#like whatever you like but maybe think about why your entire sense of morality and existence relies on worshipping a phallus

[ssaltlicker]

Androcentrism is the funniest and saddest thing to me. Girl why does your entire worldview rely on a penis

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr. Gaiman, hope this ask finds you in good health, I really need your help.

I’m a law student and currently taking a course on Law and Literature, brilliant by the way. We were given the freedom to chose a theme of our preference on the way law is represented through literature, and I thought Good Omens was the perfect subject for me.

I was interested in focusing on a faulty, inflexible system, especially one heavily influenced (in this case entirely made up) by ‘canon law’ and the way it influences social spheres. The incoherent dichotomy of moral good and bad, the way they influence ethical right and wrong translated into law.

What I was interested in is whether the legal system of Good Omens is based on positive legislation, or more on a customary, spiritual one. The reason why the question arose is the specific scene of ‘The Clue’, where Aziraphale openly ‘acts against the will of God’, and is convinced he will be brought to hell by Crowley. This is interesting to me, because in response he just says that he wouldn’t tell on him, and that was that.

Does that scene mean that angel status is not based on a spiritual(literal sense) monitoring of the soul, but rather about obeying statute and the way it is institutionally evaluated? Is there a set legislation, would it be God’s will? For that reason, would it be ineffable?

I feel like the fact that God is supposed to be omniscient would kind of undermine that theory, but nonetheless I wonder. I suppose that what I’m pleadingly asking for is some insight on the legal frame you maybe pictured for the Up and the Down (do they follow the same general legislation? Is it about legal pluralism? Are they monitored? Is it about lack of sufficient number of managers or oversaturated personnel?).

Pretty please,

A very desperate uni student

P.S. I’m very sorry about the length, I’m not good at summarizing things that I really enjoy. Also sorry for possible writing errors, English is not my first language. (If you see this more than once, sorry. As we’ve already established, I’m a little desperate)

I love these questions. Honestly, I don't think the Good Omens Heaven/Hell system is codified enough for me answer, other than to say both sides are very big on rules and have codes and agreements (see Crowley bluffing in the bookshop) and whatever you put in your essay I promise I will never turn up and maintain that you were wrong.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hello! First of all I wanted to say that damn I love your fics, they give me so much gender euphoria and are so validating. Second, I understand if you feel unconfortable with this request but how do you think Homelander would react to reader's self harm scars? Since he's basically a god, I wouldn't be suprised by how a "fragile little creature" like a human could do this and why.

John Gillman/Homelander x male reader

Headcanons

idk why i chose this gif, he just looks so cute here.

I ignore how in canon hed probably be a horrible guy about it. I am a firm fanon believer.

In the beginning I don’t even really think John would register that his lover has self-harm scars, since it’s never something he’s thought about himself. I imagine he’s had self-harming thoughts before sure, but never cutting himself since nothing can cut through him.

Hes probably tried to hurt himself one way or another, since he isn’t really the best place mentally, or when he thinks he isn’t doing good enough and whatnot.

But at first it doesn’t really click for him, since he’s so unused to seeing scars since he has none himself. It would probably take John longer than he would like to admit for it all to make sense, and it would be after you got comfortable enough to go around in short sleeves.

Maybe you think he’s just always known, since he’s got x-ray vision and all that, so he must have known from the beginning, right? And he just never said anything about it. yeah, not really.

He will act like that’s how it all went, because there’s no way Johns gonna admit that he didn’t notice something so important, no matter if they are old or fresh. If they’re fresh, John would build a habit of checking on you every time he sees you, just in case, you know?

He might still do this, even if they are old and you haven’t done it in a long time. Because who knows, maybe things become so stressful that you need that outlet again.

Shamefully, to John at least, the hero would find himself going online to check it out. Hes got no training in mental illness or how to deal with that, which messes with him since he’s supposed to be perfect.

So he finds himself on different forums, from both people who have done it, and partners of people who have self-harmed, reading into how they deal with it or react. John being, well, John, would probably grow annoyed because its all types of emotionally vulnerable stuff, something he’s horrible at.

There is also little chance he would bring it up, at least in the beginning. Again, because it’s a new ground he’s never been on, and its an emotional conversation he can’t figure out how to navigate.

The conversation would end up coming up as you two are cuddling, and John finds himself carefully stroking the area with the scars, trying to comprehend why and how you would do that. What did you go through? There might also be some guilt, since he couldn’t save you from whatever made you self-harm, even if you guys didn’t even know each other at the time.

It would end up with you explaining it to him, since you guys are in a relationship and its all built on trust, right? And he’s been so chill about it this entire time, so why not tell him.

You almost get a heart attack when he starts getting glossy eyes and his bottom lip wobbles just a little, because John has been stressed about this since he figured it out, and he just doesn’t know how to react or what to do.

In the end its you that has to comfort him, and explain that it isn’t a big deal and nothing to cry about. But you also know it’s a new experience for John. Theres also some fear in John, since seeing your scars make your morality so clear. If you could get scars from that, imagine what others could do to you.

After some cuddling and comforting, John would tell you strictly to never do it again. You cant take him seriously though, since his usually styled hair is all mused and his eyes are pink around the edges, and, he’s pouting again.

You promise not too though, since it gets him to smile a little and cuddle you again, clinging to you as hard as he dares with his super strength. You make him vulnerable, and the Homelander part of him doesn’t like that, but the John part of him basks in it, at how human you make him feel.

Maybe hed even let slip that he had thoughts like that too, even if he couldn’t cut or burn himself like you could. That just means his self-harm shone through in more mental or extreme ways.

John builds a habit of brushing his fingers or kisses over your scars, not just the self-harm ones, but all of them. Its part to remind himself that you are so fragile, but also to remind him that you are alive and there with him.

He won’t admit this though, since its cheesy. And he grows embarrassed if you ever bring it up, making him grumble and walk away to pout. It never lasts, and he’s back not long after.

[vhstown]

time out (part 2)

[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader

summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.

warnings: angst-ish, hurt/comfort, fluff, description of (boxing) injuries, briefly implied death, gtranslate spanish

word count: 5.3k

a/n: editing this was actual torture. kind of becomes a song fic? song is dreamer by bobby bland if you wanna listen before u read lmao entirely not necessary tho. part 2 of 2 but i might write this au again in the future !

← PART 1 / THE AU

Boxing — you tried to be as well versed in it as possible, learning as many terms and moves and whatever else you could pick up from Aaron when he was helping Miles train for all those weeks. What you weren’t sure of, though, was if a “time out”, or a break, had to be this awkward. What you also weren’t sure of was what on Earth your boyfriend was thinking doing here at midnight training (or splitting his knuckles open, though you didn’t quite know the difference anymore,) right after his tournament had finished.

Regardless, there was nothing you could do about it. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t just leave and “give him space” as you might’ve done before. The weather didn’t look like it was going to clear up anytime soon, and you had no signal or money; it wasn't like Miles would call a car for himself anyway — stubborn.

Miles was sat on the floor against a set of shelves with various things that belonged to Aaron, and you were on an unbearably stiff bench press seat, legs close together so you wouldn’t fall off and your jacket hung around the weight. Cold, uncomfortable, dead silent — the perfect atmosphere for a productive conversation, of course.

Truthfully, you had no idea what to say. Yeah, you’d just talked big game to your boyfriend and scolded him like his mother probably would’ve if she knew what the hell he was up to, but you hadn’t planned anything after that. Miles wasn’t a talker — not by any means. Right now, he was sat on the floor with his legs crossed, stretching uncomfortably on his elbows with his hands in awkward positions to try and not strain them too much. He hadn’t said anything, so you hadn’t said anything either, and now you were stuck without any words and too many thoughts.

It was a lot of unmet glances and quiet shivers, and you tried your best to kill the urge to just... lean over and hug him. As much as you missed him and wanted to let out everything you’d been feeling for the past couple of weeks, now wasn’t the best time — Miles probably couldn’t even hug you with those gnarly injuries anyway.

Miles’ eyes were dull and tired, fixed on the ground or maybe somewhere you couldn’t see. As usual, you couldn’t gauge anything from his expression besides mild annoyance. It was like a constant guessing game. First, why your texts weren’t going through, secondly, where the hell he was, and now you had to figure out why on Earth he was so frustrated. Your luck had ran out with those first two guesses, and his silence certainly didn’t help — again, not a talker. Not even a looker; he wasn’t stealing glances of you anymore, like he was thinking about something. If only you knew what.

The most you could guess was that this was about not winning — but it couldn’t just be that simple. Miles was stupid sometimes, but he wasn’t delusional — he knew that he probably couldn’t beat every single person in that championship when he was just starting to go professional. This wasn’t some kiddish, lofty dream Miles had either — he was serious from the day Aaron got him those gloves, which were now crumpled up in the corner next to you. He wouldn’t throw a fit over nothing.

It wasn’t right to force it out of him though, and you could still sense the stubbornness lingering in the crease between his brows. You resisted the urge to smooth it out with your thumb, instead just killing it with every other thought you deemed “selfish”. Apparently, waiting was just as much of a competitive sport at boxing.

The door rattled as icy drafts bit at your ankles and fingertips. It sounded like the sky was going to collapse from how intense the storm was growing. Miles was just in a tank top, his hoodie abandoned on the bar behind you. You figured he could get it himself; any sort of help always seemed pitying to him anyway.

“I’m training with uncle Aaron tonight — stay home.”

“I can handle myself. How else you think I got this far?”

“You ain’t comin’ to Vegas with me.”

You found yourself reaching for the hoodie anyway. Miles didn’t notice, of course, but you could see the goose bumps on skin even from this far away.

“Hey,” you muttered, making him look up. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or sulk some more?”

His mouth opened, but only to let out a breath, before silence fell between you again.

“Fine, I don’t… get it, or whatever.” You continued, fingers trailing into the sleeves of the hoodie. “But I don’t get how I’m supposed to when you’re not talking to me.”

“There’s nothing to get.” It was like you had Vegas between you two again — like he wasn’t even here.

The fabric of the hoodie was warm, and a part of you didn’t feel like letting go of it — if only your boyfriend was in the hoodie too.

“I don’t get why you’d box without wraps, for one.”

“I’m just… frustrated,” he yielded, albeit unhelpfully. “‘S nothing serious, promise.”

Serious enough to have your fingers hanging on by a thread. You noticed his thumb nursing the blackened skin around his knuckles, and his expression seemed even more distant than it was before. It was always some impossible game, and you hadn’t lost, but were drained and out of words for now.

Maybe he’d figure it out for himself; you weren’t too convinced of that. Despite that, it was getting annoying to hear the constant howling of wind and rain outside. Walking over to the shelf, you dropped the hoodie in Miles’ lap. You doubted he had even looked at you, but you didn’t need him to. Right now, you needed something to fill this boring, cold and wordless room.

Looking through the shelves behind Miles, you noticed a picture: a much younger Aaron wearing boxing gloves, a medal around his neck and standing next to someone you assumed to be Miles' dad. You'd never looked at any of the pictures close up, but you noticed there were a lot of old pictures like that, before finding Aaron's collection of records.

Taking the first one out, you put it into the player and carefully set the needle, glancing at the name of the song. His taste in music wasn’t exactly popular, but you’d rather listen to “DREAMER” than “inconveniently timed Brooklyn storm” right now.

Letting out a sigh of your own, you slumped down next to him as he pulled the hoodie over his head, arms going back to being crossed.

"~Dreamer... dreamer... Like a fool, I thought that it could be..." Of course it was a sad song. Blues? The haunting melody made you feel blue. It made the cold feel more numbing than biting on your skin. It made you feel, in general — what, you couldn’t really place.

“…Are we okay?” you muttered without much thought. The urge to talk had come back, and you hadn’t decided if you regretted speaking yet.

"~Dream on... dream on... surely someone, will understand me..."

Miles let out a breath, and it felt like you were exchanging more sighs than words. “Yeah. I just… ‘S not you.”

No “promise”, though. Did that make it more or less honest?

"~What do I say, when I've, oh, said too much? I think by now, I'm wastin' time..."

“...I love you, y’know?” you continued, hating how out of place it sounded. It was as useless as that text you tried to send, but you were tired, and missed your boyfriend, and wished he would give you even a glance.

“~I'm going… oh Lord I'm gone…”

“Love you too,” he mumbled in reply. It wasn’t very reassuring, and it didn’t seem like it to him either, because he reached out to brush your hand against his. You took his hand first — gently, and his thumb pressed into your palm in a sort of silent apology.

You hated how futile it was, and how much you craved it again. You hated you couldn’t be even a little mad at him, and how you were defending him to yourself. Maybe you were both in the wrong. No — you weren’t wrong, you were trying to be understanding.

You weren’t wrong for feeling this way, were you?

“~You are the absence, of my mind…”

You hated how much you missed that boy from all those months ago — even though he was right in front of you. It didn’t feel like Miles Morales was yours anymore, he was theirs — whoever “they” were. His competitors, his managers, the media… It was like there was no trace of the Miles you knew before. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t deny it anymore: that Miles had a dream, and you probably weren’t in it. You hated how you took it so personally.

And you hated how you reached out to hug him, despite all of that.

It was just you for a moment, and you were about to pull away before his arms wrapped loosely around the small of your back.

You hated how you hid your face over his shoulder, and how nice it felt. You hated how warm he was, and how the room was freezing.

You hated how familiar this was.

“~Lord, dreamer… dreamer…”

“Sorry, cariño. Didn’t mean to be an asshole.” Miles’ fingertips dragged uselessly over your back, and you shamelessly tightened your arms around him as he pressed his cheek into yours. You might’ve shed a tear, if it weren't for how heavy your eyes were already with the late hour. Neither of you could go home yet, though you weren’t sure if you wanted to right now.

“~Like a fool… I thought, well, that it could be…”

The long sigh you let out was followed by Miles’ own quiet one before he kissed you on the cheek. His breath warmed your frigid face and brushed at your heart, as he always did. You wished you could be upset, overreact, scream at his face, tell him how you felt all this time. It just always had to end with forgiveness, because now, you couldn’t even remember what you had felt.

And you hated it — not as much as you’d like.

Closing your eyes, you buried your head into his hoodie while the music, the storm and the sound of your own breathing blurred together in your mind. All you were left with were your own thoughts.

This boxing thing didn’t involve you — it never did. He didn’t want you there to see him, or even tell you he was home from Vegas, and now it felt like he was just putting up with you here. It felt like you and him were on opposite sides of the pavement, only walking together to share the same umbrella. He just didn’t want you to get soaked — or hurt.

“I told you not to come today… I’m walkin’ you home.”

He didn’t want you to expect too much.

“Nah, you don’t need to see me train. It’s borin’ as hell.”

He didn’t want you to give up on him.

“I’ll make it big — promise.”

He wanted his dream — did he still want you?

“Just be patient with me, cielo.”

Patient, huh? If only you could be like Rio. It felt like you were just as bad as Miles. Maybe you were — both just as bad as each other.

“Why didn’t you text me? …At all?” Muffled against his hoodie, you hoped your voice didn’t waver. It felt a little manipulative, even if it wasn’t in the slightest, but you couldn’t keep telling yourself things were all good. Miles had been avoiding you, whether that was intentional or not. You were just being open — trying to be open. You hope he’d try too.

The boy in question was silent, before he pulled away, hands lingering at your sides.

“I was…” Miles took in a breath, voice dying out for a moment. “Look, I…”

“~Down the wrong way, on a one way street…”

“I can’t be a boxer anymore.”

It felt like the rain had gone quiet. There was no need for an umbrella between you two anymore. It felt like you’d closed it yourself, walking to the opposite side of the pavement again, watching him and the dull, empty sky from afar.

You were the one that asked him — you wanted him to speak to you, and now you weren’t even sure what to say.

“~You'd think by now, I would have learned…”

“What do you mean…?”

“My contract got terminated.” His voice sounded forced, strangely robotic. Was that what you so wanted to get from him?

“Can’t you just… get signed by somebody else?”

“There is nobody else. I had a contract with Norman Osborn — he basically owns boxing.”

“~I saw a little, but I learned even less…”

Your heart dropped a little — you wouldn’t let it drop any more than that. It made sense why Miles was so excited back then if he got signed by someone like that. Now, that excitement meant nothing. All you could think of was that video, that interview…

“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”

So he’d just… given up? Miles had given up? Was that it? The end of it?

Boxer or not, you suddenly had the urge to punch him — maybe even punch yourself. It didn’t even matter who was right and who was wrong anymore, because you didn’t even know who was in front of you. It was almost uncanny to see Miles like this, so dejected; that’s what he’d been feeling all this time. As much as it seemed like he was mad at you, or was avoiding you, or lying to you, it was never really about you.

Miles was refusing to let go of his dream — of himself — until right now.

And you didn’t know what overcame you at that moment. Maybe it was Rio’s words, or the fact that Aaron wasn’t here, or the fact that you felt like you’d lost your boyfriend — if he wasn’t going to be stubborn about it anymore, you sure as hell were.

“So you’re telling me nobody else is gonna sign you? At all? You haven’t even looked?”

“You don’t get it, ‘s more complicated than—”

“Baby, look at me for a sec.” Your hand was on his shoulder with more confidence than common sense, eyes were square with his avoidant, dull, hopeless gaze. You haven’t ever seen Miles hopeless before. You couldn’t let him be if it was the last thing you did. “You, Miles Gonzalo Morales—”

“Aight, you don’t need the full name.”

“I do need it, because my whole ass boyfriend changed boxing history.” Frankly, you had no idea what you were saying; it felt like you were shooting in the dark, but you didn’t care if you sounded a little stupid, or over-the-top, because if that’s what it took to get your boyfriend to crack even a little… “His 'legendary left jab'—”

“Babe, where the hell did you get that from?” The look he was giving you was probably more of a “jab” than anything.

“…The news.” The corner of your mouth quirked up despite your best efforts, face pricking with heat as you remembered reading through that Bugle article like it was divine revelation. A little stupid, a little over-the-top, sure, but it was true.

Miles’ lips pressed together, and your face heated more trying to decipher his expression. You didn’t have to, because the snicker that escaped his throat was enough make all the rain and thunder and lighting, and even the song insignificant.

“~I only learn to regret…”

“Miles, I’m serious,” you muttered, rather unseriously, brows furrowing as you tried to smooth out the meekness on your face.

“Legendary?” There was a hint of his usual mirth in his tone, and you tried not to be bothered by it. Anything was better than seeing Miles like that: ridiculous, over-the-top, unserious, but not hopeless.

“Look, it was the Bugle, okay? Some millennial wrote that — like, some lady called Mary.”

“Why do you even remember that?” Anything that could come to mind, you’d tell him. No more silence. Just be yourself. Keep talking.

“I read it, like, a lot, okay? I was really proud of you and I just…”

The smirk fell fast from Miles’ face, and you held back any words you might’ve had. The rain eased back in as a constant patter against the windows — the silence had come back despite your efforts. Your heart started to sink a little again, but all you could offer was an awkward smile.

“You’re proud?” he asked, like you’d just lied to his face.

“Yeah…? I always am, but seeing you make it so far…” It was something you didn’t say enough, you realised. The words echoed in your mind as you found the confidence to look at him.

“…Miles Morales made it, right?”

Another tiny breath left Miles, his eyes closing for a moment as you waited for him to speak. You wanted to backtrack, maybe hope the rain would die down soon so you two could leave — you had sort of snuck out… That wasn’t the point, though. You weren’t sure what the point was right now, and you weren’t sure what he was thinking, as always — again.

His lips pressed to your forehead, and then your forehead was against his chest — somehow.

You still had no idea what he was thinking. Now you had no idea what he was feeling — or what you were feeling.

The room was freezing, but you were sure you were slowly setting on fire. Traces of the awkward smile you had were stuck on your face as your cheek pressed into the fabric of his hoodie, and suddenly every little thing you’d thought about saying to him had disappeared in its entirety.

“Dios (God), am I a dumbass…” he murmured to himself. With no clue what to do, you could only focus on the hesitance in the way he held you close, because of his injuries, you weren’t sure. His fingers were cold, like the air was. You didn’t hate the warmth this time.

The silence returned again, and instead of your heart sinking, it was fluttering wildly. You so wanted to take it in your hands and hold it still, but you couldn’t even hold Miles back.

He did this sort of thing often — used to do this often, when he was stressed for whatever reason. He wouldn’t say if he was, but you could always tell. Sometimes he’d ask, and right now, he didn’t, but it wasn’t like you ever refused; it was nice, safe, and away from the storm — close.

"~Surely someone, will understand me..."

He kissed the top of your head, like he was hoping you’d understand.

If only you could. If only you could understand why your boyfriend couldn’t see it — see how far he’d come, how much he’d achieved, how proud he should be of himself, how neither of you should be here right now.

If only Rio was here to tell him how proud she was. Or Aaron. Or his dad.

You never really knew his dad. You knew he’d be proud, at least. He'd probably be beaming seeing how far his son Miles had come, like he did in those pictures with Aaron.

You were proud too. Did that count for anything? Would that change anything? It wouldn’t get him another contract.

You wanted to squeeze his hand, but that was a stupid idea considering the state of it. A lot of your ideas felt stupid as of late. None of them would get him another contract.

It felt like a lot more than just the contract, though; maybe that's why it was so hard. If only he’d tell you.

But waiting wasn’t a game, or a competitive sport. It was nothing like boxing; there was no winner. Waiting was a choice — a promise, that you’d be there when he was ready.

“Just be patient with me, cielo.”

You wondered if he’d ever be ready.

"~Dream on, baby."

You wrapped your arms around him, finally. At the very least, you promised to hold him, if not before, then now. He tightened his grip too, just mariginally.

“I’m sorry, mi cielo.” he started, voice barely audible. “I swear, I didn’t know you actually…” Miles trailed off, resting his chin on the top of your head instead.

“Cared?” you suggested, wondering if he could hear you. “It’s a lot more than that.”

You felt his chest fall as he let out a sigh. “I know.”

“I want you to know.”

“I do, I just… I’m being real dumb and—” You squeezed your arms around him before he could finish his sentence; no more avoidance. What you were going to say after, you didn’t know.

“…What?” His voice was suddenly soft, controlled. It was like he could hear what was going on in your head.

“You ever…" You moved your head away from his chest slightly, so he could hear better. "You ever had a stage name in mind?”

It was the only thing you could think to ask, though you didn’t ask it with much thought at all. Still, things weren't going to go anywhere if you kept dodging the subject.

Miles was silent for more than just a moment — it was enough to guess he did have one. “...Why?”

“Cause… when you get back in the ring, people gotta know you right?” It wasn’t just blind optimism — you decided that you did really believe in him. They weren’t going to see the end of someone like him, not by a long shot — or a legendary left jab. Your boyfriend was one hell of a boxer; it wouldn't just stop here — no way.

“I mean, '17-year-old from NYC' isn’t exactly catchy,” you continued, despite his silence.

Just one loss before so many wins. At his age, a win, against a “long-time champion” no less, was worth a million times more than that Norman guy’s contract, no matter how much of a big-shot he was.

“You think I’m gettin’ signed?” They’d be stupid not to.

“I know you’re getting signed.” Rio's words came back to you, and despite your hesitance, you found yourself saying: “If not, I’ll sign you and go to Vegas myself.”

Patient — like his mom, but also with that fighting spirit. You realised you had to be on his level too — match his energy, his enthusiasm. He’d spent long enough being on his own.

“...Fine, fine,” he shrugged. The edge in his tone seemed to fade as he thought for a moment. “If you’re signin’ me, you’re signin’… The Prowler.”

Miles loved boxing? Screw it, you loved boxing too. You loved boxing more than him, in fact — because it was a part of him. And even when he didn’t love his dream so much, you’d be there to love it for him. He loved all of you, and you loved all of him. That was still true now, even if he was going through something not so lovely.

And soon, you’d have something else to love too. Something new.

“The Prowler,” you repeated, a smile of your own creeping up on your face. “…You sure?” The groan Miles let out was enough to curb your need to annoy him… with love.

“Cariño…" he mumbled. "You ask just to make fun of me?” Miles shook his head, and you just squeezed him around the waist again.

“No, no way. I wanna welcome you to the team, Prowler.” A few firm pats on his back got him to laugh again, and though it was barely, that moment felt worth all those weeks.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m a hundred percent serious. You and your 'legendary left jab' and all.”

“You…” The hint of a smile was in his voice, and his good hand came to pull you closer, pressing the two of you flush against each other.

“Me…?” Your voice was muffled as you rested against the hollow of his neck, feeling the vibrations of his voice as he spoke.

“Can’t believe you’re still here.” It sounded more like he was talking to himself, speaking under his breath. The way it came out, it seemed like something he'd wanted to say for a while.

“Why would I leave?” Why would you ever leave?

“No clue.”

His good hand found your face, and you turned your head a bit so it wouldn't be so awkward to reach it.

“Don't know why I ever thought that.”

You felt his thumb run across your cheek, before pulling away and tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

“Damn, you're beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his head down to bump your nose with his, stoic expression and all. You were just about able to keep your composure.

“You trying to make it up to me with flattery?” It wasn’t like he had much to make up for — in your eyes, at least. The tease made his eyes narrow, but the ghost of a smile was on his lips.

“I can make it up to you a hell of a lot better than that.”

“Morales,” you warned, thought it didn't come out much like a warning. Especially not with how quietly you said it, your face so close to his.

“What?” It was his turn to be annoying. “Lo imaginé…” (I thought so…) You weren't sure you minded it.

It was nice to be joking, and flirting, and close again. There was no need to protest right now — no reason to pretend to be mad. His arm shifted to search for your hand, and you unconsciously laced your fingers together as your faces drew closer. You were already squeezing his hand before—

“Aye…!” Miles hissed, slipping his hand away as you both remembered the nasty, loud bruise that was spreading across his hand. His left hand, you realised, was the one he’d injured — it wasn’t exactly legendary now.

“Sorry…” you muttered, lips pressing together tightly as you took in the sight again. “But that was your fault."

Miles frowned at you almost incredulously as he held his own hand. “Nuh-uh.”

“Time out, Morales.” You couldn’t help it. Or help the smile on your face.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” You kissed his cheek to really rub it in. No more words from him, it looked like.

After a moment more of silence, and watching Miles nurse his own hand, you spoke up again. “…Are you gonna go back? To boxing?” Miles looked back at you, before nodding.

“Yeah. Eventually, I guess...” He let out a sigh, but it seemed like one of fatigue rather than frustration. You blinked away your own tiredness that was creeping back. "As the Prowler.”

“Got a lot of… prowling to do, then.” He pursed his lips at you in contempt, and you gave him a meek look in return. As much as you made fun of the name, it was pretty cool. “When are you thinking?”

“I’ll wait a little. ‘S too soon." Miles put his less-brutalised hand on your knee, looking at you a bit more earnestly. "Gotta make it up to you, first.”

“Obvio.” (Obviously) You tried hiding your smirk this time, but he caught it anyway.

“Driving me crazy for no reason,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. The few times you did speak Spanish, it usually wasn't to be sweet.

“A good crazy?” you tried, hoping he'd humour you a little. Maybe he could find it sweet?

“Ni hablar.” (No way.)

Sweet enough to kiss you, anyway. With his better hand, he held the side of your face by his fingertips, pressing a short, chaste kiss to your lips. The feeling was warmer than anything, and you were left with a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as he pulled away.

“Te amo (I love you),” he whispered with his own shred of a smile. You caught a glint in his eye before his expression faded into that same serious look. “I'll fix up, I promise.”

“No need to promise." With your thumb, you finally smoothed the crease between his brows — an old, shared habit. It made his expression soften a little. "Cause you will, and you’ll make it even further next time.”

“Right,” he agreed, hand still lingering by your jaw. “I will. Gimme a time out if I don’t.” A laugh escaped your mouth at that.

"Sure." You met him with your own chaste kiss, your heart swelling as you felt him smile a little against your lips. “I love you too, by the way.”

The record had stopped playing, ages ago, you noticed, and there was another stretch of silence. Total silence, actually — it had stopped raining entirely.

“We should probably head back,” Miles stated as he looked out the window with you, before getting up with a bit of a groan. The two of you needed rest, especially him.

“Yeah,” you murmured, reaching for your jacket. “I mean, I sort of… snuck out.”

His silence made you turn back, only to be met with an unamused look. You tried not to laugh again. “So you’re sayin’ we’re both dead.”

“Pretty much.” He rolled his eyes at your sheepish smile, but you caught the corner of his mouth lift up as he turned to the door. It wasn't like the two of you hadn’t snuck out before — this was just like all those other times, just more… unplanned.

The night time air was strangely cool and breathable as you left the warehouse. Though the concrete was slippery, and you and Miles had to hold onto each other to not fall, Brooklyn was glimmering almost ethereally by the moonlight, the sky clear with any lingering clouds now gone. You hooked your arm in Miles' arm, his hands loosely tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. He’d have some explaining to do to his mom about his hands, and you’d have to creep back into your apartment as quietly as possible — but right now, in the silence hum of the city, you felt that things would be okay. Maybe they weren’t excellent, or ideal right now, but okay was a good start. The Prowler was a thing of the future, albeit near future. Right now, it was just you and Miles Morales, going home together past your curfews.

Ping! Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping—

Way past your curfews.

At the same time, the two of you pulled your phones out, only to be bombarded with notifications of missed calls and texts. You were a short distance away from the warehouse now, and your phones had only just gotten signal. It was 1:02am, and you had walls of texts asking you where the hell you were and to "get your ass home right now" on your lock screen. Miles gritted his teeth, and you didn't want to think about what Rio had to say.

As the pinging died down, your eyes met, the both of you thinking the exact same thing:

“We’re so dead.”

You shot a quick message back and mental prayer, Miles doing the same before hastily linking arms with you again. He returned your sheepish look with his own as the two of you kept walking, trying not to slip in the puddles. It had already been a long night, and it was about to get way longer, but at least you could have each other’s company.

"~All my life, been a dreamer..."

"~Dream on... dream on..."

After all, you could guess that a lot more than just a “time out” was waiting for you at home.

"~Maybe somewhere... maybe somewhere..."

🕸️🔭👾

↑ the song! bobby bland 🔛🔝

felt a bit empty without a message hi this is vee it is midnight and i have to go to school in less than 8 hours ! thriving !!!! also if you're interested i have a post about just the au itself here <3

taglist (ppl who asked anyway 😭): @iissza

reblogs appreciated (like so much i literally melt and die) catch the rest of my atsv stuff here!

[seawitchkaraoke]

I will say this one more thing about this: I do not believe the other try guys (or even many people at 2nd try) knew Ned was cheating before they found out sometime earlier this month. Not because I have some blind faith in the other guys to be good ppl (imagine saying ‘‘he would never’‘ when someone you might have said that about literally just did smth horrible), but because:

- knowing he is cheating and hiding it/keeping him on would be an absolutely ridiculously stupid thing to do and I think they’re smarter than that. Because with how well known they are, that’s a ticking time bomb until someone will snap an incriminating picture in public and if it then comes out you’ve known and protected him? That’s your image of wholesome, good guys absolutely destroyed.

- all the claims that they did know for months or years, that i’ve seen came from random twitter or reddit accounts or were even entirely anonymous. That’s not evidence. That’s some random person saying some random shit

- they were already cutting him out of videos before the video was leaked. Meaning they were already preparing to cut ties with him regardless of whether the fact he was cheating came out or not so ‘‘oh they just have to fire him now bc it got out’‘ doesn’t really make sense.

- if him cheating was somehow an ‘‘open secret that the entire company knew’‘ it wouldn’t stay secret long. Nothing ever does if a lot of people know about it . You ever try to plan a surprise party for someone without someone tattling? This is this except tattling would seem like the more moral option to many ppl and make it even more likely that someone tells so again hiding it in that case is just a stupid strategy even with NDAs (bc your employee could leave instead of signing said nda or they could just hide their tracks well while leaking smth)

Now I will believe that they quite possibly weren’t planning on telling the public why they got rid of Ned, both to protect Ariel and others from harrassment and to protect their own image - any dirt on Ned also harms them bc if one of the wholesome good guys isn’t actually all that, maybe the others aren’t either. If the video wasn’t leaked I imagine they’d have been vague or said it was for personal reasons or whatever, but they still would have seperated from Ned.

I also think like.... listen, you can know your friend has flaws and maybe sometimes flirts too much when he’s drunk or sometimes says inappropriate shit and you can forgive him that and still be friends with him and try to push him in a better direction, you can do all that and never suspect he might be cheating. Because there’s a big jump from one to the other and we always see the best in the people we love. It’s easy to say in retrospect that it was obvious but shit like this is never obvious. You don’t suspect your friends of being capable of that stuff unless it’s pushed right in your face

[seriousbrat]

a post of yours was on my for you, it was about james potter and an ask (who was pretty rude and i don’t want to come off that same way) told you that james potter never changed and you started talking about how it was impossible he never did, that it’s crazy to think he was a manipulator etc etc but it’s rather simple imo. james was a frat boy who had friends he liked and he was good to, except maybe peter, he didn’t like severus because he was friends with his crush and he bullied other kids with his friends, because he could. he felt entitled to lily’s love because he was a blood traitor. that’s ok characters can change, but did he stop bullying severus? no (i saw your argument about sirius and remus saying snape never lost an opportunity to hex james, but 1 wouldn’t have lily noticed then 2 i don’t trust the words of the same people who said snape was angry at james because he was jealous of his good looks and his quidditch abilities) so what is that about? he acted as if he had became better person (which he may have, but he was still bullying severus and we have no proof of him becoming a better person except lily marrying him which is crazy leave the girl alone she’s not a moral compass) around lily whom he wanted to impress and then still bullied severus. i don’t think that’s a crazy thing to say, it’s actually very possible and it happens a lot of time in real life.

Thanks for the message, you don't come off as rude at all so dw!

"it happens a lot of time in real life." The thing is that this isn't real life. It's fiction, and I feel like I'm always saying this so sorry lol but that means we have to analyse the author's intention in showing what she did. These are fictional characters and not autonomous real people who do things "off-camera" that we can speculate about based on statistics or our own experience.

We're given evidence that James changed. If the truth was supposed to be that he actually didn't change and was always secretly the same dickhead and maliciously hiding this from Lily the entire time, we would have been given evidence of that. Everything we're shown about Lily and James as a couple is that they loved each other and had a good relationship. Again, if he was meant to be an evil conniving manipulator who was tricking Lily, it would have been shown in the text.

If you don't trust Remus and Sirius's word there are two other major pieces of evidence that James changed. The first is that Lily started dating him when previously she couldn't stand the sight of him. The second is that he was made head boy, and whatever Dumbledore's faults I sincerely doubt that he gave Head Boy to a person who was actively going around terrorising the student body. We know that circa 5th year, his behaviour was very public and apparent to everyone. For me, that lends credence to the idea that James "deflated his head" during sixth year, enough to be given responsibility over others.

The fact that Remus and Sirius mention James changing and also the fact that Snape was giving as good as he got during 7th year, and this is never contradicted but reinforced by other sources, means it's probably mostly true. Obviously Remus and Sirius's account is biased and imperfect, and we have to read between the lines. But, and I say this as a fan of Snape, there is plenty of evidence that Snape had an aggressive side. As a child he causes a branch to fall on Petunia and he invents an incredibly violent spell. As an adult he throws jars at a 16 year old boy and loses his shit at Fudge among others. Some of these are understandable, sure, but it is a part of his character and I don't understand why people are so hell-bent on ignoring it.

Like, it's fine. Part of Snape's arc is learning to control his emotions and limiting these outbursts of aggressiveness, which is why he's shown to be much more uncontrolled and violent as a child, whereas as an adult he's more collected and circumspect. It makes sense why he is the way he is, because it's implied he grew up in a home marked by violence. Personally, I think this is a VERY interesting aspect of his character and for me it makes absolute sense that he would attack James during 7th year. Particularly given that James and Lily were dating at the time. I am cheering him on from the sidelines. I am enjoying the show. Meek little harmless spineless Severus, idk him.

Also I'm sorry, but a lot of this is your own interpretation, likely based on your dislike for James. there's NO evidence that james "felt entitled" to Lily's love for instance. That really seems like a conclusion you've come to on your own. It's fine to have your own interpretations ofc, but they're not necessarily supported by canon. Personally I disagree with them, but that's fine too!

I appreciate the Lily appreciation though!! Let that girl do whatever the fuck she wants 👏

[anonzentimes]

You're one of my favorite people on here, I love komaeda so much, oh my god

infodump about whatever you want about komaeda NOW!! (if you want, you dont actually have to)

RAGGG!!!!! you're so so sweet oh my gosh ❤️❤️ Sure i'll talk about komaeda! I'll just say what I've been thinking about specifically today.

I was thinking about the fact that Nagito can suppress sides of him today, when he needs to he's able to suppress some of his personality for people. I think the reason Nagito is "normal," before his freakout is not only for the plot twist but because he's trying to make a good impression for Hajime. And once he's even more interested in Hajime he wants his attention, He's always by his side at any chance he gets. I think Hajime just generally stood out to him because he felt a connection with him on a spiritual level and acted upon his curiosity. Why would he be the only one to stay behind and wake up Hajime otherwise? I think he had the gut instinct I do when I feel as if I need to talk to somebody who interests me.

His "facade," is sort of like how when you meet new people and you're not entirely showing your true self fully yet, I think he does that. He's able to suppress parts of himself for other people.

Nagito is always wanting Hajime's attention, he respects his personal space and beliefs but mostly wants to be around him. He's also VERY observant, even when he doesn't understand social cues sometimes his ability to observe others is a big factor about him. He observes Hajime a lot.

Which is honestly weird, isn't he afraid of getting close to people? He usually avoids his classmates, he thinks he isn't deserving of reciprocation, and yet he stayed by Hajime's side. He made an effort to talk normally enough that Hajime would like him. He even went swimming without any complaints, probably because he still doesn't want to lose his attention.

He continues this behavior throughout the game, even in Chapter 4 he uses the fact he has information to get Hajime's attention.

He doesn't think he's worth the ultimates time, and yet, he's always drawn to Hajime. He's always after Hajime's approval, it's so oddly fascinating to me. It's not an obsession thing, but he just really loves him for some reason. It feels more like an irrational emotion, it's not warped love, it's not about status, and It proceeds on even when he knows he's a despair.

I wonder if maybe, just maybe, if Nagito saw his suicide plan as freeing Hajime from Despair. Maybe that's how he justifies it with his emotions. And in an odd sense a horrible proclamation of love.

Sorry this kind of turned into Komahina more than anything lmao, but mostly I'm just thinking about how weird it is that he likes him, like why? What is it about him that Nagito is so infatuated with him? It goes against what he usually does, was he just really that special that he becomes irrational to his typical behaviors?

And in the free time events he's even more infatuated because he believes Hajime is amazing for tolerating him. He pushes him away so he doesn't get harmed by his luck cycle, but also to hopefully to get Hajime kill him. He wants him to escape, he wants him to create hope. Because he believes someone as great as Hajime can create amazing hope. And then his love confession???? AUGH his love confession like, it's so complicated. Did he bail out because he didn't want him to get hurt by his luck cycle? Did he bail out because he doesn't think he's worthy? LIKE??? He's so crazy.

Nagito's so interesting, his irrational infatuation with Hajime next to his warped beliefs, luck cycle, warped love, and intense obsession with hope to the point that he becomes morally grey over it makes him such a wonderful and entertaining character.

[trappedinafantasy37]

You are backed into a corner, there is nowhere for you to go, except forward. Unfortunately, in front of you is a man who is intent on shoving his knife between your ribs and stealing everything from your corpse. What are you going to do? Are you going to stand there and ask yourself, "Would I be a bad person if I fought this man, maybe kill him?" or are you going to pull your own knife and fight back? Cause, I will tell you what is more than likely going to happen. Your fight-or-flight sense is going to try to override your asinine desire to have a philosophical debate with yourself, and try to get you out of the situation alive. You will instinctively and without thinking, either pull your knife and try to fight back, or you will try to run away from this man, hell, you might actually try to just hand over your wallet if it meant securing your life.

Does this scenario make sense? Does the outcome make sense? Is it reasonable, in this moment, to forego morality for your own survival? Because if it does, then try to expand this idea to understand the TWO HUNDRED YEARS of bullshit Minthara has lived through in Menzoberranzan. Every single day of her life was a nonstop survival scenario, her fight-or-flight sense was always active, and she always defaulted to fight because that was what she was good at. Her conversation about someone always trying to kill her isn't her having an over inflated sense of self-importance. She was important. Many people actually did want to kill her, and many people actually did try. For fuck's sake, she was almost assassinated when she was just a baby!

And she prevailed above it all because she didn't waste a single second of her time asking herself, "would I be a bad person for trying to survive?" No, she picked up her maces and did what she had to and guaranteed her survival and she didn't spend a single second stewing in regret. Because what good does that do her when there are still threats out there?

This is why you will never be able to make her less "evil" because she doesn't see "evil", nor does she see "good". She does not subscribe to the concept of morality. If anything, she's amoral. She sees things in terms of you either kill or you get killed. And Minthara would rather kill. A majority of the decisions that she makes is about her own survival and increasing her chances of survival. She does not waste a moment of her time thinking on the morality of her choices. This may be a little bit charged when I say this, but the consideration of morality in ones choices takes an incredible amount of privilege and safety. And, in spite the abundance of privilege Minthara had as a Baenre, concerns of morality was not one of them because she was never safe. And she has never felt safe.

When she does something that guarantees her survival, only you see it as "evil" because you haven't been conditioned for 200+ years to view survival in the same way she does and you do subscribe to morality. She does not see it as an atrocity, nor as a bad thing and you won't be able to change her mind because the two of you lived in the end, and that is what is important to her. This is also why she will stand by you when you make what you perceive to be "good" choices. She doesn't see the action as "good", but more of "this action helps us survive." She does not care about being "good", she cares about being alive.

For example, Minthara does approve of you protecting Isobel and warning her of Marcus' intentions. She approves you making a seemingly "good" decision, but not because it is morally good. Isobel is providing you and the entire gang a safe place to eat and sleep in the Shadow Lands, as well as providing you with a blessing that allows you to walk around freely within it. Protecting Isobel is practical as it guarantees your survival. She does not care that it's morally good to help Isobel, she cares that protecting Isobel means you get to keep a safe place to sleep. Not to mention, it interrupts whatever plans the Absolute may have had for Isobel and Minthara certainly does want to fuck over the Absolute.

It's also the same exact reason as to why she doesn't give a shit if you kill Isobel while playing Durge. But it does depend on why you killed her. If you tell Minthara that you killed Isobel for the thrill of it, she will be quite peeved because not only did you lose a safe place to sleep, but you introduced threats to your lives that could have been avoided all for your entertainment. Your dumb actions jeopardized your survival for no reason, and that's a big no-no for her. But, if you tell her that Isobel would have seen you as a threat eventually, then Minthara would approve of it as she perceives killing Isobel in that moment as necessary for your survival. She's only mad because you didn't tell her before hand and she wasn't prepared.

And there are plenty of other situations in which she actually does approve of you doing "good" things, as well as disapproving of you doing "evil" things. In the end, she does not nor has ever cared about the morality of your decisions. She cares on whether or not you act with your survival in mind. But if you tell her that you did something because it was the "right thing to do" she will laugh in your face because doing the "right thing" often means going out of your way and endangering yourself, risking your survival and with nothing to gain in return.

This does not mean Minthara does not change, nor cannot change. She is not a stagnant person and she is constantly adjusting herself to the situation she finds herself in. But these adjustments have nothing to do with morality, but more reorganizing her priorities and desires. There is a reason why I keep circling back to the romance in the Karlach origin because it does demonstrate that Minthara is indeed capable of changing. In this particular ending, she demonstrates that she is capable of prioritizing the life of someone else over her own desire for power. She doesn't magically become "less evil" or "more good", her priorities have merely changed and you perceive that as a change in morality because you are trying to shove her into a box that she doesn't fit in.

She chooses to make changes within herself because she is inspired by you and your actions. But she will never change to appease you or make you feel better about her lack of morality. She changes because change is necessary for survival. If you do not like her, then that is your problem, one she will not fix for you. You either learn to like her, or you can leave her alone. But she will remain as herself and she will not compromise on who she is just because you want her to. She wants you to accept her as she is, because she accepts you as you are. She will never ask you to compromise yourself for her sake, and she expects the same in return.

Minthara is one of those characters that is meant to challenge your perception of what is and isn't evil. Would I say that you are wrong for seeing her actions as evil? No, I wouldn't because I do understand why some people see her as evil. But it is wrong to say that she is evil because she wants to be or that is just who she is. Minthara just wants to live and she will do whatever she has to do to live, and she is constantly readjusting herself to fit whatever environment she is in. If that means resorting to actions that you perceive as "evil" then so be it. But she is also capable of doing actions that you may perceive as "good" because sometimes, "good" actions can be beneficial to one's survival. Minthara heavily weighs the pros and cons and each decision made available to you and she tends to go with the choice with the highest chances of survival, which more often than not are "evil" choices. This is also why it seems like Minthara has a tendency to play both sides of things and that is because she can see the survival benefit of both "good" and "evil" choices simultaneously.

[pearl-blue-musings]

bad idea, right?

Hi hi,

If you can’t tell this is absolutely inspired by the song by Olivia rodrigo. I just wanted to write something

Pairing: Byakuya Togami x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive situations, spoilers, takes place after all the despair, slight influence from fanmade redemption arc, fem/afab reader,

Word count: 1.4K

You didn’t think the Future Foundation would be keen on hosting holiday parties, yet here you are. The wine in your glass swirls and the aroma invades your nostrils in a good way. Maybe the idea of having parties and gatherings like this can boost morale for the world and have hope shine brighter? You’re not entirely sure as you take another drink from your glass. You do your best to keep your eyes locked on anything but the bespectacled man that is your ex.

You’re even more upset when those dangerously piercing green eyes meet yours and you quickly scamper away, attempting to chug the rest of your drink. You elbow and shoulder your way through the crowd and head toward the balcony of the building. You see the new headmaster of Hope’s Peak Academy getting red in the face over his fiancé making a passing comment to his core group of friends. It’s crazy that the foundation was able to bring everyone back with the redemption program, but you wish the former remnants of despair would be here. They understand their role as being the scapegoat but they didn’t have to leave forever! After reading their profiles, you took an interest in the 86th class and would often send them letters. Gundham was actually the most responsive and it gave you a sense of comradery and understanding you thought was long gone.

Now that you think about it, those letters and messages had led to one of your biggest arguments with your ex.

The minute your mind drifted off to your ex, he just happened to appear near you. Despite doing your best to avoid the man, Byakuya Togami somehow managed to be by your side right now. Of course the alcohol in your system isn’t helping but it’s not like that matters right now. His snarky and baritone voice still sends shivers down your spine and you wish you could teach your body to not do that. “I’m surprised to see you drinking red wine, you’re more of a white wine.”

Your eyes roll before you can control it, and you walk outside further onto the balcony. You anticipate the door shutting but don’t hear it until a few seconds later. “I admit I’ve been meaning to talk to you…” he starts.

You sigh curtly and take one final swig of your drink. “Really? Wanna yell at me for talking to the 86th class. Or is it specifically Gundham you have a problem with?”

Byakuya crosses his arms with a scoff, elegantly holding his champagne flute in one hand. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want, you made that very clear in our failed relationship. I can say I did not enjoy you talking to him as much as you did, maybe you are more animalistic.”

“Ugh,” you grunt, “don’t you know the saying if you have nothing nice to say don’t say anything at all? And besides, you know,” you cough, knowing full well you’ll regret your next words, “I didn’t love him like I loved you. Pissed me off to no end you thought so.”

You didn’t think it was possible for the haughty man to retract in on himself so openly, but here he is. “Then it is quite possible, dear, you should have put my feelings into her consideration.”

“You know that’s not true! I always considered your feelings because I know you! Well, knew you.” You rub your forearm in vulnerability. Despite being broken up for months, he still found a way to climb over your walls. You take a deep breath and rub at the bridge of your nose. “Why did you break up with me? You know it’s not what either of us wanted.”

It takes everything in the executive in front of you not to reach out and potentially hold you, knowing that’s what would help you out most. He sighs and tries to step closer to you. “I’m sure you know why. It wasn’t for the best. You and I are two employees in this company. It would look bad if the world knew we were together for as long as we were. There are bigger problems than handling our own relationship. And-“

“I didn’t hear you say you didn’t love me anymore.”

That caught Byakuya off guard. Out of all the things he had predicted or thought you would say, that wasn’t one of them. Of course he couldn’t admit right away that you were right; he still loves you. He knows for a fact his love for you has been his strength and his weakness. If anyone related to despair found out an executive had a weakness in the company, he had to think rationally. And if he had to assure the safety of the world over proving his love for you, the world and the Togami name came first.

You wait for him to respond and try to walk away. “Talking to you is a waste of time,” you brush past him with a sway of your hips. You’re stopped suddenly when a slender firm hand wraps around your hips and you’re pulled into a firm and familiar chest. “What the fu-“

“As they say,” his breath dangerously close to your lips, “I'm taking a page out of your book…” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion before they relax as he kisses you. You feel his hand holding your waist tighten as he prods your lips apart with his tongue. He may not seem like it, but Byakuya was, well is, an incredible kisser.

The kiss abruptly ends and you’re left panting. Unsure of what to do, you slap him across the face. “What the hell is your problem?! You think you can just kiss me out of nowhere?!”

He licks his lips and shakes his head. “Did you not hear me say I’m taking a page out of your book? I remember you would kiss me out of nowhere when I was stressed or overworked.” He sighs out in defeat and finally lets down his guard. “Look,” he begins softly, “the two of us being together is dangerous, illogical…” he trails off as he sees you begin to tear up. He takes your chin in his fingers to catch your gaze. “But being with you made the most sense to me. You’re an enigma I cannot fathom most days and that’s why I would treasure every moment with you.”

You place your almost empty wine glass on a stool and pull Byakuya’s arm down. “If you feel this way, why break up with me and break my heart? Why put me through that?” You huff out and cross your arms. “Nope, nope. I’m not doing this.” You put your hand in front of his face and try to walk out for the second time. And for a second time he stops you, taking your hand and dragging you into his embrace.

“One night.”

“…excuse me?”

“One night with me. Give me a chance to explain myself. We can ditch this atrocity of a party and reconnect.

“Please.”

It’s the please that got you. He was never one to openly apologize easily or say please. His green irises plead with yours, searching for any resemblance of your past relationship. He knows he treated you badly toward the end of it, but he actually feels the need to explain his actions to you. Byakuya knows it doesn’t excuse his actions, but you deserve to know the truth.

Byakuya feels your arm muscles relax under his touch and a sense of victory overcomes him. He gives you a small smile as he interlocks his fingers with yours, a sensation he loved and has missed dearly. “I,” you stutter out, “I need to message my friends.” You see him nod as you pull out your phone. You send a quick text to Aoi telling her you’re heading him early. The two of you know the building has a secret exit and the two of you take that to make your escape.

When you step into his home, your level of comfort rises as you remember the many nights you stayed at his place. Specifically in his sheets. Your phone buzzes with a message from Aoi “thanks for letting me know! You’re home now right?”

It takes you a couple of hours to respond to her text. You unwrap yourself from Byakuya as he sleeps soundly next to you. Before you finally respond, you think very briefly:

This was a bad idea, right?

[lucky-clover-gazette]

captive prince book 1 highlights & annotations

chapter 7

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Seeing no reason whatsoever to cooperate with that order, Damen stood up.

very much a “damen is not a slave” moment. this is the opposite of what they’ve been trained to do.

‘You are really courting danger tonight,’ Laurent said. ‘Am I? I thought I was appealing to your better nature. Order whatever punishment you like, from the coward’s distance of a chain-length. You and Govart are two of a kind.’

yessss, question his integrity! i love that they both get really pissed off when they’re implied to be bad people, but only by each other. it’s like they’ve mutually identified each other as their own personal moral arbiters, and couldn’t stop caring even if they tried.

Laurent transferred his gaze back to Damen and said, pleasantly, ‘Does that bother you? I recall you being free with your own hands, not so very long ago.’ ‘That was—’ Damen flushed. He wanted to deny that he’d done anything of the kind, but he remembered rather unequivocally that he had.

called out for enjoying the bath scene a little too much

‘I promise you, Govart did a great deal more than simply enjoy the view.’

vine boom so you WERE enjoying the view

‘To a slave,’ Laurent said. ‘The Prince’s Guard doesn’t interfere with the Regency. Govart can stick his cock into anything of my uncle’s he likes.’ Damen made a sound of disgust. ‘With your blessing?’ ‘Why not?’ said Laurent. His voice was honeyed. ‘He certainly had my blessing to fuck you, but it turned out he’d rather take a blow to the head. Disappointing, but I can’t fault his taste. Then again, maybe if you’d spread in the ring, Govart wouldn’t have been so hot to get inside your friend.’

context of what laurent is implying here (not what’s actually true): this is not laurent’s command or responsibility, but the regent’s. and it’s somehow damen’s fault that this happened to erasmus, because he didn’t let govart take him instead, which is what laurent had intended to happen. massive laurent ethical L on both counts. do better.

Damen said, ‘This isn’t a scheme of your uncle’s. I don’t take orders from men like Govart. You’re wrong.’ ‘Wrong,’ said Laurent. ‘How lucky I am to have servants to point out my shortcomings. What makes you think I will tolerate any of this, even if I believed what you are saying to be true?’ ‘Because you can end this conversation any time you like.’

damen won this interaction! called out laurent for clearly giving a shit, because he’s still talking!

also, craft note: great back-and-forth throughout this entire exchange

With so much at stake, Damen was sick of certain kinds of exchanges; the kind Laurent favoured, and enjoyed, and was good at. Wordplay for its own sake; words that built traps. None of it meant anything.

i have several hundred annotations that suggest otherwise

‘When someone doesn’t like you very much, it isn’t a good idea to let them know that you care about something,’ said Laurent.

context: nicaise :( and horse :( and a lot of things :(

break the cycle of abuse laurent i know you can do it

‘Would it hurt worse than a lashing for me to cut down someone you care for?’ said Laurent.

context: laurent knows, from experience, that the answer is yes

‘I don’t think I need to bring in more men,’ said Laurent. ‘I think all I have to do is tell you to kneel, and you’ll do it. Without me lifting a finger to help anyone.’ ‘You’re right,’ said Damen. ‘I can end this any time I like?’ said Laurent. ‘I haven’t even begun.’

damen won the confrontation morally, and they both know it. laurent won in practice by being intentionally immoral, and instead reminding damen that he has been given power over him that he can abuse. this is exactly what the regent has done to laurent, over and over again. sad.

Laurent said, ‘There is no bargain between us. A prince does not make deals with slaves and insects. Your promises are worth less to me than dirt. Do you understand me?’ ‘Perfectly,’ said Damen.

translation: “you win.” “i know.”

Damen rethought that particular approach. He turned over the information he’d just been given. Re-examined it. Turned it over again. ‘What changed your mind?’ Damen said, carefully.

context: maybe i’m too optimistic, but i think it’s genuinely an ethical decision on laurent’s part. there’s a strategic purpose in here, too, but that’s more of a convenience. laurent knew he was wrong, and might have even connected himself to his uncle and disliked the similarity. he doesn’t act smug when he’s doing something he doesn’t want to do, but he knows he should do this. that’s why he’s pissed at damen, but not playful about it at all. so i do think this was ultimately a “laurent was called on his bullshit, and has too much integrity not to act based on that callout” thing.

‘I’m not sure that I believe anything that you’ve just told me,’ Damen said. ‘Do you have a choice?’ ‘No.’

silver lining for laurent: re-asserts his own power and moral high ground by helping damen, instead of threatening him in a way they both know is fucked up

He has experienced things many adults have not, and his mind is no longer that of a child.

laurent would know :(

‘Is there anyone at this court who isn’t my enemy?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Laurent said.

okay this is just him being mean. it’s his enrichment 

‘So he’s tame,’ said Estienne, and reached out tentatively, as though to pat a wild animal. It was a question of which part of the animal he was patting. Damen knocked his hand away. Estienne gave a yelp and snatched his hand back, nursing it against his chest. ‘Not that tame,’ said Laurent. He didn’t reprimand Damen. He didn’t seem particularly displeased with barbaric behaviour, as long as it was directed outward. Like a man who enjoys owning an animal who will rake others with its claws but eat peacefully from his own hand, he was giving his pet a great deal of license.

they’re insane

As a result, courtiers kept one eye on Damen, giving him a wide berth. Laurent used that to his advantage, using the propensity of courtiers to fall back in reaction to Damen’s presence as a means of extricating himself smoothly from conversation. The third time this happened Damen said, ‘Shall I make a face at the ones you don’t like, or is it enough to just look like a barbarian?’ ‘Shut up,’ said Laurent, calmly.

emotional collapse animal to keep people from annoying laurent. love the banter here. damen knows that’s exactly what’s happening, and laurent is annoyed that he knows, because it makes him seem like an antisocial loser, which he is

Torveld was a handsome man in his forties

ew. leave laurent alone. he’s like half your age and he has specific trauma that makes this particularly uncomfortable

He reconciled himself to an evening of listening to Laurent lying a great deal, about everything. Laurent was a nest of scorpions in the body of one person. To hear that Akielos was weakened was as painful as Laurent must have meant it to be.

context: not entirely sold on the idea that laurent is having this conversation about akielos specifically to upset damen, but i get why damen feels that way

‘I wish we had more time together,’ said Torveld, showing no inclination to rise.

GET A JOB. STAY AWAY FROM HER

‘Nephew. You were not invited to these discussions.’ ‘And yet, here I am. It’s very irritating, isn’t it?’ said Laurent. ‘You’ve never applied yourself seriously to anything in your life.’ ‘Haven’t I? Well, then it’s nothing serious, uncle. You have no cause to worry.’

laurent applies himself seriously to most, if not all, of the things he chooses to do. regent just dislikes that laurent has a choice and uses it.

[cerastes]

I think my least favorite take, opinion, whatever you want to call it, is “why did Arknights not say the Inquisition was bad?”. It applies to any event, really, replace Inquisition with whatever the Authority Figure Organization is involved, and hell, I even agree with the sentiment sometimes, Arknights’ not flawless, but for the most part: You need to read better. You are playing the Game That Doesn’t Say Things Explicitly. It tends not to say things explicitly, turns out.

It kind of bugs me opening my inbox and seeing something to the effect of “I’m uncomfortable about Irene because she’s technically a cop, why is she not Condemned for it?” First of all, shame on your for wanting all of the art you peruse instantly moralized, to the point it needs to somehow involved a shovelful of The Opinion, served explicitly, at the drop of a hat. That aside, the Inquisition is not put on a good light to say the least, so even then the point is moot. Irene’s journey is very much seeing with her own eyes that “the Inquisition raised me, I respect and love the people I’ve met in it, as they do me, and the dogma surrounding the Inquisition is an important brick in the temple that is my life” necessarily is something that exists alongside “the Inquisition does in fact leave the imperiled to be doomed, and sees human life more as numbers and resources than human lives, the dogma is built, necessarily, on oppression of others as a means of fostering order and morale, and I’ve benefited directly from this privilege”, and that she has to make a decision. High Inquisitor Dario, her mentor and foster father, tells her as much: “Once you see things with your eyes, you have to make a decision”. Irene does in fact make her decision, leaving the Inquisition and the mentorship of The Highest Of Inquisitors, Saint Carmen himself, who was going to take her in and basically assure her a seat as a High Inquisitor in the future, because she found the latter realization to weight more than the former. In her own words, Irene decided to step away from this, because if she remained in the Inquisition, she’d only forever perpetuate the oppression on the Aegir, among other things.

Now, there’s definitely more to say about the Inquisition of Iberia, but I’m focusing on Irene here: Do you think it’d make sense for her to just suddenly have a moment of clarity, in the middle of all that fighting and struggling to stay alive, say “I’m antifa now, actually” and discard everything that has been her life until that moment just like that? If you do think so, I hope you don’t write anything soon. Your desire for catharsis is not unimportant, but the narrative shouldn’t have to accommodate for it in the most neckbreak way possible, and if you do need it to do that, then read something else, there are reads and games like that elsewhere (for example, Tales of the Abyss has the main character do an absolute 180 from one moment to another after a specific event in its story), but also do show some respect for the fact that Irene, in a way that resembles what anyone who just had her entire world view challenged not once, but twice (Under Tides and Stultifera Navis) would act, allows herself some time apart from the tension of the Big Happenings of the event, actually digest the paradigm shift, the loss of someone important to her, what to do with all the new information she has and what the experiences have taught her, and grow out from there organically. 

What I’m trying to say is that I’d rather have less “conclusive” overdone neckbreak moments of “you know what? Fuck this! Fuck you!” and maybe let the characters in any given narrative seep and stew into what happened and what happens from there on. Take, for example, Full Metal Alchemist, in which certain important characters have a real moment of “Hey... Are we... The bad guys?” that shapes the events of an entire, important part of the story long term, slowly, with the gravitas it deserves.

[melonteee]

ooooo is it garp hating hour? i know i know, grey morality and all that but i just literally cant fathom 'raising' a kid (well mostly throwing them at other people to raise just to come rough em up every few months), having them at one point ask if they deserve to live WHEN THEYRE NOT EVEN 13 YET because of someone elses actions, and then like. blaming them for their impending execution when they finally find a purpose that brings them happiness. and still acting like you loved them or truly cared for them.

especially when ace found HUNDREDS of people who loved him enough to put their lives on the line to save him AS A PIRATE, while his surrogate marine gramps literally sits there and watches.

pirates who then had enough love and honor to then ensure aces beloved little bro survives even after ace himself dies

bro. he wasnt happy at all under you. youre now THREE FOR THREE, no marines. the problem is you, garp. (and the system, but obviously)

i try to be impartial and understand where characters are coming from, but garp just... he knows too much! seen too many of the atrocities commited by marines and the world gov! he should 100% know better by this point!

garp is my breaking point baaaaaby!

(sengoku is also on thin ice but eh)

No fr you're right about all of this, Garp has an extreme victim complex to me.

"Ohhh why does my own son hate me?! Why does my grandson defy me!! Oh woe is me!! They just need to be marines!!!"

Maybe you're being a cunt towards them with your own bootlicking beliefs you STUPID!! STUPID GILF!!!! Sexy outside but a YUCKY INSIDE!!

However I think the point of Garp is he doesn't want to BELIEVE the marines are so bad to the point they're unfixable. Garp DOES see bad things in the marines, and he WANTS to fix it - but in doing so, he's made Koby! Who is now ALSO deliberately blind to the filthy ways of the marines. Koby HAS seen it (such as Captain Morgan and Akainu), and because he's following Garp's example, Koby believes he CAN fix the system from the inside with some elbow grease.

We KNOW the marines cannot be fixed from the inside, we have marines like Smoker who also know this and marches to the beat of his own drum due to how much he hates the marines and their false, taught sense of justice. Garp is even a VICE ADMIRAL and he STILL can't change whatever the hell he wanted to change!

Garp truly believes there IS justice in the marines, or justice in BEING a marine, and this is why he's such a bootlicker. He's an old man stuck in his old ways, and instead of seeing merit in or UNDERSTANDING the revolutionary army his son has started - he's decided that's the WRONG way to go about justice.

Garp believes old people are not worth saving or not welcome in the future, and in doing so, he's internalised this as an old man HIMSELF and refuses to change. It's kind of sad, but to me, Garp just doesn't want to realise he's been in the wrong his entire life.

[wildpeachfarm]

Hi! I hope you’re doing good

I’ve seen a few anons mention how it’s okay to only be here for Dream/dteam. And how a lot of the other Minecraft-based CCs are seemingly jealous of all the success Dteam have had, and think that deplatforming them will make way for us to move to their content. And I want to say I agree.

I became a fan of (dream first, then SNF) them in 2020 when it was peak Covid time. I was a sophomore in college, and my brother was in kindergarten; I was trying to find things to relate with him, and stumbled into the Minecraft sphere, cause he likes Minecraft. I was hoping to find someone current and semi-child friendly, and I stumbled upon dreams videos. I watched them first before showing them to my little brother, and after deciding I liked them, we now watch dreams videos together.

As someone who had limited access to the internet as a kid, and knows like next to nothing about Minecraft, I’m really only here for Dteam. Cause I enjoy their content and it brought my brother and I closer. If I stop being a fan of Dteam, I’m honestly probably going to just leave the Minecraft sphere altogether, considering Dteam are what’s keeping me here (not that I haven’t met some amazing people, but you get what I mean).

It’s very telling the agenda of these CCs the more I become offline and take a look at the bigger picture. I said this earlier, but their content is based on a fleeting hatred for the internets current punching bag. If they ever stop expressing hatred or, god forbid, Dteam get deplatformed, all the “fans” they think they had will be gone. Because with no common perceived enemy, there’s nothing keeping them tied to those creators. And so they’ll go back to whatever they were doing before-hand.

I wanted to extend some semblance of sympathy to these CCs, cause it’s really hard to make a career out of this, but they’re also going about it the wrong way, and my sympathy doesn’t exist anymore. If the only content you have is performative activism, then maybe you should consider a different career path.

Adding on to that, let’s say I do stop watching Dteam, or the “behind the scenes” stuff wasn’t just petty grievances. Why would I then go watch the people that have been harassing, bullying, threatening the same people I was just a fan of the entire time I was their fan? If dteams morals are so bad, what makes theirs any better? And why would I support theirs, when I wouldn’t support someone else’s bad morals? (Again, hypothetical, cause I’m still a fan and all the “bts” stuff ARE petty grievances).

They’re so blinded by their hatred and jealousy that they cannot see they’re destroying their own careers with this. There’s a reason outside of Twitter, a lot of people don’t know who these creators are, and the only reason they do is because they stick their noses everywhere.

It’s become apparent the last few weeks that outside of Twitter- where their core fanbase IS NOT- people are seeing these CCs for what they are and it’s driving them away from any content they might produce. They’re driving away potential fans acting like this, and they can’t even see it, cause they’re so focused on dteam (mainly dream). Maybe focus on your own career, before trying to take down someone else’s, especially when you have nothing career-ending over them.

So again, why would I stop being a fan of people I liked for so long, and stuck around for the good, bad, ugly, and sometimes dangerous (gotta love doxxing /sar), to immediately go be a fan of people that contributed to the absolute onslaught of horrid treatment of the people I was a fan of? It doesn’t make sense.

Unlike them, I’m not going to compromise my morals and make a big public spectacle to then privately do the opposite. I dropped Wilbur after Shelby came out with her story. I was more than willing to drop Dream if his allegations were proven correct, and the same goes for George. That’s what these CCs don’t understand. I’m a human first before I’m a fan. And that humanity stays with me wherever my interests take me.

Sorry it’s so long; I know you probably have a lot of asks. But still appreciate you taking the time to read this anyway.

Have a good day, my favorite source of tea!

-L :)

Thank you for sharing L ! I think you bring up some very good points about consuming content/CCs and just Being A Person

[anulithots]

Nobara realizes that Itadori isn't really a hoodie guy.

And she cannot stand for that.

*intro music starts playing*

~JJK fashion show episode~

Nobara drags him and Megumi along for a shopping trip to find Itadori's sense of style.

(Technically Megumi and Itadori always join along with Nobara's shopping trips. Itadori goes along for fun of it + knick knacks + food and ends up having to carry all of Nobara's bags.

Megumi silently goes along, looks at a few things, shies away from attention as much as possible, before strolling through the pet store and buying nothing. Itadori often takes a break and joins Megumi for a little while before the trio meets up again.)

This time she had to drag along Itadori, and she told Megumi he had to help.

Insert an entire fashion montage. (If you know more about fashion than I do please let me know ideas)

Itadori eventually has to deal with his indeciveness, making a decision for himself....

... or he pretends to like whatever Nobara recommends after a lot of 'I don't see what's wrong with hoodies!' (depending on the trajectory I guess... if this is cannon compliant it would be this option.)

Nobara huffs. "Gojo picked your uniform, that's what's wrong! We're not letting that idiot chose your style." She pauses. "Chose something for yourself for once."

Itadori, not wanting to confront this, not minding others making decisions for him, never wanting to acknowledge his own decisions... or lack of them, randomly picks a hawaiian shirt.

Nobara scoffs. "That?!"

Itadori sighs. "I thought you said I could chose?"

"That...is actual garbage. Itadori, I will not be associated with actual garbage. Have some self-respect."

(Sukuna laughs, somewhere in the recesses.)

__________________

Megumi narrowly avoids getting a fashion show himself after buying a shoes to appease Nobara ('I'm using Gojo's credit card so we're all getting something! Even you Fushiguro!")

Itadori hides from Nobara with him. "She isn't satisfied with anything because 'I'm just going along with what she's saying'"

Fushiguro nods, looking at rabbit treats. "You did this to yourself."

Itadori wants to change the subject, almost asks Fushiguro why he comes to pet stores without buying anything....

Nobara bursts through the doors, and the store seems to darken with her entrance. Itadori yelps and tries to hide behind Fushiguro. Fusiguro is also trying to hide. A lot of hiding. None of it sucessful.

(Itadori isn't used to being on the receiving end of this. Usually him and Nobara tease Fusiguro together. He kind of hates this switch of dynamics.... He's supposed to help people. Not be helped.)

Nobara drags Itadori (and Fushiguro has to follow along because now people are staring.) back to the stores... where they bump into none other than:

"So my credit card didn't get stolen. Great news!"

(Gojo knew since the beginning and just came along now because he's having a rough - *cough* lonely and thinking about Suguru *cough* - day)

and from here......

I'd imagine that there would be another 'episode' where Gojo offers to help Nobara find the Bakery Saori liked (because he's the 'self-certified expert on sweets and sweet places').

Meanwhile Itadori and Fushiguro get to have some ~quality bonding time~ (I really really like Itadori and Fusiguro's morality dilemmas, so probably something about that... and maybe they get a bunny or smth. Just saying.)

Let me know if that's something you'd like to see and/or if you'd like me to write this in actual prose.

_________

hi! @mylee-sketches, @justrustandstardust, @bygeto. I'd like to know your thoughts/ideas for this rough sketch if possible, thanks <3 /not forced.

[funnyscienceman]

my favorite favorite favorite part about the singed = corin reveck thing is the fucking nier shadowlord of it all. the fact that it would mean singed had a hand in the creation of not one, but *two* characters whose stories are about doing good or trying to do good and losing (or risking losing) their humanity in the process.

orianna not giving two shits if going down to zaun might hurt her. not regretting it one bit, just immediately working her ass off to save her own life, and then just giving her dying dad the last piece of her physical humanity —her HEART — whether he wanted it or not.

viktor not giving a damn about piltover, about jayce, going fuck it all even if it might hurt. going through with the glorious evolution, turning himself into a fucking machine — to save himself, to help others. the fact that he was SO READY to throw in the towel and let himself die after what happened to sky.

it's the idea that SINGED played a pivotal role in these two's formative years — singed, as in the guy who'd burn a person's home to the ground and kill their mother just so he could experiment on them. the guy who'd torture his test subjects half to death if they didn't cooperate. the guy willing to keep a dying animal on excruciating life support just for his own research. it's the fact that he can do, has done, and will continue to do all these horrible things with not even a *shred* of remorse — and also still pick up a child's lost toy and return it to them, asking with genuine interest, "you built this? why aren't you playing with the others?"

i really don't know how to articulate this without going in circles, but like. the fact that he's only in it for himself is EVERYTHING. how people just keep going to him for help and he is NOTHING but unequivocally honest. he'll do the thing. he'll give you the drug, or save your dying daughter, or whatever the hell else. he'll warn them, and then leave them to make their own decision.

"Sometimes death is a mercy," he warns Silco. Silco says back, "She can take it," so alright. If you say so. Not my problem.

"I must warn you, if you take this path, they will despise you. Love and legacy are the sacrifices we make for progress. It's why I parted ways with Heimerdinger."

"Jayce will understand," Viktor says.

Singed doesn't even rebuke him, put him down, nothing. Just a simple, "Perhaps." An, "Eh, maybe. Only one way to find out ig"

(He doesn't even make Viktor pay him back, btw. He doesn't say a thing about him running away all those years ago. Unless for some fucking reason that was omitted, but i'm choosing to take s1 as-is here, disregarding s2 entirely)

He DOESN'T CARE about anyone else, is the thing. He could not give any less of a shit beyond whatever he or they have obligated to each other. He doesn't hold Viktor running away against him. He doesn't fight back against silco holding a fucking knife to his neck beyond glancing between him and it and just plainly answering his questions. (He has his pinkie out when holding stuff like bottles and i think that's the funniest piltie shit ever)

So like it makes PERFECT SENSE and also NO SENSE that he's significantly responsible for possibly the most moral Piltover champion (Orianna) and the most moral 'bad guy' from Zaun (Viktor). Both of whom are humans-turned-machines, while — possible chem augments aside — he himself is still pretty much entirely human. The fact that he's the most inhumane among the three of them.

It's like Vik and Ori took after the 'going all the way to the ends of the earth for your goal' part of him, the 'i am well aware of the circumstances and have decided fuck it we ball' part of him, and disregarded his apathy entirely. acting *against* it, sometimes, going behind his back to help a chemical disaster in zaun, even if he's already forbidden it. shutting down all of your own efforts to save your life after it kills someone who isn't you.

giving him your heart, even if he quite possibly didn't want it. Not even giving him room to make a choice, never talking to him about it, never bringing it up. Ori realizes there's no other option and just. Does It.

I. Have lost my mind over this fucking character fmekdjdjc (i am so worried for season 2)

[mangoisms]

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter six: i'll be the dangerous ledge | read chapter five

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 3.6k

━ warnings: usual canon-typical violence, the joker is mentioned, brief discussion of a hostage situation, as well as mentioned death of adults and children (just mentioned, however)

━ masterlist

━ end notes

You get a reminder email about your pottery class midway through the next week.

You had forgotten about it entirely, to be honest.

But the reminder brings your previous thought about inviting Tim to the forefront of your mind. 

You still hesitate, though you do not know why. He tends to take the initiative on activities you two do, like the baseball game next week, the thought of which still makes your chest fill with warm fuzzies. 

Maybe it’s because it’s… your thing. He’s seen the stuff you’ve made, sure, but… no one has ever actually gone with you to a class.

(Or maybe, a voice like your brother’s says matter-of-factly in your head, it’s because you think asking him will be too similar to asking him out on a date.)

Maybe. Probably. Most likely. 

But that’s silly. You know that. You’re friends. 

Nothing more. 

(And the thought aches like it usually does, but it assuages some of your nerves, too, at the thought of asking. Because it wouldn’t be misinterpreted. No, not at all.)

You still deliberate, though, probably for too long, but it’s fine because Tim seems distracted, too. News breaks of him stepping away from WE and people have all sorts of thoughts and feelings about it, of course. 

You think they should focus on the new level of craziness unfolding in the city since Red Robin was announced to be stepping down, but whatever. He says he doesn’t care what they think, that he isn’t paying attention, but you think he must be, with how tired he seems sometimes. 

(This is accompanied with some fresh bruises, some new aches and pains, a renewed exhaustion, of course, but bone-deep, like the kind of exhaustion after a long time. But like always, he says he is okay. 

When you ask, he says he’s taking some self-defense classes. More attention from the news surrounding him equals more potential danger. It… makes sense but something about it still doesn’t sit right with you.)

Either way, your flip-flopping ultimately comes to a head on Friday, the day of the class.

Tim drops you off, since heavy rain is forecasted for the day and while you did in fact manage to survive biking to school when it was raining prior to your friendship with him, it doesn’t mean it was, in any way, fun or pleasant. So, you don’t say no.

It’s easier, you find, to accept his kindness, to accept his offers for help. Easier with each day that passes to realize he is simply trying to make your life easier and that it’s not some kind of commentary on your ability to take care of yourself.

He does worry, sometimes, but you think that is inevitable. God knows you worry about him, too. Turnabout is fair play and all that. 

So, this is fine. 

What happens later is not. 

The Joker, who had previously broken out of Arkham Asylum and was unaccounted for by the GCPD and the Bats, finally made his appearance at a bank a mere five blocks away from Gotham Pointe. He promptly held everyone hostage for several hours.

You would later learn it was not for money, but simply because he ‘hadn’t seen Batman around lately.’ 

Whatever. You don’t pretend to understand why people like him do what they do and you don’t want to. The Joker’s been terrorizing this city for nearly as long as Batman’s been working here. Trying to understand why he does what he does is a useless cause. And as far as you’re concerned, there is nothing, nothing, in the world that could justify the things that he has done, the blood that he has spilled. You’ve heard rumblings about his whole ‘one bad day’ thing and you think it’s a load of shit. 

One bad day and you lose it like the Joker? Well, all that means is you have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair. So, you know. Whatever.

Either way, it was a tense situation, one that landed the school in lockdown for the remainder of the school day. 

It is… standard procedure to lock down the school if anything usual is going on near it. But of course, this is Gotham, and something unusual is usually always happening somewhere. So, there are limits, limits as to when, who, what, and why would cause the school to shut down. 

If it’s the Condiment King, nothing will happen. What’s the worst he can do? Stain a couple uniforms?

Of course, this is not to say anyone is eager to let someone like him in close proximity with the kids at all. But if he’s causing trouble at, say, the 7-Eleven a few blocks from here, they aren’t going to lockdown the school.

The school is already thoroughly well-protected with its plexiglass windows that are, in fact, bulletproof and have metal sliding that come down during lockdowns, hidden metal detectors at each entrance that scan those that come in, along with regularly-patrolling security guards, generously paid by WE.

Sounds like a prison, right? Well. They did their best, when building the school, to hide all those things. The public knows but you don’t imagine they know the full extent like you and the staff do. Like that the metal slidings could withstand a bomb, if needed. 

No, that’s not something you broadcast. 

This is all to say that, even with that, you can’t be too careful with certain individuals.

And if it’s the Joker, who, when he is out of Arkham long enough, regularly threatens to blow up the schools in the city… well. That’s all that needs to be said, right?

Five blocks. That’s it. 

It’s tense because not only is he holding so many people hostage, but because the school is only five blocks away. No one wants to give him any ideas. No one wants to risk anything.

So, you, Ms. C, and fourth period end up sitting in the classroom, lights off, doors locked, backs pressed against the walls, for several hours.

The metal slidings on the windows effectively cut out the light. Not that there was much today, the sky overcast with dark clouds just waiting to pour at the right minute. 

You are a little bit worried, by nature, but Ms. C is cool as a cucumber. And the kids are fine, too. Gotham natives, they are not phased by much, which is… sad, in a way, but helpful, you suppose, in times like these.

Standard procedure demands that you do not talk at all but it’s, like, three hours of this, so that doesn’t last very long. They do keep their voices down to whispers, though, giggling softly among each other. 

You don’t do much other than shush a few who get too loud and count the minutes as they pass. Halfway through, some of the kids start to doze off. You don’t blame them. Sitting still and not doing anything at all makes you sleepy, too. 

But ultimately, all of you are fine. The school is untouched by the time the police apprehend the Joker and free the hostages. But you later learn that multiple people had died — shot, by him, of course, in his final moments of freedom before he was taken down. 

It’s a harrowing kind of loss of life that is, unfortunately, common here. Names are memorialized, bodies are buried, a rogue goes to prison, then they break out, and it happens all over again. 

Still, you feel vaguely off-kilter as you and Ms. C send off the kids to their parents, who hold them tight despite their whines about the affection. 

Some kind of emotion rises up in you and you cross your arms, looking away. 

“You should go,” Ms. C says, sounding, for once, present in the moment. 

“Sorry?”

She nods towards the doors. “Get back to class and turn on your phone. I’m sure some people are worried for you.”

“Right,” you say, hesitating, then nodding. “Thanks. I’ll see you on Monday.”

A dip of her head, then her hazel eyes are back on the kids. Police officers stand nearby. Lazing, more like, leaned against patrol cars, smoking cigarettes and exchanging jokes with each other. You roll your eyes when you turn away. They should be more vigilant, but as a general rule, the police are not reliable. And here in Gotham? Simple wastes of space and taxpayer money, you think. 

You get back to the class, grabbing your things from your desk that sits opposite of hers. Another part of the procedure for lockdowns is that phones remain off. There are, of course, exceptions and those are likely self-explanatory, but in most cases, if not in immediate danger, then they need to be off. No need to cause panic and all that.

Turning on your phone reveals several missed calls from your parents and brother. Some from a few hours ago when lockdown started, then from a couple minutes ago. You are… admittedly disappointed to see only a single missed call from Tim, from a few hours ago. 

But at the same time, he is a logical sort of guy. If he called you when the lockdown started and you didn’t pick up, you imagine he must’ve concluded your phone was off and saw no use in calling you again. He was sharp like that. 

Though, now that the Joker was arrested and the hostages were free and it no doubt made the news…

You shake your head. It’s silly to worry over something like that. Especially with what happened today.

You pack your stuff and give your parents a call, soothing their fears. Your brother is with them, too, all of them worried out of their minds. They figured out quickly that Gotham Pointe is only a couple blocks away from the bank. 

“— just scary. I mean, don’t you…” your dad trails off and you understand what he didn’t say. Don’t you want to come back already?

“Working in a school in this country is dangerous as a general rule,” you say gently. “So, it wouldn’t change much, would it?”

“Wouldn’t change much? At least — at least we don’t have the Joker! Or Scarecrow! Or Two-Face or Black Mask or —“

You cut off your dad. “I get it. But… I just… I don’t know.”

“You could get hurt,” your mom says, disapproval clear in her voice.

“I can take care of myself, Mom.”

“Not against people like the Joker,” she responds tightly. 

You sigh heavily, pushing open the doors that lead out to the employee parking lot. Overhead, dark, angry grey clouds hide away the sun. Sharp winds tug at you, warning of the oncoming storm. Already, a few droplets of rain land on your face. Gotham, upset at the loss of life. Or maybe knowing it would happen, with how the sky has been like this since you woke up. And now that it’s happened, she’s ready to let it go. 

“I don’t want to argue about this today, guys. People died. I know. But I’m fine, okay? Let’s just focus on that…” You trail off a little abruptly, your eyes doing a preliminary scan of the parking lot — a habit you’ve picked up since living here — and you jolt to a stop as you spot Tim and his car, with him leaned on the hood, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“How are you getting home?” your brother asks, changing the subject.

“Tim,” you say distractedly — both an answer and an involuntary call to the person in question; his head lifts and even if there is quite some distance between you, your heart clenches at the look on his face. “And he’s here right now. I need to go.”

They sense the urgency in your voice and let you go with warnings to be careful and to tell them when you get back. You agree distractedly, starting for him. He does the same. 

Tim looks… Well, he looks exhausted. The wrinkle between his brows is present as ever but deeper today, accompanied with this… harrowing look in his eyes that makes your heart ache. 

He says your name as he nears you, relief dripping from the vowels, along with something else that makes your throat tighten. You shoulder off your bag, dropping it to the ground just as he tugs you into his arms, holding you so tightly it edges on painful.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. 

So, you wrap your arms around him, too, hugging him back as tightly as you can, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” you whisper.

He doesn’t say anything, just presses his face to your hair and takes a deep breath. 

You two stay like that for a while. Long enough for you to think something else must be bothering him. Or maybe not. You don’t know, don’t know how to contextualize what happened today. The school was fine. It was just a precaution. There was a chance the Joker could’ve set his sights on you but the same could be said for any of the other places in the area.

You can’t help but think of Ms. C, too, a Gotham native, someone who’s lived here her whole life; how she was… mostly unbothered throughout everything. Even when the call came from the office, letting her — and you — what was going on. That the danger wasn’t imminent, exactly, but the threat of it was real enough to keep the school in lockdown for the second part of the school day. 

Tim is a Gotham native, too. Born and raised. 

But you suppose that doesn’t have to mean anything. That people have different ways of handling different things. 

You don’t have an issue with it. You don’t. You’re just… worried. About him. 

You constantly worry about him. About how tired he gets sometimes, about the mysterious bruises he sports, about the days where he is subdued and quiet, carrying the burden of something you cannot see or understand. It’s not work, it’s not his family, it’s not his friends, it’s something else. You aren’t stupid. You notice it, you notice every little thing because he is someone you pay attention to, because he means too much to you for you to dismiss the little stuff that picks at you. 

Even if he says it’s nothing. 

Especially because he says it’s nothing.

(Because you know it is a lie.)

“Tim,” you whisper, voice muffed by his shirt. 

He bends further, seeming to curl himself around you, his face dropping to your neck. You hold onto him, shivers racing down your spine at the warm exhale of air against the sensitive skin of your neck, at the faintest brush of warm lips. 

Something occurs to you and you stiffen up in his arms. He loosens his grip abruptly, but you hold onto him, pressing closer, the thought, the realization choking you.

“Tim, you weren’t there, right? You weren’t — the bank — Joker —”

He tightens his hold again, in an instant. But it takes him a second to answer. A horrible, horrible second, full of anticipation.

“No,” he finally mumbles, practically shaping the words into your skin with how close he is, how his face is tucked into your neck; heat swallows you whole, the touch of him overwhelming, distracting, with the fragrant scent of eucalyptus. It takes concerted effort to focus on his words and if he notices how you lean more of your weight onto him, your knees a little weak, he doesn’t say anything.

Not about that, anyhow, not as he continues speaking in the next second. 

“No, I wasn’t. I was at home. I was… You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, reaching up to slide your fingers into his hair, giving into an impulse, a want, a desire, that has plagued you so frequently; the wish to sink your fingers into the soft strands of hair. To see if they are as soft as they look. 

Now, your fingers gliding along silky-soft strands of dark hair, you find they are.

He shivers. He must be cold. With the storm on the horizon, temperatures are lower than usual and the increasingly sharp winds don’t help. 

You ignore your own shiver that wants to break out at the feel of a sharp exhale of breath on your neck. 

“Come on,” you murmur, fingers reluctantly sliding away from his hair and to his shoulder, rubbing small circles there. “Let’s get to the car, okay?”

Tim moves back slowly, almost reluctantly, but he doesn’t unwind his arms from your waist, keeping your bodies close as he looks down at you. The blue in his eyes is more stormy than calm, turmoil obvious. Over what, you aren’t certain.

His brows furrow sharply again. You can’t help yourself. 

Strands of hair brush the backs of your fingers, fingertips lightly skimming his forehead as your thumb finds the wrinkle between his brows. It smooths out instantly under your touch. The look in his eyes makes your stomach swoop like you missed a step. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, reaching up to take your hand in his. Then he’s — leaning —

It takes considerable effort to keep your breathing measured as he leans his forehead against yours. 

More than anything else, though, it feels… terribly vulnerable. Mostly for him.

Nothing more is said. 

Not when he finally pulls back and leans down to pick up your bag, not when the two of you slide into the car, just as the skies open up and the rain pours, lightning arcing through the sky, earth-shaking rumbles of thunder following after. 

Traffic is congested around the bank, leaving you to take the long way round, though that still takes a while, with all the traffic of those leaving work and the general chaos of the area. 

Tim is quiet throughout most of it. 

He has the local radio on, though a few taps of his finger to the expensive touchscreen display switches it to satellite, to GNN.

“— confirmation that six people died at the bank, shot and killed by the Joker right before Red Robin was able to apprehend him. Two of those who died were, sadly, children. Police believe there were no connections between the victims and the Joker.”

You swallow. You hadn’t heard anything about two of the victims being kids…

Rain drums on the windshield. Tim white-knuckles the steering wheel, jaw set, staring ahead, his gaze darker than before.

You switch it back to the local station. He doesn’t stop you.

And after another moment of hesitation, you reach for him, brushing your fingers over his right hand clenched around the wheel. His knuckles sport a few scars, which you can feel, raised, bumpy skin, scars silvery compared to the pale of his skin. 

After a second, his fingers unclench from the steering wheel and you loop yours through his, pulling it into your lap. Your other hand covers his, thumb stroking back and forth. 

The car rolls to a stop at a red light. He takes a deep breath. He still doesn’t look at you, but you catch the deepening of the furrow between his brows, the twitch of the muscles around his mouth until his lips part, like he is about to speak. But in the next moment, he thinks better of it. 

You can’t deny your curiosity but you know better than to pry. 

Neither of you speak, or move, until you arrive at Rose Oaks. 

Protected from the pouring rain and sharp winds in the parking garage, it is quiet after he shuts off the car. 

You hold onto his hand, squeezing it, your other hand pausing in the ministrations of stroking the back of his hand. 

“So,” you start. “It’s… maybe a little in bad taste but I have a class tonight…”

He shakes his head minutely. “You should go. The Joker’s off the streets. Not that all the danger is gone but…” he lets out a sharp exhale, glaring out the windshield, a sullen look on his face. “At least he is out of the picture.”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s just that…” 

He finally looks at you, gaze softening. “I can drive you there, if you want.”

You smile faintly at where his head went at your hesitation. “It’s not that. It’s just, for this class, they said we could bring someone with us. I can’t say it’s… totally selfless, mostly because if we take someone, we get an extra slot for the kiln for today’s class and they also get one. But… I think you should come. It’s — it can be therapeutic. And after everything today…”

His eyes lower to your clasped hands, thumb sliding over the back of yours. “I’m not very artistic.”

“Don’t have to be. You don’t have to create an exact replica of the, I dunno, Millennium Falcon —” he smiles, which is what you wanted “— it can just be anything. I mean, honestly, you don’t even have to make anything. They have some pre-made stuff you can paint. Or if you wanna channel your inner six-year-old and mess with the clay, that’s cool, too. Literally no one is going to judge. A lot of people go to the classes for a lot of different reasons.”

He takes a long moment to think about it.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles. 

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll try it out.”

“It’ll be fun,” you promise. 

You’ll try your best to make it so.

Or at the very least, to get his mind off everything. 

If anything else, you think, no matter about you, you want that. 

You always want to ease his burdens if you can. Even if you don’t know what they are. But right now, in this moment, as he seems so weighed down, it is the strongest you’ve ever felt. 

Something like protectiveness. A wish to hide him from the bad of the world. To give him a break, a place to relax. 

You don’t know if it’s possible, if it’ll even work, but…

You have to try. 

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