#like this is life and death rules to them

[headspace-hotel]

This year has, so far, been for me a series of rapid realizations of what I have been unlearning.

I went to the library. This was a couple weeks ago. I knew I needed to read a book, fiction. I hadn't done so in over a year and it was the longest period of time I had ever gone without doing so. I made a rule: I would only pick books I had never heard of, by authors I had never heard of, and I would not do any preliminary research or even bother to look at what the book was about. I would make my decision on whether to read or not purely on my impression of the title, cover and opening lines.

The book was The Connoisseur by Evan S. Connell. It was kind of a random selection. I sat down with it in a corner of the library and straight up devoured it. I tore through the book within a few hours, without taking a single break. I was captivated. I couldn't put it down.

It is a book about a guy who buys a Mayan figurine in a knickknack shop while he's on a business trip. and becomes obsessed with pre-Columbian sculptural art. There isn't really much of a plot apart from this. He goes to sketchy antique shows, has conversations with museum curators, wealthy art dealers and forgers, and seeks to learn how to distinguish a genuine pre-Columbian piece from a fake one. It was written in the 1970's, so the views on Native Americans are antiquated and sometimes offensive, and there is the troubling thread of the very concept of looting another culture's treasures and treating them as collectibles, though the book is not without commentary on this.

All the same, it was a completely intoxicating read. The vicarious experience of becoming fascinated with a topic and having it unfold a whole world for you was ferociously gripping, and so was the intrigue of the art collecting world itself. The frauds, forgeries, smuggling, museums, academics, aristocrats, auctions and seedy flea markets. Will he ever be able to tell if a piece is "real?" Does it matter if it's "real?" Why does he want to own and possess a piece of art, and how does its "realness" affect that desire? The book leaves you not knowing what to think.

It is a book about curiosity, portrayed in the narrative as a totally unreasonable lightning bolt that strikes a man who has never been fascinated by anything and changes him forever. Why? Why does a Mayan figurine, in particular, speak to him? Why does any piece of art, or any fascinating thing in the world, speak to anyone? It is unknowable.

I went to the library again. I picked a new book using the same rules. This book was Fragile Beasts by Tawni O'Dell. Just like the last time, I was totally captivated. I couldn't put it down.

Did I have a couple major problems with the portrayal of some important aspects of the story? Yes. (It would make the post much longer to discuss.) Was I completely captured by and invested in the story for the time I was reading it? Also yes. The book braids together several very different strands-- the story of a legendary Spanish bullfighter and a wealthy American woman that he loved, two brothers stuck in an ugly family situation after their father's death in a car accident, and a rich old heir to a Pennsylvania coal mining fortune and to the sinister underbelly of her family's business.

There was a lot about baseball, which I know nothing about, and bullfighting, which I know nothing about, and I certainly don't know anything about being a teenaged boy who resents and mistrusts his estranged mother, or an aristocratic old lady who lives in a mansion and eats fancy Spanish food. It was fun to experience so much unfamiliar stuff and to care about things I wouldn't normally care about. Once again I couldn't stop reading until I had finished it.

I don't know that either book was "good," though I thought they were both well written; I just know that reading them was like being hooked up to an IV of something essential and life-giving and feeling it reanimating my body.

It had been a year since I had read any fiction, but it had been much, much longer since I had loved to read. As I became an adult I had become picky and critical about books, and developed a highly sophisticated sense of my taste and the books I considered good- which were very rare. My taste in books became so sophisticated, eventually, that I didn't like books at all anymore.

I had almost withered away from deficiency of that essential nutrient known as STORY. I'd almost crumbled myself into dust from pretentiousness! I may have been terribly wrong about the kinds of things I liked to read, on top of it. And I certainly hadn't realized that story was such an essential nutrient.

"Just entertainment" the pretentious sorts of people might say of a book they think is useless-- but what is entertainment but to absorb your mind in something, and what is absorbing your mind in a book but to experience things you would never have experienced? It expands you and makes you more complicated. It is the study of human existence itself.

Now all I have been able to think about today is finishing my work and going to the library again...

[luscinia-svecica]

dick would take one look at their sad orphan eyes and misplaced anger at the world and be like, "BABY!?!?"

also I'm all for the cracky and fluff feels but imagine the underline angst this prompt has like ,

" You shouldn't even be anywhere near the fight, you're too important! "

" I am not! "

" Yes you are! "

" No!"

" Why won't you just let me do this for you Bruce! "

Isnt it just immaculate though. bruce wayne, just like his parents haunts the narrative. cayse dicks kids/siblings?? never met bruce, but that doesn't mean his presence isn't in everything they do. I need dick to just sometimes look at them with a deep sorrow and melancholy, because you're so much like him at times.

don't even get me started on the parallels between dick and bruce. dick seeing some of bruces perspective because now he's at a simillar age bruce was when he took dick in. definitely see him learning and diverting but also making some of the mistakes bruce made. dick just like bruce wanting them to be safe and trying to bench them or keep them out of the hero life, and his robins being angry because they're a parentership. the mini bats arguing with the big bat because they worry and going on about how, they're suppose to watch batmans back, they keep eachother safe.

dick reluctantly gives in because he understands where they are coming from and it would be quite hypocritical of him to say no, but he also MAKES RULES. like being yes I understand him but also I'm gonna make sure they have what I felt I needed.

and we cant have dick being batman without misplaced guilt because you know he holds so much guilt over bruce's death and kind of thinks he was responsiblefor it in some way or another. (eldest daughter syndrome strikes again). Like when the kids were arguing for being partners you can't tell me he wasn't thinking along the lines of " The one time that Robin wasn't there for Batman, he came back in a body bag. "

Lying awake at 5 am thinking of the au I planned out where Batman dies before Dick ever becomes Nightwing, so Dick becomes Batman and he ends up adopting all his siblings instead.

19/20 year old Dick Grayson staring down at a like 10-13 year old Jason Todd trying to steal his tires and understanding why Bruce took him home that day at the circus.

Dick Grayson staring at Jason who brought home a young Tim and feeling like he can never let Tim go, or maybe him finding the young boy taking photos one late night.

Dick finding out about (baby!) Damian and stealing him. That's *his* son now.

Him finding Cass and just accepting he has a daughter too. Doesn't even fight it anymore.

Duke? He just sighs and wraps the kid up in a blanket. Alfred's already got a room set up for him by the time they're back at the manor.

Eventually, Tim and Steph date and break up (she gets to finally have a good time as Robin PLEASE) but Dick gets said when she stops coming to family dinner. She starts coming again bc she can't stand the puppy dog eyes. She's his unofficial daughter.

Barbara and Alfred just watching all this go down and staring to place bets on when they think another shows up.

Dick but he just inherits his father's adoption problems.

Ft uncle Clark and aunt Lois with (baby!!!) Kon and eventually a baby Jon.

Ft an unholy amount of angst almost every damned chapter.

[writingwithfolklore]

I Cut Out Social Media for 30 Days and It Changed My Life

Okay hefty title, but I mean every word of it.

Over January I followed a book called Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport. I'm sure you've already been lectured to death about how bad technology and social media is for you, so I won't repeat the statistics here. What I will say is that Newport suggests that there are also positives to technology and that abandoning it altogether is not realistic. Instead, he proposes that we define our values, and then use technology to attain them--rather than allowing technology to define what values we should hold.

To do this, Newport suggests a complete "detox" of non-essential technologies for 30 days. That means abstaining from social media, netflix and other streaming services, videogames, etc. But of course still being able to phone loved ones, email for work, and use google maps if you're going somewhere new, etc. In doing this detox, he proposes that we will be able to better understand what values we hold as people, not just as consumers of technology.

He was right.

At first I found it really hard. Right away I noticed that any activity other than doomscrolling and watching endless hours of Youtube took a lot more brain power. I started doing puzzles, reading, writing (a lot!), cooking and baking, and taking many walks with my dog. By the end of the day I'd be fuzzy and exhausted, and all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and watch my favourite shows. I didn't, but I wanted to.

But then I started to notice my "brain stamina" (I'm sure there's a better term for it but oh well) started to improve. Instead of writing for two hours before getting fuzzy, I could write for four. And then six. And then eight. Slowly, I found myself being able to do more in a day, to focus for longer on one task, and I didn't feel as drained by the end of it. I had a clearer mind, I could remember things a lot better, I was no longer struggling to find really easy words--they just came to me.

This all also resulted in me spending so much more time with my friends and family. I realized that I really valued this time--and that it wasn't something I could replace by hitting 'like' on an instagram post from them. I rediscovered community, passion, and in many ways, humanity.

It was like I was looking at the world in a new way. I started to notice more, be curious about more. I kind of remember being this way as a kid, and I couldn't believe how I had ever let that go. Now, the idea of sitting on my couch and watching hours and hours of Youtube in every moment of my free time feels inconceivable.

However, my 30 days are up, and so Newport suggests setting some rules to reintroduce what technology I believe supports my values. I've decided not to return to Instagram, but that I do value keeping up to date with the gaming community and pop culture, which I do on Youtube. Now, Youtube is something that I watch for a couple hours on weekends, instead of eating up every bit of free time I have. I also value interacting with other writers and the writing community, so I've created a couple hours in my schedule to check Tumblr and my Discord and keep up to date with you guys here.

But now most of my free time is spent reading or writing, or being with my family and friends, and I value that most of all. To demonstrate how much has changed, in the months before my detox, I wrote maybe 2500 words. Since my detox, I've written 40 000. Last year, I read about four books. In just one month during my detox, I read 10.

If this sounds like something you'd be interested in trying for yourself, feel free to reach out to me! I'd love to talk more about my experience and things that worked or didn't work for me. I'd also really recommend the book, it was incredibly helpful in determining what rules were healthy to set and how to get out of technology and then back in with success.

Back to usual content soon :-)

[chemicalcindercat]

Tim follows Bruce's rules perfectly. In this way, perhaps, he can be better than his predecessors. He knows from observation that Jason liked to ignore the rules and argue with Bruce, and he can guess from what he knows about Dick that he was the same. Tim can’t afford to ask questions, or argue with Bruce, or break the rules. He has to be perfect. Too much is riding on it. If he messes this up and gets Robin taken away from him, he doesn’t know what will happen to Bruce. If he’ll slip back into his old ways and walk along the edge between life and death.

Because the thing is, Bruce is getting better. He’s not the same Batman he used to be; he buried a piece of himself six feet under with Jason’s body, and Tim doesn’t think he’ll ever get it back. Still, Bruce’s decisions in the field become more logical, and he can recognize when to go home and tend to his wounds now. He even invites Tim to stay for dinner after patrol once, but Tim knows a courtesy invite when he sees one, and politely declines. 

Outside of the suit, Bruce keeps himself at a distance at all times, and Tim is grateful for it. It certainly makes it easier to remember that this is nothing more than a business partnership. 

Dick is a little harder to keep away from. The older boy has a way of making Tim feel relaxed and safe around him that he’s never experienced before. Dick’s smiles make him feel warm inside, and Tim knows that the laid-back personality and dad jokes are a front that he puts on, yet he still can’t help but look forward to Dick’s visits to Gotham. He almost feels like an older brother, but Tim scratches that thought out of his brain the second it crosses his mind.

He realizes abruptly that he’s gotten too comfortable with Dick, and forces himself to withdraw. He keeps an eye out for the little things that tell what Dick is really feeling, like the flash of sadness in his gaze that he quickly hides whenever Tim does something that reminds him a little too much of his lost baby brother, or the way he freezes up any time he has physical contact with Tim while he’s in the Robin suit, or how he holds his breath for a fracture of a second whenever Tim is even slightly in danger. Tim learns to look for these signs, and holds them like barbs around his heart to prevent himself from overstepping.

Surprisingly, Tim finds it the hardest to keep himself from growing attached to Alfred. The butler is more compassionate than Tim ever could have expected, and it gets increasingly harder to keep him at a distance. He’s kind, and caring, and says exactly what’s on his mind (it’s very amusing to witness him put Bruce in his place and stay perfectly polite while doing so).

Tim pretends not to notice the way Alfred checks him for injuries after every patrol (with a med-kit waiting just in case), and sneaks extra protein bars into the various pockets of his suit whenever Tim gets low, and always has a steaming mug of the best hot cocoa in the world waiting after the particularly grueling patrols. Tim knows better than to accept Bruce’s pity-invites to dinner, but he’d never waste a mug of Alfred’s hot cocoa. (As long as he drinks it quickly he’s not overstaying his welcome, he justifies it to himself.) He ignores the sad looks Alfred gives him when Tim makes excuses to rush home straight after patrol rather than hanging out, or when he easily brushes off the older man’s concerns regarding his dark eye-bags and alarming coffee intake.

He keeps them at a distance at all times. They don’t want you, he tells himself, they need you. And that’s enough. It has to be. He can’t get attached to them because he doesn’t deserve to have a relationship with any of them; he hasn’t earned it. And if (when) being Robin gets him killed, they won’t be hindered by the inconvenience. 

Tim knows he isn’t the best option for Robin, and some days that fact looms over his head more than others. He isn’t even a good Robin, anyone would have been better than Tim. He’s still actively fighting against brain fog every day, and he has to write things down constantly so that he won’t forget them, and sometimes at 3:00AM when he’s trying to finish his case notes and on his fourth coffee the sleep deprivation and migraines just feel like too much.

When it gets really bad, he reminds himself that nobody else stepped up. 

He might not be a good Robin, but he’s the only Robin that Gotham has right now.

So he sucks it up and finishes his case notes. He ignores the headaches and exhaustion and goes to school the next day anyways. He doesn’t bother Bruce or Alfred with the minor injuries that come from patrol. He stitches himself up at home and tries not to get blood on his mother’s expensive rugs. 

When it feels like too much, he keeps going, because there is no other option.

[Excerpt from chapter two of Blue Pills and Scattered Dreams, which will be posted soon...]

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ] [ p.3 ]

Authors Note: Well, shit. Glad to see this garnered some attention and that you guys liked it 🫡 as per usual please keep an eye on the content warnings and take care of yourselves.

Some more useless history facts nobody wanted:

• Remedies for illnesses in the fifties were a mixture of at-home and rising industry cure-alls. Many people used sponge baths for fevers and hot water bottles for aches while taking their Asprin. It was an awkward middle ground of well-known techniques and modern medicine.

• Nail care was also becoming more popular in the fifties, as with everything in society now that a war was not a concern. In 1954 a dentist was the creator of the first fake / artificial nail since he was tired of his own nails breaking lmao. Most women took care of their own nails and painted them with practice, for the most part. Women also started reshaping their nails in the process of the upkeep!

• The fairs we know today and see as a sort of larger aspect of a season were a lot more deeply involved in the local communities back in the day. Fairs were used to bring many — or just one — communities together and often made a show of selling local goods by those who lived within the county it was held in. It had a large focus on the region’s agricultural culture as well and it wasn’t uncommon to see livestock at these events. This is how some fairs ended up being hosts to many beloved country events that go on today, like rodeos. The classic carnival rides we love were still used even then — but mostly had limited options that included Ferris wheels, bumper cars, the whip, and some games that may or may not still be found in today’s fairs!

• Cotton Candy was invented in 1897 by a dentist and a candy maker. There’s a joke in there somewhere.

• Funnel cake was brought over to the States by the Dutch as drechderkuche around 1879 and they themselves had gotten it after the dish spread in popularity across Europe after initially being dated back all the way to the medival worlds of the Persians known as zalabiyeh. Only in 1947 did it make a grand entrance to the carnival and fair life as a snack of wonder!

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rio’s really done it now. She’s created a monster of herself and broken her most important rule and revealed her lies to you in doing so: her inability to create life. Allegedly. Death becomes your dueling partner as all you can do is grapple for some semblance of control between her moments of appearance as she works double time to keep you — and now whatever she thinks grows inside of you — alive.

Content Warnings: Dark, so expect the usual — internalized homophobia and gender norm expectations in flashbacks, panic attacks, self-harm [ not graphic but it’s there ], angst, forced impregnation, misuse of magic [ Rio, always Rio ], manipulation, obsessive behavior, threats of violence [ R —> Rio ], Stockholm Syndrome taking effect, TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES

Word Count: ~5.2k

2024

You awoke with the curtains pulled open and the sun glaring across your face which really only added to the pounding in the front of your skull that welcomed you back to the world of the living.

Gods — it wasn’t just your head that pounded. Your entire body felt like a dump truck came through the house and just meandered over your unconscious body and left behind whatever was left of you.

The pain alone was almost enough to convince you to go back to sleep, to try and escape it longer and what you knew it would mean by getting up.

Because you remembered last night — down to what Rio had whispered to you with deadly promise and such conviction that it still was too much for you to think about right now.

You should have known better trying to kill Rio. You were smarter than that, most days. You knew to some extent how powerful she was and that you had no true capability to so much as give her a paper cut if she didn’t allow it.

You drew your arm from under you and rested your forehead against it, still facedown against the pillows and refusing to move from your position. That would be . . . It would be admitting a lot of things to yourself, never mind Rio.

The wetness on your skin is how you found out you were crying. Quiet tears, falling directly onto your arm before your brain could catch up with the severity of your emotions.

You dug your teeth into the skin of your arm to silence any noise that would dare try to leave your chest. These tears would have to come and go without trace, and this would be your only acknowledgment that they were ever there at all.

Your body shook only slightly as you willed your crying to end and just let the anguish and loneliness be your friends for this single moment before you had to return to this endless game of brutality with Rio.

When you could cry no more and you were sure you could breath without shuddering, you pulled your teeth from your arm and assessed the damage.

You had dug in deep enough to bruise — it was already turning red and had left deep tracks, unforgiving in the proof of your inability to hold your emotions in.

You wipes the wetness from your arm and did not wince when a throb from touching the mark was returned. It was a small price to pay, and it would be a good grounding-point to slip out of bed.

At least your emotions were back to normal. . . They were regulating now.

That’s what you told yourself as you sat at the edge of the bed and stared at the plants on the shelves across from you on the wall.

The ache between your legs that matches the one deep in your chest beyond flesh and bone were ones that you knew well — from your previous marriage and then with Rio. Both with positive and negative connotations attached — at first.

Now you weren’t sure there was anything left to recover from those feelings. Not when you could reach up to your neck and practically touch the hum of magic that kept you tethered to her.

You flexed your fingers and dug them into the mattress as you tried to even your breaths again. The tears were long gone, but the breathing —

She took, took, and took and never once thought that she was taking. She only cared what it did for her and how it made her happy, to appease her immortality? The despair it brought with her to be alone so long?

You hated that it was you.

You used to love that it was you.

But the thing with Rio is that her affections are animalistic and not grounded in how it will hurt everyone else. You realized that when she collared you the first time and you had to escape under the cover of night and get the magic removed quietly and quickly.

She is selfless in her selfishness and that is her most dangerous attribute. A patient hunter who knows the game after a long time playing it.

“Mow.”

Billy was sitting in front of you, just inches away with intense eyes and his fluffy tail curled at his paws. He seemed almost curious.

You unclenched your fingers from the sheets and reached out, offering a hand passively.

He blinked at you, owlish, then stood and rubbed his head against the stretched hand and down your arm. Loud purrs soon filled the quiet surroundings and his tail vibrated as he chirped at you.

“Are you hungry?” you asked him, watching his flank ripple as your fingers ran through it. Your mind was quickly able to release despairing thoughts and the pit that sought to drag you deep.

A loud mrow was your response and you took that as an initiative to stand and find something comfortable to wear and pointedly ignore the pain left behind by Rio and ignore the fact that it was as though she was never there at all.

1954

You hid upstairs long after Rio had returned from her job. You folded laundry and ironed some, then refolded others again. When that was done and you couldn’t really make an excuse to just constantly fold laundry repeatedly, you locked yourself in the bathroom you had been using and decided to “organize”.

You had heard her inquiring calls from downstairs and had chosen to ignore them in hopes she would . . . Well, you weren’t entirely sure. Your mother’s news had been unsettling and left a sour taste in your mouth.

Why did you have so many lipsticks, now? You had five in your palm and three on the ground where you sat on your knees. They were in varying shades of reds and pinks and relatively new — all from Rio. She sometimes liked to bring you gifts from the store.

Did you really care how many you had? Did it matter?

Your mother said Rio was never married — no records of it were recorded in the archives, no official obituary to be found under the name Vidal. You supposed she could have returned to using her maiden name . . . But —

“Angel?” A rap to the door shook you out of your thoughts and the lipsticks clattered to the floor.

“Shoot,” you murmured and began to scoop all of them up hastily, “h-hang on, Rio. I’ll be just a moment.”

“It’s no problem, sweetheart, really. I was just concerned when you didn’t come to see me when I got home.”

You stacked everything back into place and lifted the container before setting it back into the medicine cabinet-mirror duo and shutting it. Your reflection startled you.

You had regained some flush to your cheeks and a light to your eyes after the death of your husband — even you could see it without it being pointed out. Nobody did, though. It would’ve meant implying something — something that was never meant to be discussed in the open.

But even as you stared at yourself you could hardly believe the difference that you found in your reflection.

“. . . Sweetheart?” Rio prodded from behind the door, tone gentle but more firm.

“I’m sorry, Rio.” You pushed off the sink and unlocked the door, swinging it open and smiling at her. “I haven’t been myself today. I think I’m just a little under the weather.”

She softens and steps closer to you, eyes roaming over you. The inspection felt intimate and you shelved the way it made you feel and reminded yourself that those feelings aren’t natural . . . And you were just a mess in general.

She seemed to be satisfied with whatever she found and leaned against the doorway. “You should’ve called me. Maybe I could’ve brought something home — heated lemonade is all the rage for colds right now.” She rubbed her hands together.

You smiled meekly. “That’s sweet, thank you, but it really only started when — oh, perhaps after I left lunch with Mother.”

She tilted her head, a black strand of hair floating from her updo. “Oh I remember you telling me you were meeting up with her. I’m glad you did — it was a beautiful day.”

You looked away from her and fiddled with your fingernails. Once nervously bitten and torn, now kept well-managed under Rio’s careful eye and money as she ordered you to a woman in town who knew how to do them from her home. You brought your own polish, but she did well with keeping them intact for you.

“It was a good lunch,” you answered carefully. “She — my mother has my best interests at heart.”

“Of course she does,” Rio agreed easily, pushing off the doorway and considering you with that gentle look of hers. “Did something . . . Did you two talk about something difficult?”

You didn’t immediately answer because you weren’t sure you wanted to go down this road with the other woman, in truth. She had been so helpful and the shame that filled you for feeling so useless and meek coiled tight inside of you.

But somehow you found yourself telling her anyway, without considering how you wanted to word it, “We talked about . . . My husband. Settling his affairs, mostly. Making sure I won’t see trouble down the road.”

Rio relaxed slightly as she eyed you. “That’s good, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have been so distressed during that period if I’d had my mother to help me.” She smiled a little, her silent support.

But if your mother was right in that Rio never had a husband — much less a husband that died in the war — then why would she be going through all of this trouble? How did she manage to make you feel so less alone in the agony you’ve been clawing your way out of?

“She’s been wonderful,” you say to her, reaching up to fidget with an earring. Her eyes followed the movement with hawk-like observance.

“Anything else that seems to be on your mind, angel?” Her head tilted slightly, curious and full of wonder. Like she was having a hard time getting a read on you — and maybe she was. Your moods weren’t subject to change so often and this one in particular was rare after moving with her.

“No, no just that.” You released the earring and smiled at her fully, returning to the present to be with Rio fully. “I’m sorry I wasn’t downstairs to greet you. I just got so caught up in finishing some things up here. I have so much lipstick, Rio . . .”

Her gaze drifted to the cabinet thoughtfully then slipped back to you. “Put some on — and dress somewhat warm,” she finally told you, unstrapping the straps that hooked over her shoulders to her pants. “Something pretty for me.”

Your cheeks heated even as you frowned at her. “What ever for? It’s such a waste to use when we’re not going anywhere.”

Rio chuckled. “Angel, we are going somewhere. The fair’s in town, remember? You’ve been eyeing the newspaper article on it all week.”

You brightened considerably in front of her, darting forward to grasp her arm. “Really? We’re going to the fair? You’re sure?”

The black-haired woman grinned down at you, tilting your chin up with a finger, “Very sure — if you can get ready before the field fills up on parking.”

You nodded rapidly and pulled back, filled with a sudden renewed vigor. “Oh I have the perfect scarf I’ve been waiting to match with that pair of pants you got me. The ones with red stripes.”

“You’ll look beautiful, I’m sure.” Rio winked at you and you made a point to ignore the weird fluttery feeling that crossed your chest at the action.

You’d felt that once — an old boyfriend who kissed you under the stars on top of his brand new Chevrolet before he returned you home and made sure to leave some of those stars in your eyes.

You’d married that boy once upon a time, and it ended up nearly destroying you later.

Rio left you to get changed and you busied yourself with finding the perfect outfit for such an outing. It was chilly outside during the day and so you expected it to be even more so overnight. It wouldn’t be wise to go out without layers, even if you planned on some festive rides to warm you up.

Oh and you so hoped they had spiced apple cider that they kept warmed at the stalls like they’ve been doing in the recent years. The drink was dangerously addictive and you indulged in the past when your husband inclined to go with you to the fairs. It always left a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest after having a cup.

You were just pinching the scarf carefully into position when Rio reappeared. She hadn’t changed completely from her work attire, but she did cozy up. She made no move to disguise roaming eyes.

“Hmm I worry for the wandering gazes I may have to hide you from tonight,” she muses lazily.

You despised the way she managed to made you feel things a woman should never feel from another of her gender — despised that you were drawn to the way she somehow carried herself like she owned the world and could protect you from its’ angry realties. Despised the way she wasn’t a man and therefor kissing her is not allowed, not desired.

You despised how you were forced to feel the disgust in your stomach at how heavy with want it left you when you saw her and found what you could never give your husband.

“Perhaps I will be able to catch the eye of a wealthy man,” you got out, refusing to meet her eyes and instead finding your own in the mirror. “And you will surely catch the finest of attentions. You could have anyone you wanted and not blink before it was in your hands.”

Rio hummed at you. The footsteps on the flooring creaked until she was still behind you, chin just brushing over your shoulder as her eyes forced yours to meet together in the mirror. You were trapped between her and the sink, unable to escaped unless she willed it.

Or maybe you just made no effort to try.

“You speak as though I yearn for another man to warm my bed,” the black-haired woman crooned lowly, ruby red lips twisting upwards mockingly, “to handle my finances and give me the world.”

“Surely every woman wants that — wouldn’t you get tired of working?” you asked her boldly despite the tremble that threatened to shake you down. She was so close and you feared she would hear your heart’s cries if she got any further.

“Angel,” she started, the same tone, eyes becoming mischievous and glittering under the light above, “why would I seek out that which I want from a man when I can just get it myself?”

Your throat constricted and for a moment there was a terrible feeling you were a prey to a dangerous, deadly predator.

Rio. This was Rio — your only friend, the woman who shielded you when you nearly crumbled under the weight of the world when you realized what being a woman without a husband meant.

“I just — Rio?”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you have any pictures of him?” you asked as you fought off the urge to sink into her from where you held onto the surface like a lifeline. “Your . . . Your husband. You’ve not told me his name, and you don’t even have photos of him.”

Her fingers reached up to capture a stray wisp of your hair that had fallen from the position you’d had it in. She held it delicately and observed it, wrapping it around her pale finger.

“Rio?”

She tugged suddenly and it left a minor sting when she did. Then she released it, tucking it behind your ear with a gentleness opposite of the previous action.

“His name and face live in the past and I seek to march into the future,” she finally told you, however no warmth remained in her voice. Only clear, concrete assurance. “Having either in my present keeps me from which I aim to go, so I decided a while ago to put him to rest for good.”

She moved away from you in order to give you some space and tucked a hand into one of her pockets. “Don’t take too long, Angel. I want to ride the Ferris Wheel with you while the stars are bright.”

She was gone and now alone, you tried to process what she laid before you but found that nothing was answered when you asked her those questions.

2024

You peeled open a can of wet food and scraped it into the fancy cat bowl Rio had conjured up. The little shit had dry food still full, but seemed to think he needed the good stuff two times a day.

Leaving him to scarf down his breakfast, you opened the French doors in the dining room. The dining room which, by looks of it, had been meticulously put back together as though you and Rio hadn’t tried to rip one another to shreds.

You weren’t entirely positive you could claim much of the damage anymore, though, looking back. You had the human ability to shove, break, and throw but Rio was above that in ways that made your predator senses switch into the brain of prey. It made you think of a time you saw a program — a lynx playing with its prey right before it decided to kill it.

Rio had been playing with you — perhaps leaking some frustration without realizing it. But you were stupid to believe that you could have the upper hand in any regard.

Your hand drifted up to your neck and rested there as the hum from the magic collar vibrates against your fingers, a warning that you were touching the invisible but powerful mechanism that kept you caged to this place. To her.

The bird feeders outside caught your attention from the open doors. Ten birds of varying colors, chirping happily and fluttering about as they picked their way around the feeders you filled the day before.

Was this to be your life now?

What did Rio intend to tell you about the status of your job? It wasn’t . . . It wasn’t like you adored it but it kept you busy, you sort of enjoyed it on some days.

A huff greeted you to your right.

Your eyes drifted to the source of the sound and knew it wasn’t Billy — who felt he was too sophisticated for such a noise and was still tinkering about in the kitchen with his bow and bell collar.

No — no, this was not him.

Instead a new object has been tucked into the corner of the dining room. A large, fluffy dog bed of a soft brown coloring and cream innards.

The source of the sound was the sleek looking canine laying there, head on paws and eyes watching you closely.

“A dog,” you said aloud as the two of you stared at each other. He was a light brown with black markings on his long legs and face. Pointed ears and a thin, long tail.

You’ve seen these dogs before — you knew they were used mostly in the military and police force. Similar to the German Shepard but smaller and leaner.

She got you a fucking protection dog — and she did it to taunt you. Because she knows not even the most trained, intelligent dog will be able to keep her from.

“Okay.” You got to your knees and the sun soaked into your body from doorway. The dog watched you. You watched him. He already had a thick leather collar with tags on it and it made you wonder if, like you and possibly Billy, she took him too. “Who are you?”

He didn’t respond, of course.

You got back to your feet and hesitantly made your way over. He lifted his head to watch you until you bent down next to him and carefully scratched behind his ears. He seemed to like it, and so you flipped his tag to read his name. TOMMY was stamped into the gold metal.

“She did you an injustice with that name,” you told Tommy, but kept petting him anyways. He sighed.

You eventually left Tommy alone to nap and went out to sit in the garden, your heart heavier now. The way she used things as a way to mock you was like an extra knife digging deeper and deeper each time she added a new aspect.

You sit for a while then make some coffee and down some plain toast to fight the nausea. You hated how lonely the house you were caged to felt but refused to break and call out for Rio to end the feeling.

You would bear it rather than face her and yourself and the night before. It was all too much and it would explode eventually, with angry sobs and violence like it always did.

But until she forced you out of your self-induced exile of silence and singularity, you would pretend like you’ve handled it and it’s over.

Even if it would never be over.

Rio heard naught when she returned from her duties that night. The lights were on but there was a lack of cooking to be found. None of the smells that brought her a great deal of comfort when you were behind the stove, no warm smile to greet her, and certainly no kiss to the cheek or anywhere else.

“Angel?” she called out, but was only greeted by the dark and watchful eyes in the kitchen’s entryway by the animal she had bestowed upon you before leaving that morning.

He stood stock still and regarded her with a type of cunning that almost made her wonder if she should’ve gone with a dumber breed to avoid issue. His hackles were raised down his spine and a low, vibrating growl was echoing through his chest.

Rio simply stared back at him. “I brought you into this house, creature,” she told him, continuing closer. “Angel please call off the dog.”

“No.”

Ah, so you were just feet away as suspected. A small grin pulled at the corners of Rio’s lips as she came to a stop just inches from the stiff dog. His tail was as rigged as the rest of him — and though Rio didn’t know dog language relatively well, she knew the universal language for “I do not fucking like you.”

“I don’t want to have to take him away after giving him to you so soon, my sweet,” Rio started sweetly, fingers reaching out to the curled lips of Tommy. Her tone hardened, “But I will if you can’t keep him in line.”

There wasn’t a reaction given to her in the first few seconds after she spoke, and the dog had become more hostile in those seconds. Rio was ready to snap him into another room and use that fear when she heard a soft, call.

“Tommy, come.”

Like a flipped switch and without any effort the dog seemed to rear away from Rio as quickly as he had been ready to try and maul the witch. He trotted back into the kitchen and so the pale figure followed.

He curled at your feet where you were rewarding him with slices of raw meat mixed in a metal bowl, prepped ones seemingly laid out for burgers ready to be grilled at any point.

Tommy took the offered pieces carefully from your fingers as you locked gazes with Rio.

“I see you two have bonded once you’ve made your introductions,” Rio concurred as she opened the refrigerator and looked through the contents. All of the bear she had to magic back in was once again gone.

Rebellious, angry little thing you were. It didn’t matter. She waved her hand and a cold beer appeared between her fingers instantly.

“Is there never consequences for what you do with that? you asked her quietly from across the room.

“Mm.” She slowly makes her way over to you, a twinkle of something dark and insidious covering her features. “There’s a consequence in everything of this universe, Angel. If you tie your shoes the wrong way, it can have a massive impact on someone else in another world.”

“Then why the fuck do you be so careless? I never asked — not before when I thought I could love you. But now that I know there’s always a price to the things we do . . . Why?”

The anger, the rage she fell so deeply for — she felt the fire in her chest when she saw a flicker of it again. “Because I can,” she told you simply, lifting the bottle to her lips. “I can, so I did. I have the opportunity and why would I leave it untouched?”

Your hands slammed on the table. “Because it means for every day I get to live someone else dies early!”

Rio rolled her eyes. “Is that what this is about? How long do you plan on mourning over the ones you never know about that take your place? They’re nameless to you and can’t bring the guilt that bears your name.”

“Because it’s my life, Rio,” you bit out. She looked closer and realized you had been crying, “and my ticket was punched a very long time ago but for some reason you won’t take it. You refuse my entry every damn time, and then you play with magic and ignore that it has its own prices and can—“ you suddenly pressed fingers to the bridge of your nose and breathed out shallowly.

Rio removed the rim of the glass from her lips, taking care to observe your actions. You stood without saying a word, eyes closed, as you experienced whatever it is went through your body while Rio simply watched.

And smiled.

1954

The music and the lights were overwhelming in the best of ways. There was so much joy to be found and the giggles of children darting through the crowds covered in cotton candy and fisting sacks of what you assumed to be allowances to go and play games.

You kept a polite distance from Rio despite the pestering urge to hold her hand and lean into her for warmth during the cold night.

You wished you could be a couple — but it simply wasn’t possible. So you maintained your space and pointed out stalls to stop at as she kept an unmoving look of amusement on her face.

You were elbow-deep in overly powdered dish that you’ve never tried — colorfully labelled the Funnel Cake — and you found that it was almost on par with your apple cider drinks you adored so. Rio seemed fascinated with it as well and the two of you shared the one you bought.

You did find the cider you so sought and made Rio get one too, even after she complained of having a full stomach.

“It’s rather good, Rio,” you begged as the two of you stood in line. “If you don’t like it, I’ll just drink your share.”

She arched one perfectly sculpted brow at you as a smile rose to greet you. “Oh, you will will you?” she asked.

The shine in your eyes must have been answer enough, because she ordered two of the drinks but ended up finishing half of it.

She seemed to enjoy it, but relinquished it to you on the claims that she couldn’t possibly fill her stomach any longer.

“More for me,” you commented like you’d gotten away with stealing something valuable. Rio barked out a laugh as her arm brushed against yours.

It was entirely too true that right now, you had no cares about how close she was. You were having fun with her and she with you as you talked and drank cider.

She won a little bottle game that was 50¢ a turn and she didn’t have to spend another quarter in order to fetch you a duck you had pointed out.

“How did you do that so well?” you asked her, beaming as you held the stuffed toy like gold. “I’ve seen children run screaming from their parents once they emptied their pockets.”

Rio tapped her temple. “All in the head, Angel. I wanted to win, so I won.”

“If only it were that easy!”

She simply smiled those red lips at you and pulled you toward the Ferris Wheel. The stars had become as bright as they could be while the fair was open and she wasted no time in deciding on what she wanted to finish it off with.

“Do you fear heights?” she asked you as she waited with two quarters in hand, back of the line.

“No,” you said, and you liked to think you were right in your belief. “No, I don’t think so. Not if I feel like there’s not a reason to be afraid of them.”

If you hadn’t been so focused on the way the wheel was spinning with its flashing lights, you might have been able to catch how Rio seemed to think over your words. But as quickly as the line went, so did your conversations and laughter.

The teenager in a red and white striped shirt waited expectantly at the till as Rio uncapped her hand over his to drop the two coins into his palm.

He led you both through the gate blocking access to the ride and waited for the Wheel to stop until a car came down and emptied the contents of its seats. Then he hastily ushered you in and pulled down the security bar.

“Hands and feet inside, no wiggling around,” he said with a sigh. “Enjoy the ride.”

Rio was startlingly quiet on the way up as she and you both took in the view. It was truly breathtaking -- and you could both see Westview in all it's small twinkly lights the higher up you rose.

Rio nudged you with her wrist. "I can see the house."

"You cannot," you scoffed at her, leaning into her to try and get the same view as she was.

Before you realized what was happening, an arm was being wrapped around your shoulders and you were being tugged close.

"Rio." You tried to tug away from her, a small swell of panic rising as you glanced around. You were close to reaching the top of the ride and the closest to the stars you would ever be for the first time. "Rio, the people above us can see."

"They can't," the older woman murmured as she bent her neck down to look at you, squeezing your hip reassuringly. "I wouldn't let them. It is just us."

"The people below . . ." you glanced down, wondering if the other cars would be able to see and hear you.

"Stop." She lifted your face to yours and gave you the softest of expressions. "Hey. It's okay."

And then she leaned down to kiss you.

Rio and Reader will return in Part 4

PART FOUR

[ivoyzzz]

stick with me

synopsis: saebyeok enters the game and to her surprise she sees you. she had broken up with you since everything was getting too real for her. it had been a few months, will the games bring those feelings back?

warnings: normal squid game violence but happy ending

a/n: using the s2 rule where the players split the money if the vote wins bc im in denial about them dying. literally posting all my drafts

when saebyeok joined the games the one thing she wasn’t planning on was seeing you there. you had been out of her life for a few months now, but here you were sitting against the wall looking like a sad puppy who had been kicked. how did you even end up in this place? saebyeok ponders to herself, how did you even collect enough debt that you would need to come here? a billion questions floated through her mind. what breaks her out of her thoughts is the glow from the lights of the piggy bank filling with money. one hundred million won per person who died in red light green light.

saebyeok walks over to you, her glare burning your skin. “why are you here?” she says in that low rumble that used to make you go woozy. by just listening to the tone of her voice, you would’ve thought that she was angry, but you know her better then that. when you look at her face, you see the way her eyebrows furrowed so very slightly. or the way her eyes were just even the tiniest bit sharper. you knew this look, worry.

“why are you here?” you shoot back, you knew saebyeok didn’t always do the most legal things but she shouldn’t be here just as much as you shouldn’t. she looks almost, just the slightest bit annoyed that you would ask her that. saebyeok doesn’t say anything she just takes a seat next to you on the floor. “you’ll die here.” saebyeok mutters not even looking at you. “then lets stick together.” you reply quietly back. she glances at you from the corner of her eye and in that moment you both knew that you couldn’t lose each other again.

during the next game, you looked over all the shapes carefully trying to decide which one you should choose. this was really life or death. saebyeok didn’t even give you a chance to walk over to a line, grabbing onto the sleeve of your jacket and pulling you to the triangle line. saebyeok had told sangwoo what she saw in the vent and he picked triangle. the game turned out to be dalgona and thank god she chose triangle.

during the riot, you couldn’t find saebyeok. it made you sick to your stomach to think about what could’ve happened. what if that thug had gotten to her? you were going to find somewhere to hide but then you feel that oh-so familiar hand pull you with her to a group of unfamiliar people. the rest of that night is blurry, everything happened so fast. but saebyeok was okay and that was what mattered. and you were okay and that was what mattered to saebyeok.

the next morning, you begin to familiarize yourself with these new faces. player 199, easily became someone you could call friend. he had this hope in his eyes that wasn’t easy to keep in a place like this. saebyeok on the other hand didn’t make an effort to talk to anyone in the group, she didn’t come to make friends. that doesn’t mean she wasn’t watching you 24/7. the others noticed it, the way her gaze softened when you talked to her. the way she walked behind you, like a guard dog.

when the next game had announced that everyone was to get in groups of 10. when everyone realized that you only needed 4 more people, sangwoo sent you and saebyeok to find someone and everyone else to find one person. he was very clear to find a man, not a woman. saebyeok wasn’t going to listen to a word coming out of his mouth, saebyeok led the way with you trailing behind her. she was looking over everyone, maybe judging them but none caught her eye. that was until she saw a girl sitting by herself on the stairs. she walked up the stairs, and when she walked back down she had now both of you trailing behind her. ji-yeong was curious about the two of you. the way you easily conversed with her while saebyeok looked as if she wanted to be anywhere else.

after your team had won tug-of-war, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt. did those people really have to die so that your team could live? when the team walked back in, everyone was exhausted. the feeling of guilt was overcrowding the burning of your hands from the rope. saebyeok noticed this immediately, she picked up on your cues. so when you sat against the wall playing with a loose thread on your jacket she followed. “it’s not your fault.” saebyeok murmured, talking to you as if you would break into a million pieces. “i know, but-“ you tried to pull out the words that were running around your mind. and she let you, she sat there patiently and it brought back all those old feelings. the feelings you insisted were gone. but when she made you feel like you were the only one in the room, it was hard.

“we killed those people, they all had lives and now they’re over because of us.” you finally managed to get out, a shaky exhale leaving your dry lips. “it was them or us. we won and now we keep going.” saebyeok says truthfully. that was one of things you liked about saebyeok, she wasn’t one to sugarcoat things. you hadn’t even noticed that her hand had made it’s way on your wrist, her thumb rubbing small circles. you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to saebyeok just giving her a small nod and focusing on the way her comforting hand felt.

you and ji-yeong became fast friends, enjoying just the slightest bit of normalcy in this strange place. saebyeok on the other hand felt like she was babysitting, all the time. when the both of you were together you acted like children. “both of you be quiet.” saebyeok would say when you two would be up talking when all she wanted to do was sleep. she would think to herself, “have you idiots forgotten why your here?” although saebyeok liked seeing the way you laughed again, she hadn’t seen it since the two of you broke up.

when the vote had came she chose to stop the games. the prize money per-person was enough, the risk of loosing you wasn’t worth any amount of money. the majority ruled to stop the games. you felt a sigh of relief leaving your body. no more watching people die, no more fear that the girl you loved was going to die.

after the games things changed. saebyeok bought a small house. there lived saebyeok, cheol, you and ji-yeong. saebyeok had realized in the games that she couldn’t let you slip out of her grasp again. she almost lost you so many times in the games and it wasn’t going to happen again. you and saebyeok rekindled realizing that both of you were stupid to let it go. she couldn’t even remember the reason why the relationship ended. but she did know that both of you had love for each other and that was enough.

saebyeok lived simply, she went to work, took cheol to school and dealt with you and ji-yeong. she thought the both of you were bad in the games, out here it was so much worse. but she wouldn’t trade the chaos for anything. saebyeok liked seeing the way you were with cheol, it made her only love you more. saebyeok always showed you that she loved you, and you knew. even if it was just reaching for your hand when walking, or pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. and saebyeok could finally say she was happy.

[itsadmiralactually]

@ellena-asgasg

I see where you’re coming from and I respect it, but I must disagree. And this is why:

There is an age-old saying, one which James himself quoted that night in the brothel: “Old habits die hard.” As much as we want them to, most people can’t change what they’ve known since childhood. They can't walk away from it. In James’ case, he’s been in the Royal Navy since the tender age of 6-years old. His father essentially raised him to be a soldier; to be an incorruptible pillar of strength, honor, leadership, discipline, and justice. And he was. In a sense, I think he became “spoiled,” if you will, by his success. That’s why when Elizabeth rejected him in favor of someone who was nowhere near his equal, he went off the deep end: because he didn’t know how to handle such an insult, a defeat, of that magnitude. Let’s not forget that for the past 8 years (in CotBP), he literally ruled the seas; as we say here in the south, he was “kicking ass and taking names.” He is at his best when he is in charge of something.

Now let’s take a look at what happened in DMC. He crashed and burned (figuratively) and lost his commission… as well as everything else. Where did he go? Tortuga—a place where he could’ve easily started over and became a pirate like most men who were RN washouts. He had a chance to embrace the type of freedom you’re talking about. But what did he do with this chance? He let himself go: unshaven, unkempt, clothed in the tattered remains of his uniform (with more than likely stolen items of clothing; a.k.a the trousers, boots, and waistcoat). He was on a collision course hell-bent on self-destruction. He would’ve drank himself to death were it not for his chance encounter with Jack and Gibbs, just as he would’ve stayed in that pigsty if Elizabeth had not pulled him out of it. When she brought him to the Pearl, he could’ve very easily made a 180 and embraced the life of piracy, and had he not stolen the heart of Davy Jones, he would’ve ended up on the Dutchman , and everybody on the Pearl would be dead. I would argue that would be a fate worse than becoming captain of the Dutchman, as well as point out that he needs that order, routine, and structure. Without it, his life literally goes to shit.

Fast-forward to the events in AWE. We first see him clothed in the EITC Navy uniform. He is an admiral, yes, but he is not free. He is under the control of the most conniving little shrimp to ever sail the Seven Seas. Due to his actions, the most powerful ship in the Caribbean—in the entire world—has come under this tyrannical asshole’s command… and it’s all because of what James did. When he finds Governor Swann’s body aboard the ship (according to the script), I think that’s the moment the foundations of everything he knew and everything he believed in came crumbling down. I think Elizabeth being captured and seeing what she has become was the feather that broke the camel’s back. That night he set her free, what does she ask him? She asks him to come with her. She asked him to step away from everything he knew (or what was left of it). He had that same choice as he did when he was in Tortuga: to start afresh; to start a new life. And he didn’t. He hesitated and you can clearly see he wants to… but he doesn’t. When Psycho Bill (Bootstrap) interrupts, he says, “Go! I will follow!” and Elizabeth knows instantly that he’s lying. That’s when he makes his famous quote: “Our destinies have been entwined, Elizabeth… but never joined.” Why did he say this? He had the chance to start over and live life to its fullest; to be like Elizabeth, to be like Will. But what did he do? He stayed behind. And he died for it. He died to save her. He could not walk away from what has been drilled into him since childhood.

As much as he wanted to, as much as we wanted him to, James simply cannot change who and what he is. He is a man of duty, honor, and discipline. He is a natural-born leader. I fully believe he intended to take control of the Dutchman that night once he was certain Elizabeth was safe. He knew he was going to die anyway. At the very least, I think he wanted it to mean something; to be worthwhile. Freeing pirates is a blatant act of treason, after all. It would either be a firing squad on his own quarterdeck or (most likely, cuz Beckett is a sadist and all that) he would be hanged. He might even have been tortured beforehand since he’d essentially become Beckett’s “pet," and I can't imagine the lesser of two men would let him off easy without having his final "say-so."

In any case, given the atrocities and all the bloodshed that happened because of what he did, I think James felt like it was his duty to take over the Dutchman to ensure that something like that would never happen again; that the supernatural power of this sort would never fall into the wrong hands. Not only would him becoming captain of the Dutchman ensure his survival, but it would help him become who he once was. I think he would find freedom in being the leader of a vessel with such a noble cause like ferrying those who died at sea to the other side. He would become that pillar of incorruptible virtue once more. That is who he is. It is what he is, and always will be.

Again, I see where you’re coming from and I respect it, but I have to disagree. Fun debate, though! :-)

[thetireddoktor]

Cotl AU: Webs of Fate

Below is the beginning of my Lore for my Au: Webs of fate

How the Bishops Earn Their Crowns

The Crowns are not given freely. They are not inherited, or are they simply bestowed by divine right. To earn a Crown, one must suffer, not just any suffering, but a loss that reflects the opposite of the power they are destined to wield. Only through enduring the very thing they are meant to counterbalance can they be deemed worthy.

Each Bishop's ascension follows the same cruel cycle:

They live, unaware of what they will become.

They face great loss—the negative reflection of their future power.

In the depths of that suffering, the Crown appears to them.

If they accept it, they are forever changed, marked as a Bishop/God.

The Bishops and Their Trials

Shamura, Crown of Peace → Loss through War

Watched their home burn. Their people slaughtered.

The Webs of Fate, reduced to ash by their own mother.

Only after war took everything did the Crown of Peace appear.

Their irony: They wear the Crown of Peace, yet they have become War itself.

Kallamar, Crown of Healing → Loss through Pestilence

Watched disease consume his people, helpless to stop it.

Every healer, every cure—failed.

Only after the sickness had claimed everything did the Crown of Healing appear.

His irony: Now he can heal, but he could never save the ones he loved.

Leshy, Crown of Order → Loss through Chaos

Lived in a world of wild, untamed destruction.

No structure. No control. Anarchy devoured all.

Only after his world collapsed under chaos did the Crown of Order appear.

His irony: He now enforces Order, but he was born from Ruin.

Heket, Crown of Harvest → Loss through Famine

Watched crops wither, animals die, people starve.

No matter how hard she fought, there was never enough.

Only after hunger had taken everything did the Crown of Harvest appear.

Her irony: She creates abundance, yet she knows what it means to starve.

Narinder, Crown of Death → Loss through Life (or Immortality?)

He watched the cycle of life continue endlessly, trapping him.

Or he saw others die while he remained, unable to follow.

Only after he lost his connection to death did the Crown of Death appear.

His irony: He rules over death, yet he is cursed to never die.

Before Narinder's imprisonment

The crowns had different eyes based on their uncorrupted powers. All eyes are inspired based on symbols based on their ability.

Shamura's was the first to become corrupted, their 'Peace' hardly lasting more than a few centuries, turning from a Sun to a Crescent moon, much like the one in Cotl. "The rising sun after peace, dawn shining over a new day.

When the corruption takes hold, it twists into the shape of a crescent, a harbinger of change. It signifies that the sun has set on peace, ushering in the cold, unrelenting night of war." The "Corruption" is Shamura's trauma, from their loss. Shamura, though they had lost their way, works to keep their Siblings from falling from grace like they had, being the Wise elder sibling they needed, encouraged them to expand outside their comfort zones. Some tried to expand their power more than others. I guess this is the uhm.. Most I've gotten so far. I hope yall enjoyed reading. Next up, Shamura's Origin's.

[paranoiddreams]

Long Live the Queen - Prologue

Eden Sukuna is the daughter of the Queen and King of Curses, Y/n and Ryomen Sukuna. After her mother dies when she’s only 7 years old, she’s immediately put under the pressure of continuing her mother’s legacy, and becoming a great leader as she once was; but Eden doubts she’s ready for this, having dreams of her own she believes her mother would want her to chase. But her father is unwilling to let go of his expectations for his daughter, and the memory of his wife that comes with them. Unbeknownst to both of them, y/n is unlike the monarchs that once stood in her and her husband’s place, she’s here to fight for her family in life and death; Long Live the Queen, they said…

Warnings!! - Major character death, parental grief, monarchy, swordsmanship, none in this one really :D

WC!! - 570

A/n!! - after asking whether I should post this or not, I got a really good response!! I’m so excited about this, I love this story. If this post preforms well then I may continue the story. Lmk what you all think! Disclaimer, this is VERY inspired by The Cruel Prince, and basically the whole Folk of the Air series by Holly Black, she is my one of my many inspirations for writing hehe. Definitely check out her books if you’re interested in royalty, fantasy, folklore, and Fae😌

Ever since y/n, the Queen to the King of curses, died in a crossfire between a group of enemies infiltrating the Sukuna kingdom, the land she once ruled has never been the same.

The village people sung and held vigils for weeks, sometimes months, after she perished. Murals of her regal beauty were painted all around the village. The plant life seemed to change to a sad gray-blue color that could only mean that even the physical land of her kingdom was grieving as well. But no one, not even the royal land they stood upon, grieved as astoundingly as the king and princess of the Sukuna kingdom.

At just seven years old, Princess Eden had to stand in front of the people her family honorably ruled for centuries before her existence, and listen to her hell bound father tell them that their Queen had died. As she watched an uproar of anguished cries break out over the crowd, she found herself unable to comprehend how she herself should react in the moment. 

Eden is her father's daughter after all, so how could she be expected to portray herself as anything but fearless and cold-blooded?

It is still said that the news of Queen y/n’s death brought upon a great storm that lasted weeks over the land, and the rage of the king was felt by all of the village; like a shock wave that destroys everything only a few seconds after the bomb drops. 

This brewing storm only mirrored the storm growing inside of Eden; as the years went by and her father became more bound to his mission of hunting down his wife’s killers, it grew even more disastrous than the day before. 

But she poured every ounce of herself into the royal training the king insisted on her attending at the early age of ten, hoping to console that part of herself that has remained a distraught seven year old girl. 

Eden still practices for hours on the gray hills of grass behind the kingdom, learning to parry, riposte, and feint attacks with a wooden practice sword, just as she did under her father’s supervision in the start. 

Sometimes, she catches herself fighting as if she were the Queen in her final moments.

Did she feel the adrenaline Eden does as she slams the side of her sword against her imaginary opponent's? Did she also get bruises on her knees and shins? Queen y/n was known as the most skilled Queen with a sword in all of Sukuna history; did she remember that title in her final battle? 

If she did, Eden imagines that it must not have meant much in the face of death.

Sometimes, for a few moments, Eden believes that if she could go back in time with all that she knows now, and fiercely fight for her mother's legacy, she’d be able to save the once thriving kingdom her family created over centuries. 

But at the end of training, even if Eden is knocked down to the ground, or standing in triumph over her opponent, nothing she can do will bring her mother back; and nothing she can practice or dedicate herself to can distract her from that.

Despite all of this, Eden still goes back to the kingdom at dawn everyday, whether she's ready to face her father and the constant reminder of what she once had or not.

[solentient]

In another life. A danon story

Synopsis: A knight and princess should never be together. Nor should two women. And their fate is proof of that.

Pairing: Manon and Daniela

TW: Death, Mentions of heaven & Hell, Homophobia, Foul words, Lk rushed so like ignore the bad writing & design LMAO

Enjoy:)

In a distant land, beyond the reach of time and memory, lay the kingdom of Meret. It was a land of grandeur and power, ruled by King Aldric and Queen Lysandra. Their daughter, Princess Meret Manon, was the kingdom’s future, the sole heir to the throne. But despite the riches and prestige that came with being royalty, Manon found her happiness not in luxury but in the presence of one person—Daniela.

Daniela was Meret’s most formidable warrior, her name spread with admiration across the land. She was fierce, fearless, and unwavering in her duty. But to Manon, she was more than just a warrior. Daniela was her protector, her confidante, her only friend.

But, above all, she was the love of Manon’s life.

However, nothing seems to last.

For when King Aldric discovered the truth, his blood boiled. A princess should not love a mere warrior—especially a woman. It was an abomination in his eyes, a stain upon the royal bloodline. He forbade Manon from seeing Daniela ever again, his decree absolute.

“You are the heir of our kingdom! And you want me to accept the fact that you’re marrying a knight? A woman nonetheless.” Her father shouted. Furious about his daughter’s actions, He barged inside her room.

“So what?! It’s my life! I can spend it however I want.” Manon replies, standing her ground against her father, for once.

“I will not allow my daughter to be a spawn of the devil and be tempted to commit a sin. Either you break it up, or I will have her beheaded.”

Manon begged, pleaded, but her father’s will was iron. In the end, with the weight of the kingdom pressing upon her shoulders, she did the only thing she could do. She looked into Daniela’s eyes, those warm brown eyes that had always shielded her from the world, and whispered the cruelest lie she had ever spoken.

“I don’t love you anymore.”

“W-what?” Daniela’s breath hitched. She had faced countless enemies, walked through battlefields drenched in blood, but never had she felt a pain as deep as this.

“A princess and a mere knight should never be together. This was just all a stupid mistake on my part, Please stay away from me from now on. His highness should be appointing a new guard soon.”

And so, with nothing left to hold on to, she walked away.

Days passed. Weeks. The distance between them became a wound that time could never heal.

Then, one fateful night, the kingdom was attacked. Meret’s enemy, the ruthless kingdom of Rhdalvania, launched a brutal assault. Their goal? The princess.

Manon stood frozen in the chaos, her heart pounding as an archer took aim. The arrow shot forward, death fast approaching—

Until Daniela was there.

She shoved Manon aside, her own body taking the blow. The arrow lodged deep into her chest. Blood spilled, staining the ground.

Manon caught her before she collapsed, her trembling hands pressing against the wound as if sheer desperation could undo fate.

“Stay with me,” she begged, her tears falling onto Daniela’s pale face. “Please.” Daniela tried to speak, but no words came. A faint, smile touched her lips before the light in her eyes faded. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much, Manz.”

And Manon shattered.

The kingdom celebrated Daniela as a hero, but to Manon, there was no glory in her death. Only emptiness. Only grief.

Three days after Daniela’s funeral, Manon made her choice. Standing at the castle’s tallest tower, she whispered to the wind, “Maybe in another life, we can be together.”

Then she stepped forward. Taking her own life.

In a new world, Daniela lived once more. Yet, deep in her heart, an ache remained—one she could never understand, a longing for someone she had never met.

Then, one day, she did meet her.

A girl named Manon.

But this Manon was different.

She was dying.

And Daniela, now bound to another, could do nothing but watch as history repeated itself. “Maybe, we really weren’t meant for each other.”

“Please don’t give up on us, I’ll wait for you, however many lives it will take.” For fate, it seemed, had always been cruel.

Daniela, having died with courage and sacrifice, was granted a new life. A blessed existence where she was cherished, loved, destined for happiness.

Manon, who had died by her own hand, was denied the same mercy. She was cast into the void, unable to return.

They were never meant to meet again for Daniela did an act of good, and Manon did an act of evil.

A gift for @hwonnrinji nd @cinnamanz 💞🩷 rly bad writing guys bare w me

[summertimesadnessirl]

This dumb bitch surviving her own murder.

Like

The point of getting murdered is that no one can hurt you ever again, stupid.

What the fuck is the point of faking your death? Now in addition to all your other problems you can only get a job cleaning houses by guys who want to rape you and picking fruit.

Maybe if Amazing Amy wasn't so sheltered, she would remember that grownups don't have trust funds. Grownups don't live in mcmansions doing nothing while their asshole cheating husband cheat on them with barely legal coeds. Grown-ups have jobs.

UActual jobs not meet cute in New York City in a Romantic comedy jobs.

Give this stupid cunt 90 days at a call center or a small retail store and then remind her that this is how they treat citizens with papers that Osha rules apply to and then fit her with no anesthesia for an iud. You don't really believe that they just get those for the coyotes, do you, Amy?

You don't just get to run away from your life and stay in a hotel someplace. If it were that easy your loser hobosexual husband would have left you years ago.

[vaxyl]

Sometimes I think about all of Vax's story and it's so wild?

Especially now Campaign 3 has ended and his story, seemingly, has finally ended as well?

Idk what Critical Role plans on doing next, maybe we'll see him again later on, who knows. 🤷

But like... Vax'ildan went from a child born in poverty to a single mother in a small village in the countryside with no future...

To a wealthy but unloved and mistreated heir of a nobleman and city ambassador in a city that never dared to care for him...

To a scared run away struggling to survive while grieving his mother after learning she was killed by a dragon while he was away, trying to keep his sister safe by any means necessary...

To a criminal by force to continue protecting his sister, witnessing horrors beyond his wildest comprehension and doing things that surely break your mind...

To a witless adventurer who stumbles from one fight to another, trying to make enough gold for a bed every now and then, now trying to protect so many more people while not necessarily feeling like he really belongs with those people...

To an accidental hero, killing a dragon and demons and other things you can't understand...

To a victim of something so rawly intimate and strange and scary while trying to help a friend...

To a saviour of a city lost to evil years ago, but broken inside by the things he's gone through just to get close to this point...

To a refugee in a world torn apart by dragons who he may have unknowingly had a hand in waking up and pissing off...

To becoming the champion of the god of death unwillingly after his sister died and he tried to sell his soul to save her life but it didn't go the way he had imagined...

To killing the very dragon who had killed his mother, having now accepted his championhood...

To dying during his relatively new girlfriend's magical trial in the elemental plane of water, being brought back soon afterwards...

To living peacefully as what is essentially a trophy boyfriend for the length of one whole year...

To hunting down enemies once thought dead, trying to stop them from helping an evil litch ascend as a tyrannical god...

To being killed by said litch, the litch ascending anyway...

To coming back, undead, to banish the litch as part of a new deal with his goddess...

To leaving, ascending almost himself, to serve his god as her divine and somewhat undead champion after the litch is gone...

To being unable to be with the ones he loves most, but breaking rules to protect them anyway...

To one day being trapped in a magical contraption, ever in pain, to further a plan to kill the gods after his girlfriend he's not been with for 30 years was used as bait in the trap built for him...

To suddenly being freed by his girlfriend and his sister and their old adventuring party turned family, but it's not over yet...

To being granted one night of relief and catching up before being pulled away again...

To... Nearly losing his god... But not... And being made mortal again... But with extra life?...

And his goddess is also mortal now, now a child that he needs to find and protect with the help of another champion of his god...

But he gets to be with the sister, the family and the girlfriend he had to leave about 30 years ago when he ascended again...

He has to learn how to not be dead anymore, and he needs to start all over again with his girlfriend, and the work is never finished... But he's happy again.

Vax'ildan is home again.

GODS, HIS STORY IS WILD

Like... WHAT?! HELLO?!

This is like... Insane?!

My poor sweet boy went through so much shit... Oh my gods...

But he's home again.

He can be with his family again.

Oh my fucking gods.

😭😭😭😭😭

[storm-and-starlight]

farewell, wanderlust

I don't know if I'm ever gonna finish this fic or even even really post it, but just like Meteoric, here's a section that I think stands well alone and that I really quite like. Dick finds Jason post-Bruce's "death" in Final Crisis. Operates off of UTRH movie canon.

Dick had the courtesy to find him in person, plainclothed, appearing out of nowhere at a tea shop Jason still stops in at, sometimes. It's one of the places Alfred buys from, a sharply astringent Earl Grey -- Jason, he'd said, low and soft at his shoulder, and Jason had turned on his heel and left without paying, boots thumping oddly on the cobblestones (Old Gotham, god, he hates this part of the city, pretending like the battered streets and ancient buildings are somehow charming, pretending it's someplace sweet and touristy and safe, pretending like it hasn't got just as much rot as the rest of the place -- Scarecrow attacked this street six months ago, gassed half the market, and now all that's left of that is a handful of signs in various shops saying "respirators sold here!"), chilled to the bone even in the summer swelter. The city had already recovered from the alien invasion or zombie apocalypse or whatever-the-fuck-it-was that had the League all over the place a week ago; the rest of the world might still be reeling, but not Gotham.

Jason! Dick had said, loud and surprised, and then gentler, cut to carry, Jay, little wing-- and Jason had frozen where he stood, middle of the street, crowd splitting around him like a running river until Dick had found him again. He'd been dressed in civvies: black tee, battered leather, worn jeans, perfectly nondescript. Hair a wild tumbledown mess, windblown and ragged. Hadn't slept in at least three days, but he'd had a bright-burning clarity to his eyes; Nightwing, clinging on to sanity when the rest of the world's gone mad.

Jason hadn't seen him this close up in years -- he'd been a shadow at Bruce's heels, a bright figure against the skyline, always at least arms-length and the barrel of a gun distant.

He was-- so much shorter than Jason thought he remembered.

Don't, Jason had said, sharp -- there's a gun under his jacket and Dick's here in civvies and this is Gotham, after all, what's a little mid-street-weapon-pulling to a native, and Dick had said We need to-- we should talk.

So talk, and Dick had flicked a glance out at the heaving crowd around them and said not here. At-- do you remember Wilhelm? and Jason does, only a single bright flash of a memory but still there despite the holes the Pit ate in his head -- Dick, younger and shaggy-haired and larger than life, dangling one-handed from the talons of the saddest damn gryphon Jason's ever seen, grinning up at him; "second-best hiding spot in the city, little wing" -- and he jerks his head in a nod.

Midnight, Dick had said, and swirled back into the crowd before Jason could even acknowledge that, gone again in the current of humanity.

He'd paid for the tea, too, the bastard.

---

He arrives at Wilhelm's corner at sixteen minutes past the stroke of midnight -- there was a church here once that still rang the hour every hour, Westminster quarters marking out the passage of the night. It's gone now, nineteenth-century masonry apparently not up to the task of surviving an earthquake (a goddamn earthquake, what the fuck) but he can still hear the ghost of it, echoing over the years. All through this hour, Lord be my guide. Wilhelm's still standing, leaning gloomily over the street, but the gap between his wings is empty -- even the replacement's too big to fit, now. Nightwing's waiting on the roof instead, a dark shape silhouetted against the orange sky, lantern-light bleeding the color from his insignia. Batman's nowhere to be seen.

"Jason," Nightwing says when he lands beside him, heavier than any Robin has a right to be.

Jason snorts. "What happened to no names in the field? The old man leaves for a week and all the rules go out the window?"

Dick-- flinches.

Jason pauses. Bruce is still off on League business -- another day, another dollar, another planet-ending threat -- and he hasn't come back yet, leaving Nightwing and Robin to keep an eye on Gotham. He'd assumed it was just-- cleanup, like usual after shit like this goes down, or maybe he was off in space chasing down the guy who did it, but this is-- this is Dick naming him Jason, full-formal, not the name he took to scare the shit out of Bruce or the tattered remnant of a childhood he can't even remember.

"What happened?"

"Bruce--" Dick says, and falters, and stops. 

There's a siren in the distance, wailing away; the rattle of old and ill-maintained ventilation systems; the clacking rush of the train going through. The ghost of ringing bells, long-gone and buried; the salt-sting of the Pit in his eyes; grave-dirt under his nails and on his tongue -- all through this hour.

"How?" he says, and the helmet flattens it, turns it into just another electronic snarl, but he hears the scrape of a shattered voice anyways.

"Darkseid," and well, okay, Jason does have to admit that motherfucking Darkseid probably is one of the only people who ever could have done it. The Joker sure as hell wasn't fucking going to.

"Are you..."

"I-- saw the body." Jason's silent for long enough that Dick says "Jay," reaching out for his shoulder -- Jason twitches back and away, sharply, and Dick's hand drops limply back to his side.

"So he's dead, then," and it rings flatly in the air, the blade striking, the hammer coming down. "The fuck am I supposed to do about it?"

"Jay--" Dick says again, but Jason's got salt under his tongue and the Pit in his blood and he can feel the anger rising. "What, I'm supposed to-- say I'm sorry? Sit politely at the funeral? Come home? Have you forgotten that I'm not fucking one of you anymore?" The warehouse, the Joker, the gun -- I would have done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshipping garbage and sent him off to hell! -- Batman, walking away.

"Jason," Nightwing snaps, sharp and furious and Bat-vigilante to the bone, and then he sighs and he's right back to Dick Grayson again, trying to carry the weight of the world and not quite managing. "Jason, I-- you deserved to know."

He can hear what Dick's not quite saying underneath: you were Robin, once.

You were still his son.

The silence echoes.

"Alfred?" Jason asks, eventually, when the seethe in his blood isn't quite so strong.

"He's... holding up," Dick says carefully. "Better than I was, at first, but..." He rolls his wrist outward, a restless motion. "You know how he is."

"Yeah."

The Gotham quiet -- which isn't actually quiet in any sense of the word, just a constant background hum of trains and traffic and police sirens and the odd intermittent scream -- filters back in. It sounds different than it used to, though maybe that's just the brain damage. He misses the bells, every hour on the hour -- he can hear Alfred's voice humming Big Ben's prayer along with the chimes of the Manor clocks. All through this hour Lord be my guide, that by Thy power no foot shall slide. A good prayer for Robins, he'd called it, if you're going to be running about on rooftops in the middle of the night, and Jason had never quite believed the way Catherine once had but he'd still sung along at midnights, fleet-footed and sure on the spires and skyscrapers.

"I'm sorry," he says, at last.

Dick doesn't look at him. "Me too."

---

The dawn finds him still awake, leaning over the chipped counter of his latest base with a mug between his hands -- Earl Grey with rosemary and rose, an indulgence, a memory -- the warm golden haven of the Manor kitchen with all the windows black-backed mirrors in the predawn darkness, Jason bleary-eyed and up entirely too early and Alfred as crisply put together as ever, pouring water over tea leaves and letting the steam curl sweet and sharp up into the air -- it had been special, somehow, though now he can't remember why. The smell of the tea Dick paid for is the same, even all these gaping years later -- black tea and rose and bergamot, sweet and sharp -- and he closes his eyes tight, trying to shut out the salt in them still.

[legalandnotease]

One claim I often see Tony fans making is that Steve was being selfish for not "considering children born during the Snap" in the team's desire to bring everybody back.

This is obviously a form of emotional blackmail After all- how could *anybody* want to erase *billions* of children?

Well, this claim is wrong for a number of reasons

1: There is no evidence of large-scale births or an increasing birth rate during the Snap. Tony fans often say that there must have been millions and milions of children born during the Snap, but this makes no sense because, as a general rule humans do not simply "get over" losing their entire family an "move on".

Even losing one child can be an emotional blow that person never recovers from. Clint Barton lost all 3 of his children, and we know he did not simply "move on" and start a new family.

People do not simply recover from such things in a few years and create new families. It almost never happens.

Furthermore, population dynamics come to play: some planets lost as much as 3/4 of their population due to Thanos pre-Snap genocides.

Even for those who lost "only" half though this would mean half of all birthing females and existing children snapped.

Fewer birthing females means..... a lower birth rate. Also take account of things like infertility and the fact that some women who lost thier children would have been beyond childbearing age: notable case - Queen Ramonda.

Even assuming people were interested in relationships and reproduction (and most were not) the birth rate during the Snap would have been expontentially lower then it was before.

Real life disasters and catastrophes also reveal that it takes a long time for the population to recover. The Black Death killed 1/3 to 1/2 of the population of Europe in the Middle Ages- and it took something along the lines of 3 to 4 centuries for the population to reach the level that it had been before the plague struck.

Literally: it can take HUNDREDS of years for the population to recover. The idea that the world would have returned to normal after only 5 years is ludicrous.

2: The children killed by the Snap.

Half of the human race were snapped. This would have included children. Potentially hundeds of millions of children were killed by the Snap. This is far more than the number who who have been born during the Snap.

There's another issue however: many children would have died after the Snap.

Sick children whose parents or doctors were snapped and were unable to get the medical treatment they needed

Young children whose parents were snapped would have died within a few days if nobody found them.

Children in poorer countries would have been the first to succumb to things like famines and food shortages caused by the Snap.

However, children in rich countries would have followed. Food shortages and the breakdown of intractructure would have caused problems witht the availability of food and medical supplies. Diseases would have become more common without the medicines to keep them in check, and poor sanitation.

In other words, potentiallly hundreds of millions more children would have died after the Snap in addition to those who had been Snappped.

None of those children would have been bought back by Bruce's Snap in Endgame. They would have stayed dead. All because of Tony's selfish insistence that he "didn't change anything from the last 5 years".

So, no matter how Tony fans want to try and twist things: Tony Stark was quite prepared to sacrifice *hundreds of millions* if not billions of children for the sake of his desire to preserve his personal paradise.

He did not, in fact, "save everybody" at all. He saved only those bought back after the Snap and ... not really even them as they had to contend with years of social and economic problems.

You know what the most interesting irony of it all is though? Tony fucked over all those people for nothing. Pepper was already pregnant before the Snap, so reversing it would not have erased Morgan anyway.

[capriciouswriter207]

The canary is dead (the world unravels)

Characters: all players in Last Life, with a bigger focus on Jimmy and Impulse

Pairings: Ranchers (Jimmy/Tango), past Flower Husbands

Rating: T

Warnings: Major Character Death (of which one on-screen)

Chapters: 1/17

Summary:

A taboo has been broken in the valley. An unspoken, unwritten rule between the factions. Do no harm.

Jimmy lay on his back, his limbs spread out. One stab wound in his chest pierced through the white shirt and stained it red. His open eyes gazed into the unknown forevermore.

Impulse kneeled down next to Jimmy, closed his eyes. It made him look like he was only sleeping. “I’ll find out who did this and bring them to justice. I’ll make them pay for what they did. You have my word.”

[sillymaxing]

Platonic Yandere Bill Cipher

This is set in Weirdmageddon. You can imagine Bill as a human or his triangle form, either works!

CW: Descriptions of torture, character death, body horror, general yandere stuff.

Affection: How do they show their affection for their darling? How often do they show it?

A lot of the affection Bill shows is really just to mock you. He’ll hug you, call you adorable, pet your hair. But it’s all in the same tone of how an owner would love a dog.


Blood: How messy are they willing to get for their darling? Why?

Bill himself is pretty sadistic. He’ll get messy and he’ll enjoy it! Often times he’ll get his “friends” to carry out dirty work for him. But occasionally he’ll partake in tearing someone apart.

Cruelty or Care: How would they treat their darling when they kidnap them? Would they mock them?

He will absolutely mock you. I feel like this goes without saying. He’s an bully through and through.

Delusion: How delusional are they when it comes to their darling? Do they believe their darling loves them?

Bill knows everything about you. He knows that you don’t even like him. But that won’t stop him. He simply doesn’t care. It’s all a game to him.

Expose: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling? How much time will it take to trust them?

What heart? LMAO. Bill Cipher is NEVER getting vulnerable with you. He is NEVER going to open up.

Fight: How would they react if their darling fought back?

He honestly thinks it’s adorable and fun. He’ll let you plan, try to attack him, do anything really. It’s not like you’ll ever be able to really hurt him in any way. Or escape for that matter.

Guilt: What would it take for them to feel guilty about their actions? Or do they feel guilty from the start?

Bill doesn’t feel ANY guilt. AT ALL.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

You actually came close to hurting him at some point. Back when he was restricted to Gravity Falls, you were a part of the crew that tried to take him down. Ultimately, your plan failed. But he was furious that it almost worked. He killed everyone in that crew except you. He made you watch as they suffered slow and agonizing deaths. And then he turned your blood into hot tar and watched as you writhed in pain while he kept your heart pumping and your lungs breathing and your brain functional.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Pet. LMAO. But he does love a game of cat and mouse. You are eternally his plaything.

Jealousy: How easily do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Surprisingly he DOES get jealous when you talk to anyone but him. He normally lashes out and kills whoever you spoke to. Normally punishes you too.

Kidnap: How would they go about kidnapping their darling? How much do they plan it out?

He plans it out pretty intensely. But it doesn’t take him long at ALL to thoroughly plan out your new life. It was easy to kidnap you, considering he essentially rules the universe.



Love Letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He really doesn’t approach you or court you. Before the apocalypse, he does try to urge you to help him, saying things will be easier on you if you do. But you say no.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they acted before?

Nope! Consistently a maniac.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He likes to get creative with it! Psychological torture is one of his favorite ways to fuck with you. He likes to give you vivid nightmares. He does have a BUNCH of different physical torture methods stored up in his mind though. If you can think of it, he’s probably used it.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling? What rights can be earned with time and trust?

Every single right. You don’t have privacy, you can’t even have your own thoughts. He can get into your mind any time he wants.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He’s surprisingly patient. It takes a LOT to get on his nerves.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If you somehow, some way, escaped, or died, which would never happen in the first place, Bill would mourn you like anyone mourns a pet. But he would replace you. Find a new one eventually.

Rage: How do they act when angry? How do they calm down?

He becomes extremely controlling when he’s angry. Controls EVERYTHING around you. Controls YOU. He gets insanely violent also.

Soulmate: What made them fall in love with their darling? How did they first meet? When did they realize they loved their darling?

He honestly doesn’t even understand why he’s so infatuated with you. You’re smart and defiant, and he likes that.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Bill can be cruel, but if he senses you’re starting to break, he’ll give you plenty of kind words, affection. Hell, he might just snap his fingers and you’ll be on a fancy couch and he’s have a clipboard in hand, ready to listen.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

I guess ruling the universe?


Visit: Would they allow anyone else to visit their darling? Do they trust their darling to talk to their loved ones (in person, on the phone, etc.) or not at all?

If you get too lonely and sad to stand, he’ll get you a friend. He’ll always hold them above your head though. Other than that, there are only a select few abominations that can speak with you, under his watch of course.



Weakness: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Literally nothing.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

No worship for you. If anything, he wants you to worship HIM.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He didn’t pine long at all before he snapped. He saw you, wanted you, pretty much snapped his fingers and you were his.

Zero Tolerance: What is the thing that always makes them snap? What things will they not allow their darling to do under any circumstances?

Talking to other humans (Unless it’s the previously mentioned friend he gave you.)