’t have the nice things you did. So Mother took them from you and gave them to her. Mother stopped her from talking to Grandpa, telling her he was just like you, someone who pretended to be nice to her face but really hated her and didn’t want her around, just like everyone else. Mother was the only one who loved her, wanted her. She made sure she was the only person Nell trusted.

Nell grew up thinking Mother was right. That you had started dating Kyle simply because she liked him, to stop her from getting him. That you pushed Kyle into liking boys because you didn’t want her to be with him, just like you didn’t want your Dad to be with Mother. She liked your other boyfriends too, so Mother taught her what to do when they came around, so that they would like her instead of you. They never came around again. Again, Mother whispered to her that you had hid them away from her, just so she couldn’t get them. She had some boys at school she liked, but Mother told her those boys were boys. She shouldn’t be with boys. She should be with men. Mother introduced her to the men she would sometimes bring home, but those men left after a few minutes, angry at Mother for some reason. Mother would be angry after, and Nell was terrified Mother would throw her out. So she tried her best to get the men to like her, but none of them did, for some reason.

Mother never let her have any friends. She took Nell out of school once she started making friends. She didn’t need anyone, Mother told her. All she needed was Mother. Mother would make sure she had everything and everyone she needed.

When you started seeing Eric, Mother wouldn’t stop talking about him, how she had seen him around town with you, how tall and handsome he was, how perfect he would be for Nell. How he was wasted on someone like you. He was going to be a doctor, so Nell would be set for life with him. So Mother asked her to do one thing when Eric finally visited, told her what to say, what to do. She did as Mother asked, but Eric left too. The day you and Eric left, Mother brought a man home to help Nell feel better. She hated that man, hated the way his breath smelled, hated how he hurt her, hated how he touched her. That man stopped coming after a while, and Mother was angry again. So she went along with Mother’s plans to get Eric to stay. She knew Mother lied about the baby, but she was excited to marry Eric. He’s nice. Surely he would love her once they married, that’s what married people do, they love each other. And then they could have a real baby and live happily ever after.

But Eric didn’t love her. He hid from her. He never even talked to her. He stayed in your room, and she hers. Pushed her away every time she tried to touch him. Nell didn’t dare tell Mother this, worried that Mother would call her a bad wife. So she lied to Mother, telling her that she and Eric did get together. But the reality was, he acted like she and Mother didn’t exist. Eric only talked to you, sometimes. Only ate what you brought him. He ignored Mother too. Nell saw, even heard Mother trying to get with Eric sometimes. She heard him yell at her, calling her a pervert and a vile woman. Eric got angrier and angrier over time, not even looking at her. He was basically just another presence in the house, one that existed in your room and walked in and out of the house like a ghost, very rarely seen or heard.

Nell believed mother when she said you had influenced Eric to hate you and her, that his rejecting of her and Mother was all your doing. Eric entertained her that night, it was clear he wanted her, he even agreed to marry her, so he must have loved her. But you got to him, she said, you made him hate her. It wasn’t her, it was you.  

Mother was extremely angry when Grandpa died. Grandpa had been giving Mother money every month. But when he died, he left all his money and properties to you, and none for her and Nell. She told Nell that this was proof that you had been pouring poison in Grandpa’s ears all along. She was plotting something, something to get Grandpa’s money back from you. But it didn’t seem to work. She got angrier and angrier at you, blaming you for the hard life that was going to befall the two of them.

But then, you left, and never came back. Nell realized then how wrong she had been all this time. That she had trusted the wrong person.

Mother changed. Without you to be angry at, Nell became her target. Everything became her fault. She brought men after men home, and Nell had to entertain them, even if she didn’t want to. They paid Mother money after. She told Mother she didn’t want to do it anymore. They hurt her. But Mother hit her, telling her she was an ingrate. Hadn’t Mother always kept her safe? Hadn’t she clothed and sheltered and fed her all this while? Hadn’t she taken her in when no one else wanted her? It’s time to pay her dues now. They didn’t have any income coming in. Money didn’t grow on trees. The money Grandma left her will run out, and Mother needed her to contribute to the household, for once in her life.

So Nell obeyed. She didn’t have a choice. She knew no one. She tried to get Eric to help, but he was never around. He came home really late at night and left really early in the morning. Mother watched her like a hawk, making sure she never tried to tell Eric anything. She even slipped a note under his door once, but Mother caught her and beat her black and blue. So she never tried again.

After months of this, her period stopped. Mother told Eric the happy news, implying he was the father. Mother didn’t know that Eric had never touched her. She believed her when she told her they did have sex when Mother was asleep or away. Eric had no idea about the other men, Mother made sure of that. She must have thought Eric would step up. He was a good guy, after all.

But the next day, Eric left and never came back. Mother was furious. But after a while, she realized that Eric was no longer a hurdle to hide her secret income generator. She brought more and more guys home, sometimes men would line up for their turn with her. Mother didn’t stop even when her belly got bigger and bigger. Mother forced her to work days after she gave birth. Nell never healed properly from her birth after that, having trouble walking properly as a result. The only happiness Nell had was when everyone had gone home, and she was alone with Ellie in her room, the innocent baby making her happy, and for once in her life she understood what love really was, that she would never do to Ellie what Mother was doing to her, what Mother did to you.

When Ellie turned two and was old enough to walk and talk, Mother began taking pictures of Ellie. Nell didn’t know what the pictures were for, but she didn’t like it. Whenever Ellie threw a tantrum, not wanting to have her pictures taken, or was hungry or tired, Mother beat her too. Nell began locking Ellie up, not letting Ellie out of her sight. Whenever she had customers, she locked Ellie in her closet as she worked in the very same room. That was the only way she could think of to make sure Ellie was safe, at least she was there, and not outside with Mother and the strange men. She locked Ellie in the closet at night to sleep too, worried that Mother would take her.

But soon, the men began to dwindle. Mother was angry at Nell, telling her she should’ve done more, made sure the men remain interested. Nights without customers became more and more common, and on those nights, Nell and Ellie were locked in her room without food or water.

A man came to the house one day. He talked to Mother for a while, Mother telling him something or other, crying and sobbing to him. Nell thought he was just another customer, but he wasn’t there for that. She didn’t know what the man wanted. She only saw him because Ellie had run downstairs while the man was there. Mother had taken Ellie by the hand and introduced her to the man, and Nell saw red, snatching Ellie from her and running upstairs to hide her in the closet.

The next week, more men came to the house, this time to yell and shout at Mother, demanding money from her. She didn’t know why. But Mother went out after they left and came back with a van. She told Nell they needed to leave. The men were dangerous. Nell packed what little she and Ellie had and left with Mother. Much as she hated her life with Mother in it, Mother and Ellie was all she had. She didn’t know anyone else.

They lived in that van from that day on, going to different parts of the town every day, Mother all jittery and nervous. The day they left the house, Mother saw your Dad’s car at his old office and went out to see him. She saw him yell at your Dad, Eric’s name mixed in somewhere as she attacked him with her words. All she could see in your Dad’s face was pity. He pitied her. He looked at Nell, and she saw the pity in his eyes intensified.

Whatever Mother said to him must have affected him. Mother told her your Dad gave her some money, and they drove out of town, stopping every now and again to use the bathroom and buy food. Sometimes, Mother would stop somewhere and forced Nell to work. Once, she made Ellie go to a complete stranger to beg for money. Nell locked Ellie in her toy chest, not wanting to expose Ellie to anything like that. Mother was angry but couldn’t do anything about it. Nell may be weak, but she would do anything to make sure Ellie remained safe, and Mother knew that.

Mother received a phone call one day, and immediately drove to Austin. When Nell saw you again, she saw how stable your life was. You had a nice house, perhaps a nice job. How happy you were, how many people loved you. She understood then that all this while, her jealousy of you wasn’t because you had more things given to you, it was because people loved you. Your dads, Grandpa, Kyle, Ethan, Maria, Eric. Even your ex boyfriends loved you. Good people. Not people like Mother. She saw how people rallied around you, how they all wanted to protect you.

That little girl loved you, she yelled at Mother for threatening you. She wondered if Ellie would ever do that for her. If Ellie even loved her. She knew she kept Ellie safe. But she couldn’t give Ellie anything, couldn’t even feed her right, couldn’t even keep her clean these past few weeks. Couldn’t buy her nice things. Couldn’t even send her to school. Whenever Mother beat Ellie, she was always too late to get to her, only getting there when Mother had already had a few swipes, and even then, all she could do was push Ellie into the closet or the toy chest, locking her in. Ellie would never have the life that little girl had, a stable life where she was loved and cared for.

When they went back into the van, Mother was furious that she was unable to get to you, to get money from you. She got drunk that night, parked at some local grocery store, and spilled everything to Nell. She had borrowed a lot of money from some dangerous people. And now they came to collect, and she didn’t have the money to pay them back, blaming Nell for everything, for not earning enough. For forcing her into a situation where she had to borrow money to survive. Ellie’s hungry sobs broke the small window of silence, and Mother stared at the toy chest, thinking for a while, telling Nell that there was one way she could make up for what she was lacking.

All their problems would be over if she unlocked that chest.

They could make a lot of money if they used Ellie.

Men would pay a lot of money for Ellie.

The two of them could be rich.

Nell trembled at those words. So, when Mother fell asleep, she broke the bottle Mother was drinking from and made sure Mother would never touch Ellie again.

Ever.

She dropped Ellie off at your place the next day and drove as far as she could. She disposed of Mother’s body, taking her heart as proof that she was gone, before making her way back to Austin and turning herself in.

She refused to tell anyone what she did with Mother’s body. The detective told you that they will compare the DNA sample from the heart with yours. If there was a match, that was enough to convict her, even if her very detailed confession and the blood in the van were not enough, which they were.

**********

“I know I deserve everything coming to me, Aria, I know that. But Ellie did nothing wrong. Please, Aria, take good care of her. Never tell her about me. I hope to God she doesn’t remember me, ever. This is the one good thing I can do for her. I know you don’t owe me anything. But please, Aria. Take care of her. I will do anything, sign anything, as long as you promise you will keep her safe, love her, protect her.”

You looked at this woman in front of you, shocked at how much sadder you were at her state of mind than you were at the fact that your mother was dead. In all your life, you had never once thought how fragile she was, how badly she was manipulated by your mother, thinking all this while that she was just some spoiled kid your mother preferred to you.

And as selfish of a mother you had always thought your mother was, you never thought she was just evil.

You didn’t know what to say to her. You stayed silent as Maria and some people from CPS and social services talked to her about Ellie, and before you knew it, she had willingly signed her rights to Ellie away to you, officially making you her guardian.

You remained quiet as Maria told her that she knew some people who would work pro bono to help her, maybe argue for a lighter sentence? No, Nell told her. She will take what was coming to her. She killed her mother willingly, no one told her to do it. She didn’t regret it one bit. Please, Aria, don’t come to the trial. Don’t let Ellie see. Keep her away. Please.

She did ask for one favour from Maria. To help get a divorce for her and Eric. He had been unfairly tied to her for too long. Maria promised she would help.

When the officers finally came in to take her away, you found yourself feeling things you never thought you would feel. You didn’t even know what to call the feeling. But your feet were suddenly drawn towards her, and despite the protests from the officers, for the first time since she came into your life, you hugged her. Tight.

She wept in your arms, pulling herself from you and following the officers out, stopping at the doorway, saying goodbye to you.

That was the last time you saw your sister.

**********

Joel drove you, his hand never leaving yours the whole silent journey home. You didn’t cry, you were just quiet. He didn’t ask you anything, he was just there for you. You remained quiet as you walked into your house, hugging Ethan and Kyle, thanking them for keeping an eye on Ellie. You slept in Ellie’s bed and remained quiet for the next few days, only speaking to Maria, Kyle, Ethan, and your dads on the phone. You didn’t want to see anyone.

He knew what happened, Maria told him. But you never told him anything.

You watched Sarah and Ellie play, watched movies with them, did everything they needed from you, but you didn’t speak to him. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to pry or force you into telling him anything you were not ready for. So he waited. And waited and waited some more.

One day you received a phone call and retreated into your room with Ellie, locking him out. Maria later told him that the DNA results were in. That heart did indeed belong to your mother. Give her some time, she told him. She just needed to process this. He nodded, leaving you alone, texting you night after night, telling you he was there for you if you needed him. He watched your window every night, waiting for you to call him, to talk to him, but you didn’t.

He was starting to worry, but everyone who knew you well kept telling him to give you some time. You will come around.

So he waited some more.

You didn’t know why, exactly, but you were feeling things you couldn’t identify. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him. You wanted to, wanted to tell him everything you were feeling. But you didn’t know what it was. You were so confused. There was a boulder in your heart, and you didn’t know why. Your mother was gone, Nell was gone. So why weren’t you happy? You should be, right?

After about two weeks of this, there was a knock on your door. Eric had come to visit. Tess told him about the whole thing, how you had withdrawn after.

The moment you saw him, you burst into tears. He pulled you in for a hug, and you wailed into his chest, holding onto him for dear life. Eric let you cling to him, stroking your hair, rubbing your back as you cried, kissing the top of your head as you cried. You finally eased, asking him to come in, and shut the front door behind you.

Joel watched as you did so, his heart beating so fast he thought it would break his ribs.

Shake it off, Joel. Eric had known you for a long time. He had been through a lot with you. Of course you trusted him more, felt more comfortable around him to open up to him. The two of you had only known each other a few months, a result of a one night stand, just two broken hearted people who met at the right place at the right time. You will open up to him one day. Right?

But Eric didn’t leave that night. His car remained in your driveway all night.

Shake it off, Joel. Maybe you will open up after tonight. You just needed time to vent to your old friend.

Correction.

Your old boyfriend. The first man you had ever fallen in love with. A man who was taken away from you in the cruellest, most unfair way possible. The man you didn’t get over for years.

And he was spending the night at your place.

Joel was getting ready for bed when he saw your bedroom light turn on, Eric sat on your bed, you closing the curtain. The light was turned off after a few minutes.

Joel couldn’t sleep that night. You wouldn’t do that to him, right? Maybe you slept with Ellie? The bed in the guest bedroom was too small for Eric. He was a tall man. Maybe he slept in your room for the bigger bed? He tried his hardest to shake the images of you and Eric in bed together out of his head, but to no avail.

It didn’t help that he saw the three of you leaving the house together the next morning, getting into Eric’s car, looking like the perfect family. Nor did it help that you came home late that night, Eric carrying a sleeping Ellie in his arms, and spent the night again.

No, Joel, shake it off. You had an explanation for everything, he was sure of it.

**********

You continued sobbing as Eric sat you down on your couch. It was as if the floodgates flew wide open, and you couldn’t do anything to stop it. Seeing him made you realize what you were feeling.

Grief. Anger. Confusion.

You were grieving your mother.

She’s gone.

As much as you hated her, you couldn’t help but feel it. The few times you felt as if she didn’t hate you, felt the things you yearned for from her – the love of a mother, as few as such instances may be. And to your horror, you missed them. You missed those few instances. Memories of the few times she stroked your hair as you slept came flooding back. That night she cooked dinner for you and Eric, smiling and joking, serving you your favourite dish, one you didn’t know she knew you liked.

Before she ripped all of it from under you.

Before you realized how much hatred she really had for you.

Before you realized how much she wanted to destroy your life.

And now, you were so confused. You didn’t understand why you were sad she was gone. She was an evil woman. You should be happy she’s gone. She will never bother you again.

But your mind and your heart were giving you conflicting justifications.

She was evil.

But she was still your mother. The very reason you were here.

She was so evil. She used Nell for money. She tried to… use Ellie for money.

But she was still your mother. She gave birth to you.

And you hated that while you hate her with everything you had, you still had an ounce of love for that woman.

Eric held you, telling you that what you were feeling was completely normal. She was your mother. Of course you loved her, even if you hated her. Feel it, Aria, feel it. Let yourself feel, you will be able to let it all go soon.

He himself was conflicted, he told you. He hated your mother, hated Nell for what they did. But there were times they were nice to him, Nell was always nice to him. Your mother made sure he had something to eat always, and Nell had always tried to get him to eat, but he was too paranoid to do so, worried your mother would drug him again. He felt bad now he knew what Nell went through, felt bad that he didn’t realize what was going on. He would’ve stopped it if he had known. A part of him told himself that he was too bogged down with his own issues to notice, and the other had to reassure himself that your mother made sure he didn’t. She was evil incarnate, and despite the few nice things she did for him, she was not a good person. Remember that, Aria.

He distracted you, watched movies with you and Ellie, cooked dinner for you, reminisced about your college days with you. You got to know him again. By the end of the night, you felt better. He stayed over, sleeping in your room instead of the guest bedroom – he was over six feet tall, he didn’t fit on the queen bed in that room. He asked if Joel didn’t mind you putting him up in your room, you told him you would explain everything to him.

The next morning, you showed him the small box Maria had brought you from the PD. The ashes from your mother’s heart. You wanted so badly to just flush it down the toilet, but you couldn’t do it. He suggested you dump it somewhere else, he could do it for you, just so that you wouldn’t feel the guilt. So he took you and Ellie out, you went to the zoo, Ellie excited to see the animals for the first time. He came back to you sans the box, telling you the deed was done. He wouldn’t tell you where he dumped the ashes exactly, but it was gone.

That was all you needed to know.

He left the morning after that, having spent the time with you to be your friend again. He got to know Ellie better and wanted to get to know her better. As bad as his memories with Nell were, she was never cruel to him, and Ellie did nothing wrong. He wanted to be there for Ellie, and you were more than willing to let him.

**********

Joel practically sprinted over to your house when he got your text. You were finally ready to talk to him. As soon as you opened the door, you hugged him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. You kept apologizing to him for icing him out, you will explain everything over some shit coffee, you told him, making him laugh. You thanked him for his patience, asking him if you could kiss him, you missed him so much. He willingly kissed you, backing you towards the kitchen counter, missing your lips so much he couldn’t think straight. He felt light, all the worries he’d been carrying around these past two weeks floated away. You were back. You were going to explain everything. Everything was going to be alright.

You stopped kissing him when the toaster spat the bread slices out, turning around to get them while he reached for a bag of the shit coffee. Everything just felt normal again.

The doorbell rang.

He kissed you one more time and told you he was going to get it. Ellie came down, asking him for a piggy back, and he happily obliged. He opened the door, a man he had never seen before standing outside, the biggest bouquet of flowers he’d ever seen in his arms, a huge suitcase by his feet. The man looked taken aback to see him.

“You must be Eric,” the man hesitantly said, offering a hand for Joel to shake.

“Who is it?” your voice came floating to the front door before Joel could answer.

“Aria,” the man called out when he saw you.

“Andrew.”

---

Part 13

[knight-of-the-graces]

Hey, um… with the whole “Bluejay!Jason” concept… has anybody ever considered it as an Inkheart reference instead of just a play off his name?

Follow me here, and sorry in advance, this turned into a ramble.

In the second book of the Inkheart trilogy, Inkspell, one of the main protagonists adopts a Robin Hood-esque approach to defeating the tyrant king, and adopts the name of ‘The Bluejay’ from famous folk legends and songs written by a beloved poet and often sung by travelling minstrels. He’s -Inkspell spoilers ahead, though this book is unironically older than I am- known for toppling said tyrant’s throne through the binding of a magic book (a recurring theme throughout the series, if you’ve never read it, which you should). He’s a champion among the Motley Folk, who were that world’s equivalent to a travelling circus and also regularly aid him in his quest to topple the Adderhead (the tyrant king mentioned above), and sought to help the poor and downtrodden. The Bluejay is aided and abetted by his family and friends, which include a shapeshifting wife, a daughter with the ability to make anything she reads come true, a fire-dancer who can speak to the flames, and a knife-throwing 'circus' prince with a black bear companion. (They're not called the Motley Folk for no reason, people!)

Now, consider for a moment: Little Jason Todd, in the local library, absolutely devouring the Inkheart series. It's everything a little kid could dream of in a fantasy book! And there's three of these fat books, what more could you possibly want? And he has an excuse to sit in a warm, safe building for a few hours.

Now imagine, Inkspell becomes his comfort book. Of course it does- every kid had one, and I can't imagine an orphan who grew up alone on the streets of Gotham picking anything other than a story about a strange man helping the opressed and downtrodden in a land he grows to call his own with the help of his family- and The Bluejay is an excellent father to his daughter, too, of course Jason pictured himself as part of that family, as whisked away into that world.

And of course, the rest of the series is wonderful too -Inkheart is where it all began, after all, and Inkdeath is the final triumph over evil!-, but Inkspell is a story about becoming. About learning to be more than you were born as- after all, if Mo the simple bookbinder could become the hero The Bluejay, what could Jason the street orphan become?

Maybe, instead of discovering this book in a library, he found it in the trash. And maybe he wondered, as he read it, why anyone would ever want to throw away the tale of Mo the Blujay, of Meggie the Silvertongue, of Resa the brave swift, of Dustfinger the loyal Fire-Dancer? (And maybe the last one took a while to get there, but he did get there! Eventually! And maybe Jason can understand why it took Dustfinger so long to truly come to trust someone again, because trust is a terribly dangerous thing to give to someone, because you can never really know what they'll do with it.) Maybe he read it through without knowing anything about Capricorn or The Shadow or why they feared the man named Basta, because they hadn't thrown away the first book, only the second. Maybe he wept for the death of Dustfinger, at the very end, because he didn't know that Death wouldn't keep him, because they hadn't thrown away the third book.

Maybe Inkspell found its place among his most treasured possessions. Maybe, when he met Batman and Bruce Wayne in one night and his life changed forever, Inkspell came with him, with its familiar story and characters and world and sorrows.

Maybe one of the first things Bruce did, upon seeing Jason reading that same battered old paperback, was to order Inkheart and Inkdeath and leave them in his room. Maybe that was when Jason started to realize that he wasn't going to leave forever.

(Maybe Jason and Dick would play Motley Folk together, because Dick was in the circus and could most certainly throw knives, even if it gave Bruce a heart attack every time he saw it.)

And maybe, after he could no longer have Robin, he remembered that old paperback book, that old story and that old world, and he thought of a new name for himself.

Bluejay, he thought, as he picked up the book that had been his constant companion for so many years. I'll be The Bluejay.

(I don't really know what this is. I saw some Bluejay!Jason art the other day and just started thinking of the Inkheart trilogy and the fact that Jason would absolutely have read it and probably loved it. And then it spiralled.)

[aestheticallynotdeerlightful]

I was gonna wait and post these till I had more doodles but I’ll just post them now it’s fine. I’ll just explain stuff in the tags as per usual

Some Raz poses and some Dion and Adam stuff

.

(Please do not use or repost my works anywhere without explicit permission from me thank you)

[keebokuun]

Don’t push your luck, N!

[tealgoat]

Writing from @the-bitter-ocean !! Warning for food issues under line break

<You attempt to give the snack to Siffrin this loop.>

< You hand the samosa over to them.>

<You are certain it should work. In all other loops after some back and forth Siffrin eats the snack for you.>

<| “Nope! That’s for you. You should keep it, Bonnie worked really hard to make it for you.”|>

< Why is it different now? Why won’t he take it? >

<Did you skip a chapter without realizing? What variables changed while you were distracted?>

<He stares at you skeptically before opening their mouth to speak.>

<|“…? Bonnie made that for all of us right? So.. why are you handing yours to me? You’re *samosed* to have some too Odile”|>

<What..was that supposed to even be?>

<|“… Yeesh okay I know it wasn’t my best work but yikes. Tough crowd today huh?”|>

<..Oh.>

<You slow blink for a moment before realizing you forgot to laugh. >

<Siffrin most definitely noticed, faltering in their tone ever so slightly before picking it back up again.>

<|“.. don’t get me wrong! I love Bonnie’s cooking and I’ll eat seconds in a heartbeat but.. I don’t like taking it if not everyone’s had the chance to have some too.”|>

[call-me-copycat]

Nothing really happens in the Dabi chapter and it's only 2 pages (back to back, so 4) long, yet the author drew those pages in such a way that I feel I shouldn't be reading it... (〃▽〃)

(sneak peak)

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)