#like both of them are orphans and traumatized

[outofangband]

Beleriand is wide and houseless for exiles

AKA that one Morwen and generational trauma meta I revise a couple times a year

updated post with more meta on the House of Bëor in general and has been updated to read like a real post and not just rambling!

My general tag for Bëorian cultural trauma is houseless for exiles  where I have a lot more like this

So Morwen is obviously one of my very favorite characters in Tolkien’s world, in general  and she is in my opinion one of the most interesting figures in The Children of Húrin, though as she is separated from Túrin for so long there are long periods of her life we have only summaries on. I find these fascinating to speculate on and read/write about

I wrote this post while very tired so I hope this makes sense and is ok, I just wanted to throw out some thoughts and I wanted to write more about the trauma her people went through during Dagor Bragollach

The Battle of the Sudden Flame and the aftermath is such an important part of Morwen’s life that likely plays a significant part in shaping her character though it happens before the events of the book and is mentioned only briefly, much information needing to be found through inference and connecting details

The House of Bëor lived in Ladros in Eastern Dorthonion where Aegnor and Angrod, sons of Finarfin, lived and lead a defense of the Watchful Peace, maintaining a friendship with their Edain allies. Ladros was a cool land of pine forests and steep, craggily slopes that lay South of the great green fields of Ard-Galen and then of Angband and the regions of Morgoth.

On a cold winter night in the year 455 of the First Age, rivers of flames, many choked in poisonous fumes, were sent down from the Thangorodrim. These utterly devastated Ard-Galen turning it from the fertile, green lands to a desert made uninhabitable by the lingering clouds of toxic air. Next came a legion of balrogs with Glaurung leading them and a massive army of orcs that quickly invaded Dorthonion, killing countless elves and humans including Aegnor and Angrod, taking a large number captive and occupying and/or displacing the rest of the Bëorians. Barahir, the father of Beren led a group of outlaws including the fathers of Morwen and Rían. Their group was killed in a massacre by the lake Tarn Aeulin several years later after

(It’s likely Morwen knew nothing of this until she came to Doriath, if even then)

During the chaos of the invasion of Ladros, Emeldir, the mother of Beren fought to protect the children of the Bëorians, many if not most of whom had been orphaned. She managed to lead a group of refugees Southwest to Brethil where the Halidan took them in. Later, though there is not much said in the text about this, a small group of the surviving Bëorians would come to Dor-Lómin in Hithlum where the Hadorians lived. (Note: I have two posts speculating on their route, here and here)

Morwen was elven or twelve when Dagor Bragollach broke out, depending on when in the year her birthday is*. She was likely orphaned during the invasion though we know only that she was separated from her father who was later killed. She was among the Bëorian refugees who would come to Hithlum though her age at the time is unknown. There is so much that is unknown about her life before the events of the Narn.

I also spoke about this on a few different posts, but I’ve oft wondered if Morwen’s time in Brethil as a child was not a good one. Our glimpse into how some of the Haladin treat those who are mentally ill, neurodivergent or traumatized in The Wanderings of Húrin is a very bleak one and although this is certainly not representative of all the people of Brethil, this combined with parts of Morwen’s conversation with Húrin prior to the Nírnaeth leads me to believe she does not look at her time there with good feelings

Both the text of the Narn and Morwen herself describe her as an exile; one who has not only been forced to leave their home but who is forbidden from returning.

The word diaspora obviously comes to mind as well.

There is a bitter shame that bubbles beneath her cloak of pride, an unearned shame but one that has left its mark on her nonetheless (another thing I've mde way too many posts on tbh; her grief and pride are completley inextricable from each other, almost every line in the Narn mentioning her pride or her more severe qualities comes with the addendum that as much as it is directed at others, it is also directed at herself; "for Morwen was as stern with others as with herself", "she did not seek to comfort him any more than herself, etc")

That Morwen is a refugee in Dor-lómin is an important aspect of her character as is her likely trauma from Dagor Bragollach, how flames and armies drove her and her people from their home, killed so many of them, destroying their families and way of life.

It’s not difficult to speculate on the extent of violence that she witnessed and the horrific trauma she was barely old enough to understand. Eleven or twelve is such an age, just starting to understand your own identity and place in your family and community and culture and then to have that so brutally torn apart…

(I personally headcanon that she was injured in the Bragollach and had burn scars but that’s a different post)

I think her pride is very much tied to the fact that she is one of the only remaining members of the House of Bëor, a people who Morwen herself considers all but gone as she says to her husband in the first chapter.

I’m thinking about how this impacts her choice to remain in Dor-lómin after Nirnaeth, thinking that perhaps this time nothing short of another fiery inferno will drive her from her home. How she will not flee again (even as Rían, another of the few survivors, runs again and runs until she cannot get up).

And what’s on her mind when she speaks with Húrin before he leaves for Nirnaeth, how she believes her House to be fallen and fears Húrin’s following suit. The destruction of Hithlum would mean another home taken from her.

I’m also wondering about her significantly less optimistic view of the elves. While Húrin is heartened by the knowledge that the lords of the Noldor have known Valinor and the Valar themselves, Morwen thinks quietly of the exile of the Noldor from Valinor. Which also makes her being labeled elffriend (derogatory) and accused of power akin to theirs

“Húrin Thalion, this I judge truer to say: that you look high, but I fear to fall low.”

That Morwen lives in her own home under occupation for so long adds yet another painful irony to that quote.

“Beleriand is wide and houseless for exiles” is also just one of my very favorite spoken lines by Morwen. I just always feel so strongly that Morwen is not just talking about her hypothetical future there but also her here and now. Even in the safety of her own home and room (I always pictured that conversation as in their bedroom?) she is acutely aware that she will never return to where she grew up, that the place of her and her people in the world has been irrevocably changed. She is contemplating this ordeal being repeated and likely becoming more convinced that it will be. The sheer exhaustion alone of having to reckon with that…

I don’t think the parallels between Morwen and Túrin with regard to fleeing and being hunted or trapped and the ways these and the fear of them shape their lives are discussed enough

A lot of Túrin’s story is about exile. He is forced to flee his home and spends most of the story away from it, deprived of news of his loved ones and people for years at a time. When he does return it is temporary and he finds it unrecognizable.

Even his memories of home, of any home he makes, are clouded.

But his home is not Morwen’s, at least not in the same way. What he loses in Dor-lómin, Morwen has lost more than a decade before the events of the Narn.

Morwen escapes Glaurung twice and ends up in Brethil both times afterwards. Like not to put too fine a point on it but she has always been running and trying to escape the horrors of the past and also she lives in fear, a very real fear, of being forced out, forced to run, or else trapped and imprisoned. When she fears Thingol means to keep her in Doriath against her will, she tells him this fear is part of what made her delay going and I don’t think she is exaggerating in the slightest.

I am just never not obsessed with the themes of diaspora, exile, and persecution in The Children of Húrin.

Anyways I hope this is coherent and all. Hopefully I’ll say something more meaningful on this later. I love Morwen very much.

*as the year of her birth is from The Shaping of Middle Earth it is not considered strictly canon however it does match up with other timelines and events.

[sa-reverie]

Honkai Star Rail x Arknights crossover (not ship art; just drawing two of my comfort characters ever)

Oh god they’re both orphans and traumatized

Shalem (Arknights) child fan design by Cyanord_K (twitter)

[graveyarrdshift]

so i really do have cptsd, huh?

[bamsara]

Some side characters/cult members for The Rehabilitation of Death. This originally was just supposed to be some light sketches but now they're all fully lined up and colored oops

Info about all of them under the cut:

All followers were designed based off of the actaul follower forms in game. Characters in order:

Bremar 🦊 (He/Him): Boy that often gets peer pressured into doing dangerous or scary things by his friends/bullies. Good heart, not a lot of spine yet.

Finor 🐰 (She/They): Elderly follower.  A devoted follower, but much too in the habit of behaving like an overbearing grandmother to those who aren’t even her kits. Comes from bearing so many in life before losing them to heretics in the wilds. Lambert found her already aged out in the forest after her husband and family were slaughtered, and she has been caring for others ever since her rescue. Stern and not a big fan of PDA, but good heart.

Cow Nurse 🐄 (No Name yet, She/Her): A nurse that works in the healing bay; takes care of the injured and sick while the lamb is gone. Stern and easily frustrated but it comes from a place of concern.

The Shrew and The Otter (No names yet) 🐁🦦 (Both She/Her): Lovers that often leave their work posts to be affectionate with each other in secret (even though everyone already knows). Eventually asks the Lamb to officiate their wedding.

Joon 😺 (Any/They/Them) (Otherwise known as 'the yellow cat' from that one COTL short): The best farmer the cult has, wasn't born until long after the bishop's defeats, and is a part of the generation that is blissfully unaware of Bishops prior tyranny. Bright but a little nervous at times, the Lamb asks them to watch over a certain 'new arrival' as their own hands are full, and Joon becomes the unaware caretaker for a certain God of Chaos.

Paazi 🐸 and her parents🦅🦇: (She/Her for Paazi, Unnamed: Eagle is He/Him, Bat is They/Them): Paazi is a orphan rescue from Anura found as young as a tadpole, later adopted by this older couple. She is the frog that fell from the cliffside and was later saved by Narinder, in which gains him her parent's appreciation.

Grekimar 🐷 (He/Him): A lumber worker who was exiled from his village in Anura, and taken in by the cult as 'all past sins are forgiven here'. Very critical of Narinder's presence, and is one spit away from dissension

Jayen 🐻 (He/Him): One of the two followers Narinder killed during his dramatic arrival to the cult grounds when Jayen was just trying to protect his leader, later resurrected by Narinder and Lambert in Chapter 2. Conflicted about Narinder's presence: grateful to be resurrected (Lamb told Jayen that Narinder helped) but still traumatized from the murder. Feels tingly in his hand and arm often. Sweet but nervous.

Tyren 🐶 (He/Him): One of the stone miners. Rescued from Darkwood. The very 'golden lab retriever' personality makes him one of the more friendlier types; this dog has a big crush on the Lamb that goes past prophet idolization.

[luludeluluramblings]

The Tape... Part Two

Reader and Conner are in the cave dealing with the fallout of their Sex tape getting leaked... Reader has a plan...

Part One

Warning: Fem!Reader, NSFW themes, no actual smut, pure crack nonsense, fake Twitter post

The silence was loud. Very very fucking loud. And, so incredibly awkward. Honestly, you were surprised that this hadn't happened before. Gotham media literally had poll last week on who the hottest of the Wayne Family Orphans was. (You had placed fourth, but it's okay. You're pretty sure your ranking just shot up to first now.)

It was a PR miracle that there hadn't been a sex tape, nude, or dick pic leak before this. There had been swimsuit pics. And, someone had managed to get a picture of Dick in grey sweatpants. Lot's of people had been thirsting in the comments, talking about how they'd like to give him a son. Some of them were even women too. Internet people were feral.

Although, you try to shake that thought from your head because certainly you were in trouble.

Sitting in the Batcave with everyone - and you do mean everyone - giving you and Conner disapproving looks. The only reason Conner wasn't tied up and stuffed with kryptonite like a holiday bird was because Clark had joined the family. And, Jon was holding back Damian.

"In my defense, I did try to get it out of the carpet. But, I didn't want that to ping that in my search history. I know Tim checks that on the regular." You started, breaking the silence after what felt like hours of awkwardness. It had been twenty minutes. Still too long, but not that long. You could here a outraged 'Hey' from Tim and Alfred's exasperated sigh. You might actually make him retire at this rate.

"Is that really all you have to say on this matter?" Bruce is already using the Batman voice. And, still in his Batman gear. Not good. Wasn't he in a Justice League meeting earlier? Oh, well.

"I mean, do you want me to say anything else?" You're question causes multiple scoffs, guffaws, and Conner to choke on a laugh.

Such a shame he couldn't get to you fast enough. It was your fault really. You'd both gotten distracted in discussing where would be the best place to flee to. It had spiraled into an argument and then he had to fuck the brat out of you… So yeah… Didn't escape in time. Oopsie.

"How about an apology?" Jason had the audacity to say. As if he didn't literally murder people once upon a time.

You just shrugged. Not really feeling sorry about the situation. "Sorry for traumatizing the internet."

The grin Conner gives you is filled with glee, but he quickly hides it. There's only so much leeway he can get from Clark's presence before a little green crystal gets shoved into a newly made orifice on his person.

"I am… disappointed in you." Bruce barely manages to say through gritted teeth. And, it causes you to tear up.

"Are you saying that I'm officially the family disappointment?" There was way too much glee in your voice and a series of groans leave the rest of the family.

You had probably just earned the most coveted title in this family held together by a butler, costumes, fancy toys and BatBurger runs.

Bruce finds himself pinching the bridge of his nose when he realizes what he's done. This is the real reason he doesn't tell any of his children when he disapproves of something. He learned this with all his kids. He had genuinely thought he'd gotten lucky when you turned out normal.

He was wrong.

"Do you understand what you've done. You've just put a massive target on your back. Anyone that wants to get to Superboy will come after you now." He jumps into lecture mode instead. Trying to give the logical reason for being upset with this.

Though, in reality he was livid that, not only did Conner have sex with you, he had to do it in the damn parlor. The one they usually had family meetings in. He wasn't going to be able to sit in there anymore. Mentally, he made note to have the room renovated. And, to replace the carpet.

"Look I have an idea on how to fix that."

"Oh, and what's that?" Stephanie pipes up, trying not to grin. She knew you had something planned. And, she couldn't wait.

Almost everyone else tensed. Because they knew your plans could go to shit quick or work in the most convoluted bullshit ways imaginable. It was a gift, really.

"Give me like three minutes." You mutter before pulling out your phone and opening up your Twitter/X app. Typing out a quick sentence and sending it off.

There's a ping on the Bat Computer and Barbara pulls up the newest tweet from your account for everyone to see.

A/N: I didn't really plan on continuing this, but I thought why the heck not. Kinda short, bunch o' nonsense.

A/N: Forgive me if I seem absent, I got low energy right now and I'm stressed. I broke a tooth and I hate going to the dentist. But, I went, and I need surgery to fix it... Friggin AO3 curse hitting me and I ain't even posting on there yet.

[gukcnt]

01 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

a criminal's obsession with a shy medical student starts a passionate mix of desire and darkness. As their worlds collide, secrets get exposed and possession turns into love. In a world filled with betrayal and the weight of their own pasts, can they find a way to survive together? or will their twisted bond ultimately destroy them both?

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre — criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, possessive!jungkook, angry!jungkook, graphic violence, blood and gore, unhealthy obsession, both characters have traumatic backgrounds, dark themes, injury, several mentions of blood, medical procedure, mentions of death and murder, emotional manipulation, smoking, isolation and vulnerability, mild sexual tension, dangerous attraction

wc — 5.3k

a/n — I decided to bring back this series because you all adore it so much, and so do I, absolutely love this couple, and I hope you all will show SOB the same love you gave it before. Love you all !! <3

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

The city was alive in the night, the air filled with the smell of trash and the metallic scent of blood.

jungkook leaned against the wall, his black leather jacket clinging to his broad frame, the hard wall grounding him in a world that had never once shown him kindness. A cigarette between his lips, he exhaled, blowing the smoke out lazily.

In his thirty years of life, he has always found himself involved in things related to violence.

Tattoos all over his neck, chest, and arms—all of them a story of his scars, betrayal and a revenge that ran through his veins. His dark, messy hair fell over his dark eyes that flickered with a cold sharpness.

He was orphaned at ten, raised in the city, and being a street kid has taught him to steal, fight and survive before he even learned anything about the world itself.

The streets were like his mother, who taught him harsh and unforgiving things, also teaching him that trust was a trap and love a lie that blinded people.

He had seen several people get betrayed due to their kindness and such harsh experiences have taken away his own childhood and innocence.

The memory clung to him: when he was sixteen, he had taken his first life—a rival gang member who decided to come at him with a knife.

He still felt the spray of blood on his hands and the feel of a dying man’s throat, the way his own heart had pounded not with fear but with power.

Now years later.

His name was a whisper of fear in everyone’s mouth. His frame moving like a shadow through the city.

A criminal now who lives for himself and no one else, his heart long gone and made of stone now due to his hope being taken away.

Redemption wasn’t something he believed in at all; he thought it was a lie.

All he had in his life was his revenge which burned every time he got a new scar or got into a fight for blood.

Tonight that need burned further.

His latest deal with a rival has gone to shit, a betrayal that left him with a bullet in his arm and a fresh urge to use his own knife to dig into someone’s flesh. Blood seeped through his fingers as he pressed his hand to the wound.

The pain was dull, something he was used to from years ago.

But the blood loss was fucking with him—his head was hurting and his vision blurred. He clenched his jaw tightly, with a glare.

“Fucking cowards,” he rasped, voice dripping with venom, “you think you can hurt me?”

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, the alley he was in stank, and even though his mind was fogging, he scanned the area sharply, high on alert. His enemies were out there searching for him.

“Come on then,” he sneered, eyes dark, “I’m right fucking here.”

But his body was betraying him.

His knees buckled and he had to grip the wall for support. Blood dripped even faster now, pooling on the dirty ground. He needed to move and find a place to treat his wound. His hands tightened around the knife in his pocket that was always there, always supporting him at rough times more than anyone ever did.

“I’m not dying tonight,” he growled, “not until I have buried every one of you.”

۶ৎ

Across the city, your calm world couldn’t have been more different. At twenty-two, you were a medical student, that’s why your life is a mix of late-night study sessions with textbooks and your own thoughts.

Your tiny apartment was a haven for you.

Its walls were cream-colored, with curtains that swayed with the breeze. Your bookshelf was full of several novels and medical books. You were shy, an introvert, voice a soft murmur, only rising when you had no choice.

Your world was gentle, fragile, nothing compared to the brutality of Jungkook’s life.

You were orphaned at fifteen, and you have learned to live life alone, heart bruised, but it kept you going. Your parents died from a car crash, with no other family of yours to lean on.

You filled the ache and emptiness in your heart with dreams of becoming a doctor.

You wanted to heal, fix others wounds even when your own still ached.

You were innocent in a way Jungkook could never grasp, eyes always bright with hope and your heart too soft and open despite all it endured. You shied away from the crowds and found peace in books over people and blushed or felt embarrassed at even the smallest attention.

Your days were always simple, following through the same routine: classes, study, and nothing more.

Tonight you were walking home after class, tired to the bone. Your backpack is heavy against your shoulders, stuffed with books and notes. Your mind was already thinking of your bed and cozy blankets. The street was still, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and a distant traffic noise.

Your heart felt light, with a rare flicker of happiness—the exam went well today, which you had been preparing for an entire week.

A small win in your life.

You hummed softly, steps quickening as you neared your apartment. Your hand digging in your bag to bring out your keys

“Almost home,” you murmured, a habit from years of talking to yourself. The thought of sinking into your warm blankets, forgetting about the world, brought you peace.

Then, a shadow moved.

Almost subtly but enough to make your heart jump. You froze, fingers clutching the keys tight. Your eyes darted to the alley across the street, and there he was. A tall, broad man, his muscles bulging from how tightly his jacket hugged him. His right hand gripped his left arm, blood dripped slowly, staining his hand in the process as well.

The sight hit you.

You gasped silently, a trembling sound slipping out before you could stop it as you felt fear gripping your chest. The man still hasn’t noticed you yet. Your heart pounded loudly, legs screaming to run to bolt for your apartment and lock the door before the man can even get a small glance of you.

He looked like he’d walked straight out of a nightmare.

A whimper lodged in your throat as the man slowly lifted his head, his eyes—dark with a mix of something wild—locked onto yours.

It was like you were caught by a predator.

You couldn’t breathe, body no longer your own, just from his simple stare. He was danger in human form and every instinct screamed for you to run.

But then you saw it—the sway of his body as blood oozed out from his fingers and the sight twisted something inside you, a small flicker of sympathy in between your fear.

He wasn’t just dangerous.

He was dying.

Your mind was a mess. Run. Lock the door. Call the cops. He will kill you.

But another voice spoke inside you: he’s bleeding out, you can help him and you’re almost a doctor.

You breathed shakily as your hands shook. You decided to take a hesitant step forward and then another, each one a battle against the fear in your heart.

You stopped several feet away, close enough to see the way his chest heaved with shallow breaths, sweat beading his forehead, but far enough to run if he lunged.

The distance was nothing close to a shield, useless against a man like him.

“Hey,” you called with a trembling voice, “you’re hurt. Badly. You need help.”

His head snapped up with narrowed eyes and he scoffed with a low growl, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Mind your fucking business, girl.” he rasped, voice thick with pain.

“go home and play with your dolls.”

The words stung as heat crept up your neck.

You weren’t a child, but his tone made you feel small, like a little mouse.

Normally, you’d shrink from rudeness, but the blood—God, the blood—held you there. It was starting to pool at his feet until all you could smell was the metallic scent and a hint of cigarette smoke.

He was hurting and you couldn’t walk away.

Not from this.

“I’m a medical student,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady even though it trembled slightly.

“you’ve been shot. You’re losing too much blood. You’ll die without help.”

His lips quirked as his eyes flickered with something sharp and amusement, “you think I give a shit about dying, little girl?”

“I’ve been dead for years. Walk away before you join me.”

His threat made your breath catch as your nails dug into your palms. His words were not just a warning but a promise, and you believed him.

He could snap you like a stick and no one would know.

But you saw the tremor in him, the way his fingers slipped, blood flowing faster, and it kept you rooted to your spot. You were shaking, but you couldn’t leave him, not when you could help him.

Your knowledge and hands could stop the life draining out of him.

“I live right here,” you said, pointing towards your apartment, voice firm in a way you never thought was possible.

“I have supplies. I can stitch you up and stop the bleeding. Please… let me help you.”

He stared at you with his heavy gaze, almost like he was stripping you open and bare.

His black eyes were pulling you in, and you almost thought he’d grab you and end you right there. You held his stare despite your heart pulsing loudly and goosebumps erupting all over your arm.

Then he laughed, a harsh mocking sound that filled the night, bitter and broken, like he was laughing at the absurdity of you.

“You’re fucking insane,” he said, shaking his head.

“Stupid or suicidal, I can’t decide. Fine, princess. Lead the way, but don’t cry when you regret it.”

The words were a dare that caused you dread at the pit of your stomach. You nodded, barely, and with a shakiness you turned towards your door, your keys trembling as you unlocked it. His large presence behind you.

And you wondered if you’d just invited death into your home.

۶ৎ

Your hands shook as you opened the door of your apartment. The air inside was warm, mixing with the scent of the lavender candle you’d left burning. His heavy boots hit the floor with each step.

You flicked on the light, your room a soft world of light colors and pink pillows, a stark contrast to the man standing in its center. His blood started dripping onto your rug, staining it.

“Sit.” you whispered, pointing to the couch.

Your heart was racing and you wondered if he could hear how hard your heart was pounding or if he could smell the fear and stubbornness inside you.

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but he obeyed and sank down onto the couch with a grunt as blood smeared the couch. You winced, your tidy instincts pricking, even now.

You hurried to your bedroom. Your medical kit was under your bed, packed with tools—antiseptic, bandages and other items all neatly arranged. Your hands shook as you pulled it out, carrying it back to the living room.

Your mind was screaming that you were crazy to let this man inside your house—this bleeding, dangerous stranger.

You the girl who flinched at loud voices and who loved to stay alone, was ignoring every instinct to help him.

He watched you return, gaze heavy, tracking all your movements as you tried your best not to meet his eyes because you were already trembling. You knelt before him, the rug under your knees, and set the kit on the table.

You opened the kit as your fingers moved carefully, bringing out bandages, tweezers, and other necessary things.

“Why the hell do you have all this?” he asked, voice as always carrying that mocking edge but with a hint of curiosity.

“Are you some kind of wannabe surgeon, playing doctor in your pretty little apartment?”

You kept your eyes on the tools, cheeks pinking at his words as you nibbled your bottom lip, a nervous habit that caused Jungkook’s nostrils to flare instinctively.

“I’m a medical student.” you uttered quietly, voice wavering slightly, “I need those for practice and to learn.”

He snorted, “of course you are. little miss perfect saving lives with her pink things. You think you’re going to fix the world, don’t you?”

Your fingers paused, his words cut deeper than you realized, hitting the hope you held that was the dream of healing a world you barely knew.

You didn’t answer, focusing on his wound, his skin warm and rough.

The bullet had torn through his shoulder, leaving his flesh raw and bloody. You swallowed hard, stomach twisting as you wondered.

How did he end up in such a situation?

Was he a victim or did he do something to get shot?

Your inner thoughts hinted at the second option. You shook your head, setting the thoughts aside, focusing on his wound, your training kicking in.

The room felt smaller as you worked, the walls felt like they were pressing in. You cleaned his wound, wiping away the blood, which revealed the damage. You grabbed the tweezers, hands steady despite your chest pulsating and leaned closer with a shallow breath.

His arm was all muscle, veins bulging under his inked skin and your lips parted unknowingly.

“You shouldn’t be doing this.” he said suddenly, voice dark, making your skin prickle.

“helping someone like me. You don’t know what I am, what I’ve done. You’re too soft, too…”

He paused before talking again, “Innocent, and the world’s going to eat you alive, and you’re out here patching monsters.”

The tweezers hovered above his wound, his words sinking in. You lifted your head, locking eyes with him.

His irises were nearly black, burning with an intensity that stole your breath.

“Maybe it will,” you whispered, “but I can’t just walk away when someone is bleeding like this, not when I can help.”

He laughed bitterly, “you’re going to regret that, sweetheart. Kindness like yours doesn’t ever end well. You think you’re saving me, but you are just calling danger your way.”

The words hurt, but you pushed them aside, focusing on his wound. You dug the tweezers into his flesh, searching for the bullet. He didn’t flinch, face remaining blank, his lack of reaction surprised you.

A reminder of how different he was, how hardened by a life you couldn’t imagine.

His eyes never left you, watching your trembling fingers, the flush on your cheeks, and the way your lips parted as you focused.

It was as if he was memorizing you, gaze burning through you as a knot tightened in your stomach.

The candlelight painted his face with a soft glow, catching all the sharp angles and a faint stubble that you can see now that you are so close to him.

You found the bullet, small and glinting, and pulled it out as more blood oozed out. You quickly put pressure on the wound to stop the blood flow and the contact sent a spark through you, sharp and unsettling.

His arm was warm, and you pulled back quickly, your cheeks warming.

“You’re shaking,” he said with a growl, “scared of me, aren’t you? You should be”

You swallowed, throat dry, and focused on stitching his wound.

“I’m not scared,” you whispered, knowing very well that you were lying. “I just… want to help.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped, tone sharp enough to make you jump.

“you’re terrified. I can see it in your eyes and the way you’re shaking. You don’t even know me, and yet here you are letting me bleed all over your little apartment. Why? What’s wrong with you?”

Tears brimmed your eyes but you blinked them away, refusing to let him see.

“Nothing wrong with me,” your voice cracked. “I just believe in helping people. Even someone like you.”

“People like me?”

He leaned closer, face just a few inches away from yours, breath fanning against your lips, smelling of cigarettes and something so uniquely him.

“You don’t know what ‘people like me’ do, little girl. You don’t know the blood on my hands or the lives I’ve ended and you’re too damn naive to see it.”

Your heart pounded, his words terrified and hurt you even more, but you refused to pull away, your own confidence shocking you.

You met his gaze with wide, glistening eyes, “but I’d rather be naive and help than hurt someone.”

He went quiet after that, eyes searching yours, his own mind full of confusion because he wasn’t used to such innocence and fragility. Then he leaned back, with a smirk though it didn’t reach his eyes.

You finished the stitches, fingers quick despite your racing thoughts, and wrapped his arms in a bandage. Your hands lingered too long, his heat soaking through you and you pulled back with a racing heart.

You stood, legs shaky and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen.

When you handed it to him, your fingers brushed his, rough and calloused and you nearly dropped the glass, a gasp escaping.

“You need to rest,” you said, avoiding his eyes, “moving too much will tear the stitches. You’ll bleed again.”

He didn’t answer, just stared, his expression unreadable as his fingers curled around the glass.

You felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, heavy and pressing into you. You mumbled something about getting a blanket, voice catching.

You fled to your bedroom with pink cheeks, heart pounding. The door clicked shut, but it did nothing to block out his eyes or his voice.

The way he’d filled your space with a threat you couldn’t name.

۶ৎ

The first light of dawn crept through your curtains. The air was heavy with the lingering smell of antiseptic and blood, a reminder of the stranger who’d invaded your quiet world.

You lie in bed, body still, breath shallow, thinking any sudden movement will bring the man back from the darkness.

Sleep didn’t come to you easily last night, your heart was pounding the entire night, caught between fear and a strange warmth you couldn’t place.

Something that made your skin prickle.

His rough touch felt like it still lingered on your fingers, his dark, almost black eyes still haunted you, those eyes that seemed to see through you, into you, unraveling secrets you didn’t know you kept.

You clutched the sheets tightly, it grounds you against your thoughts. Your mind replayed his low mocking voice that made your stomach twist.

“Kindness gets you killed, little girl.”

You wondered if he was right that your softness is a weakness that will eventually get you into danger.

Finally, you couldn’t stay in bed any longer. You swung your legs over, bare feet hitting the floor. Your faded baby blue sleep shirt clung to your frame. You crept towards the living room, each step slow and cautious, heart pulsating loudly.

You were sure it would betray you if he was still here.

The living room glowed softly in the morning light. Your eyes darted to the couch and breath caught in your throat. It was empty.

The stranger was gone, as if he’d never been there at all, leaving no traces of him, almost like he was a part of your dream you’d woken up from.

The only proof of his presence is the blood-soaked rug and the blanket you’d given him, it was folded neatly.

As if he’d meant to erase his presence himself.

You stood frozen, fingers twisting your shirt in order to ground yourself. The silence was too loud and you should’ve been relieved—he was gone, you were safe. But a strange ache settled in your chest, something unnamable.

It wasn’t just fear, not entirely.

It was the ghost of his presence, the way he’d filled your little space with danger and threat, leaving you both shaken and alive.

“Who are you?” you croaked, voice breaking the quietness.

The question hung there, unanswered.

Why was he shot? Was he a criminal or a murderer? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, goosebumps erupting.

You’d been reckless, letting him in without a second thought. Your need to help had blinded you to notice the danger.

And yet the memory of his intimidating presence, dark eyes and inked skin made your cheeks flame. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your hands to your face, wanting it to go away, but it stayed against your will.

You sank onto the couch, it was still warm from where he’d been, his scent lingering—cigarette and something darkly masculine like him that made your pulse quicken.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered to yourself.

“He could’ve killed you. He could’ve…”

Your words trailed off, imagining his hands, calloused and tattooed, around your throat. But instead of fear, the thought sent a strange warmth pooling in your stomach and you hated yourself for it.

You stood, needing to move, to shake off his spell. You paced the living room frantically. The blood on the rug is a constant reminder of his presence. You grabbed a sponge and cold water from the kitchen and scrubbed the stain.

Your movements were desperate, your breaths coming out in shaky gasps.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” you chanted, tears pricking your eyes.

You didn’t know if you were crying for your naivety or for the stranger and the way his absence left you feeling hollow.

When the stain was as faded as possible, you sat back on the floor, chest heaving with your pants. The room felt too big, too empty.

You hugged yourself, seeking comfort.

“He’s gone,” you whispered, as if saying it out loud would make it real, erase the memory of him, the gravel of his voice and his intense eyes.

“He’s gone, you’re fine, you’re fine.”

But you weren’t fine.

You felt exposed, like he’d peeled all your layers and seen the soft, trembling thing beneath.

You stood up on shaky legs, moved to the window and pulled back the curtains. The street was quiet, no sight of him, gone with the night. But everything in your place proved that he’d been real that you’d touched the edge of something dangerous and lived.

“Why did I do it?” you whimpered, “why didn’t I just walk away?”

You pressed your forehead to the glass, breath fogging it.

You’d always been the good girl, the one who helped and believed in healing.

But now that belief felt like a curse that could’ve cost you everything, even your own life. And yet, the thought of him bleeding alone, dying—it twisted something inside you, something that said that you’d do it again, even now.

You turned away from the window, body restless with an energy you didn’t understand. You needed to study and focus, reclaiming the quiet life you are so used to. But your eyes caught the blanket and the rug again.

He was gone but he’d left a mark, a question that burned your chest.

Who was he? And why, despite everything, did you hope to see him again?

۶ৎ

jungkook’s world was full of edge, a place full of spilled blood and betrayal, where trust was a debt paid in bodies.

But you—you were a soft, maddening intrusion he couldn’t cut away.

He tried to push you away in his chaotic life, to forget your memory under the weight of his revenge. He hunted his enemies through the city, gun heavy and a knife in his pocket.

But no matter how many bodies he killed, your face lingered—your wide, innocent eyes, the way your hands trembled as you stitched his wound. It drove him crazy, a memory he couldn’t break.

Pushing him deeper into his own darkness.

He soon started watching you, not by choice but by need, like a starving man drawn to you.

The city at night would hide him as he stood across from your apartment, a cigarette between his lips. He would lean against a lamppost, exhaling smoke.

Tattoos itching as if they felt your presence as well and how they affected him.

Your routine became his obsession.

At 7:30 am, you’d leave the apartment, backpack over one shoulder. Your hair, often loose as you tucked it behind your ear, a habit of yours that Jungkook learned. He memorized the way you paused while walking, lips moving slightly as you talked to yourself, he noticed even the simplest detail.

By 8, you were at the university, getting into the lecture halls where he couldn’t follow, though he pictured you there, bent over a notebook, with a pen or pencil between your lips when you were in deep concentration, that act of yours that tightened his jaw and always boiled his blood enough to kill a man.

Evenings, you would always visit the library. He’d linger outside watching you read with your head down, lips moving as you read the words, that tongue peeking out sometimes when you licked your lips, his cigarette crumbled in his tight fist at the sight.

Other times, you’d stretch, sweater riding up to reveal a small bit of the soft skin of your waist. It was a reminder of your vulnerability, how fragile you were and it made his blood boil with a mix of protectiveness and possession.

He hated it—hated you.

For being so breakable and unaware of the constant danger around you, the one that was stalking you.

Fridays were his favorite.

You’d stop at the campus café, walking in. You always ordered the same thing, he memorized that as well—iced tea and a strawberry pastry.

You would drink the tea contentedly, sitting by the window, hands wrapped around your mug.

Once you licked icing from the cake off your thumb, your tongue quick, Jungkook snarled from where he stood. He wanted to barge in, to wipe that sweetness off your lips himself, to taste the sugar and you on his tongue as well.

The thought was sharp and dangerous and he forced it away, teeth grinding.

“Why can’t I stop?” he muttered, gruffly. “you’re nothing. Just a girl. A fucking distraction.”

But you weren’t.

You were like a poison, one he craved even if it would kill him eventually.

He learned everything about you. Your favorite books—romance novels and your thick medical textbooks. Your scent—floral lotion, sweet and clean, always clinging to the air in your space along with your clothes and blankets.

The way you blushed, the rare softness of your laughter that angered him wanting to see it often—he craved it even though it felt like a gift he didn’t deserve.

How you hummed softly when you cooked, a melody that he always strained to hear even from outside your window. He hated how you made him weak, how you made him want to see you happy, make you smile and the things he’d sworn off completely from his life.

He was jealous of everything, jealous of anyone you even glanced at, even though it didn’t mean anything.

His hands twitched towards his knife, wanting to kill and carve out the flesh of the male professor you had or the guy who helped you carry your bags that day.

You didn’t interact with a lot of people in general, so he held back.

During his time of stalking, he realized exactly how much self control he had else he would have been on a killing spree of any males who even dared to breathe near you, and that included items you wore or touched.

Yes... he was fuming towards even those.

Because even such items didn't deserve your touch. He was going crazy, possessiveness towards you angering him but he cannot stop it, even if he wants to.

He also knew that you were alone, no family, your parents dead and your life was only held by small dreams. It pissed him off at how exposed you were, how easily the world could crush you.

He could crush you.

The thought was a dark temptation, one he fought every time he saw you.

He watched you from everywhere possible: alleys, rooftops, a presence and a shadow of someone you felt but couldn’t see.

You often felt your skin prickle and goosebumps arise all over your body from the feeling of constantly being watched.

You’d pause sometimes, movements pausing, eyes scanning the darkness, feeling the weight of someone’s stare, brow furrowed.

He'd hold his breath, blending into the darkness, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the pull you had on him without realizing.

“Look at me,” he’d rasp quietly, voice rough with longing and hate.

“See me, damn it!”

۶ৎ

One night, he’d learned about your student loans, the debt that kept you up at night, window open for him to see as you stared at the bills.

He saw the way your shoulders slumped, eyes welling with unshed tears.

It was a weakness he couldn’t ignore.

A crack to a part of him he’d buried a long time ago. The next day, without thinking, he acted. He left an envelope on your doorstep stuffed with an insane amount of cash, your name written in his sharp handwriting.

The bills were blood money from his world.

He told himself it was a debt repaid for the night you saved him.

But when he saw you find the money, your eyes wide, fingers trembling as you counted the bills, he felt a twist in his chest, a sick pride.

A hunger to see that look on your face again.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” He hissed, watching you from a distance, the envelope pressed to your chest as tears of gratefulness streamed down your face.

“You’re going to ruin me, and I’ll ruin you back.”

He kept doing it.

Leaving cash when you weren’t home, each stack a claim, tying you to him. He’d watch you use the money, paying your rent and loans.

Your eyes are bright with relief but full of confusion.

“Who are you?” You’d whisper to yourself, voice soft and trembling as you clutched the money in your hands.

“I’m your fucking shadow, princess,” he wanted to say, the words stuck in his throat.

“and you’re mine.”

As time went by, his obsession grew, a beast fed by every glimpse of you. “I don’t need you,” he snarled, voice loud in the empty alley, “I don’t need anyone.”

But he did.

He needed you something fierce and it was a truth he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much blood he spilled.

You were his weakness, his obsession and he was a man drowning in it, watching you from afar.

Soul in a war he couldn’t win.

────

taglist: @minewlove @wintaemoonjen @chaelvrx @nanisblogg @slutology00 @kelsyx33 @furioustrashlover @jjeonjjk7 @kooever @svnbangtansworld @xcviis @asyr97 @ttanniett @yunhoswrldddd @jeonzll @endlesslysassy @elmarimochi9513 @fangirl-coco-goddess @lisax-30 @moodytangerine @taetaecatboy

[buggachat]

tbh I really like the idea of married Adrien and Marinette adopting their kids. Both because it's kind of a flex on Gabriel and Emilie (who thought that the appropriate response to difficulty conceiving was to hunt down ancient magical artifacts and then create a magical son that they could puppeteer and control...... because adoption/surrogates were apparently.... beneath them. or something.) but also because I just think it'd be really cute.

Like, imagine Ladybug and Chat Noir, heroes of Paris, adopting Parisian orphans. imagine Marinette and Adrien struggling to get on the good side of a "difficult" traumatized child who used to spend their days in the foster system fantasizing about Ladybug and Chat Noir saving them without realizing the new parents trying to connect with them rn ARE Ladybug and Chat Noir. Imagine them fostering kids themselves and just being A+ stellar parents between Adrien's patience and Marinette's attentiveness and both of their affection. idk I just think there's a lot there and it could be sosososo sweet

[batsandbirdbrains]

So another reverse robins scenario sort of, this time starring Dick Grayson and Terry McGinnis!

So imagine Terry is the oldest batkid. Bruce’s DNA was used to make baby Terry and Bruce found out, yadda yadda yadda, Bruce acquires Terry when he’s maybe 13 or 14, and then the second Terry is 18 he gets the fuck out of dodge. Because Bruce Wayne was a terrible fucking father.

He treated Terry like a soldier, like a sidekick, even when they were out of costume. He hardly acknowledged him in the manor, never went to any school functions, and was a total absentee jerk. He only cared about how useful Terry could be to him. He didn’t care about Terry.

So when Terry finds out a couple years later that Bruce Wayne has taken in orphaned circus child Dick Grayson, the eight year old acrobat prodigy? Terry says absolutely the fuck not and he stomps back to the manor for the first time since he left and he plucks Dick right up and takes him home with him to Blüdhaven.

Dick had only been with Bruce for a couple months when Terry found out and came to get him, which made Terry’s heart break when he saw the way Dick clung to him and trailed after him and left with him without any sort of fight.

But now Terry is 22 and responsible for a traumatized, grieving eight year old little boy. And he has to fight to keep Bruce Wayne away from both of them.

Terry does everything he can to keep Dick happy. He helps him get revenge against Tony Zucco for killing his parents. He lets Dick come out with him once a week on patrol after he trains for a few months. He helps Dick decorate his bedroom ceiling in glow in the dark stars because he misses the twinkle lights he had in his bunk in his parents’ trailer. He stays in Dick’s bed with him after Dick wakes up crying from nightmares, carding his fingers through his hair and humming a lullaby his own mother used to sing to him until Dick falls back asleep. He takes him to school and helps him with homework and sticks Dick’s tests and art projects to the fridge with magnets, has a couple drawings framed on his bedside table.

Idk I just remembered I liked Terry and this popped in my head.

[the-artist-grimm]

Closeup plus basic notes of the lamb's room from my Starfall comic! Anthea's got a room in the attic of the temple

Also extra notes! Placing under Read More just to keep things tidy

The One Who Waits Alter

Anthea started worshipping TOWW shortly after entering Ratau's care. The rat hadn't exactly planned on telling his freshly orphaned, somewhat traumatized ward that their new guardian was previously a cult leader, but Anthea discovered some of his old books on the lost 5th Bishop of Death one day and Ratau was left little choice but to explain. The book was an exact copy of an extremely old, likely from right before Narinder was imprisoned, text that depicted the god of death as a kind, patient being, which for the lamb whose family had died in the most violent way possible quickly became a comfort. It contrasted Ratau's own memories of a somewhat more reserved, stern god, but since it made Anthea happier he decided to let it be. Anthea hasn't missed a nightly prayer ever since, and still does it before bed despite now having direct access to the god himself. The layout was one they read from that old book, which stated that a pentagram wreath was to hang between an evenly divided four candles. Unwritten however was the reasoning-the center was Death, and on either side his siblings who ruled over Life. They were meant to be lit in honor of the siblings who took care of the mortals Narinder would eventually receive after death.

Stars and Starmap

Back when he was still alive the lamb's father, Aries, would take Anthea with him on supply runs knowing they didn't get much one on one time otherwise with their younger siblings around. They'd sometimes be out overnight so the two would go stargazing, and its something the lamb still holds dear. Their original copy of the book, 'A Story of Stars' was one of his last gifts to them which even while he was alive Anthea was super careful with it since books are hard to get, but their brothers kinda colored all over it while Anthea was out gathering supplies shortly after his death one time. The lamb played it off and shared with them after as a 'oh they're little and just miss dad its ok' type of thing, but it was kinda reluctantly, with them being secretly upset about it whenever they saw scribbles all over their favorite illustrations while reading to the kids. It burned with their old life, and now Anthea would give anything to have those scribbled pages back.

Sleep Potions and Herbs

The lamb suffers from sleep problems and often brews their own remedies. They know not to take them often since they're kinda really strong-like once they kick in they literally just pass out, but they keep them around for when nightmares get bad. They know a few other remedies from Flinky, since he used to double as both Ratau's right hand and cult medic. Antidotes, pain tonics, basic essentials for when you don't have a doctor.

The Crown

Gonna make a silly doodle comic but after an uh...awkward incident with Narinder calling the lamb while they were dressing one morning the two made a deal in regards to his being able to see through the crown-if the crown is off and facing a wall it means the lamb needs privacy and he's to try again later or until they call back unless told otherwise. Look he may be a bit of a grumpy god but Shamura raised at least one brother to be a gentleman lol

Hope Chest

In sheep culture weaving/knitting with wool was a huge thing, especially for ewes, like most learned from the time they could walk from their mothers. After coming of age most would start keeping a chest they'd gradually fill with handmade linens, blankets, ect. for their future homes after marriage, and it was something Ratau encouraged Anthea to do since he didn't want them to just drop their culture. They still got a loom over at his place since it's hard to move, though they do have knitting needles in the chest.

Books

Books are somewhat hard to come by if you're not in one of the Bishops' cults where they have scribes so Anthea tends to collect any and all they find

Ratau's Family Crest

Given to the lamb on their 18th birthday. Rats have family crests tattooed onto their foreheads at 18, and since he'd essentially adopted Anthea Ratau thought it was fitting to give them something similar but not permanent. It fell off during their execution, but they made sure to go back and grab it after downing the heretics that attacked after resurrection. They still wear it now under their tunic

[aoflameandco]

Netflix Lady: the devil’s in details 

The role of demons, politics, Dante's power level are all beloved aspects when it comes to criticizing the Netflix adaptation. Still, everything pales in comparison with the biggest object of dissatisfaction  - the new version of Lady. 

Why do people dislike Mary Ann Arkham so much? What's the difference between her and the original Lady? Today I’ll try to break through prejudices and, playing Devil's advocate, deconstruct the fandom's myth around her.

Lady vs Mary 

She isn't even Lady! This woman calls herself Mary even though the real Lady despised her birth name! 

It's well known that dmc Lady hates her name. The one she got from her father, the cold-blooded murderer of her mother. Lucky her, Dante was around to suggest a new iconic way to call herself.

So where did "Mary Ann Arkham" even come from? Surprisingly enough, the full name isn't Adi's invention, you can meet it in the CD-drama to the dmc2007 anime. But even in this source, Lady made it clear that she won't allow anyone to call her that.

So why not respect her personal choice? The tragedy has already happened, her mom died before her eyes, but Netflix Lady still goes by “Mary”. The answer is quite simple: she keeps her name, because she never disowned her dad.

The show portrays John Arkham as a devoted family man who truly loved his daughter. It's safe to assume that before the subway incident they spent a lot of time together, which is why little Mary was so upset and desperate to reach out when her father changed and became isolated.

We see Kalina's death from Mary's POV. Her father has turned into a demon, a monster who mercilessly killed her mom. Still, the last thing the girl saw through the flames was his human face, regretful, him reaching out to her.

In ep 4, Arkham keeps appearing in Mary's hallucinations, in both: demonic and human forms. Like her fallen teammates, Arkham the human blames his daughter for his painful death. After all, she was the one to set him on fire.

Of course, the vision is nothing but a mirror of Mary's guilt. She separates her beloved father from the demon who killed her mother. She blames herself for being too weak to prevent - not only Kalina's death, but the entire family tragedy.

The name she keeps isn't tainted by the most brutal betrayal. In a way, the show has chosen to adapt the scenario that Arkham used to manipulate Lady in dmc3, convincing her that he was incapable of fighting possession. The question is... Is his story truly over this time? Or maybe soon Mary will have no choice but to consider the nickname Dante has already given her? Long story short, in the show's universe Mary doesn't have a solid reason to abandon her birth name yet. 

Lady the government lapdog

Lady working for the government? The rebellious girl we know would never take orders from anyone! 

Once again, the difference comes from the changes in her backstory. The original Lady lost her family when she was in high school, which according to the manga was about a year before the events of dmc3. So she was ~16 yo. Still a teen, still deeply traumatized, but at this point the core of her personality was already formed and she had more opportunities to act independently. 

Now, I'm not so good at guessing the ages of cartoon characters, but there's no doubt that Netflix Lady was much younger, just a child, when the tragedy happened. A traumatized orphan, an easy target for someone's influence, as Rabbit pointed out in his calling out speech. The show heavily implies that Mary didn't get the Darkcom card accidentally and, who knows, they might have even groomed her for years before she became a real soldier.

Little Mary always wanted to fight monsters and protect people. Her father went crazy because no one took his warnings about demons seriously. And now she suddenly had the opportunity to join an organization that knows about demons and has real weapons to deal with them. Of course, she didn't hesitate.

Despite her traumatic past, Mary is hardly blindly obedient. She doesn't hesitate to make her own decisions, such as releasing Makai refugees, which was clearly not in the protocol. Gradually her moral compass starts to oppose the given orders and even Baines notices this, trying to tighten her leash. Still, in a tough struggle between heart and duty, duty wins. But more on that a bit later.

Finally, the soldier Lady was quite necessary from the writing perspective. Let's be honest, it was never really explained why dmc3 Lady is so good at fighting demons and has an entire arsenal at her disposal. Well, things happen, when a veteran mercenary is turned into yesterday's school girl to meet the public demands. But it's fine, it's a game and the rule of cool works pretty well, besides, the power of revenge does wonders. Meanwhile the show took a more realistic approach, so we got military training and an access to the latest technologies instead, which also allowed Mary to fight by Dante's side in the final battle. 

Lady aka overpowered girlboss

Why does Dante always lose to Lady? He toyed with her in the game! She's human, she stands no chance against serious opponents!

And very smoothly we move on to the next point. Thanks to the changes in the backstory, Lady has acquired a good combat experience and some tricky gadgets. Analyzing her fights, it’s easy to understand that she succeeds not because she is stronger, but because she is more strategic and knows which buttons to push, while Dante isn't in his best mental state. However, in a direct confrontation, when he really focuses and gets serious, Lady loses immediately.

Interestingly enough, they kinda contrast with their dmc3 counterparts. Lady is more emotional, driven by revenge, so her anger fuels her clashes with Dante, who always gets in her way. While he keeps his feelings to himself, hiding behind a devil-may-care mask for much of their interactions. No matter the fight, the power imbalance between them is rather obvious.

Meanwhile, Netflix portrays Dante and Lady as equals, each with their own strengths in different areas. Dante is a power house, brute force, stamina, regeneration, but he's too reckless, chaotic, uncoordinated and easily emotionally manipulated. Lady has a cool head, quick adapting and a smart use of environment on her side, but she often bites off more than she can chew, which results in Dante’s dashing acts of heroics. 

In the end, the show maintains a nice balance in their winning/saving score. The power imbalance isn't that visible, bc Mary is already in a solid form, while Dante is just starting out. But he'll certainly level up, so the power scalers could find some peace. 

Lady -  the screentime thief

Devil may cry? Ah, yes, the Lady show, which features Dante as a cameo! 

Now this is a really funny argument because technically Dante has more screentime than Lady, although the difference isn't that big. So why are so many people convinced that Lady stole his glory?

Let's start with the fact that Lady is the clear deuteragonist of Season 1. With Dante as the protagonist and Rabbit as the antagonist, duh. So she was bound to have a solid part of the story to herself.

It does help that Season 1 has Vergil only as a cameo now the real one. The role of the deuteragonist was taken over by him in the end of dmc3, leaving no room for Lady in the final battle. Meanwhile, Mary had no such restrictions and used her place as Dante's foil at its fullest. Actually I'm surprised that nobody blamed her for stealing Vergil's color palette lol

Lady is an active player, she needs to act first, because she knows that she may not get a second chance when the fate of the world is at stake. So she strategies, comes with the plans, rushes to change things, fights for her truth.

Dante's original goal is much smaller in comparison: he just wants his chill life and his mom's necklace back. Suddenly, he finds himself in the middle of the 4-D chess game, without any helpful knowledge. Darkcom and Rabbit keep fighting over him, moving him from location to location, the news about Sparda hit him like a truck, and he faces some big self-acceptance issues. Lady gets the luxury of making her own choices, while Dante is constantly forced to do things, because otherwise someone will die on him again. And just when he finally finds a solid motivation and decides to take a step out of his routine, he gets a beauty sleep in a freezer instead. 

The adaptation chose to explore Dante's inner world, showing his doubts and vulnerability, which I personally like to see. He still got his cool action scenes, but in contrast to Lady, who has her flashbacks too but also does a lot of stuff to influence the plot, Dante's role in Season 1 might look rather passive. Again, the problem is that Dante just starts his journey, absolutely unprepared, while Lady knows stuff and has some experience in critical situations. Still, this can create the illusion that the more active participant is the actual lead, while the protagonist is busy fighting his inner demons.

What a bitch is this Lady!

Netflix Lady is a horrible person! She never was so mean! Why does she keep abusing Dante and calling him slurs?! 

Well, first of all: Mary isn't mean to everyone, despite her sharp tongue, she is actually quite caring when it comes to her allies. A quick look at her interactions proves that she is friendly, when a person gains her respect, always willing to lend a helping hand, feels deeply responsible for her teammates.

Now let's talk about her enemies: of course, Lady hates demons with all her heart. And Dante falls into this category, because she refuses to acknowledge any exceptions at first.

In this prejudice she is no different from her dmc3 counterpart. The original Lady continued to judge Dante by his origins until their final confrontation, even though he had already saved her life several times by that point.

In the show Lady's attitude towards Dante slowly changes once she learns that not all demons are bloodthirsty monsters. Her mean behavior peaks in ep 3, when she is convinced that Dante is a super-cunning demon who is only pretending to be an idiot to fool everyone. But after she allows herself to reconsider her perspective, she gradually softens towards him, which even her enemy notices.

But she shot him in the leg after he saved her life! And the original Lady fired at Dante twice after he stopped her fall, initially not even knowing if he would survive the headshot. What can I say, Lady was always ruthless when someone gets in her way, but in the show, she also tries to protect Dante and stop him from doing something stupid in her own stern, caring way.

Now about “hellblood” being a slur- sorry, I think it's “a friend who is too woke” situation. Demons aren't a race, for starters. If anything, Dante is on thin ice too, remember how he mocked poor Cavaliere!

Funnily enough, when Dante isn't around, Mary is comfortable calling him by his name, but she clearly avoids doing so directly. Maybe it's her own revenge for “Lady”, but you can see that in the last episode she doesn't use "Hellblood" in a negative context. Still, whether this nickname is appropriate is up to you to decide.

Uncensored Lady

Devil may cry? More like Lady may swear!

This probably should have been the first point on the list. Because a lot of people have complained that Lady sounds like she's from another big cartoon about demons. And you know what? As someone who doesn't swear irl, I'll even agree with the criticism. But not without throwing in my two cents.

The problem isn't that Lady has a foul mouth. She has one, dmc2007 wasn't shy about it either. The problem is the amount of swearing, which at some point becomes a bit comical. It's like Lady is trying too hard to be cool and menacing.

But what if it's intentional. Mary is a young woman in the military who rises through the ranks, takes responsibility for people, chains her feelings behind armor. It's worth noting that she uses swear words mainly to establish that she is in control, fearless, to hide her vulnerability, to demonstrate that her enemy is worthless and can't do shit to her. It's like another layer of her armor, a hard facade she has created.

Or maybe Adi just thinks it's cool. Let's check out the next season(s) to see if character development correlates with the amount of cussing.

Et tu, Lady?  

Lady was never a backstabber! Her last decision destroyed all her progress for the season!

The last few episodes proved that Lady warmed up to Dante. She was trying her best to convince him to cooperate, to trust Baines, because from her POV, Darkcom is the only organization capable of protecting the amulet and Dante by default.

Mary's faith visibly cracks after Baines treated the deaths of her team so coldly and then ordered the "demon" to be taken into custody. It's more than obvious how upset she was by this turn of events.

The final battle gave Mary even more reasons to struggle: she saw first-hand what Dante's carefree confidence could lead to. Dante now has a new personal goal: to find his brother, who is clearly connected to the greatest threat to humanity. Mary, as a person, understands and sympathizes with his desire to reunite with his only family. She deeply regrets betraying his trust, especially after he asked her to come with him. But Mary, as a soldier, could not allow that to happen. Not when it could cause another apocalypse.

Mary's choice feels natural: she knew Dante for a day, while Darkcom was her everything for much longer time. But it's also important to consider - when Mary made her final decision, she didn't know that Baines would attack Makai first. She didn't know that he had ordered the deaths of all the refugees she had saved, to begin with. In the end, she looks absolutely devastated, her moral sacrifice for world peace was in vain.

Well, that’s the tragedy of Mary Ann Arkham. A character who is clearly beloved by writers, but often misunderstood by fans. It’s hard to disagree: she’s not the Lady we know. But it’s also important to add: she’s not Lady yet. And if that tedious long speech has convinced you to wait a little longer and give her a chance to prove herself, my mission is well accomplished

[car-o-line]

Hi, I saw ur headcanons with Doey/Matthew, Kevin and Jack with best friend reader.

can you do hc’s of reader being turned into PJ Pugapillar (their favorite toy) and the boys reaction to it.

my underrated boy needs some love.

pj my pookie, I’m actually happy there’s that theory that mommy longlegs didn’t kill pj because player cheated or smth, he doesn’t deserve to die, but y’all did so where’s the difference

Doey souls with reader turned into PJ-pugapillar

random scientists are green btw

Jack Ayers:

When he was an actual child, he met you when he was touring the factory. You were with one of the scientists while he was visiting the game station, the scientist in question introduced you to the boy.

“Ah, hello there buddy. Having fun? Great, this is Y/n. One of our many orphans who successfully has gotten adopted, isn’t that right Y/n?”

You didn’t expect to see a kid who wasn’t an orphan to this place, so you were a little surprised by his appearance in a place like this.

Jack beamed at the sight of you and waved at you happily and introduced himself to you, you said hello back and tried to do the same but sadly the scientist decided that was enough talking between the both of you and dragged you away from the little kid.

Jack was upset but didn’t mind much, you must’ve been pretty busy going to meet your new adopted parents.

Thats what all the kids thought.

Then he went into the vat room and we all know what happened next.

After being created into Doey for a while Jack eventually got somewhat used to traveling as a large blob of dough, but one day while Matthew was in charge of Doey he came across a vhs tape, placing it into the vcr which had the following script:

“This recording is a check-in on experiment 1399. Subject was recently transferred into the toy known as “Pj-pugapillar,” birth name, Y/n L/n. Subject seems confused and weary whenever scientists go in to do physical studies on them, perhaps it’s just 1399s natural reaction to that sort of stuff. Other than that 1399 seems stable enough to be brought into the Game Station, we thinks it’s the best option for now so Y/n could get a sense of familiarity within the place and their current position-”

The tape ended there, to Matthews dismay. He himself had little to no recollection of who you were. Perhaps it was just fuzzy memories of the past for him, but Jack remembered you. Your name, last name, you said both when you introduced yourself to him, maybe it was just a one sided attachment but Jack some reason felt so comfortable talking with you even if you both just met and it was for a small amount of time.

He was absolutely devastated, not only was Pj one of if not his favorite toy out of Playcare, he also believed you were safe from all this mess. He thought that you went home to a warm and welcoming family. But he guessed wrong apparently.

The whole ordeal made his emotions go out of hand, worse than Kevin even. And while, unlike Kevin who acted out of anger and hatred, Jack started to act out from grief and fear.

It was so bad even Poppy herself got concerned about Doey.

“We need- we need to find them! They’re lonely and hurt! So sorry y/n, so sorry!”

“Doey… do you need to take a break? Who’s Y/n..?”

He wanted to find you badly and tell you everything was going to be okay, but he just didn’t know where to look. Matthew brought up how Pj was always in the game “Statutes” but that was before the Hour of Joy.

Congrats you traumatized Jack a second time, dying and becoming his favorite toy :D

Matthew Hallard:

He thought you were just the sweetest when it was just an “orphanage.”

He’d always compare you and Pj alike, such as : “Oh Y/n, you’re so sneaky just like Pj-pugapillar!”

If you’ve ever asked why he always compared the both of you he always would answer “Because you’re my favorite kid here and Pjs my favorite toy here! It’s like it’s meant to be!” And then he’d stupidly ruffled your hair like if you were an actual pug(you smacked him)

But unfortunately, one day your adoption was announced to most of the orphans in Playcare. Most were saddened but none as more as Matthew, he was sad yes. But he was happy for you, he was happy that you were finally going to get a nice family. One to take care of you and protect you for the rest of your life. Oh how wrong he was.

When the time came for his turn to be tested on, or what was vaguely known as “adoption”, almost all he could think about were what happened to the children before him, Kevin, Quinn, Theodore, Marie, and you.

As Doey became well, himself Matthew declared himself as the leader of the 2 other children, he was the one who understood most of what was going on. He eventually found out what happened to said experiments and who they had belonged to now.

He only found out who you turned to be by a document found near an office near the Prison area. It described all possible subjects that could be the official Pj-pugapillar. And your name was the underlined one, scribbled with red.

He almost dropped his normally calm and collected composure. He told Kevin to take over for a bit(and to behave😐) while he just stared into the dark abyss of whatever consciousness had been left over.

After a while he went back in control and decided that it would be good to ask Poppy if she knew about your whereabouts, or even if you were still in this place.

“P..j? Oh uhh, I’m pretty sure Pjs still at the game station, in statues I’d assume. But, if it were me I’d ask the Player. I’m sure he knows, well. Maybe.”

Disappointed by Poppy’s lack of answer Matthew decided that he’d just go carry on with what his normal duties were. He wants to check the Game Station. He really does. But thinking logically the chance of your survival with no food and no guidance is basically zero.

Maybe one day when both you and him pass on into the actual afterlife, he’ll see you again, as a real kid and not a toy masking itself.

Kevin Barnes:

Not sure if Kevin is actually one to play with the toys in Playcare. But you did, that you did. Basically storing the whole collection of each and every toy Playco has ever brought into its factories walls.

Kevin wasn’t as eager as the other orphans were about your collection, but there was one toy he did really enjoy. Pj-pugapillar. Every time you asked Kevin to play with you the very first words that came out of his mouth were that he was going to be playing with Pj. And if not then he wasn’t going to play toys at all. He’d just make you play tag or hide and seek with him.

So naturally you gladly agreed to his deal, sure you liked Pj but there were other toys you were more fond of.

You both were quite used to this routine and while Kevin would rather play physical games such as soccer, tag, or kickball. He had to admit that playing peacefully with you wasn’t as bad as he thought it would’ve been.

Though, one certain day would make that all come to an end.

He was just waking up and getting ready for the day when he saw one of the caretakers standing in his doorway.

“What?”

“This..might be a tad hard to accept, Kevin.”

“What? Go away if you won’t tell me.”

“Y/n has… Y/n has gotten adopted.”

“Y/n?”

“Yes. Last night to be specific.”

He was pissed ngl.

But unluckily for him, he would soon be announced “sick” by some of the scientists. His other friend, Joseph was concerned about him. But once he expressed his concerns to the scientist, it was too late for both Kevin and you.

After the Hour of Joy some of the only thoughts that Kevin had were either about Matthew and Jack, his hatred towards the factory, and sometimes reminiscing about playing with you.

He learned what happened to you through Matthew, Matthew was the most intelligent out of the 3 boys so he normally is the one to update Jack and Kevin about what happens when they aren’t in control.

So by that logic, it’s only natural for Matthew to sadly inform Kevin of where your, or what’s left of your body was. Pj.

Kevin was furious when he learned about what happened to you, Matthew knew that Kevin and you were somewhat close, but he never knew that Kevin would literally crash tf out about it.

All Jack and Matthew heard for the next few hours after he found out was screaming threats to the facility, because as much as Kevin pretended to find you boring, he adored you just as much(which is a lot)

He was so upset he almost caused destruction to Safe Haven and those who inhabited it. But in the end Kevin was comforted by an innocent Jack who had absolutely NO clue who you were, and a grieving Matthew who quietly but solemnly took charge of Doey.

But it’s fine because Kevin got his anger taken out on Pianosaurus!!😚😚😚

[beeboopneep]

:)

I firmly believe that the batfam would be a half-decent family to be adopted into while not knowing about their Nighttime Activities TM... at least in the beginning.

Lets say that Kiddo gets dropped off after the death of their last guardian (mother, most likely) and somehow the cops get their hands on a letter or something that says that Kiddo is Bruce Wayne's biological child. CPS wouldn't DNA test a child otherwise, but with some sort of evidence they may. Either way, something tells me that as soon as Bruce was notified of the possible child he would get the test done lol. While that processes the kid would end up in foster care (yikes! Gotham foster care is def rough af) whether Bruce is a foster father or not (that sounds like a problematic placement and he'd probably have to pull strings if he wanted to take care of them during this time). So, for 3-14 days an already traumatized, possibly orphaned child waits in limbo in a cesspool of a foster system. Trauma on top of trauma. And then the results come back and Yay! You've got a daddy!

So they pack up everything and go live with the People's Billionaire who they have definitely seen scandals of on the news before. Can you imagine the thoughts going through their head at the time? Are the other kids gonna bully me? Does he even want biological kids? Is he abusive? Neglectful? Pervy?? Does he really drink that damn much and fall in that many damn fountains?!?

And then they'd meet him and he'd be... stoic? And awkward and kind of cold? Which they could definitely take wrong (Bruce is emotionally inept, not malicious) and assume he hates them off the bat. They withdraw, straining themselves and the barely-there relationship more. The ink's still fresh on their adoption and they already want to leave.

Anyway, lets say things pick up. They meet Dick, the emotional center of the household, and then Jason, their caring (if abrasive) older brother, and so on. They start to find their place. Maybe they still struggle to warm up to Bruce or really feel like on of his kids, especially since everyone else seems so comfortable.

But Dick invites them to get ice cream and burgers and whatever else just as an excuse to spend time with them and make sure they're adjusting well (or enough to be expected). Jason teaches them to punch and how to finally get A's on the English assignments, and how to actually like their English assignments. He buys them fancy bookmarks and they pretend not to notice that he has the same one (they match!). Tim comes to them whenever he finds out a new fact he thinks they'll like and lets you pull coffees out of his hands without too much complaint after he's surpassed his daily limit (he only gives a grumble and an affectionate look) Cass teaches Kiddo all the best places to hide during hide-and-seek and pulls you into her side during movie nights. Cass makes sure you always have someone to eat with if them want it and brings back food whenever she's out. After some work, Damian even lets you help him train Titus!

But they still can't quite settle in because... where did everyone go at night?

If Kiddo's home situation before wasn't exactly ideal then they'd be a light sleeper, which is how they'd wake, and if not it's because they go down for a glass of water or something and see way too many bedroom doors open and beds empty on their way. Either way, after living with people for so long they'd catch on.

They notice that every single person in the household had been unaccounted for at some time. Every single one of their siblings plus both adults in the house were getting together every night to do something without them.

The realization was like a stone at the bottom of their stomach. And so, they start to pull away.

And everyone notices.

[autumn-sweet-fae]

Zaun Fam + Jayvik fic concept that I don’t have the time or energy to write myself.

After Viktor and Jayce vanish at the end, instead of dying like they fully expected to, they are instead sent to an alternate reality where Viktor first awakens as his past 11 year old self.

An orphan living in a group home in the fissures, Viktor does not cope well with the immense guilt of his past life, the confusion of being a child again, and the loneliness he’d be forced to suffer through for years to come. So, in his darkest moment, the boy goes and finds a cliff edge near one of the old mines.

Meanwhile, Vander and Silco were on their way back from their hide out when the two spot a kid about to jump. They both break into a sprint to stop him, Silco is faster and reaches him first, ripping him away from the edge at the last second. He clutches the child tightly to his chest as the boy tries to fight him, only to break down into tears once he sees Vander, apologizing over and over again.

Refusing to leave the kid alone, they take him home with them, and just accept that this traumatized yet brilliant kid is theirs now. It’s not easy, but parenthood never is. They both do their best to help Viktor through his worst, and to draw out the genius sarcastic kid from his quiet shell.

Years later, Jayce finally arrives in this reality, one moment accepting his death together with his partner in the astral plane, the next, being 17 years old and his mom telling him he’ll be late for school. Jayce of course skips school and instead desperately searches for Viktor.

Except… Viktor isn’t at the academy… and no one he could talk to there has ever heard of him either. Worried, Jayce tries to crossover to the Undercity, only to find that the main bridge is shut down, as it had been for weeks since the bloody riot.

Jayce manages to eventually sneak across on one of the smaller bridges into Zaun to continue his search. There, he discovers the terrible rumors, that Viktor was known in the community, but now many believe him dead after his disappearance at the bridge riot.

But there’s one man who should know the truth behind the rumors, Vander, his adopted father.

Meanwhile, Viktor is hiding away in doctor Reveck’s lab, sitting at the bedside of his other father, Silco, holding his hand as he suffers the fevers from the toxins of the river he was almost drowned in.

[unionizedwizard]

so. many people have already pointed that koana is sort of like an ARR alphinaud remix and while it is not untrue, i think this analysis is only superficially correct. because the salient point of koana's character is that he feels shame and resentment towards his roots & origins and therefore overcompensates with sharlayan weabooism (well-intentioned, but still unsuitable). he comes off as really weird and stuck up, in the beginning especially, where it's like. "what the fuck is this guy's problem" in a way that's rather similar to the average player's reaction to ARR alphinaud.

BUT!

the thing with ARR alphinaud is that he was the Quintessential Sharlayan, both on account of his upbringing and family tree, and of his personal interests and achievements. he was (and still is) secure in his origins and cultural identity. koana's case is different, because he clearly loathes tradition and turali cultural practices in a way that comes across (and fundamentally is) really weird and destructive, which comes to bite him in the ass on many occasions during the rite of succession (and understandably so).

it all starts to make sense when you learn about his backstory though. while we know that wuk lamat doesn't remember anything of her own childhood, having been adopted by gulool ja ja as a toddler, koana was adopted at a much older age. he remembers his early years, and that's what fuels his entire vision for the future of tural. as he tells it, he was born to one of the most traditionalist hhetsarro tribes in tural, and abandoned (accidentally(?) left behind) during one of their yearly migrations, only surviving thanks to a pelupelu merchant who rescued and took him in before employing him in his tuliyollal shop. an obviously incredibly traumatic event that would shape everything about his future mindset: he's closed off and withdrawn to the extreme, highly analytical, values self-sufficiency and independence and technical innovations above all else, because that's how he survived to begin with. because his nomadic, highly traditional, presumably (from what we've seen of the one hhetsarro tribe we've met so far) tight-knit, spiritual and social tribe rejected and abandoned him. it would make sense that he'd rationalize this unfathomable violence by leaning hard into the opposite, and letting his own pain and resentment color his entire vision, turning his own feelings into a more general mindset of shame, resentful inadequacy, and complete rejection of anything "traditional"

i think sharlayan was a good choice for him because it's pretty much, indeed, the opposite atmosphere: in sharlayan culture, family ties are a lot less emphasized, while the kind of ties that colleagues, peers, teachers and students develop are considered as very important (see pretty much every sidequest and margrat's custom deliveries and all). all these relationships based on a common work and aspirations rather than origins would indeed agree with koana's character better, and his analytical skills, vision and intelligence are pretty much the most valued traits to them.

which is why it was actually such a stroke of genius to have thancred and urianger specifically support him. of course, both of them had a character development arc that echoed with koana's issues: learning how to express himself more openly and acknowledge his feelings, all that, meaning they were uniquely able to help him. but when you look more closely, they can also relate to him on a more personal level: thancred was "adopted" by louisoix as an orphaned lominsan street urchin, probably at a similar age as koana when he was adopted by gulool ja ja; and urianger's parents notably "abandoned" him to the point he was mostly tagging along at moenbryda's house and, later, at the leveilleur estate, as louisoix's disciple and honorary uncle to the twins (also worth noting that urianger and koana share the same flavor of autism).

so the rite of succession was a much-needed window into his own biases and (literal) coping mechanisms, and must have been quite difficult to deal with considering pretty much all the feats involved interacting with and strengthening tight-knit smaller communities with strong traditions and family ties. luckily, partly thanks to thancred and urianger (but not only! he did the work himself), he was clear-minded enough to realize his own failings, and well-intentioned enough to step down - because he did not want power for its own sake, unlike zoraal ja; he wanted to protect the turali people from a potential invasion by leaning hard into foreign technological advances, therefore mimicking his own personal journey and adapting his own tried-and-true methods of survival: anticipating the hardships, being as independent and self-sufficient as possible, and choosing isolationism.

and finally i want to point out that the new techniques and technologies he imported from sharlayan are all (safe, fast and reliable) modes of transportation: aetherytes, dirigibles (including the alpaca carriage adaptation), and trains. interesting choice, moreso considering that while aetherytes are the #1 sharlayan specialty, they have neither dirigibles nor trains; which takes on a whole new layer of meaning when you remember that his original tribe was nomadic and that he specifically was left behind, stranded in the desert, during one of their traditional migrations............

in this regard he truly IS green g'raha, considering that g'raha was, similarly, raised in a traditional seeker manner before being sent to sharlayan for his own (and the tribe's) safety; of course the difference is that g'raha embraced his heritage by locking himself in the crystal tower by the end of ARR, since the G tribe was tasked with guarding the remaining allagan ruins and weapons, to make sure their power would not be misused by yet another imperialist military force (he locked himself in the tower to reinforce its defenses and make sure the garlean empire would not access it to conquer eorzea)

thank you for your time 👍

[thatonefandomweirdo]

People want a flawed female character and yet they can't even handle Poppy.

"Poppy is evil" theories here and "I wanna punt Poppy" there

So sad. Poppy is a traumatized kid who got experimented on over and over again, got contacted by the Prototype disguised as Ollie to find out every bit about her while they were both constantly being taken apart. So he could later use that against her. The Prototype lied to her, saying they would leave after The Hour of Joy, which is why she initially agreed, only to then be told after The Hour that they would stay there forever since leaving would have people know they exist. People would continue to hurt them and people would be experimented on just like they had been. And she knew he was right. She just misses her dad, Ludwig.

But because she disagreed with whatever experiments he and Harley were doing, the Prototype locks her inside that case for years where only we finally let her out.

Initially she just wants to let us leave, but after defeating two Bigger Bodies? Defeating Huggy Wuggy might have just been luck, but defeating Huggy Wuggy AND Mommy Long Legs? That's skill. So she decides we are her best bet against the Prototype.

She has decided the Prototype's way isn't the right way, but killing everyone would be better. The human orphans are important, they can still be saved. But the Prototype, she herself and any other toy needs to die so this can never happen again. She doesn't like it, but it's the only way out she sees. Otherwise, she will just continue letting toys cannibalism one another like the Prototype currently is.

But then everything goes up in flames. Suddenly everyone is dead, she only has us and Kissy. She wouldn't suspect Ollie of any potential sabotage. She has known him for over 10 years! Since before The Hour of Joy. The Prototype would never have manipulated her for that long. But he has. And he threatens her with putting her back inside a prison she cannot escape from. So she runs, because she is still a scared little girl that has been trying to put on a brave face

You can disagree with her actions, but it's not like she had no reasons to do them. All the kids we met were put through the ringer and trying to act like Poppy is some evil bitch rather than a scared little girl when the game has shown the lengths these kids go to time and time again? That's missing the point

[snetofed]

MATTHEO: —Do you know what's worse than a class with Snape after lunch? THEO: —A date with you? MATTHEO: —Ha-ha. How original. No. Having to see your face every day without sunglasses. I'm slowly going blind. THEO: (sarcastic) —And to think my mom told me orphans needed love. Clearly not you. MATTHEO: (making an indignant face) —Orphan?! Do I look like Harry Potter? THEO: (elbowing him) —You look like you have unresolved trauma and abandonment issues, yes. Although… that's like the unofficial Slytherin uniform. MATTHEO: (nodding with fake solemnity) —"Sarcasm, passive hatred, and emotionally absent parents." The house motto. THEO: —And you're the club's prefect. MATTHEO: —Of course. An honorary position. I'm also in charge of breaking hearts and stealing sandwiches from the kitchen. THEO: (mumbles) —It's not stealing if the elves give them to you because they feel sorry for you. MATTHEO: —THAT'S EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION AND IT'S A TALENT! (both burst out laughing, lying sideways on the couch) THEO: (still laughing) —How is it possible you have a girlfriend? MATTHEO: (with a sly smile) —Because I have this face, natural charm, and… I'm traumatized, Theo. Girls love to fix projects. THEO: (pretending to score in the air) —Perfect. Score: becoming emotionally unstable to get laid. MATTHEO: —Too late. You're already like that from the factory. (They look at each other for a second and laugh again, like two idiots who wouldn't trade each other for anything)