#like who's idea was this and who approved it??????

[sonrium]

That second point yanked Batman instantly and unwillingly by the throat to Phantom's side.

He couldn't speak out knowing the rest of the League wouldn't approve, so he let the discussion run its course, and Phantom was naturally denied.

But Batman is nothing if not thorough, and compiling DNA profiles would also help with contingencies. So Batman discretely reaches out after the meeting to give Phantom his personal permission as long as he provides the DNA samples and that Phantom understands that Batman cannot publicly defend him, but he will mitigate the consequences behind the scenes.

After another biting incident when Phantom is getting lectured by Superman:

"Phantom, you can't keep doing this. This is your last warning. Criminals or not, it's never okay to bite people just because you want to. Control yourself, or you might have to rethink your place in the Justice League."

Phantom staring at his feet and genuinely worried that he might get kicked out. He didn't think it was that big a deal.

Batman walks up and simply states. "He is controlling himself."

"Batman, you call that control? I'm trying to be understanding, but Phantom is biting criminals more than ever."

"Are they still breathing?"

"I don't see how-"

"Are their limbs still attached?"

"What are you-?"

Batman gives Superman a hard look to stop him mid question. "Acording to Constantine, ghosts from the Infinite Realms are creatures that should be avoided at all costs due to their extremely volatile nature. Generally, it's a death sentence to ever encounter one."

Superman turned to the child he'd been scolding, shocked that any of that could possibly be true about his colleague. The same colleague, who was so gentle he almost cried when he accidently killed a spider in the dining hall. "Is that true?"

Danny, glancing up but unable to meet Superman's eyes, "Yea-yeah. Intense violence is actually how most ghosts socialize. Regrowing limbs isn't a big deal for ghosts, so they tend to forget how fragile humans are."

Batman continues with his explanation, "In the Infinite Realms, ghosts have evolved to attack anything that moves as a defense due to how hostile the environment is. Everything from the plants to the very ground could attack at any moment. Their version of compassion is controlling their instincts before the killing blow. The fact that Phantom rarely attacks anybody is a testament to his constant and vigillent self-control."

Danny finally meets Superman's eyes and they are nothing but pools of liquid innocence and shame about his very being. "I'm sorry... I'm doing my best, but my ghost instincts are really hard to control, especially when emotions are high and we are carching bad guys, and I can't help but bite. But I promise, I will never let it go any farther than that."

Intense guilt washes over Superman. He knew how seriously Phantom took his promises. He had no idea he was asking Phantom to go against his very nature. Did Phantom have to hold himself back right now? Superman knew a thing or two about how scarily fragile human bodies were to someone like him. He couldn't imagine having instincts that screamed at him to attack anything that moved on top of that.

Batman turned to his old friend with a disapproving stare. "Maybe learn a thing or two before you judge our nonhuman members. I expected better from you."

Superman placed his hands on Phantom's shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Do the best you can. We can figure out the rest together. Please forget everything I said earlier."

Danny with hope sparking in his eyes, "Are you sure? I know im not perfect, but I want to stay. I really like it here, and I really like helping people."

"Of course. I'll let the others know." Superman walks away down the hall, and out of sight.

Danny grinned, lifted his eyebrows, and nodded toward where Superman ran off to convey his thanks for the save.

Batman gave a quick nod and a tiny, barely there smile of his own. He spoke aloud for the one with superhearing that was definitely still listening, "I apologize for any offense you may have taken. Know that the sentiments of Superman are not shared by the rest of us."

Danny pulled the zip lock baggie out of his pocket and silently handed it to Batman with a grin. It had a napkin smeared with the blood of Danny's most recent biting victim labeled in Sharpie. Danny responded in a wobbly voice that did not match his mischivous grin, "Thanks." He added a sniffle for effect. "I needed to hear that. I'm really doing the best I can, but i guess people dont see it that way."

After this incident, Superman became Danny's biggest defender against the biting accusations.

Danny Phantom, who as far as the Justice League knew was a normal ghost, was presenting a pointpoint in front of the rest of the League. The presentation says, "Why I should be allowed to bite criminals: 1, because I am not human and cannot catch any of your filthy human diseases. 2, because it would allow us to compile DNA samples from the criminals of the world to compare with during crime scene investigation. 3, Fuck you."

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

[sweetpupii]

oh, she does both and gets so mean with it too </3

thank god cait's uniform has pockets to hide the pink vibrator remote because she's planning on using it during the whole ceremony. yeah, yeah, guard the stage, look out for any suspicious people and whatever… she's far too focused on the way you fidget with the fabric of your uniform as you look around, squirming a little in a way that makes her look down to hold back a small giggle. not wanting to draw attention to herself.

sneaky little shit, got as far away from you as possible to not hear any complaints.

she just wasn't having it today. no amount of whining and puppy dog eyes you give could get her to back down. hopefully that'll teach you to stop getting on her last nerve at the most inopportune times.

keeping her in bed for longer than necessary because 'you were cold’ on a sunny and nowhere near cold morning, the little touches under her nightgown with those coy eyes that hid your true intentions ( or so you thought because she can read you like an open book by now. ), the gentle kisses and bites on her neck that quickly turned heated and ended up with a couple hickeys that were a pain to cover before arriving at the gala. late.

we're you dumb or did you really think she'd be nice enough to wait until you guys got to her bedroom to turn on the vibrator?

either way, you might regret agreeing to her little idea.

more people are starting to arrive but her duty is to be there and intervene only if something bad happens so she can keep having fun while you pat down people to let them in with a forced, polite smile. you shift on your feet, pretending to adjust the holster at your thigh. It’s an innocent enough motion to anyone watching, but caitlyn knows better.

her thumb grazes the remote in her pocket, toggling the setting up one notch higher. a quick glance in your direction tells her all she needs to know: the way your head dips slightly, teeth pressing into your bottom lip as your hand briefly grips the table for balance. you recover quickly, but not before her eyes catch the faint tremble in your legs.

perfect.

when she finally makes her way over to you, the calm authority in her tone betrays none of her mischief. “I’ll be taking her to assist with another entrance.” she tells the nearby guard, who barely spares a glance before nodding in approval.

her hand is warm and steady on your lower back as she leads you away, her grip firm enough to keep you from protesting. not that you could form a coherent argument right now, not with your mind clouded by the relentless buzzing and caitlyn’s touch.

she is not taking you to the other entrance, she's obviously taking you backstage to an empty room.

immediately closing the door, leaning her body weight against it just in case, pulling out the remote from her pocket to turn it up. the buzzing in between your legs now louder and definitely more overwhelming.

“fuck, cait, I'm sorry—” the quiver in your voice, the way you had to lean onto the desk behind you to hold yourself up while your knees trembled and threatened to give up made something flutter in caitlyn's belly, damn.

“sorry?” she repeats, her tone silky but laced with mockery. she holds up the remote in one hand, her thumb hovering over the button as if she was hesitating. “darling, you’re always sorry. but somehow, you never learn.”

she presses the button, and the buzzing between your legs ramps up another level, sharp and insistent. your breath catches, and your knees almost buckle at the sensation. “cait—caitlyn, please,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper, clear desperation.

“you had so much to say earlier this morning,” the enforcer pointed out with a soft laugh, taking a step closer. her free hand reaches out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet her eyes. “is my name all you can manage to say now? how funny.”

your thighs clench together in a futile attempt to dull the vibration, but it only makes it worse. heat blooms in your cheeks, spreading down your neck, as you bite your lip to muffle the whimper threatening to escape. she notices—of course, she does—and leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a rather sloppy kiss.

she wasn't supposed to kiss you, she never does when trying to teach a lesson but she couldn't resist this time... sigh.

“no need to hold back,” she murmurs against your lips, “we’re alone here.”

“i can't...” you manage, your voice breaking. tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the overwhelming pleasure inside you.

“yes, you can,” she says firmly, one hand brushes along your side, a grounding touch that only makes the intensity more acute. “you always can.”

she watches you intently, taking in every shudder, every gasp, every tremble of your legs as you struggle to stay upright. her chest swells with satisfaction at the sight of you, undone and helpless under her control.

when your legs finally give out, she catches you effortlessly; pulling you close, stroking your back to let you pant against her shoulder, trailing soft kisses down your jaw as she presses the button to turn the vibrator off…only to start it back at the lowest setting.

“don't look at me like that,” caitlyn whispers, a tiny ( cruel. ) smile playing at her lips as she guides you down to the chair. “you already had your fun in the morning, am I not allowed to do the same?”

[kngrose]

Could you do yandere head cannons for Caitlyn from arcane?

yandere headcanons: caitlyn, jayce, victor, vander

WARNINGS: implied stalking, implied drugging, infantilization, coercion, general unhealthy behaviors

AN: sooooo many requests for these guys ^^

caitlyn protective type

She wasn’t always this way. It was an accident that caused something in her to change.  The bullet had just barely grazed her, a close call, but one that made her realize just how fragile everything could be. It wasn't the pain that lingered in her body, but the sense of terror that gripped her heart when she thought she might never see you again. What if it were you instead– what if the bullet didn’t just graze you? What if it went through you instead?

She was already drawn to you, but after that brush with death, Caitlyn’s feelings became something she couldn’t ignore anymore. The idea of losing you—someone who had become her rock—became a constant, gnawing presence in her mind. She had survived countless dangers before, but the thought of you slipping away was far worse.

It wasn’t long before Caitlyn started showing up more often. She would check in on you regularly, whether you were in the office or just at home, her presence now a familiar yet unspoken thing. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright," she’d say, though you couldn’t recall ever needing to be checked on. At first, it seemed like genuine concern, but soon, you began to notice how her eyes would linger just a little too long, and how her posture seemed tense when you weren’t near. 

Her love, while seemingly genuine, would feel smothering at times, as if she can’t let you out of her sight for too long. She might start showing up unexpectedly, always with an excuse, but slowly turning up at your most inconvenient times. Caitlyn might resort to more extreme measures. She might manipulate situations to make you think you're in danger or that you can only trust her. She’d plant lies, create paranoia, and twist things so you decide to seclude yourself more. 

Caitlyn can’t just simply be a part of your life—she’d want to control it. She would subtly start dictating where you go and, who you interact with.  You’d feel like you have no room to breathe without her approval. 

 The near-death experience had cracked something inside of her. Caitlyn needed reassurance—not just that you were safe, but that you weren’t going anywhere. She began to ask, almost obsessively, if you were sure you were happy with her, if she was doing enough for you, if you felt as though you were being properly protected. Her doubts about her own ability to protect you made her needier, more insistent on showing that she could keep you safe from the chaos that threatened your world.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You’d awoken in the middle of the night to her staring down at you in the dark bedroom. It was weird— had she been watching you sleep? Her voice was soft but heavy with something unspoken. The question hung in the air, and you could see the hint of panic in her eyes. She had always been so composed, so controlled, but this new Caitlyn—this Caitlyn who had almost lost you—was breaking down those walls.

 Her jealousy would flare when she saw you interacting with others, especially anyone who showed a hint of interest in you. Caitlyn couldn’t help it. Her need to keep you safe extended to wanting to keep others away, ensuring that no one else would get too close to you. Her envy would manifest in small ways—like an extra long hug when you returned to her side, a slightly tighter grip on your hand in public. When someone else laughed with you, Caitlyn would withdraw slightly, her smile turning into something forced. “Don’t get too close to them,” she’d murmur later when you were alone, her tone carrying a mix of fear and a protective sharpness. It was as though her love for you had warped into something far darker.

She’d say things like, “You don’t need to do anything without me. I’m here to help you,” and you’d find it difficult to refuse, because behind her words was a certain pleading—an unspoken desperation for you not to pull away from her.

Her emotional dependence on you grew stronger with each passing day. Caitlyn would assure you that she wasn’t trying to control you, but her actions spoke otherwise. She couldn’t stand the idea of you slipping away from her, of you finding comfort in anyone else. You were hers to protect, and no one would ever take you from her.

On the flip side, Caitlyn's loyalty would be unwavering. If you ever found yourself in danger or in need of help, she’d stop at nothing to make sure you were okay, even if it meant making dangerous choices or going against her moral compass. In her mind, you're hers, and she'll do anything to keep you safe, even if it’s at the expense of others.

 The first time she almost lost you, Caitlyn had been ready to tear the world apart to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Now, her obsession had grown to the point where it wasn’t about safety anymore—it was about ownership. You had become her entire world, the one thing that mattered above all else.

The question was no longer how could she keep you safe. It became how could she keep you with her? She couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping through her fingers.

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” she whispered one night, her hand trembling slightly as she held you. Her eyes searched your face, looking for something that would assure her, reassure her, make her believe that you wouldn’t leave her alone in a world that felt far too dangerous without you.

You could see the vulnerability in her gaze, the fear, and the obsession lurking just beneath the surface. Caitlyn had changed. Her love for you had become a tether, a need, a consuming thing that had overtaken every part of her. And now, she needed to make sure you would never walk away.

It wasn’t just about love anymore. It was about control. It was about keeping you close, locked in her world, never letting go.

jayce fixating type

After the breakup, Jayce’s world shattered in a way he had never anticipated. For so long, he had been consumed by his work, his passion for Hextech and its potential to change the world, that he hadn’t noticed the growing distance between him and the one person who had once been his emotional anchor. His heart had been so tied to his inventions, to the pursuit of progress, that he never imagined he could lose the one thing that mattered to him more than anything—her.

When you broke up with him, it felt like the ground beneath his feet had crumbled away. The calm, steady hand that had always guided him through his struggles was suddenly gone. He tried to reason with you at first, to explain that Hextech was not just a project, but a vision—a chance to make the world a better place. But as your eyes turned away from him, he began to realize that it wasn’t just about the work. It was about him. And his focus, his obsession with Hextech, had taken him so far away from you that he had lost sight of what truly mattered.

That realization consumed him. In his mind, he couldn’t accept it—couldn’t accept the idea that it was his own blindness to your needs that had driven you away. He had never truly seen it before, but now that it was gone, he saw it everywhere: your absence, the way his lab felt colder, how every success in his work now felt hollow without you by his side. The weight of your rejection clung to him like a shadow.

And so began his obsession.

Jayce’s need to fix things started as an impulse—a desperate attempt to prove he could balance both the future of Hextech and the future with you. But as days turned to weeks and you remained distant, his obsession grew darker. He started showing up at your door, uninvited, his gaze intense, almost pleading. He would try to convince you that things could be different—that he could change, that he could be there for you. But in truth, it wasn’t about change. It wasn’t about improving himself. It was about keeping you close, where he could protect you, where he could ensure that you never left again.

Jayce had always been a man of intellect, but now, logic and reason had abandoned him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of you being free from him, of you moving on. The thought made him sick, twisting in his gut. He began to manipulate your conversations, pushing boundaries, trying to create situations where you would need him, where you would have no choice but to return. He would remind you of all the moments you had shared, the promises he had made to you, all the things that had once made you believe in him. But none of this was genuine anymore—none of it was the person he used to be. He was no longer trying to rebuild a relationship. Now, he was trying to reclaim you, no matter the cost.

The obsession deepened. He began showing up at places he knew you'd be, lingering in the background, watching you as you went about your life without him. If he couldn’t keep you at his side through words, he would make sure you couldn’t escape through actions. In the quiet moments, Jayce’s mind would race, imagining the worst—what if you found someone else? What if you grew stronger without him? What if, one day, you were truly gone?

His need to keep you close became all-consuming. Jayce started to twist the very things he loved about you into weapons for his obsession. He’d tell himself he was doing this for you, for the future of both of you. He’d tell himself that he wasn’t controlling, that he was just keeping you safe from the world outside. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that his obsession had driven you to a place where the only thing left was distance, and that distance was now a gulf he couldn’t cross.

Jayce had always been a man of vision, but now that vision had warped. He couldn’t see a future without you, and he couldn’t accept the possibility that you had chosen a life without him. His desire to protect, to build a better world, had been replaced by a singular focus—keeping you from slipping away. And with every attempt, every plea, he could feel his grip on you tightening. But what he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled you in, the more he suffocated what little remained of the love you once shared.

In his obsession, Jayce had lost sight of the one thing that could have healed them both: the space to breathe, to be free, to make choices. Instead, he was creating a prison of his own design, and with every day that passed, he was sealing both of your fates in it.

victor savior type

Victor had always been driven by the idea of progress. From the moment he first set foot in Piltover, he had envisioned a future where technology and science could heal the broken, the sick, and the flawed. His dreams were grand—of perfecting the human body, of eradicating weakness and suffering. But after his experiences in the Arcane, that ideal evolved. It wasn’t just about saving others anymore. It became about creating something that could be truly perfect—and, somewhere along the way, you became the focus of that vision.

At first, Victor admired you from afar, intrigued by your brilliance and passion. You were like him—a seeker of knowledge, a person striving for something more. But it wasn’t long before he began to notice the small things about you, things that most people wouldn’t see. The subtle hesitation when you looked at your reflection, the way you seemed to fight against something within yourself that you couldn’t escape. It was there in your eyes, in your posture—this quiet dissatisfaction with who you were. Victor saw it as weakness. A flaw. Something that could be fixed.

In the beginning, it was just a passing thought. A small seed planted in the back of his mind: “What if I could help them?” But as the days passed, that seed grew. Every interaction you had with Victor became tinged with this idea, this possibility that he could take you, just as he had taken his own body and reshaped it, and bring you to a higher form of existence—his vision of perfection.

He became obsessed, not with curing illness or repairing his own mechanical body, but with fixing you. Every glance, every word you spoke, was studied carefully. He began to analyze you, to understand what made you unhappy, what flaws you perceived in yourself. He noticed how you would sigh when looking at your reflection or how you’d become withdrawn after difficult interactions.

And, somewhere deep inside, Victor felt a rush of excitement. I could fix this, he thought. I could make them perfect.

Victor began to put his plans into motion. At first, it was subtle—small changes. He'd offer you assistance, claiming it was for your benefit, your health. Perhaps it was a supplement to help with fatigue, a mechanical adjustment here and there, things that would seem innocuous. But all the while, he was slipping things into your life, gently guiding you toward the idea that something needed to change—something big. He began talking more about his own work, his experiments with biomechanical evolution, how he had perfected his own body through the use of Hextech technology, how he had become better. He spoke of it with such enthusiasm, such conviction, that you couldn’t help but listen.

And you began to listen more closely, to wonder if he was right. Could you truly evolve into something better? Could you become free of the insecurities that haunted you? Victor’s words were so convincing, so filled with promise, that the idea began to take root. But even as you were drawn deeper into his world, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze lingered too long, his smile a little too knowing, as if he saw something in you that you didn’t see yourself.

Victor was careful, patient. He needed you to want it, to believe in the perfection he promised, because that was the only way his plans could truly succeed. He began to subtly manipulate your environment, ensuring that you’d be isolated from others, making it more difficult to question his intentions. You would be so wrapped up in his ideas of progress, his vision of perfection, that you wouldn’t even think to resist.

His words became more frequent, more insistent. He’d talk about the benefits of his work, of how it could be applied to you, how much better you could be with his guidance. You’d hear him speak of the “improvements” he could make—subtle at first, but gradually escalating. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself considering the idea, wondering if it could really work.

But in Victor’s mind, this wasn’t just about improving you. It was about control. It was about making you into something that could never reject him again. Something perfect. You’d be his greatest creation—your flaws erased, your body transformed, your mind reshaped. In his mind, he was offering you salvation, even as he slowly ensnared you in his vision. You wouldn’t have a choice in the matter; the idea of perfection, of becoming whole, would consume you entirely. And when the time came, he would reveal his true intentions.

There would be no turning back.

Victor’s obsession grew with every passing day. He watched you carefully, analyzing how you reacted to his suggestions. Every word he spoke was another piece of the puzzle, another step toward his goal. He was a patient man, and he would wait until the perfect moment arrived, when you were so entangled in his vision that you would beg him to make you perfect.

By then, it would be too late to stop him. His arcane technology would transform you, reshape you, into something that could never reject him again. And once you were his creation, the perfect version of yourself, you would belong to him—body, mind, and soul.

vander infantilizing type

Vander was always a protector. He’d spent his life making sure the people of Zaun, especially those close to him, stayed safe from the dangers that loomed over the Undercity. To him, protection was everything—his family, his crew, and you, the person he cherished most in his heart. But over time, something shifted in his mind, a shift so gradual that neither of you noticed it at first.

It started with small acts of kindness. When you were out, Vander would show up unexpectedly, insisting on walking you home, even if it was just down the block. “Zaun can be unpredictable,” he’d say with a smile. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.” It seemed harmless at first, but there was a subtle urgency in his words, a note of unspoken control hidden beneath his seemingly loving gestures. He never directly told you what to do, but you began to feel his presence more and more, often when you least expected it.

 At first, it was innocent. He would casually ask about your day, making sure you were staying out of trouble, always with a smile and a reassuring hand on your shoulder. But then the questions became more frequent. “Where were you?” “Who were you with?” “Did you get home okay?” He never seemed satisfied with a simple “I’m fine,” needing the specifics of every encounter, every moment you spent away from him.

Vander never outright said he didn’t trust you, but the way he’d check in felt more like a constant inspection, as though he had to make sure you were always on the right path. He would often show up at places you didn’t expect him to be, seemingly out of nowhere, with that protective smile of his. It wasn’t out of malice, but of love, or so he told himself. The idea that you might stray from his care, even accidentally, made him uneasy.

Vander had always treated you like an equal, someone who could handle themselves in this chaotic world. But slowly, as his protective instinct overpowered his rational thinking, he began to take over more of your responsibilities. At first, it was small things—offering to take care of errands or tasks you could easily do yourself. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he’d say, brushing it off as no trouble at all. You were busy, after all, and Vander was happy to lighten your load.

But as time went on, the things he took over grew bigger—decisions about your personal life, where you went, what you did. “I don’t think you should be hanging around them,” he’d say, and suddenly your plans for the evening were altered without so much as a thought. At first, you were grateful for his care, thinking it was just his way of protecting you. You didn’t realize that it wasn’t about care at all—it was about removing your ability to make your own choices, piece by piece, until you weren’t sure where his influence ended and your own will began.

 You had always been capable of making your own decisions. But gradually, Vander began offering advice with a weight that felt more like instruction. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there today. I heard things aren’t safe around that part of town. You’d be better off staying in.” His words weren’t demanding, but they carried a subtle pressure. The more you heard his concerns, the more you started to question your own decisions, second-guessing yourself.

Soon, you found yourself deferring to him more often. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do things your way, but the more he guided you, the more you felt that maybe he was right. That maybe he knew better. His opinions began to overshadow your own, and with each piece of advice, his grip on your autonomy tightened without either of you realizing it.

Vander never directly tried to pull you away from your friends or your life outside of him, but little by little, he began to discourage it. “You know, they don’t always have your best interests at heart,” he’d say with a concerned look when you mentioned spending time with someone else. He’d never speak ill of your friends outright, but his warnings always lingered in your mind.

You began to notice that you didn’t hang out with your friends as much anymore. His presence seemed to always loom, and when you tried to make plans without him, you felt guilty. His protective smile would reappear whenever you suggested a solo outing, and he’d suddenly have a reason why you shouldn’t go. “I just think it’s better if you stick with me for now. Just to be safe.”

Over time, the lines between his care and his control became blurred. You started to spend more time with him, less with others, and you began to depend on him more than you realized.

Vander’s concern turned into something more infantilizing. He would no longer treat you as an equal, but as someone who needed constant guidance. Every decision you made seemed to be followed by him taking over or offering advice that bordered on patronizing.

“You’ve been through a lot today, you should rest. I’ll take care of things,” he’d say, trying to get you to step back from your own responsibilities. He’d make you feel like you didn’t need to handle things on your own, and that, in itself, became his way of asserting control. You began to rely on him more and more for even the smallest of tasks, from taking care of your finances to managing your relationships with others.

He would smile and say, “I’m just looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about these things, I’m here to handle them for you.” At first, it seemed like an act of kindness, but over time, it felt like your independence was slipping away. Your world became smaller, controlled by the boundaries he’d created, and you found yourself feeling like a child, helpless to make decisions without his approval.

Vander’s control was insidious. His intentions were good—he wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh world of Zaun—but in doing so, he lost sight of the balance between care and domination. His protection slowly became a cage, and what was once a bond built on mutual respect began to feel more like an overbearing relationship.

“You know I’m only doing this because I love you, right?” he would say, when the tension between the two of you grew. His eyes, full of affection and pride, would hold you in place, as if to remind you that he was the one who knew best. He wanted to protect you, but in his mind, protecting you meant controlling your life, even if you didn’t see it at first.

The more he infantilized you, the more he believed he was doing what was best. After all, he was the one who had been through it all, the one who understood the world better than you ever could. And you, in turn, began to wonder if he might be right, and you started to lose sight of who you were before he came into your life.

Vander had built a world around you—one where you needed him, one where you couldn’t escape. And you began to wonder: had you been protected… or trapped?

please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist to be notified everytime i post, xx

taglist: @opropheticsoul @randomperson291 @arevik2345 @gravegoer @d3eathnotes

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

"That said, both Styles and his therapist have questioned why he cares quite so much about being likeable. This is one of the things he thought about a lot in his big pandemic reflection. In part, it's a choice, he explained. He recalled moving to London after The X Factor and hearing tales of petulant celebrities screaming because someone got their coffee order wrong and deciding to never be that guy, to never give someone a petty reason to bad-mouth him. But more recently he's come to worry that the drive for approval came from a more complex place, a place of caution, fear, control." "Styles said he often spent interviews terrified about saying the wrong thing until he stopped to question what abhorrent belief or bizarre opinion he was scared he'd accidentally reveal and realized he couldn't think of anything."

"And he thought about the cleanliness clauses in the contracts he used to sign, which would dictate that they would be null and void if he did anything supposedly unsavoury, and about how terrified that used to make him. And about when he signed his solo contract and learned that the ability to make music would not be affected by personal transgressions, he burst into tears, a reaction he still seemed shocked by, retelling it to me now, years later. "I felt free," he explained."

"When Styles began therapy about five years ago [so in 2017], he was reluctant initially, feeling it was a music industry cliché. "I thought it meant that you were broken," he said. "I wanted to be the one who could say I didn't need it." He returned to the home theme that has underpinned our conversation, explaining that therapy has allowed him to "open up rooms in himself" that he didn't know existed, allowed him to feel things more honestly, where before he had tended to"emotionally coast.""

"Recently Styles began to work through issues related to intimacy, dating, love. "For a long time, it felt like the only thing that was mine was my sex life. I felt so ashamed about it, ashamed at the idea of people even knowing that I was having sex, let alone who with," he said."

"You look back, especially now there's all the documentaries, like the Britney documentary, and you watch how people were abused in that way, by that system, especially women. You recall articles from not even five years ago, and you're like, I can't even believe that was written."

He has been thinking a lot recently about autonomy, ownership, privacy. About what he should be able to keep to himself, what he should be able to simply communicate through his music without follow-up questions or prying. Around the time of Fine Line, he faced scrutiny around his sexuality. People became incredulous that he wore dresses, waved Pride flags, and yet hadn't clarified with precision, publicly to a journalist or on social media, the specifics of who he'd slept with, how he defined. This expectation is, to him, bizarre, "outdated." "I've been really open with it with my friends, but that's my personal experience; it's mine," he said.

Despite the acceptance that some things could, should, have been different, he still feels lucky every day, he said, lucky to make music, lucky to do what he loves.

"You can't win music. It's not like Formula One," he said. "I was like, in my lifetime, there will be 10 more people who burst onto the scene in that way, and I'm only going to get further away from being the young thing. So, get comfortable with finding something else that makes you happy. I just found that so liberating."

"I just want to make stuff that is right, that is fun, in terms of the process, that I can be proud of for a long time, that my friends can be proud of, that my family can be proud of, that my kids will be proud of one day," he said.

““In lockdown, I started processing a lot of stuff that happened when I was in the band,” he said. He thought about the way he was encouraged to give so much of himself away, “to get people to engage with you, to like you.” He thought about the fact that no baby photos exist of him that aren’t on the internet (you give a bunch to an X Factor producer doing a piece on your backstory without much thought, and suddenly your childhood is online). He thought about the journalists asking questions, when he was still a teenager, about how many people he’d slept with and how, rather than telling them to go away, he would worry about how he could be coy without them leaving the room annoyed. “Why do I feel like I’m the one who has done something wrong?” he said to me.”

— Harry for Better Homes and Gardens Magazine

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 1

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

---

Steve's parents always locked their hearts in a safe in his dad's study at night.

For as long as Steve can remember, he watched them do it, pulling their hearts out of their chests and tucking them away in the safe in an easy, practiced motion - like a dance, like something they did without even thinking about it.

He liked it, liked watching them move in unison. It made him daydream about his own partner in the future, how they could move in sync with each other, anticipating each other's every movement and not having to say a thing to know what the other wanted.

Even his parents’ hearts were similar. They were both the same pale pink, bisected with only a few silver scars, and though they didn't quite beat in unison, it was close enough that Steve's young eyes didn't notice the difference. 

“One day,” his dad always said. “When you're old enough, your heart will go in here, too. When you're trained to be separated from it, when you're grown up.”

Steve wanted to be grown up more than anything.

But his heart never looked like theirs. Even when he got old enough to pull it out of his chest, to first show it to his beaming parents, it was a deep, unblemished red.

A kid's heart, his dad called it.

“It's not a bad thing!” his dad was quick to say. “You're young, Steven, you should have a kid's heart. Go be a kid.”

He ushered him out to play with Tommy and Carol, pleased as punch when the three of them came home to get snacks.

“You've made the right friends, Steven, my boy,” his dad said one day, while Steve was in his study, watching him take his heart out of the safe and tuck it into his chest. “Tommy's not bright, but he'll do what you say, and Carol looks like she'll be taking after her mother. Find yourself a girl who fits in, and you've got the makings of the next generation.”

Steve didn't really understand what that meant, but he liked his father's approval, and Carol and Tommy were the best friends he could ever imagine, so he guessed it didn't really matter.

—

The first time his parents leave for more than just one night, Steve protests.

He grabs onto his dad's slacks, his mother's skirts, and refuses to let go.

“Steven,” his mother hisses, a warning clear in her voice.

“Little tyke loves us so much,” his father says to his business partner, who’s waiting in the front hall. There's something in his voice that Steve's never heard before, something in his eyes that makes a chill go up his spine. “Give us a minute to say goodbye.”

His parents argue in his father's study. Steve hasn't been allowed in, so he doesn't know what they're saying, but he can hear the tone, knows it's angry. 

He's not sure what he did wrong, but it must be something, so when the door opens he flinches. 

Mom doesn't look happy, but she doesn't look unhappy, either, and Dad looks pleased, so he guesses it must not be something too bad.

“Come on, Steven, my boy,” his dad says, ushering him into the study. “I think it's time we trusted you with something.”

Steve perks up, eagerly following his dad into the office and over to the safe.

“Now, you know we lock our hearts in here every night to keep them safe,” his dad says.

Steve nods. “One day mine will be in there too.”

“That's right!” His dad is smiling again, but there's still something lurking in his eyes that makes Steve nervous. “But it's not just at night. We keep them here when we go away, too, and we need someone to stay here to keep them safe.”

The idea of being trusted with something so important outweighs the lingering nerves, and Steve lights up. “Me?”

“Of course! You're our son, Steven, the best of both of us! Who else would we trust with it?”

They still leave him alone, after that, more and more often, but Steve doesn't mind.

They trust him, and he's not going to let them down.

—

Steve doesn't really like keeping his heart in his chest. It's okay, for a while, but the longer it stays the more it feels like it's trapped - like his chest is too tight and he can't breathe, like he's more alone than he's ever been.

He doesn't think hearts were meant to be locked away, but his parents tell him different, so he listens.

They're just trying to keep him safe, after all, trying to make sure he's smart and strong and doesn't get hurt. 

—

"Ugh," Carol groans. "I'm so tired of my mom asking to see my heart at the end of the day. Like, I'm in middle school now, I don't need her checking if my feelings have been hurt."

"Mine still does it, too," Tommy grumbles. "Dad keeps telling her to knock it off at least."

Steve can't remember the last time his parents wanted to see his heart. 

"Mine leaves me alone now," he brags, because it feels like he should, even if his heart clenches painfully. 

"You're so lucky," Carol says wistfully.

"Already king of the castle, huh?" Tommy asks, jostling him with his elbow.

Steve snorts. "Yeah? If I'm king, what does that make you two? Prince and princess?"

Carol wrinkles her nose. "Prince and princess are for babies," she says. "We're not kids anymore." 

"What are we, then?" Tommy asks.

"Duke and Duchess," she says decisively. "I've read about them, they're like the second commands. The king's advisors."

"Yeah," Tommy says, bobbing his head. "We're like the royal court. The three of us can take on anything."

"Hearts out," Steve says. "That's what my dad says you have to do when you're entering into an agreement."

Carol and Tommy obey immediately, holding their hearts out in the middle of the little triangle they make. Steve holds his out with theirs. All three of them are a vibrant red, plump and solid - Steve's is a little deeper, a little fuller, than both of theirs, but he figures that's okay.

He's the leader, it should be different. 

"Now what?" Carol asks.

Okay, so, Steve doesn't exactly know. Still, he can guess, based on what his dad has mentioned about his business partners, and he confidently says, "Now we make sure all of us are worth dealing with. Liar's hearts are black, and people with hearts too broken to function are full of holes and scars, and hearts with no color can't be trusted."

The three of them inspect each other's hearts closely, then nod at each other. 

"We need to touch them, too," Carol says. "My mom says that's what you do with people you trust."

Steve isn't sure about that, but he figures it can't hurt, so they rotate hearts - Steve's to Tommy, Tommy's to Carol, Carol's to Steve, and then around in a circle until Steve's holding his own heart again.

It did hurt, a little. But it didn't feel bad, just a little scary.

It's okay, though, because it's Tommy and Carol. His Duke and Duchess, the royal court.

They'd never hurt him. 

—

"Hey Mom?" Steve asks the next time she's home when he gets done with school. "Do you want to see my heart?"

"What for?" she asks, a hint of confusion in her voice that doesn't show anywhere on her perfectly made up face. "Has it changed?"

Steve's shoulders droop a little bit. He set himself up for this one. "No," he admits reluctantly. 

She hums softly, more a vague acknowledgement than anything else, and goes back to pinning her hair up.

His mom and dad must be going out somewhere tonight. 

"Can I see yours?" he asks, wanting - something. He knows they'll lock their hearts away for him to protect before they leave, knows how much it means that they trust him with that, but sometimes he just wants to see them.

"Of course, darling," she says absently, pulling it out with a practiced motion and setting it on the vanity in front of him. 

It's still exactly the same as the last time he saw it. Steve glances over at her, but she isn't even looking at him. He bites his lip, then reaches out to touch it, his hand resting gently on top of it. 

His mom flinches, just the tiniest bit, but doesn't tell him to take his hand away. 

Steve frowns. "Does that hurt?"

"It always hurts when someone touches your heart, Steven," she replies. "That's why you need to keep it in your chest, why you need to be careful about who you let close to it."

He considers that. "But you let me touch it anyway."

"Of course," his mom says. "You're my Steven."

He likes the words, and if he were a little younger, he thinks they might fill him with warmth, make his heart flush even redder. But he's old enough now to recognize that tone - the same tone she uses when he hears her on the phone with one of her friends or one of her clients, and she thinks they're being stupid.

Steve isn't stupid. 

He pulls his hand away.

If his mom's heart hurts every time he touches it, then he won't reach for it anymore.

—

Steve is in eighth grade when they learn that people can't travel far from their hearts without suffering any ill effects.

Tommy's watched Steve's parents put their hearts in their safe and leave for dinner out while he was staying over, and he laughs when their teacher tells them that.

"Something funny, Tommy?" Mr. Clarke asks.

"Well, sure," Tommy says. "It's just that isn't true, right Steve?"

"Right," Steve agrees earnestly, eager to show off his knowledge on the subject. "Or it's not always true. Some people can go miles away from theirs, I've seen it."

He says people, and not my parents, because he knows better than to drop personal information like that in the middle of class. 

Mr. Clarke had been frowning at Tommy's laughter, but something about Steve's eagerness makes him smile. 

"You have?" Mr. Clarke asks. "Tell me more."

Aware that everyone's attention is on him now, Steve makes sure to slouch casually - he can't look too invested. "Well, they didn't just leave their hearts out in the open and unguarded. They left them with someone they trust to protect them."

Mr. Clarke's smile grows, his eyes lighting up a bit in excitement. "Ah! You found the loophole. Steve's right," he says to the rest of the class, making Steve preen just a little bit. "Heart exchanges! People can travel much further from their hearts if they're safely tucked away in the chest of someone else. They can even survive things that might have been fatal, if their heart was in their own chest."

He gives a little chuckle. "There's even anecdotes of things like soldiers leaving their hearts with their fiances as they go off to war, knowing they'll be kept safe. Romantic, if unlikely. There's been no conclusive evidence of someone able to survive such a distance from their heart for so long, even with the loophole."

Steve frowns. His parents have been gone weeks at a time, leaving their hearts safe with him. 

"What about if it's locked away in a safe, and guarded?" Steve asks. "I know - I mean, someone told me that would work."

Mr. Clarke frowns a little. "Even more unlikely, I'm afraid. There's some studies that have shown people can train themselves to go further and further from their hearts, but still not without ill effects." 

Kevin sneers. "Well it sounds like someone is a liar."

Steve bristles. 

Kevin Carson is the worst.

He's a bully. Both in the way that his dad taught him the word - the kids who are too stupid to realize that brute force will only get you so far in life - and in the way that makes Steve's stomach turn a little, choosing to pick on people who can't fight back. 

The last two years at Hawkins Middle, he'd have never gone after Steve. But Kevin wanted to be basketball captain, and Steve got it instead, and now Kevin's been dogging him every chance he gets.

It's starting to get really annoying. 

Before Steve can say anything, though, Mr. Clarke's moved over to Kevin's desk, frown deepening.

“You know better than that, Mr. Carson,” Mr. Clarke says, in his disappointed voice. “We don't ridicule anyone's curiosity journey in this class.”

Kevin scowls, but he mutters out an apology. Mr Clarke watches him for a moment longer before nodding, moving back to the front of the class to continue.

"Teacher's pet," Kevin hisses at him, loud enough for the others nearby to hear but not Mr. Clarke.

Steve's never really understood why that was a bad thing - why wouldn't you want your teacher to like you? - but he knows it is, so he grimaces.

"I just listen to Coach better than you," Steve replies. "Must be why I'm captain this year."

Kevin's expression shifts into confusion. "What?"

"You don't keep your grades up, and you're on the bench for the rest of the year." Steve shrugs, leaning back so he can show how pointless this conversation is - and open it up even more for others to hear. "Aren't you looking at an F in Mr. Clarke's class? Maybe you should have more enthusiasm for your curiosity journey."

—

Tommy punches Kevin at lunch that afternoon.

Someone starts shouting, "Fight, fight, fight!" and Steve and Carol look at each other, realize they can't find Tommy, and immediately go where the crowd has gathered. 

It parts easily as Steve and Carol push through to the center, where Tommy and Kevin are squared off warily against each other. Steve tugs at Tommy's arm, and Carol shoots Kevin a look as she helps herd Tommy off to the side.

“What happened?” Steve asks Tommy, voice low and urgent. 

“Kevin was trying to rally some of the team against you,” Tommy spits out. “Said that they should get you around back, teach you a lesson about the way things are supposed to work.”

Steve's stomach twists. It's not surprising from Kevin, but the rest of the guys are his friends.

“Did they agree?” Carol asks sharply, eyes flashing.

“No,” Tommy says. “They told him to shut up. But Kevin was going on about how you're not captain material.”

Okay.

Okay, that's better, Steve can handle that. Kevin's persuasive, but Steve can be, too, and Steve hasn't been picking fights that make the team have to run drills when Coach gets pissed at them.

He leans away, pivoting back to face the group.

“Seriously, Carson, again?” Steve demands, not bothering to hide how irritated he sounds. "You remember Coach has a zero tolerance policy for starting fights, right?" 

"I didn't start anything, he punched me first!" Kevin says.

"That's not what I heard," Steve says conversationally. "I heard you talking to the other guys, trying to get them to jump me while my back was turned. Didn't know you were a coward, Carson. You got something to say to me? Why don't you say it to my face?"

Kevin draws himself up and gets in Steve's face, and Steve hears Tommy curse and start to move forward, but Steve holds up a hand. 

Steve's not scared of Kevin, and he doesn't want Tommy to get in any more trouble. He juts his chin out, tipping his head to the side so he can look down at Kevin - Steve and Tommy started their growth spurts early, and it's only by an inch or two, but they're the tallest guys here right now. 

"You gonna hit me, Kev?" Steve says softly. 

"Maybe I will," Kevin says. "Maybe it's the only way to put you in your place. Your daddy gets you out of everything, but he can't get you out of a black eye, can he?"

Steve's not sure where anyone gets the idea that his dad gets him out of anything. His dad barely knows what's going on with his life - but he guesses he doesn't really have to, guesses it's more about his dad's reputation than anything else. 

Still, it turns his irritation into anger, and just a little bit of hurt, and Steve finds himself smiling.

"Black eyes fade, Carson. You know what doesn't?" He leans in, lowers his voice a little. "How's <lyour dad gonna react when you get kicked off the team, huh? Yeah, we all know he was a high school star - it's all he ever was - what do you think he's gonna say when you can't even be that?" 

Kevin looks like he's a second away from shoving Steve, and for a moment, Steve thinks - yeah, go ahead, come on. The stuff he's saying? Steve deserves to get shoved. 

But Kevin doesn't.

Steve pitches his voice back louder. "Starting fights at school and flunking science? Not looking good for you to play at all the rest of the year, Carson. And anyone who's not playing now can kiss their spot on the high school team goodbye."

"Yeah?" Kevin asks. "Who's going to go blabbing to Coach?"

Steve shrugs, giving a disappointed sigh. "I don't like it, but it's my duty as captain to tell Coach when someone isn't being a team player." 

It probably isn't. Technically, Steve isn't even officially the captain - their coach just wanted them to be prepared for what it's going to be like in high school, and the players all voted Steve as their unofficial captain. 

But he knows that Coach will appreciate that Steve is taking it seriously, if he does tell him about anyone affecting the rest of the team.

"What are you even pissed at me for?" Steve asks. 

It's a genuine question - he actually does want to know - but it comes out sarcastic, and he can't backtrack it. 

"Passing science? Not letting you walk all over me in Mr. Clarke's class?" he adds. "Or are you just trying to get the rest of the team to be a bully like you? You want to get them in trouble, too?"

Carol hip checks him, and - yeah, okay, he sees her point, he needs to end this before Kevin has a chance to spin things back in his favor. 

"You're not worth my time," Steve says with a sneer.

There's a beat of silence.

"Didn't you hear him?" Carol asks. "You're dismissed."

Kevin tries to pull a sneer, but with his split lip it looks more like a snarl. "Who died and made Steve Harrington king?"

Carol examines her nails, the picture of boredom. "Your spot on the high school basketball team, apparently."

“Give it up, Kevin!” someone calls out.

“Come on, man, I'm sick of having to stay late at practice because of you, can't you just chill out?” Mark Jefferson bitches.

There's a chorus of agreement, and Steve watches Kevin's face as he realizes he's not going to get any backup here. Anger flickers briefly in his expression before he rolls his eyes, huffs out “Whatever,” and stomps off.

Now that there's not going to be a fight, everyone else disperses, leaving Steve alone with Tommy and Carol.

"You need to tell me and Carol before you hit someone again, okay?" Steve says seriously. "Let us handle it first."

"Yeah," Carol agrees. "You'll get in trouble if you do it all the time - you have to only do it when someone really deserves it. When we tell you."

Steve doesn't want Tommy to hit anyone, no matter what, but he guesses Carol's right. 

He'll just have to keep an eye on them.

–

When he's home, he goes straight to his dad's study and stares at the safe.

He knows the code, but part of him doesn't want to open it up. If they lied to him about this - what else have they lied to him about? Did they think he was stupid, did they not care if he ever figured it out? 

But he knows he has to, so he opens it up, and stares at what's inside.

Nothing.

Of course his parents didn't leave their hearts with him to watch over, and he feels like an idiot for having ever fallen for it. 

Something in his heart cracks, but he ruthlessly ignores it, slamming the safe door shut again.

He doesn't care, he tells himself.

His dad's an asshole anyway.

–

Nancy Wheeler is the first person to truly hold his heart in her hands, without it hurting the slightest bit.

It makes it even worse when she calls him bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, and he feels his heart crack so deep he's not sure it will ever heal.

[lupinqs]

hi hi hi!!!!!!! with the end of take me to church right around the corner, i want y’all to vote on which upcoming series you’d like to see first. imma be honest my favorite is the second one but i have so much lore for all of them that it would be easy for me to write any!!! vote pls!!!!

WNBA Paige x Upper East Side Princess OC:

paige plays for the liberty; she’s in her rookie season

oc is in her last year of college at columbia—her parents are very rich (like billionaire type rich) and she’s grown up on the upper east side

enemies to lovers hella because oc is a bitch lowkey and paige def matches that energy towards oc

despite being so young, oc also already has a fiancé that she’s kinda been expected to end up with her whole life because he’s a family friend and the son of another rich millionaire/billionaire but they’re more just friends if anything

oc’s finacé’s parents are huge funders towards NY sports (including the liberty) which is kinda why oc and paige see each other a lot

oc’s parents def don’t approve so angst there too

oc is also an ex basketball player who was forced out of the sport at a young age despite being talented and paige kinda helps her get back into the sport and start loving it again because at the beginning oc HATES basketball

very reminiscent of gossip girl

UCONN Paige x Teammate OC:

paige is in her junior year, oc a freshman (only a year and a half age gap yall don’t be weird)

oc was the number-one recruit in her class coming into college just like paige was so she’s got a lotta pressure on her

paige and oc are roommates

oc tore her ACL her junior year of high school so when paige tears her, oc is there for her because she’s been in that position before—paige and oc have had a lot of similar experiences which makes them really understand each other

paige really channels her inner coach p into oc because oc is gonna have to have a huge role in this season due to paige’s absence and then even more so with azzi’s injury

oc also has had a bf for like ever and i’m saying she’s been in love with this boy since she was a kid because they lived next door to each other—that type of thing. so oc has never even really thought about being gay or liking girls because she’s always been so infatuated with that boy but when she and him start having problems because he’s at a different college and when paige starts comforting her through that and she and paige start spending more time with each other, oc starts… realizing lots of things about herself and her feelings

lots of self-discovery

end goal is for paige to basically coach and encourage oc and team to a natty

WNBA Paige x Ex-Bestfriend Actress OC:

paige plays for the sparks; she’s in her rookie year

oc is a well-known and successful actress

paige and oc were childhood best friends (yes ik i just did this with tmtc) and had a hella homoerotic friendship that ends up falling apart paige’s first year of college after …. certain events

oc is more open about her sexuality but paige has always been very overthinking about it and has severe internalized homophobia which helps lead to the crumbling of their friendship before

oc has been really really successful these past few years in the acting industry; her first movie came out in paige’s sophomore year of college which was sort of a wake up call for her then because she hadn’t even known that her best friend was actually legit in acting now

paige’s junior year college is when she realizes that yeah, she is gay and she was in love with oc basically her whole childhood but she’s ruined it and she doesn’t even think she has a chance anymore

paige is completely chill and confident within herself and her sexuality by her senior year of college

anyways in the present oc and paige meet again at some after party in la and it’s so weird for paige because oc seems so confident and at ease and she’s with all these famous people now but she used to be so shy and reserved

cameron brink and oc’s best friend are good friends and since paige and oc’s closest friends in la are good friends, they start running into each other a lot more

lots of angst fs and learning the new versions of each other vs remembering the ones they grew up with

[godbirdart]

yes it is good that multiple parties have to collaborate in the federal decision-making. however, there is still a glaring issue with splitting decisions between multiple different parties.

the decision-making power of each party can be quite disproportionate. the House of Commons acts similar to the USA's House of Representatives. it's where a lot of legislative decisions originate before they move to the Senate for further approval. following the 2021 election, the House of Commons has 343 seats distributed between Liberal (153), Conservative (119), Bloc Québécois (33), New Democratic (25), and Green (2). a majority vote between these 343 is often what gets legislation passed into law. while any party can introduce legislation or discussion on political issues, it's easy to see how the Bloc, NDP and Green parties are barely able to get their ideas off the ground if the Liberal and / or Conservative parties oppose and outvote them. because of the large voting power between the Liberal and Conservative parties, who notoriously don't work well together, the legislative process within the House of Commons can be unfortunately summarized as mum and dad squabbling with one another while the kids desperately try to get a word in. frankly, these two really make it feel like a two-party system.

so yes, while having a government be made up of multiple parties that collaborate on the important federal decisions is better than just a mere two, the power imbalance between the parties can cause it trip over itself and be about as functionally productive as Mr Burns' diseases:

since we're getting closer to canada's election year and i plan on doing my part to help educate voters, here are two exceedingly simplified graphics for my international viewers on what we're dealing with here. tldr: canada is tired of trudeau (the liberal party) and things are starting to lean a bit too right-wing for comfort.

i am compelled to remind canadians that the NDP is our leftmost leaning party and our best chance at getting some tangible, beneficial change for everyone and not just some people.

the NDP have been pushing for universal basic income and damn,, what a dream it would be to have it

also: instead of the "democrat vs republican" that the states has, we're dealing with "democrat vs liberal vs conservative vs french vs green vs alt right". we're playing chess with six players on the board and yes, it's a mess.

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #6472:

I have some complaints about OC making, so this is for the OC making part of fandoms.

Can people stop using the "1000 year old dragon/immortal being with the body of a child trope" for their OCs? It is weird and makes you look like a creep. Not to mention, there are inherently pedophilic tones to it and it just attracts creeps. Only creeps are okay with this kind of thing. It gives people the wrong idea of you and it makes people disgusted by you. Make your OC look their age.

Also, do not have your immortal OCs date a mortal that is 18 years old. Just because your OC is a teen for their species does not make it okay. It is gross and pedophilic.

If your ocs looks young, they are a child. Don't make them an ancient immortal being who only looks like a child. Just have them be a child, it is simpler that way. You do not need to overcomplicate your ocs.

Also, please do not make ocs that are not the same race as you. It can come off as weird or stereotypical if you do that. If you must, make sure someone of that OC's race approves of it before you continue writing on them. If the OC is not approved, stop writing them and stop doing anything with them.

Another thing to add is that people should not give their ocs any mental disorders or disabilities if they do not have them themselves. That is just offensive. There is no need for me to elaborate on this.

And finally... short characters are basically minors. Anyone under 5'7" is minor coded and shouldn't be shipped. So stop making minor-coded OCs to ship with adults.

Fandom really needs to stop making their ocs to attract freaks.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Truth Without the Lasso

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!powered!reader

Summary: You're Wonder Woman's protégé and adopted daughter. Jason Todd admits that you look familiar, and you tell him secrets the gods have kept for your entire life.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

19 Years Ago

The human, mortal-born baby washed ashore in Gotham Harbor was the talk of the town. Yet, when an out-of-town woman arrived in the dead of night and adopted her, the city quickly forgot the child, too caught up in its unraveling seam to wonder if the young girl found a home. Though they did not notice nor question her humanity, it was the first topic breached after she arrived on Mount Olympus.

“Who is the mortal?” Zeus demanded.

“She has no name,” Diana Prince, Wonder Woman, answered. “No family, no birthright. With the permission of the gods, I would like to adopt her, raise her, transform her into the warrior she is destined to be.”

Achilles looked to Zeus and nodded once. Other gods and goddesses followed, leaving their lofty perches to examine the young life nestled in Diana’s arms. She was at home with Diana, calm and content, and even smiled up at her. When Athena held the child, she squirmed and reached for Diana and cried against Hera’s chest.

“Diana has a connection to her,” Hera told Zeus, “one even you would have trouble breaking.”

“You have our blessing, daughter,” Zeus announced. “And for the child, age will bring her closer to her mother.”

Diana returned to Themyscira, growing to love the young child more each day. As she learned to crawl, walk, and talk, she showed early signs of powers like Diana’s. The blessing bestowed upon her by the gods brought her closer to her mother, indeed, and by the time you were old enough to leave Paradise, you’d met more than enough heroes, villains, and vigilantes to know your fate.

Present Day, Gotham

“What about you, Alkmini?” Flash asks. “Any ideas?”

You shrug, and Black Canary leans over. She whispers, “What about the public approach idea?”

“It’s stupid,” you mumble.

"I said the same about the idea to reform the JSA, but here we are,” Batman points out. “What were you thinking?”

You shift in your seat and look at the table as you say, “What if we just approach them as the JSA rather than trying to find some way to get past the Senate without exposing our identities?”

Batman looks to Superman, who undoubtedly has the most experience hiding his truest identity from humanity.

“Would Diana approve?” Clark asks, smiling at you.

“Why does it matter what Wonder Woman thinks?” Doctor Fate inquires. “Oh, right.”

“She would,” you answer.

“Then, in three weeks’ time, we’ll greet the approaching alien ship as the Justice Society of America, with or without the government’s approval,” Superman announces. “Meeting adjourned.”

“Patrolling tonight?” Bruce asks, seeming to spawn at your side.

“If they’ll let me tag along,” you answer as you prepare to enter the boom tube.

“The day my boys don’t let you patrol with them is the day they’ll need you most.”

“Alkmini!” Tim cheers as you join them on the roof.

“Drake,” you reply softly.

“You do enjoy reminding us that you know our secret identities,” Jason says, and you’re sure he’s smiling beneath the helmet.

You feel fingers along your belt, and the telltale crack of the Lasso of Truth precedes Dick asking, “ Do you care?”

“Of course not,” Jason answers, kicking his foot to remove your rope from his ankle.

“Why not?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Jason grits out, clearly talking through a clenched jaw.

“Where’s Robin?” you ask as you pull the lasso from Dick and return it to the hook along your waistband.

Jason breathes his thanks as Dick answers that he’s with Batman tonight. You feel more courageous than ever standing with Red Hood, Nightwing, and Red Robin. You’ve grown to love the bats and birds, and you know they care about you, too. Since learning their secret identities, you’ve noticed the long looks they send you, trying to decide if they should know who you are based on what they can see past the small mask your mother had forged for you. Diana’s your mother, biological or not, and your Themysciran family is as important to you as your Gotham family.

Batman flies across the sky before landing on the opposite side of the roof from you. You narrow your eyes and ask, “Did he get taller?”

“Let the criminals think so,” Batman rasps as he enters the light.

Damian is perched on his shoulders, his arms hanging as he blinks sleepily, leaning his head against the top of the cowl. Bruce’s gloved hands are wrapped protectively around Damian’s ankles as he moves carefully.

“Who can take him home?” he asks.

“I can,” you offer.

“Does Wonder Woman know where you are?”

“Of course.”

Bruce nods once, and when he tips toward you, Damian wakes. “Alkmini,” he says. “Your assistance on my Greek mythology essay was most….”

You wait for him to finish, but he slumps heavier against Bruce, asleep, and you take him carefully. Damian is incredibly special to you, and it isn’t the first time you’ve gone out of your way to protect him. You say goodbye to the boys, careful not to look directly at Jason’s red mask because you swear you can feel his intense gaze on you through the red material.

After you leave, Jason mumbles, “ So familiar. I should know by now.”

“How are the boys?” Diana asks, in her Wonder Woman costume – uniform? You aren’t sure of the correct terminology and are too far into training to ask – as she surveys the city.

“They’re good,” you answer. “Thanks for helping me with the braces. I’d hate to try to stop a real bullet without the practice.”

“Keep spending time in Gotham and you’ll appreciate the training even more.”

You chuckle and prepare to move your arms to deflect projectiles with the armor around your wrists once more.

Several hours after the conclusion of a rough patrol and a text from Dick, you knock on a locked window. Damian looks up from the couch and smiles before he lets you in. He hugs you tightly before stepping back.

“Where’s Jason?” you inquire, looking around the apartment.

“His room. You can go see him; I believe he’s sulking again. I don’t know if he reread Mr. Darcy’s first proposal or if tonight got to him,” Damian answers.

“Thanks.”

At the end of the short hall, you knock and wait for Jason to invite you in. He’s sitting on the floor, leaning back slightly with his patrol uniform still on, only his helmet and domino mask discarded beside him. You close the door and kneel beside his feet, giving him plenty of room.

“You know what one of my first memories is?” Jason asks, his head tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed. “When I was two or three, a kid washed up in the harbor. I don’t remember specifics, but it was a girl. The story stuck with me. I looked into it last night and read that a woman from out of town adopted her and took her away.”

You watch Jason and shift slightly. That was you, but you had no idea Jason knew about it. He opens his eyes and looks at you, smiling as you lose your fight to maintain eye contact and drop your eyes to his chest.

“Why haven’t you told us – me – who you really are?” he asks.

Your voice is soft, but you know Jason hears when you say, “Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to. And then, after that long, it just felt like… I guess I thought if I told you then it would be like I didn’t trust you before.”

“Do you trust me?” Jason asks.

You notice he didn’t even bother to include the rest of his family this time and pass him the lasso. With the end wrapped around your wrist, you say, “I trust you more than anything or anyone. Except my mom, maybe.”

Jason tilts his head, and his tongue runs over his lips quickly before he says, “I wasn’t aware this made shy people talk easier. I’ll have to remember that.” He tosses it back to you and places his hands on the floor beside him. “I trust you too, without the lasso.”

“Why’d you bring up the little girl from so long ago?” you inquire.

“There was a baby left in an alley tonight. Bruce said he’d look into it, but it just reminded me of that.”

You nod and roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“You look so familiar,” he mutters. “Especially when you do that.”

Carefully, you move closer to Jason. He extends his arm, and you scoot forward until your hip is against his, facing him as his hand settles on your waist.

“Nineteen years ago, I was adopted by Wonder Woman,” you begin. “But, because of who she is, she couldn’t just take me in, she had to get permission from the gods.”

“The gods? Like Zeus, Athena?” Jason interjects.

You nod and continue, “They gave her permission, and gifted me some of her powers because we were connected and because I was a warrior.” You hold Jason’s intense gaze as you explain, “I was a warrior because I’d survived on my own and washed up in Gotham.”

“You visited with Diana,” Jason realizes. “That’s why you look so familiar! When Bruce first took me in, Diana would come by sometimes, and she always had a little girl with her.”

You smile, and Jason extends his legs out further. He pulls you against him, brushing his fingers along the bottom of your mask. After you nod, he peels it away from your face. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time and the thousandth time, he thinks as he tugs you into his lap.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you whisper.

“I trust you wholly,” Jason admits. “And that scared me. Do you remember playing together once, around Christmas the year after I stole Bruce’s tires?”

“Of course,” you answer as if it’s obvious. Something about having the mask off, being truly seen, makes it easier to admit everything. “How could I forget the Christmas I fell in love?”

Jason smiles and leans up, wrapping his arms around your waist as his nose taps yours.

“Are you decent?” Damian asks at the door. “I have a question regarding Odysseus and the suitors.”

“Is he reading The Odyssey?” you ask Jason.

“Sounds like a question for you,” he responds with a shrug.

“Are you okay? Finding a kid in a position like that can’t be easy.”

“I am. I’ll check on her tomorrow, and tonight hasn’t been all bad.”

“Come on in, Damian,” you call.

Jason scrambles for your mask, but you catch his wrist and shake your head as you stand from his lap. He pushes himself up beside you, and Damian enters with his nose in the book. When he finishes his question and looks up, his eyes widen.

You answer Damian’s question, but he doesn’t seem to hear it before he asks, “What’s your name?”

Jason answers with you, and you smile up at him.

“What’s that look for?” he inquires.

“I’m going to Themyscira for my birthday pretty soon. Do you want to come with me?”

“Will Diana threaten to kill me?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll go,” Damian offers.

“You’re all invited. But I should probably put Dick out of his misery and tell him that I am who he thinks I am.”

“Let’s take this,” Jason suggests, tugging your Lasso of Truth to pull you closer.

[newkatzkafe2023]

Hi!! It's me again. I want to request again, and I'm sorry if I sent the request at the wrong time.

Anyway, what if Y/n is a gorgeous woman (who is taller than Monkey Kings + Destined one 👀), has a graceful, charming, and loving personality, but turns out she is a Manipulative yandere? So she hides her true sadistic personality with her graceful 'mask'.

The greatest manipulation is to convince others that they are in control, when in fact you are the puppet master pulling the strings-Robert Greene

(Lmk Wukong) Man he would never know that your playing him, like an Lute. You were always so kind and supportive of everything he does and so open to helping him in his goals. Now as for the sadistic part, it would be very suitable as it would come out in concerns or threatens but quickly hide it with tears. You would act scared and worried for your husband and twist him into doing whatever you want, while hugging and kissing him the way he deserves. Also with Wukong's sky high pride and ego he would go out of his way to keep your eyes on him even taking his armor off infront of you. Needless to say Wukong was always yours, and he never had a choice either😈

(HIB Wukong) With this method cater to his cubs and he will soon follow, especially with his trauma and insecurities. It's easy to manipulate both Luier and Silly girl with your kind, loving, protective concern mother mask. Don't get it twisted you love the children and they Quickly became your property but it was Wukong You were truly after, and the way you handled him sweeten him to the idea of marriage. Treat him like the king he is, whisper loving sexy compliments to him, heal his dying ego and give him what he wants. Once he becomes addicted to you, There will be no going back for him.😈

(NR Wukong) Maan you would have lots of fun with this, especially since he eccentric and all over the damn place. Though you still remain very careful and would just leave suitable Hints and suggestions for him, acting all shy and unsure of everything and Wukong would end up exactly where you want him to be. S*x appeal also works hand in hand with your innocence and charm, you would wear some Rather scandalous clothes telling him they make you look pretty and he would be down bad. So yeah Wukong would be under your thumb by the end of it.

(MKR Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhhh the best way to manipulate him is to always play into his emotions, and his frequent emotion Rage. You fuel his thoughts love and obsession also anger, vengeance and hatred for everyone who wronged him. You had educated him and Fruity into listening to only you and told them both that the world was out to get them, and we have to protect each other. You love him so much and want to keep him forever, so fuel his hatred, vengeance and resentment make him forever yours to control and love😈

(Netflix Wukong) Look at him, so desperate for approval and acceptance that he had to brag loudly for attention. Just so he can fill the hollow void that is his self-esteem man, you really didn't have to do much. Just show interest in his stories and accomplishments it's so easy. Although at the same time you make sure to reward and show support for is wacky and unrealistic goals, because when he fails he'll run back to your tall loving arms begging you to take him back and stay and that is never your fault 😈

(BMW Wukong) His pride, arrogance, and ego are both your advantages and his downfall. You would charm and flirt with him acting all impressed with his reputation and powers, while sometimes acting as a Dansel in distress. For Wukong, you act like you can't stand to be away from him, inflating his pride and ego in an alarming rate. Soon, your compliments become the fuel to Wukong's power and now goes out of his way to impress you further keeping your eyes on him at all times. That was until you started looking elsewhere seeing the other strong demon men you acted impressed by and just like that Wukong few into panicked desperation and started pulling out all the stops to win you back, and that's how you knew he was yours forever😈

(Destined one) Now honestly with the destined one I feel would be the hardest to get too, he's got way more brain activity then BMW would. He is a man of focus, discipline, determination, and very goal Oriented until you found out about the silent monkeys rather ugly jealousy. You show your kind loving mask and charm him into spending time with you, while you go shopping together until you heard multiple wold whistles and cat calls. You went to try on a rather revealing dress that you liked the colors of and you spotted a dark look on the destined one's face. He looked calm, but you felt his murderous aura from the dressing room, and that became your meal ticket. Soon, the destined one was under your spell toomaking sure nobody tried to take you from him and vise versa.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🤞

[malorisaurus]

Interestingly, all of this is partly why I was a bit disappointed in his romance. So much of this was subtle and left for player interpretation, and I felt the cut scenes largely did not provide context for a romance, even with this interpretation.

I didn’t need kissing or sex. I wanted a conversation about how even the idea of intimacy with a demon constantly present was confusing; I wanted Lucanis and Rook to maybe lightly joke about having unwelcome guests in their heads while the subtext could be a genuine deepening of their bond. Give me more earnest domesticity—we went shopping together, and I would have liked to have prepared a meal for the team together. Let him be sexy and suave when he shows you how to use a knife properly and then a panicked bi disaster upon realizing the intimacy in how he is touching and speaking to you.

I fully love Lucanis because he is genuine. He gives his approval most often as a response to earnest and kind dialogue options. I love that about him. He is an empathetic assassin raised by a hard woman in a home with a cousin he loved who resented him. Despite his love for Illario, Lucanis had to know in his heart of hearts that Illario did not care for him in the same way. Caterina constantly pit them against one another, and it is a trauma to have that sort of home life. Lucanis was imprisoned and violated in unthinkable ways, and being back in the world and falling in love probably feels like such a wildly foreign and terrifying thing.

While I appreciate trusting the player to extract meaning, sometimes a story benefits from being more explicit (in detail, not in nudity in this case). I wanted the opportunity to see more of him in the context of intimate conversation, to see more of the Lucanis we were privileged to glimpse.

That said, I am still glad that he was my first romance in this game, and I appreciate this post breaking down some of the elements that I think were at the root of why he is such a compelling character. I will still love him always.

Lucanis is a violently swinging pendulum of awkward and literal rizz god. How is he so bad but the coffee date cute af, and that scene in the pantry soooo goooood!?!?!

How does his confession never involve actually saying anything or physical intimacy of any kind and just him making a dessert (before you come for me, yes, I know most of his conversations are layered with romantic subtext), then later says he loves you with his whole chest?

Why does he consistently fumble when talking about romance or giving advice when with companions, but will pull mad suave lines on Rook?

This man has no idea why you like him but will turn around and say the cutest shit and demand to snuggle.

Sir... SIR...SIIIIIRRRRR!!!!!!

Listen here, babygirl. I WILL marry you. Don't try me.

[taebaelee]

Posted this on a small subreddit, but wanted to post here as well. For the new game, while part of me enjoyed playing some of it, I do really think it's such a disservice to be able to really call it a Dragon Age game when the writers stripped away any nuances by trying to make everything black or white; everything feels very basic and borderline cartoonish at points.

Anything morally gray is non-existent and you have no real influence in the game. No matter what you do, you are forced as the player to play a super friendly (or chaotic-good) at best protagonist with no opinions on the world of Thedas. This is what makes this not feel like a Dragon Age game to me.

This isn't super long, but there are spoilers under the cut as to why I feel this way. I do speak very critically about the new game, so please do not read if you think it may offend you as that is not my intention; this is more of a therapeutic rant for me and fellow DA lovers who feel disappointed about the writing.

While people can argue on how the previous games handle the situations involving anti/pro mages, templars, elves, the chantry, etc-- you can't even talk/argue about literally ANYTHING in the world with anyone as these ideas simply do not exist in the game OR are introduced but with a narrative already framed around it by the writers ideals.

- Factions/groups you work with are too virtuous. We could have had such deep and complex dynamics with the factions and how their backgrounds change your relationship with the characters in the world, or how the party members interacted with each other. Instead, none of it really matters as the game sanitizes the world around the groups to make the party members and factions palatable to the masses. A literal criminal organization, the Threads, is shown in a more positive light because while they commit other crimes, they don't deal in slavery? The Lords of Fortune (who are mainly mercenaries) would return cultural artifacts to the ethnic group they belong to-- they loot and steal, but are morally conscious enough to not steal from other cultures? The Antivan Crows who canonly bought and enslaved children, who made said children prove themselves through gruesome tests that sometimes included killing their own peers, are now played out like they're justice fighters. The the closet the game gets to showing any of the truth is small party banter you may miss with Lucanis saying his training was like torture, but it is to never be discussed again.

- The characters all get along way too well. Rook can't ask a character's opinion on the other factions, races, classes, religions, etc-- let alone reply back with their own thoughts that may go against the members views as we don’t really even get to see their opinions on them. Whenever the disapproval bubble pops up, which it rarely does, it does not change anything and it is not brought up again. There seems to be no consequences with your party members based on your choices, which makes the characters likeness towards you feel unearned as they seem to have no agency of their own. In DAI, if Cassandra has low approval then you can get a scene where you call her pathetic as she's stumbling over drunk and yells at you for ‘coddling mages’ or in high approval she can have a scene where she says something along the line 'while she doesn’t agree with everything you have done, she admires you.’ or in DAO Zevran can either betray you and go back with Taliesen/Crows or he can tell Taliesen he is not going back. Even something as small as the characters greetings change based on approval status when you visit them at skyhold. There are tons of examples I could give from previous games, but not a single cut scene seems to change with your companions outside of the final decision you make for them at the end of their companion quests. And to add on top of this, the party members all get along perfectly. If they disagree it is quickly resolved and moved on. Where are my Fenris and Anders fights or Vivienne and Solas sassy quips towards one another?

- No religious themes in the new game feels so out of place as this game literally changes the fundamentals of religious beliefs in the world of Thedas and could cause for a complete uproar with those that believe in the Maker and Chantry. The first game opens with an excerpt from the Chant of Light explaining the origins of the Blight and the Chantrys version of the truth and the whole mage/templar battle which is such a major theme (especially in DA2) in this series is due to the Chantry and this new info shows that the Chantry is wrong (or partially) and this can actually be completely missed behind a side-quest? Also, are we supposed to believe that all the Dalish just know Solas is better than Elgar'nan now? Strife say something along the lines that while Solas may be a bastard he is better than the other Evunaris" WHEN WAS THIS ESTABLISHED? Solas directly talks about how when he tried to tell the Dalish his identity they either didn't believe him or attacked him for being the God of Lies and Trickery. Yes, it has been a few years, and more may know the truth now... but how many as according to the old games the Dalish WORSHIPPED the ground Elgar'nan walked. If so many like Solas now from knowing the truth suddenly, where are all the followers for the Dreadwolf? Not only do we not have any missions regarding the agents of Fen'harel, we don't run into any at all.

- This sounds bad out of context, but where is the slavery/racism? I know a lot of people wanted them to tone some of it down, but for it to be completely removed just does no feel right when Tevinter is canonly known to be the worst place for slavery when it is openly practiced and legal... Also, playing as an elf feels very out of place during an undercover quest with the Venatori, but they already had them working for Elgar'nan which doesn't really add up either; so I guess they are just fine with Evles now after thousands of years...

- None of the previous games matter. While fundamentally, each game has their own story, I liked seeing the cameos of characters reflect past choices. One, of many examples, would be that we got to see Alistair either become a drunk in DA2 and forgotten by the narrative; or have him become a King or Grey Warden in DAI where you can even ask him about the Hero of Ferelden and his answers are different depending on how you played the game! Now we have some characters return but as a blank slate as the writers did not want to invalidate previous choices, but essentially let the characters' cameos fall flat because of this. What is the point of a character returning if they don’t reflect the character I know and helped them become what they are today through my choices?

I know I have a lot of negatives even when I said I liked part of the game, but it is a huge disappointment as the reasons above are what made me LOVE the series with it being so enriched with its environment and now it feels like a hollow shell of itself.

[simpxmachina]

NEW BOT

╰┈➤ wlw red panda , botmaker

🔪 + 🫀 = ☆ bloodthirsty ☆

cai

harper spiller - OLIVE BRANCH

Growing up, you had always looked up to Cameron. There was something magnetic about him, something that made you believe that, despite his occasional harshness, he was a model of success and strength. He was your older brother, after all. To you, he seemed invincible, someone who commanded respect without ever needing to demand it. You admired him, respected him, and above all, you wanted to be seen by him—not just as his younger sibling, but as someone worthy of his attention and approval.

The earliest memories you had of him were filled with laughter, and the smell of barbecue drifting up from the backyard where your family would gather. Cameron, back then, would toss a ball your way, not really playing but letting you chase it as if you were his shadow. He never treated you with overt cruelty as a child. Instead, it was more insidious, the way he would, just by his silence, make you feel small and insignificant. He never said anything outright that would hurt, but when he did speak, you could tell that his words, always carefully chosen, were meant to remind you of your place.

You didn’t understand it back then. How could you? He was your brother. You were supposed to look up to him, follow his lead. And for years, you did.

The first crack in the illusion came when you started to carve your own path, when you began to make something of yourself. Modeling was never something you planned for, but the moment the opportunity came, you leaped at it. It was exhilarating—meeting powerful people, being part of campaigns that made headlines. At first, Cameron seemed supportive, like a proud older brother, but as your success grew, so did the distance between you.

He began to dismiss your career. Instead of congratulating you on your achievements, he made little comments, casual remarks that carried the sting of contempt. "Is this really what you want to be known for?" he asked once, his eyes narrowed over a glass of whiskey, the slight wrinkle between his brows deepening as if the idea of you becoming a successful model was somehow beneath him. "How long are you going to keep doing this?" It wasn’t about the work, though. It was about the fact that you were no longer the naïve younger sibling who followed in his footsteps, no longer the person he could easily look down on.

But you didn’t notice the shift immediately. At first, you didn’t see it at all. You were still blinded by the love you had for him. You wanted him to be proud of you, wanted him to see you as an equal. But Cameron never saw you as anything but an annoyance, something he had to tolerate.

You began to notice the little things. The way he dismissed your ideas, the way he never included you in the important decisions, the way he referred to your modeling career as “just a phase.” But there was one thing that really struck you—the way he talked about Harper.

It started slowly, a comment here and there, usually disguised as a joke. "You really think this... woman’s going to be the one?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "She’s nice enough, I suppose, but how much longer before she realizes that she could do better?"

But it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t funny. It was an insult. And it became apparent that, in Cameron’s eyes, Harper—your wife, the woman you loved—was something beneath him. To him, she was an obstacle, an intrusion into his carefully constructed world. As you became more serious with Harper, the cracks in your relationship with Cameron grew. He began to openly dismiss her presence, make snide comments about her background, and even go so far as to suggest you were settling for someone "low class."

And you? You were too naïve to see it at first. You thought it was just sibling rivalry. You thought maybe he didn’t understand, that he was just being protective, but you couldn’t see that his disdain for Harper was a reflection of something much deeper. Cameron didn’t just dislike Harper—he resented her. Resented the way she had something he never would: your undivided attention, your loyalty, your love.

The invitation to Italy came with promises of family bonding, a chance to repair old wounds, to bring the family back together. It seemed like an olive branch from Cameron, but you couldn’t help but feel that there was more to it. A part of you sensed that his motives weren’t as pure as they appeared. You had long suspected that Cameron never really wanted a true reconciliation, but instead, he was looking for something else—something that had little to do with family and everything to do with control.

You and Harper arrived at the White Lotus Hotel in the heart of Italy, a place so lavish and beautiful that it made everything else feel insignificant. The sprawling gardens, the sparkling pool, the endless vistas of the Mediterranean—everything here screamed opulence and wealth. Everything, except for the tension that you and Harper couldn’t shake.

Cameron and Daphne were already there when you arrived. They greeted you with a certain air of cold politeness, their smiles just a little too practiced. You could feel the difference between how they treated you and how they treated Harper. With you, there was a strained familiarity. With Harper, there was the kind of insincerity that made you wonder if they even truly wanted her there at all.

Harper, of course, noticed it immediately. While you were busy taking in the sights and sounds of the hotel, Harper’s perceptiveness picked up on the subtle slights, the barely-there glances, and the tight smiles. She could feel it—the weight of being treated like an outsider in a place that should have felt like home. She had always been the type to put on a brave face, to swallow the harshness of people’s words, but here, in this hotel, surrounded by your family, it was different. Cameron’s eyes, as cold as ever, were trained on her, as if analyzing her every move, every word. Daphne’s insincerity was palpable, a smile that never reached her eyes, a politeness that never felt genuine.

"Y/n, darling, come here," Daphne called from the patio as she gestured for you to join them. You were standing a few feet away, talking with Harper, and immediately noticed her discomfort at the invitation. You shot her a glance—an unspoken question in your eyes. She simply nodded, her lips curving into a tight smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

You smiled back at Harper, wanting to reassure her, but there was a growing ache in your chest. You didn’t know how to make it better. You didn’t know how to fix this, the gap that was forming between you, the way Harper was withdrawing into herself more and more, the way Cameron and Daphne seemed to be pushing her away without so much as a second thought.

"You’re fine, go ahead," Harper said, her voice soft but firm. "I’ll be here."

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded and made your way to the patio. The conversation shifted immediately, from lighthearted to calculated. Cameron’s voice was sharp, like a blade wrapped in velvet, as he casually commented on the beauty of the location.

"I’m glad you could finally join us, Y/n. This place is perfect, don’t you think? Not that it’s your style, Harper, but I’m sure you’re doing fine here," he said, his words loaded with double meaning. Cameron was a master of subtle insults, and he was very good at pretending to be the perfect host while undermining those he deemed inferior.

You could feel the atmosphere grow heavier with each passing minute. The elegant beauty of the White Lotus, the luxury, the perfection—all of it felt suddenly hollow, like a facade waiting to crumble.

Harper, from a distance, watched. And though she said nothing, you could see it in her eyes—the way she tried to hide her discomfort, the way she tried to smile through the pain. She didn’t belong here, not in the way Cameron and Daphne wanted her to. To them, she was an outsider. To you, she was everything.

---

The days at the White Lotus drifted by like a dream dipped in venom. The sunlight sparkled on the cerulean waves of the Mediterranean, and the scent of salt and lemon blossoms hung heavy in the air. Every corner of the hotel promised indulgence, from the infinity pool that melted into the horizon to the lush gardens bursting with color. It should have been paradise. But for you and Harper, it felt like something else entirely—a trap, carefully laid by Cameron and Daphne, and you were only beginning to sense the snare tightening around your ankles.

Cameron had always been a master at veiled manipulation. He never attacked outright, not in a way you could call out. Instead, he worked in the shadows, planting tiny seeds of doubt, the kind that took root in the quiet spaces of your mind and sprouted when you were most vulnerable.

It started over breakfast, the morning sun pouring in through the arched windows of the dining terrace. You had risen early, craving the coolness of the morning air before the Italian heat became oppressive. Harper had stayed behind in the suite, enjoying a rare moment to herself. When you arrived, Cameron was already there, lounging back in his chair, a casual arrogance in the way he sipped his espresso. Daphne sat beside him, her hair a perfect cascade over her shoulders, her smile wide and warm—too warm.

“Y/n,” Cameron said, leaning forward slightly as you took your seat. “We were just talking about you and Harper. How’s everything going between you two?”

There was nothing inherently wrong with the question, but his tone set you on edge. You reached for the coffee pot, pouring yourself a cup as you tried to gauge his intent. “Good,” you replied simply. “We’re doing great.”

“Of course you are,” Cameron said, his grin sharp as a knife. “I mean, look at you. Successful career, beautiful wife. You’ve really... come a long way, haven’t you?”

The way he said it made your stomach twist. It wasn’t a compliment; it was a reminder. A reminder of the pedestal he had always put himself on, and the shadow he believed you’d always live in.

Daphne chimed in, her voice light and melodic, but her words carried their own weight. “Harper’s such a strong woman,” she said, a hint of surprise in her tone. “It must be hard for her, though, being around people like us. I mean, we’ve just... lived a certain kind of life, haven’t we, Cameron?”

Cameron chuckled, a low, smug sound that made your teeth clench. “True. It’s a different world for her, isn’t it? But, hey, credit to Harper for trying to fit in.”

“She doesn’t need to fit in...” you said in a small voice but still heard. The words hung in the air, and for a moment, both Cameron and Daphne stared at you, their expressions unreadable. You felt your heart racing, the blood pounding in your ears.

But the damage was done. The seed was planted. You didn’t want to admit it, but their words lingered in your mind long after breakfast. They weren’t wrong—Harper was different. She didn’t come from the kind of wealth or privilege that you and Cameron had grown up with. She didn’t have the polish or the connections that Daphne wore like armor. But that was part of why you loved her. Harper was real in a way they could never understand. So why did their words make you feel like you had to defend her?

And that evening, the four of you gathered on the terrace for dinner, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. Harper sat beside you, her hand resting lightly on your knee, but there was a tension in her posture, a stiffness that hadn’t been there before. She had been quiet all day, her responses clipped and her smile forced. You couldn’t blame her. Cameron and Daphne had a way of making her feel like an outsider without ever saying it outright.

“So, Harper,” Cameron said, swirling his wine in his glass. “How’s work going? Still doing the whole... legal thing?”

“It’s going well,” Harper replied, her tone measured. “I’ve been focusing more on pro bono cases lately. It’s fulfilling work.”

Cameron raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Pro bono, huh? That’s... admirable. Not very lucrative, though, is it?”

“It’s not about the money,” Harper said, her voice firm. “It’s about helping people who don’t have anyone else to fight for them.”

Daphne leaned forward, her smile saccharine. “That’s so noble of you, Harper. I don’t know if I could do that. I mean, I’d want to help, of course, but it must be exhausting. And, well, not everyone has the luxury of giving up a big paycheck, right? You’re so lucky, Y/n, to be able to support her like that.”

You saw the flicker of anger in Harper’s eyes, the way her grip on her wine glass tightened ever so slightly. But she didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she gave a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of her wine.

The rest of the dinner passed in a haze of thinly veiled insults and polite conversation. You could feel Harper withdrawing, pulling further and further away, and you hated it. You hated that she had to endure this, hated that you couldn’t protect her from it. But most of all, you hated the little voice in the back of your mind that whispered nonsence.

---

As you lay in bed beside Harper, the silence between you felt heavy, oppressive. She had her back to you, her shoulders tense beneath the thin sheet. You reached out, your hand hovering over her back for a moment before you let it fall.

“Harper,” you said softly. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t respond right away. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it that made your chest tighten. “Do you ever think about why Cameron invited us here?”

You frowned, propping yourself up on one elbow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it doesn’t feel like he actually wants us here,” she said, turning to face you. Her eyes were dark, shadowed with hurt. “It feels like he’s testing us. Testing me.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but the words caught in your throat. Deep down, you knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. Cameron had always been competitive, always eager to prove his superiority. Inviting you and Harper to the White Lotus wasn’t an act of generosity—it was a power play. But admitting that felt like a betrayal, not just of Cameron, but of yourself.

“You’re overthinking it,” you said finally, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them. “He’s just... Cameron. You know how he is.”

“Exactly,” Harper said, her voice sharp. “I do know how he is. And I know he’s trying to drive a wedge between us.”

“That’s not true,” you said, sitting up. “Cameron wouldn’t do that. He’s my brother.”

Harper sighed, running a hand through her hair. “That’s the problem, Y/n. You’re so blind when it comes to him. You don’t see the way he manipulates you. The way he manipulates us.”

The argument hung between you like a storm cloud, threatening to break. You wanted to defend Cameron, to tell Harper that she was wrong, but a part of you knew she was right. And that part of you hated her for saying it.

The morning was unusually quiet. The villa’s golden light seeped in through the open shutters, casting soft patterns on the crisp white linens of the bed you shared with Harper. The faint sounds of the waves lapping against the shore drifted through the room, mixing with the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. You had always found this particular time of day peaceful, a pause before the chaos of human interactions began.

But this morning, the silence between you and Harper felt anything but peaceful. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling a light sweater over her shoulders despite the warmth of the room. You were still lying down, watching her from the corner of your eye, unsure how to bridge the invisible gap that had grown overnight.

Last night’s discussion about Cameron had been more charged than either of you anticipated. Harper had been firm, her words sharp but laced with genuine concern: “You don’t see it, Y/n. He’s manipulating you, like he always does. And it’s affecting us.”

You, in turn, had tried to defend him, even as doubts gnawed at the edges of your mind. “He’s my brother, Harper. He wants what’s best for me.” But the words had rung hollow, even to you.

Now, in the daylight, you couldn’t ignore the weight of her arguments. Cameron had a way of getting into your head, of twisting situations just enough to make you question yourself—and Harper.

“I’m going down to breakfast,” Harper said, breaking the silence. Her tone was calm, but distant. “Are you coming?”

You hesitated, feeling the pull to stay wrapped in the comfort of the bed, away from the complexities waiting outside the door. But you nodded, swinging your legs over the side and reaching for your clothes. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

The four of you sat outside on the terrace, where the late morning sun warmed the stone tiles. Daphne was already animated, sipping an iced coffee and recounting a story about a boutique she wanted to visit in town. Cameron lounged beside her, sunglasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the carefree husband.

Harper, sitting across from you, was quiet, her fork absently moving scrambled eggs around her plate. You could tell she wasn’t truly listening to Daphne’s chatter, her thoughts likely still circling last night’s conversation.

“You okay, Y/n?” Cameron asked, his voice cutting through the clatter of silverware. His grin was as sharp as ever, and you could feel Harper stiffen beside you.

“Fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

“Well, you’ve got to perk up. We’re in Italy, for God’s sake,” Cameron said with a laugh. “Not every day you get to live like this, huh?”

Harper finally spoke, her voice low but steady. “Not everyone feels the need to remind people how great their life is, Cameron.”

The table froze for a moment, Daphne’s laughter trailing off into an awkward silence. You looked at Harper, willing her to meet your gaze, but she kept her eyes on her plate.

Cameron chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Always so fiery, Harper. I guess that’s what keeps things interesting.”

You cleared your throat, desperate to diffuse the tension. “Maybe we should head into town after breakfast. Get some fresh air.”

Daphne jumped at the suggestion. “Yes! There’s this adorable piazza I’ve been dying to see. We can grab gelato, wander around. It’ll be fun.”

Harper gave a noncommittal shrug, and you felt a pang of guilt. The cracks in your relationship were becoming more visible, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that Cameron was widening them on purpose.

The walk through town should have been idyllic. The cobblestone streets were lined with colorful buildings, their shutters painted in vibrant hues. Flower boxes overflowed with blooms, their scent mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery. But the beauty of the surroundings did little to ease the tension that clung to your group.

Cameron and Daphne led the way, their laughter carrying through the narrow streets. You and Harper lagged behind, walking side by side but barely speaking.

“You’re quiet,” Harper said eventually, her voice soft but tinged with frustration.

“I’m thinking,” you said.

“About what?”

You hesitated, glancing ahead at Cameron’s broad shoulders. “About us. About him.”

Harper stopped walking, forcing you to pause as well. “Y/n, if you can’t see what he’s doing by now, I don’t know what else to say. He doesn’t care about you, not really. He cares about control. And he’ll use whatever means necessary to get it—even if it means tearing us apart.”

Her words hit harder than you expected. You wanted to argue, to defend Cameron, but deep down, you knew she was right.

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been letting him get to me, and it’s not fair to you.”

Harper’s expression softened, but only slightly. “I don’t need you to apologize, Y/n. I need you to see him for who he really is.”

The confrontation with Cameron came just after noon, back at the villa. The four of you had returned from town, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. It boiled over when Cameron made another casual jab at Harper during lunch.

“You know, it’s funny,” Cameron said, leaning back in his chair with the casual arrogance that had always grated on Harper’s nerves. “When we were kids, Y/n used to get in so much trouble. Mom thought she’d end up running some bohemian art collective in the middle of nowhere, not gracing the covers of magazines. It’s... surprising, really.”

The backhanded compliment was aimed directly at you, but it felt like a dagger meant for Harper. You managed a tight smile, hoping to deflect the brewing storm. “People change,” you said, your voice light but your grip on your fork tightening. “And I think I’ve done pretty well for myself.”

“Oh, no question,” Cameron said, his grin widening. “You’ve exceeded all expectations. And now, with Harper by your side—” He paused, gesturing vaguely. “I mean, it’s... unconventional, sure, but who am I to judge?”

Harper’s eyes flicked up from her plate, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “Unconventional?” she asked, her tone measured but carrying an edge that made your stomach tighten.

“You know what I mean,” Cameron said, with the kind of faux-innocence that made your blood boil. “It’s just that Y/n comes from... well, let’s face it, a certain level. And your background—no offense—doesn’t exactly scream ‘power couple.’”

You felt the words like a punch to the gut, not because you agreed with them, but because they hung in the air, unchallenged. Harper’s expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Cameron,” you began, your voice firm but wavering just enough to betray your unease.

“No, let him finish,” Harper said, her gaze never leaving your brother’s face. “I’m curious to see how much lower he’s willing to go.”

Cameron chuckled, spreading his arms as if to say he was harmless. “Hey, I’m just being honest. Isn’t that what family’s for?”

“Family,” Harper said, the word dripping with disdain. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” you said, your voice louder than you intended. The table fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable.

Harper pushed her chair back abruptly, standing and tossing her napkin onto the table. “I don’t need to sit here and listen to this. Enjoy your family bonding, Y/n.”

“Harper, wait—” you called after her, but she was already walking away, her footsteps echoing on the stone tiles of the terrace.

You turned to Cameron, your face hot with anger. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” he said, feigning surprise. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. You deserve someone who matches your level, Y/n. Harper’s... fine, I guess, but let’s not kid ourselves. She’s not one of us.”

The words stung, and for a moment, you hated yourself for not immediately defending Harper. Instead, you stood, muttering something about needing air, and followed the path Harper had taken.

You found her on the beach, her arms crossed as she stared out at the water. The moonlight caught the edges of her silhouette, highlighting the tension in her shoulders.

“Harper,” you said softly, approaching her cautiously.

She didn’t turn around. “Don’t,” she said, her voice cold. “Don’t come out here and pretend to make it better.”

“I’m not pretending,” you said, stepping closer. “I’m trying to fix it.”

She let out a bitter laugh, finally turning to face you. “Fix what, Y/n? The fact that your brother disrespects me every chance he gets? Or the fact that you let him?”

“That’s not fair,” you said, though the words felt hollow even as they left your mouth.

“Isn’t it?” she shot back. “He talks down to me, insults our marriage, and you just sit there. You don’t defend me, you don’t stand up to him—you just let him win.”

Her words hit you like a slap, each one cutting deeper than the last. “It’s not about him winning,” you said, your voice cracking. “He’s my brother, Harper. I can’t just—”

“You can’t just what?” she interrupted. “Risk upsetting him? Risk losing his approval? Newsflash, Y/n—he doesn’t respect you either. He never has. And if you can’t see that, then maybe he’s right. Maybe I made a mistake thinking we could make this work.”

Her words left you stunned, your mind reeling. “You don’t mean that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She sighed, her expression softening just enough to let you see the hurt behind her anger. “I don’t want to mean it,” she said. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep fighting for us when it feels like I’m the only one trying.”

You stood there in silence, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a physical force. For the first time, you saw the cracks in your relationship not as something caused by Cameron or Daphne, but as something you had allowed to grow by putting your need for your brother’s approval above your commitment to Harper.

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, the words barely scratching the surface of what you felt. “I’ve been... stupid. I let him get in my head, and I let him hurt you. That’s not okay. You’re what matters to me, Harper. Not him, not his opinion, not any of it. Just you.”

She looked at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I need to believe that, Y/n. I need to know that you’re in this with me, not just standing by while your family tears us apart.”

“I am,” you said, stepping closer and taking her hands in yours. “I’m with you, Harper. Always.”

---

The next morning, the sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred first, blinking sleepily at the peaceful sight of Harper beside you. Her face was calm, her lips slightly parted as she slept. For the first time in days, you felt grounded. This woman—the one who had weathered so much by your side—was your anchor. You weren’t about to let Cameron or anyone else jeopardize that.

Instead of brooding over how to handle your brother, you decided to focus on Harper. Small gestures, ones that reminded her how much she meant to you, were long overdue. You slipped out of bed quietly, letting her rest, and wandered downstairs to arrange breakfast on the terrace.

By the time Harper joined you, her hair tousled and her steps slow, the table was set with fresh pastries, fruit, and coffee. She paused, her eyes sweeping over the spread, then landing on you.

“You did all this?” she asked, her tone guarded but touched.

“Just wanted to do something for you,” you replied, gesturing to the seat across from you.

She hesitated for a moment, then sat down, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”

The meal started quietly, both of you still tentative in the aftermath of the night before. But gradually, the conversation eased. Harper told you about a strange dream she’d had involving dolphins in tuxedos, and you laughed harder than you had in days.

“I missed this,” she said softly, her gaze meeting yours.

“Me too,” you admitted. “I know I’ve been... distracted. I let him get in my head.”

Her brow furrowed. “Him?”

“Cameron,” you said, the name tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to live up to his impossible standards, Harper. But last night, I realized it’s a losing game. He doesn’t want me to succeed—he wants me to fail. And I’ve been playing right into it.”

Harper leaned back, her arms crossed. “I’ve been saying that since day one.”

“I know,” you said quickly. “I know you have. I just didn’t want to see it. I thought if I could prove myself to him, he’d finally respect me. But I’m done chasing that. I don’t care what he thinks anymore. The only person I care about is you.”

She studied you for a long moment, her expression softening. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady. “I’ve been so focused on Cameron that I almost lost sight of what matters. But I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’m with you, Harper. Always.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, but you could see the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You reached across the table, gently taking her hand in yours. “Harper, I’m serious. I know I’ve screwed up—more times than I can count—but I want to do better. For you. For us. I’m not perfect, and God knows I’m slow sometimes, but I love you. I really, really love you.”

Harper raised a skeptical eyebrow, though her lips quirked into an amused smirk. “Really, really love me, huh? Is that the official declaration?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice unwavering. “Really, really. Desperately, hopelessly, stupidly in love with you.”

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in mock contemplation. “Hmm, let me think... You did mess up a lot this trip.”

“Harper...” Your voice softened, and your grip on her hand tightened.

Her smirk widened as she leaned forward just a little, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, begging might help your case. Maybe you should try that.”

You blinked at her, momentarily stunned by her playful challenge, before rising from your seat and lowering yourself to your knees right there on the terrace. “I’m begging,” you said earnestly, tilting your head like a desperate puppy, eyes locked on hers. “Forgive me, Harper. I’ll do anything.”

Her eyes widened for a split second before a laugh bubbled out of her, soft and disbelieving. “Oh my God, Y/n, you’re ridiculous,” she said, though her cheeks were flushed, and her tone was far from annoyed.

“I mean it,” you insisted, looking up at her with a sincerity that made her chest tighten. “You’re everything to me. I’ll get on my knees a thousand times if it means you’ll forgive me.”

Her laugh softened into something warmer, a mixture of affection and amusement, as she leaned down to stroke your cheek gently. “You know,” she mused, her thumb brushing along your jawline, “maybe you should be wrong more often. I like you on your knees for me.”

A soft, bashful smile tugged at your lips, but you didn’t move, relishing the feeling of her touch. “Whatever you want,” you murmured, voice barely audible. “Just tell me what to do to make it right, and I’ll do it.”

Harper’s teasing faltered slightly as her fingers lingered on your face. For all your silliness, she could see the depth of your love, the sheer desperation in your eyes to fix things. It made her heart ache and swell all at once.

She leaned back with a small sigh, tugging at your hand to coax you back to your feet. “All right, puppy. Get up. I don’t need the waitstaff thinking I’m torturing you out here.”

You rose obediently, though your gaze never left hers. “Am I forgiven?” you asked, hesitant but hopeful.

Her lips quirked into a small smile, and she shook her head fondly. “You’re lucky I love you,” she said softly. “But yes. You’re forgiven.”

Relief washed over you, and without thinking, you leaned forward to press a kiss to her hand, earning another quiet laugh from her.

“You’re such a dork,” she said, her voice lighter now, full of affection.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” you said, grinning, “as long as it’s with you.”

“Careful,” Harper teased, her tone still laced with playfulness, “I might take you up on that offer.”

“Good,” you replied, settling back into your chair but still holding onto her hand like it was a lifeline. “Because I’m not letting go. Not ever.”

For a moment, Harper just looked at you, her smirk softening into something almost shy. “You really are hopeless,” she murmured, but there was no bite to it.

“And hopelessly in love with you,” you shot back, earning one more laugh from her as the tension finally melted away.

And for the first time, you weren’t thinking about Cameron or Daphne or anyone else. All you could see was Harper, and that was more than enough.

[viwifey]

bear with me for a second yall but around 2 am after being awake for 23 hours combined with a couple drinks from being out with some friends, i was suddenly hit ideas of things that i thought could’ve helped season 2 to feel more satisfying for each character arc lmao 😭😭

definitely not saying this is perfect nor have i thought too much about if there would be any plot holes but i think it works for the most part

SEASON 1 CHANGES GOING INTO SEASON 2

-no ambessa introduction in season 1; or at least keep her in mel’s flashback or something so we still have a sense of why mel is against war

as much as i love ambessa, it feels like her arc got other character’s stories to be shortened. not having her play a role in season 2 really helps with allowing other characters to have more time on screen and with a couple changes they can still follow similar arcs they had a in season 2

-ending of season 1 plays out the same with jinx shooting the rocket at the council

ACT 1

-pretty much stays the same; no introduction of the black rose but instead after mel discovers that she could have powers, she leaves piltover to go on some journey to discover what it could be

-caitlyn still forms her strike team to try to catch jinx but after it fails she uses her power and status as a kiramman to place martial law on zaun

-basically everyone else still keeps their exact storyline from act 1

ACT 2

-jinx, who also agrees to be the symbol for the rebel group, is motivated by isha to mend her relationship with vi and discovers that she is pit fighting

no introduction of vander/warwick either; the time spent looking for him in episode 5 is instead focused on vi’s trauma and the sisters still end up on better terms

-cait is still inflicting martial law on zaun and starts to have a change of heart when something happens making her solely responsible for the killing of a mother in zaun, paralleling that to how she felt towards jinx killing cassandra. we begin to see her loosen her control of zaun in episode 6 while making efforts to try to atone for the damage she caused

-after helping vi, jinx has her work with the rebel group and they form a list of demands they find acceptable to produce to piltover that basically starts the process for zaun to become independent. vi is the one to bring these to cait with the hope that their relationship makes it more likely for it to be approved

-vi and cait make amends and cait apologizes

-jayce returns and still kills viktor at his cult

-singed is also present but instead of his experiments being on warwick, they’re on something else that is still intended to help his daughter; learns about viktor and his abilities and goes to him try to find a way to harness them for himself to use for oriana but isn’t able to figure it out before jayce kills viktor

-mel learns more about herself as a mage

ACT 3

-keep episode 7 the same

-episode 8 is preparation for war between piltover/zaun and viktor who is revived by singed like he was in the show

-zaun agrees to help fight viktor because they are on better terms with piltover after their proposal was accepted for their independence

-cait and jinx have a bit of a heart to heart moment and end their rift

-mel has returned from her self discovery journey and has her powers developed to where they were in act 3

-ekko returns with the zdrive and uses it to help win the fight

-final battle plays out but no jinx “death” since warwick isn’t present

-viktor and jayce scenes play out like it did in act 3

-cait steps down from her role in the kiramman house out of remorse for her actions and mel steps in to run piltover

-cait becomes a PI and we see her using her detective skills

-jinx, vi, and ekko help with rebuilding zaun to be a healthier place for its people

-caitvi are together and vi also helps cait with her investigative work sometimes

-singed could be successful with getting oriana back or not idk lol

THE END

[pushspacetocontinue]

"I thought as much," Leofric said, although it didn't seem like he was going to tell Lucien off, "But I am glad you were able to get here safely at least."

"You'll have to teach me how to do that," Bill said, with a grin as he eyed the vent himself, "Impressive."

"I will see what I can do," Leofric said, "Conventional gas masks may provide protection, but it might not hurt to see what I can add to that."

Russell gave Lucien a small smile on seeing him. As much as he was concerned about him leaving the safety of the apartment (and felt guilty for causing him to worry enough to leave it), it was still nice to see him.

"Urf... r-right," Russell only replied. He clearly didn't approve of the idea of not having his beloved coffee, but he was hardly in any position to argue.

Bill laughed a little bit. If not for the circumstances, this actually felt kind of nice. Like a family gathering of sorts, trying to work out a problem together, and just sharing a small break from this coming chaos. It seemed that Rook felt the same.

So Russell told how he had ended up in that situation. Of the two men who drove and that annoying gadget user who he described as 'Emperor Kuzco's knockoff cousin'. The context was needed after all. He kept that part brief, mainly because he didn't remember much about that anymore. It hovered on the edges of his memory like a fading dream.

"So, they had me, me in this, this dentist chair, and, and after a while he, he just walked in. He, he acted like, all, all nonchalant, like he, he wasn't worried about me going anywhere. I, I mean, to be fair, I, I was all tied up and I had started to like, um, act like I, I was too scared to do, to do much, and well, just, just look at me. Not all, not all that intimidating, am, am I?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything," Bill said, "And then what happened?"

"Indeed, you don't." Lucien stated cooly as he faded into existence. He was hardly recognizable with his hair down and wearing a hoodie, of all things. But that was the best he could do until he could get rid of the sling holding his arm in place.

"Oh, hello, Zartan!" Rook greeted him with a grin, "Where the hell did you come from?"

"The vent." Lucien replied as he stared at Rook, quietly telling her not to say another word on the matter, before turning to Leofric, "That will be fundamental. The balm won't help much if we can't breathe."

He then moved to stand by Russell, as that was the actual reason for his presence there. "No caffeine until you're fully reestablished, okay?"

"It wouldn't be the first time I fall asleep while listening to something."

Though she had a feeling sleep would already come easy once she was exhausted enough now that she knew they were all more or less getting along again. It was a bigger weight off her chest than her bruised ribs healing up, honestly.

Rook smiled, settling back down, "There you go. The family's all reunited."

"Great. We can finally move on to a new topic for our late night chats." Lucien rolled his eyes, looking back to Russell, "I'm quite curious myself. And please, don't spare us the details."

Hopefully, they would be gory.