#might do more in the future if i remember

[mooonjin]

Reminiscing

Notes: BLESS THE SECOND SEASDON OF ARCANE OH MY DAYS HES SO GOIREGOSUSSSSSS can u tell viktor is my fav :3

Pairing: Viktor x gn!reader

Summary: Years ago you and Viktor had parted ways, and for good reason. It was no longer about science to him but evolution. But evolution is the future? So why was Viktor dwelling so much on the past?

Warnings/Tags: 16+ because its bit suggestive so shooooo - tin/machine viktor, SLIGHT submissive viktor, SLIGHT submissive reader (hopefully its pg enough), swtiching, exes, trying to get back together (oof dont do that), suggestive innuendoes, touchy feely mentions — tell me if I've missed anything!

It had been years since you last saw Viktor, yet the memory of your parting remained etched into your mind like a wound that refused to heal. You remembered the way his gaze had shifted, once warm and full of curiosity, now cold and unyielding. His obsession with the Glorious Evolution consumed him entirely, leaving little room for anything—or anyone—else in his life. 

He spoke in absolutes, his words more like calculations than sentiments. You watched helplessly as the person you once knew vanished piece by piece, replaced by a man driven by a vision far beyond your grasp.

The day you walked away was devastating. You hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he might pause, might see the toll his ambition was taking on everything he once held dear. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Viktor had chosen his path and you had no choice but to choose yours.

In the years that followed, his name became a distant echo, carried to you only by the occasional whisper of rumours. Tales of the Machine Herald, a figure deemed a God, filtered through the shadows of the world. You heard of his relentless march toward perfection, but not once did he cross your path. Not once did you imagine he would.

Until tonight.

The moment you flicked on the light in your living room, your heart stopped, the air leaving your lungs in a rush.

Someone was there.

Seated in your armchair like they owned the place, their silhouette sharp against the glow of the lamp. You froze, instincts screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there rooted in place. For a moment, they said nothing and neither did you. The stillness stretched thin.

Then, their voice cut through the tension like a blade, calm and deliberate.

“We need to talk.”

Your chest rises and falls erratically, the sound of your ragged breathing filling the heavy silence around you. He stays where he is, his presence is unnervingly calm. The dim light catches the gleam of his golden eyes. It feels alive, almost predatory, as it fixes on you. 

“Are you done gasping for air?” he asks after a long moment, his voice gripped with impatience. The words slice through the room as if your panic were little more than an inconvenience.

“What the hell—who are you? Get out!” you exclaim, your voice raw and trembling with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. Your fists clench at your sides, your body tense and coiled, ready for a fight or flight you haven't yet decided on. Your eyes dart around the room, searching for something—an escape, a weapon, an explanation—anything that could make sense of the stranger sitting so calmly in your home.

The figure doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react to your outburst. Instead, he remained perfectly still.

“You know who I am,” he replies, his voice distorted by the rough mechanical overlay of the mask he wears. The silence stretches taut, heavy with tension, his lack of movement somehow more menacing than any action could be.

Then, with a faint whir and the soft ‘shing’ of metal, he shifts slightly. The purple artificial muscles in his left arm flex beneath the layers of metal, “And there’s no way I’m leaving until we’ve spoken."

He leans forward in the chair. You take a step back, your foot catching slightly on the edge of the rug, but you don’t dare look away from him. Another step, then another, the distance between them never feeling like enough. 

You stumble slightly as your heel brushes against the wall, your retreat halted. You were trapped between the hard surface behind you and the immovable figure in front. 

Yet he doesn’t rise. He doesn’t chase. He simply watches.

With a deliberate motion, he takes a step forward, and another, closing the space between you with ease. Panic rises in your chest, but before you can react, he’s there, leaning over you. His body is so close, trapping you between himself and the walls of your home.

“You’ve changed,” he remarks after a long pause as he regards you like an old friend. His eyes narrow slightly, taking in every detail of your appearance. 

“You look… softer,” he adds, his tone flat and dismissive, as if this change in you is something that doesn’t sit right with him. You don't miss how mechanical his voice sounds.

“Who... are you?!” The words escape in a rush. Your voice shakes, betraying the fear that is starting to creep up your spine. Who is he? Why does he feel so familiar, and yet so... wrong?

There’s no trace of recognition, no warmth in the air, just cold steel and the distant hum of something supernatural beneath his skin.

His fingers graze your skin lightly before gently grasping your chin, the coldness of his touch like ice. His grip is firm but there’s an unsettling gentleness to it. He tilts your face upward, forcing you to look into his eyes. 

You can feel the weight of his touch and yet, it feels like it’s not just physical. It’s invasive, as though he’s reaching inside, probing for something. Your neck feels exposed, your breath catching slightly as your body instinctively tenses. 

There’s nothing soft, nothing human about his stare. It’s all too alienated, too distant. The faint hum of his prosthetic arm seems to vibrate through the air, a constant reminder that whatever—whoever—this is, it isn’t entirely human anymore.

He leans in slightly, his head tilting to one side, as if pondering the absence of recognition in your expression.

His mask doesn’t convey anything, “You really don’t recognise me?” His tone carries an edge of disbelief, as though it’s almost unthinkable that you wouldn’t. He shifts his weight slightly, but his grip doesn’t loosen, his fingers still lightly holding your chin.

“Take your mask off!” your voice firmer now, though it trembles with the intensity of your frustration. The metallic distortion of his voice only makes it worse, the mechanical overlay making everything feel distant. He’s not any person you could remember, not even close.

He raises an eyebrow at your demand, "Very well," he mutters, his voice still tinged with that mechanical rasp but there's an odd calmness in it now. He pulls it free and it’s as if a veil is lifted from the air. 

What lies beneath the mask is a face you know all too well, yet so different from the last time you saw it. His features are gaunt, sharper than you remember, as if the years have carved something out of him.

His skin is pale, almost ghostly under the light. There’s no mistaking it. His eyes, though shinier, still carry a familiarity that hits you like a wave. It’s him. The man you once knew—his face, his expression, the very essence of the person he was, buried beneath the mask and the years.

For a moment, you just stare at him, speechless. He’s right in front of you now.

Real. Yet he feels like a ghost, like a shadow of the man you once knew.

"… What happened to you?" 

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind and it seems to carry the weight of everything that’s changed, everything that has shifted between the two of you over the years. 

You stare at him, your gaze traveling over the sharp angles of his face, the hardness in his eyes. This isn’t the person you once knew, the person you once trusted and once loved.

The question seems to amuse him, “What happened?” He echoes back to you, his voice ringing with that familiar accent of his. A humorless smile twists at the corner of his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The smile is dull, "Piltover happened," he adds, as if the mere name of the city is enough to explain everything.

"What happened," he says again as a growl now, “is that Zaun was cast aside—ignored, neglected, abandoned.”

His words hit you. Zaun. That forgotten, broken city that had always been on the edges of Piltover’s gilded perfection. The place that had been swallowed up by the ambitions and the indifference of those who held power.

The place where everything was left to rot, "So I made the city better, myself." His voice is steady, but there’s a dangerous edge to it now.

“And now Piltover is afraid.” 

Before you can even react, he reaches up with a swift, practiced motion, placing one hand on the wall beside your head. His fingers splayed wide, as though he owns the very space you’re standing in. 

“And you?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower, laced with taunting amusement. The question hangs in the air, thick with challenge, daring you to respond. “Are you afraid of me?”

It’s a question loaded with intent, the kind of question that isn’t meant to be answered, but to make you feel small. However there’s something else in his voice, something... hungry. His words aren’t just a challenge, they’re a test, a way for him to gauge whether or not you see the change in him. 

There’s a part of you that wants to deny it, to pretend he’s still the person you once knew, but the truth is right in front of you. This is not the same Viktor.

“You’re not a person,” you’re not sure if he can hear the quiet desperation in your voice as you speak. But as his gaze locks with yours, the chilling look in his eyes seems to confirm what you fear most. Whatever humanity once existed in him is long gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.

He’s not a person. Not anymore.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that isn’t obvious,” he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain, “I’m as human as you, if not more so,” he rasps, his words cutting through the space between you with confidence.

There’s a hum in his voice, a certain finality in his tone. “I still have a soul—a heart. One that beats just for you.”

His claim is so absurd, so twisted. A heart that beats just for you? He sounds like he believes it, like he truly believes that his obsession, his transformation, was somehow a sacrifice made for you. 

His hand on your chin tightens and you can’t help but flinch. Here he is, speaking of love and devotion as if those words still carry any meaning. As if you’re supposed to believe him. 

“No, we parted years ago.” The statement feels heavier than you expected. His expression flickers, ever so slightly, the faintest crack in his demeanor. The bitter smirk that had curled his lips falters for just a second before settling back into place.

“We did,” he says, a blend of mockery and intimacy. He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. The corner of his lips quirks into a sly, humorless smirk. “I always parted you… in bed, that is.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back the sharp retort you wanted to hurl at him.

He laughs again, this time his chuckle is dark and deep, “You remember that, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. “You remember how I used to make you scream,” he says, the statement suggestive as it sounded. 

His smile widened, the curve of his lips taking on an unsettling mix of nostalgia, “I’d drop to my knees for you,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Anytime, anywhere… begging you to touch me, just where I needed you most.” His eyes burned into yours. 

His hand finally released your chin, the absence of his grip almost startling. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers trailed down your neck in a slow motion, the touch lingering just enough to make your skin prickle. When his hand slid around your waist, the shift in contact was seamless.

“You didn’t just take my heart when you left me,” he continued, his voice softening into a purr that sent a shiver down your spine. “You broke it.” Viktor whispered. His lips quirked upward again, but this time, the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“You know why we split,” you say, your eyes narrowing as you force yourself to meet his gaze, despite the suffocating proximity.

"Always in the lab,” he murmurs, his voice softening slightly, but the growl lingers beneath the surface, ready to rise again. “Late into the night, always trying to find a new way to reach the Glorious Evolution.” His lips curl into a faint, humorless smirk, as though mocking himself as much as the memory of his relentless drive. “Always chasing perfection… and always losing sight of everything else.”

His fingers continue their slow, deliberate path down your body. His hand finally reaches the edge of your shirt, pausing there for the briefest of moments before grabbing it and lifting it slowly.

The fabric drags against your skin, exposing your chest inch by inch. His gaze flickers down, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. 

“You really are soft now,” he murmurs, "so soft."

You grimaced, "Stop it."

“Why?” He asks, his fingers moving even further down, sliding over the top of your thighs. “You don’t like it when I touch you?”

You instinctively swat his metal hand away but the moment your hand meets the hard, surface of his prosthetic, a sharp jolt of pain runs up your arm. You winced in result. 

He grabs your wrist in a sudden, forceful motion, his fingers tightening with a painful grip, “Don’t do that.” He says, a warning tone in his voice. “Don’t swat at me like I’m some filthy little pest, when you used to kiss my hands like I was your god.”

"You're no God." You try to pull your wrist free, but his grip doesn’t budge.

“I’ve never stopped wanting you.” He says, leaning down to bury his face in the side of your neck. Viktor lets go of your wrists and instead pushes himself between your legs, pinning you to the wall with his body.

“I thought of you when I was supposed to sleep.” He purrs, his voice soft and rough in your ear. “I thought of you when I woke up.”

Then, with a deliberate movement, his body shifts closer, and you can feel the undeniable pressure of him grinding against you, pushing you harder into the wall. “I thought of you when I was desperate.” 

Viktor's lips are close to your ear, his breath warm and unsteady as he speaks again, this time with a cruel twist. "You don’t even know, do you? How much I’ve ached for you." His words hang in the air. 

“I thought of the way you looked back then.” He says, one of his hands trailing back down, grabbing your thigh and wrapping it around his waist. “When I still had you…”

He presses close to you, his hips pushed firmly against yours and his body close enough that you can feel the heat from his body against your skin. “How your skin used to taste…..”

“...You need to leave, Viktor.” You murmur. He leans in just a fraction closer, his lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no amusement there. 

“Oh, I’ll go.” He says, his lips tracing a path over your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses over your skin.

“But not until we’ve caught up.” He lets go of your hair, one hand grabbing your thigh to keep your leg wrapped around his hip, while the other goes to your shirt, grabbing hold of the material once more.

“Maybe we should start with a little… reminiscing.”

- 

Post Notes: lol i want to make another part but wioth smut oopsise!!!!!!!!!!!! viktor is eating my brain rn

~ ~ ~

my taglist form!

[tossawary]

Recent "Star Trek" reboot universes have really tried to sell me on three different romances for Spock with other TOS characters whom he did not have romantic relationships (at least not positive ones) with in TOS, which makes it particularly annoying when some fans try to squirm away from the idea of ST ever doing a future reboot or remake in which Spock/Kirk are explicitly queer.

Like, "But it's not in the original! They want to be faithful to the original!" really, REALLY does not pass the "I think you might just be discomforted by queerness and you should work on that, rather than making appeals to the authority of textual accuracy to avoid being called a homophobe or transphobe" check here. Because it's not as though these reboots care about perfect faithfulness on pretty much any other front. We'll accept that the costumes and special effects get updated to move with the times, we'll accept wildly different characterization choices that essentially give these characters new personalities, we'll accept new timelines that change the entire political map of the galaxy, but you as a fan draw the line at "What if this character was bisexual this time?" Really???

To be clear, I am not trying to dunk on Spock/Uhura, Spock/Chapel, or Spock/T'Pring here, I am merely trying to illustrate a frustrating double-standard. TOS Uhura does notably flirt with Spock several times! I see it! I remember TOS Chapel's feelings for Spock being one-sided, but I also don't think it's a bad thing to try to update TOS's more misogynistic writing choices regarding female characters. TOS T'Pring did... kind of try to kill Spock because she didn't want to marry him, but again, I don't necessarily think it's immediately a bad thing to try to explore her as a character and her betrothal to Spock. It's fine! It's fine by me to explore new takes in new AUs.

It's just that none of that evidence from TOS for those relationships holds much of a candle to whatever the fuck Kirk and Spock had going on to inspire The Premise. "Amok Time" is an Experience. There's only so many times that Kirk can say something like, "The cost [of abandoning Spock] would have been my soul," before you want to put your face in your hands. They are taking shiny pebbles from TOS and trying their very best to sell them to me as the basis for romantic relationships in reboots, sure, while they are standing in the shadow of Spirk Evidence Mountain (TOS).

(Yes, I have seen the recent "Unification" short film. Yes, I enjoyed it. No, I will not consider Spirk "officially canon" until all plausible deniability for the squirmy folks has been completely, explicitly destroyed by a HUMAN kiss onscreen.)

And okay, I must admit, at the moment, I don't actually want Spirk to eventually happen in "Strange New Worlds" now that they've finally met. I'm mostly indifferent to their Spock and Kirk actors, personally, and the writing for every canonical romantic relationship in both SNW and "Discovery" so far has gotten a solid "well, they certainly are standing next to each other" from me. (Yes, even the gay marriage in "Discovery". I just haven't been into it so far.) I think the writers would fumble Spirk if they tried it in this specific show and then annoying fans would use the fumble as "evidence" never to try to do Spirk or queer retakes on other TOS characters ever again, or as "proof" against other queer ST in other shows characters generally.

I'm mostly just mildly annoyed that I have to keep watching Spock specifically, famously read by many people as a queer man, be straight and messy about it, especially when there has not really been a significant queer relationship onscreen in SNW yet, unless you count M'Benga's daughter Rukiya and her glow cloud friend named Debra, which I personally don't, honestly. I'd like an onscreen relationship with a main character with zero plausible deniability. There's definitely nothing yet that comes remotely close to the screentime that Spock/Chapel, Spock/T'Pring, and Kirk/La'an have all been given so far, unfortunately. (Sulu is not here yet. Scotty has just shown up. If Scotty gets to make out with a guy next season, or Uhura or Ortegas gets to make out with a lady, without it being part of some god-like-being's fantasy world, then I may be satisfied.) (Also, yes, I am aware of queer characters and relationships in other "Star Trek" shows, thanks. I very much enjoyed Mariner having her incredibly silly breakup with her girlfriend in "Lower Decks".)

"Star Trek" is one of those properties where some people's double-standards regarding romantic interpretations of the original series really jump out. "They can't do Kirk/Spock because they want to be faithful to the original!" Get real.

[revelboo]

Will you be writing for Earthspark Bee at all 🥹 I just started the series and he’s ✨everything✨

Sure. I’m going to have to make something of an update schedule at some point, because I’m well over 30 independent story lines at this point. I’m used to working on multiple projects at the same time, but I don’t think I’ve ever been outlining/writing any more than 6 projects at a time. Need to update the Masterlist, too

The Future Freaks Me Out

TF Earthspark x Reader

• Peds and servos scrabbling to stop his tumble down the hillside, he feels every strike when he hits trees and rocks on the way down. Processor still ringing from Soundwave’s attacks as the world blurs into greens and occasional flashes of blue sky before he slams into something hard. And then the darkness creeps in at the edges leaving him to hope Soundwave doesn’t come looking for him to finish the job while he’s helpless.

• Breath fogging in the chilly morning air, you adjust your backpack. Jogging along the leaf strewn trail, you stumble to a stop seeing a flash of yellow through the underbrush. Cautiously approaching, your breath catches in surprise. It’s one thing to see them on the news, but this is the first time you’ve ever seen a real Cybertronian before. And you recognize this one. Bumblebee. An autobot, but he looks like he’s seen better days. Optics shuttered as you crouch to study him, startling when he vents raggedly. Alive, but hurt.

• Soft, warm fingers brush the curve of one of the horns on his helm, then ghost over the back of his hand. Everything hurting, he lifts his head and the human stumbles back, tensed to bolt. He’d hoped for one of the Malto’s, but you’re a stranger. “You’re Bumblebee,” you say, shifting slightly on your feet. Knows not all humans like them, Autobot or Decepticon. You might help him or you might try to hurt him. And he can’t radio for help thanks to the damage Soundwave meted out.

• “I won’t hurt you,” he says, voice strained with pain. Trying to reassure you even though he’s the one hurt and your unease fades. Remember hearing about him as a kid, the stories that painted him a hero, though he’d gone missing years ago. And watching him shift, a door wing hanging awkwardly and seeing the energon seeping from his wounds, you want to help him.

• “I can get you help, tell me what to do.” Your words surprise him, because you owe him nothing. Makes him try to get to his peds, but his body won’t cooperate. Hurt worse than he’d realized from the fight before Soundwave had even thrown him over the side of the cliff. But he doesn’t know you. Can’t risk sending a stranger to the Malto’s. Wheeljack had been in the area testing drones, though. He’d not had a chance to radio him before Soundwave ambushed him, but it’s a chance. Because he’s not going anywhere on his own. A little trust. Trying to get his bearings, he weakly points in a direction and asks you to find Wheeljack. Hoping he’s not making a mistake, but you offer him a timid smile and cautiously touch the back of his hand again.

[juyeoz]

THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT ──── PARK SUNGHOON ( 성훈 )

SYNOPSIS — The butterfly effect was the theory that one small event can effect the future, meaning Sunghoon had to move cautiously when brought six years back into the past in front of his lover who had died in the present.

PAIRING — lover!sunghoon x gn!reader

CONTAIN(S) — mentions of death, angst, going back into the past, and inspired by butterfly by bts.

WORDCOUNT — 590 words

Sunghoon had no clue what brought him to his old highschool. The one he had already graduated from 6 years ago. 

In one moment he was situated at the entrance of a funeral hall, then the next, he was brought 6 years back into the past, having to restart the last six years of his life. In Sunghoon’s present, you—his lover—died. He didn’t get the chance to say goodbye either. 

It happened too suddenly, just like his transportation. If he could recall correctly, he was on the brink of fainting. He was scared and in disbelief. All the overwhelming emotions he had felt in this situation got the best of him. 

He was knocked out cold and brought back into the past before he knew it. 

However, even if part of him was frightened by the sudden change of scenery, he was thankful for the sight before him. 

You. 

It felt like his world had stopped and everyone passing down the halls became motion blur.

Looking at you in this moment felt like a dream for the said man. It all felt unreal. You were lying in a casket only five minutes ago, so how were you standing a few meters away from him looking alive and well?

Sunghoon wanted to reach out towards you and clasp your hand with his. He wanted to hold you closely, making sure you weren’t able to slip away again. He feared all the possible inconveniences that could happen in this world. 

He feared them all.

Yet, he couldn’t do anything. You didn’t know who he was at this time. It was way before you two had even met in his previous world. He wanted to cry out loud as you consoled him, but he couldn’t. 

Once again, you didn’t know who he was. He was just a mere stranger to you and that was it.

You were smiling at those around you. A smile that Sunghoon had adored when you were together. He wished for you to show him that same smile one more time. He didn’t care if you said anything or didn’t remember him. 

Just a smile was enough.

He missed when you would promise him about staying by his side forever. He missed when you would hold his hand despite the shyness it brought you. Now, if he were to do such a thing, would he lose you for a second time? 

It scared him. The thought scared him a ton.

That still didn’t explain why his feet took off from where he stood. They led him to you. His previous lover. 

If he could stop time in this current moment, he would. He wouldn’t even hesitate in doing so. If Sunghoon could say the words ‘I love you’ one last time, he would. He wouldn’t dare to shy away either. 

To his dismay, he couldn’t. You would only give him a weird yet apologetic look. Hell, you might even feel uncomfortable by his sudden confession.

He paused in his tracks only a few steps away from you. He couldn’t bring himself to close the gap. This was the only time he could see you being so happy. The gleam in your eyes that disappeared the last time he saw you.

He couldn’t ruin it. 

Of course, he missed you. There was no doubt about it. Unfortunately, he would have to leave those feelings behind. The butterfly effect could only ruin the future he had waiting ahead of him.

The one he wouldn’t dare to face for a second time.

© JUYEOZ

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @kxppachu @ancnymcnzjy

[misc-magic]

Ohh thank you for the tag, Eden!!

Mwahaha I gave myself cat ears because why not, right?? Also there were no freckles, so I went with those little diamonds instead lol.

how do you spend your free time?

I spend what little free time I have writing, doing a couple other hobbies, and trying to keep on top of my house, chores, and errands. And you know, trying to do it effectively despite the adhd lol!

what are your hobbies and how did you get into them?

I don't usually list writing as a hobby because it's more like my life's blood. I get irritable if I don't write. But my other main hobby is music. I play the piano almost every day. My guitar and ukulele are collecting some dust recently, but I will get back to those, too. Playing music is the most relaxing thing for me and I always end up wanting to pick instruments back up even if it's been a minute. As for how I got into it, I started playing the piano at the tender age of 9 and just never stopped lol. Reading is another big hobby of mine. I turned the formal dining room of my house into a library so I could have a place for all my piles of books. I'm in a reading slump currently, but I've learned to just let it be and eventually I will be consuming books like crazy again. This is another one I don't know the origin of, it's like I've been reading books as long as I can remember. (Other hobbies include crocheting, video games, DnD, journaling, and then there's a section of what I call "dead hobbies" as in I did them obsessively for a while but haven't done them in ages but might pick them up again in the future let us not discuss it adklfjkfj.)

what book or movie left a lasting impression on you?

This might be a really dorky answer, but... I read A Midsummer Night's Dream by good ole Billy Shakes when I was like twelve and it changed my brain chemistry forever. I don't know what it was about that play... I read a bunch of others around the same time and like I loved Macbeth and Othello and The Tempest. But there was something about all the fairies and fantasy that I think was the start of my obsession with all things magical lol.

what kind of music do you enjoy?

Ohhh it's constantly changing. When I'm listening to stuff with lyrics or that I want to sing along to, I'm really into folk, indie, jazz, neo soul, and k-pop, but like I also used to listen to a lot of alt rock and punk rock so I know a lot of those songs, too. I'll kinda switch between stuff, especially 90s rock is something I'll play when I'm feeling ~nostalgic~ lol. But when I'm listening to music for writing or concentration, it's all instrumental or in a language I can't speak. So I'm listening to a TON of piano music, classical, and lately my other obsession has been mandopop. I actually really love k-pop for this, too. It's like I can listen to these up beat poppy songs without getting distracted by the lyrics. And yo Mandarin is just a beautiful language to listen to. Anyway, I tend to like most music and I'm always looking for new stuff.

who is your favorite character (atm or all time) and why?

Because I couldn't hope to choose one for all time, I'll go with at the moment and that is none other than the time traveling demon butler Barbatos.

(Assuming here that we're talking about characters that aren't mine because they top the list every time lol. Though actually even if I listed the ones that are at the top, nobody would know them because they aren't my OM OCs and I've never posted about them here lkdfjkfj.)

Barbatos is just such a great character that was horrendously underutilized in his source material. They kinda made him the end all be all solution for when things got out of hand. He could fix any plot hole with a bit of time travel or ancient demon power. But he has so much more depth than that. And maybe in some ways, he reminds me of myself. He's quiet, but observant. He notices everything, keeps track of all the details about someone, remembers everything. The main difference between us is that my adhd makes me scattered, so Barbatos feels like the type of person I have the potential to be if I could keep it together. It's less about the fantasy of someone taking care of me and more about the fantasy of being competent lol. What does this say about me? Let us not look any deeper.

He's also just really cool and mysterious and who doesn't love a guy who can cook, right? His demon form design is top notch in my opinion, with those cool wing like horns and the tail. He's just great in every way and I've written several essays about him on my side blog al;kdfjkdlfj.

Weee that was fun and as usual I wrote too much lol.

OPEN TAGS~ if you are my mutual consider yourself tagged because I want to see all your answers!

tag + q&a game ₊˚ෆ

hello! i thought it would be cute and exciting to do a tag game with all my mutuals to not only talk about themselves, but have fun! so here is my short little game:

alongside this picrew, share 5 things about yourself!

• how do you spend your free time? • what are your hobbies and how did you get into them? • what book or movie left a lasting impression on you? • what kind of music do you enjoy? • who is your favorite character (atm or all time) and why?

i will start first!

my name is rurumi and i enjoy spending my free time writing!

some of my hobbies (outside of writing) includes: drawing, building gundams and keyboards, and fashion! i got into most of them on a whim and became instantly hooked. aside from self-expression, being into fashion also helps with making friends in college because you always have something to talk about!

a book that left a lasting impression on me would have to be either kafka on the shore by haruki murakami or before the coffee gets cold by toshikazu kawaguchi. both stories have kept me up at night thinking a lot about the 'what ifs' in life.

i enjoy soul/r&b alongside anything of jrock influence, but i will basically listen to anything that sounds good. i am currently listening to 'so what' by lucy!

my favorite character at the moment is rin itoshi from blue lock because hes so ridiculously edgy, but at the same time i sympathize with him a lot. on the other hand, my favorite character of all time is suletta mecury from the witch from mercury series, she's an absolute ball of sunshine that i aspire to be.

tagging (+ no pressure) ₊˚ෆ

@kaiser1ns @naenaex0xx @shomatoriashi @choccorin @ryescapades

@rindreamery @soleillunne @kissxcore @rainswept @mitsvriii

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction.

TWO

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

THREE

After a long bath, during which you took your time exploring every detail of the lavish bathroom, you found yourself standing before your wardrobe. It was massive, with mirrored doors that reflected your every movement. The clothes inside were mostly high-end—elegant dresses, tailored blazers, and pieces that leaned toward the extravagant. After some deliberation, you chose a red dress that bordered on being too seductive, with a daring slit that revealed your legs up to your thighs.

Tonight, you wanted to capture your husband’s attention even more. Once dressed, you carefully applied perfume and styled your hair, slipping into a pair of high heels that, while uncomfortable, perfectly complemented the dress. As you stood before the full-length mirror, you questioned whether the effort was worth it. You weren’t entirely sure if you remembered how to do makeup, but you made an attempt—enhancing your lashes with mascara and applying a bold red lipstick to match the dress.

When you finally left the master bedroom on the second floor, a nagging curiosity tugged at your thoughts. What was inside Charlie’s office that he was so intent on keeping locked? But your husband would be home soon, and the anticipation of dinner with him distracted you as you descended the stairs, feeling a flutter of excitement. Mary, the housekeeper, greeted you warmly and kindly offered to give you a tour of the house. She was an older woman with a sprightly demeanor and an air of maternal care. She walked you through each room, explaining their purposes and sharing small anecdotes about the home. Her warmth was comforting, and she mentioned that dinner would be ready in just a few minutes.

However, as the minutes stretched into an hour and then two, your excitement turned to unease. Charlie still hadn’t arrived. Mary, noticing your disappointment, eventually joined you for dinner, doing her best to fill the silence with polite conversation. Her sympathetic gaze was hard to ignore—it was clear she felt sorry for you.

"Mary, could you tell me where to find the key to my husband's office?" you ask, interrupting the conversation you had both been carrying on. Mary’s gaze shifts to the window, her eyes fixed on the emptiness outside, as though weighing her response.

"I really shouldn't meddle in the personal affairs of my employers," she says hesitantly, her voice soft but tinged with unease. "Just point me in the right direction, and I promise no one will ever hear a word about it," you reply, your tone gentle, almost coaxing, as you offer her a small, reassuring smile.

"Mrs. Mayhew, please don't put me in a difficult position," Mary says, her voice wavering as if she were truly torn. "I don’t remember anything, Mary. I have no awareness of my life beyond what surrounds me now. Please, help me. I beg of you," you implore, leaning forward and clasping her hand in yours. Your earnest gaze meets hers, and for a moment, she looks conflicted.

Finally, Mary sighs, her shoulders slumping as if weighed down by the burden of her decision. "There’s a drawer," she begins hesitantly, "in the last cabinet of the kitchen. It has a hidden compartment." Her words hang in the air, charged with secrecy and a hint of guilt, as she glances away, clearly regretting having spoken.

As if bound by an unspoken pact, you give Mary’s hand a gentle squeeze before leaving her seated, silently affirming her trust. You make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in your chest as you search for the hidden compartment she described. Your fingers tremble as you fumble with the drawer, the anticipation almost unbearable. Then, with a soft click, you find it—the key.

The house is eerily quiet, save for the sound of your hurried footsteps as you ascend to the second floor. Clutching the key tightly, you waste no time unlocking the door to Charlie’s office. The moment it creaks open, you are greeted with a scene that steals the air from your lungs.

The room is a macabre gallery of horrors. A large bulletin board dominates one wall, adorned with photographs of mutilated bodies—cadavers sliced apart, their lifeless forms frozen in grotesque poses. One image depicts a body cleaved in two, while another shows a woman with her abdomen grotesquely opened; her distended belly suggests she was pregnant. Your breath catches as your eyes fall upon a photo of yourself, pinned among the others. Beneath it, in bold writing, is your name with the word "Suspect" scrawled beneath it. Not far from it is an image of Charlie, labeled "Primary Suspect."

The walls bear even more—a chilling collection of painted recreations of the crime scenes. The artistry is disturbingly exquisite, each brushstroke capturing the raw, visceral nature of the acts committed. The paintings are hauntingly lifelike, as though frozen moments from a nightmare. On the desk, amidst scattered papers, rests a dossier with your name emblazoned on the cover. It’s thick, filled with notes, photos, and what appears to be an exhaustive investigation into your life.

You carefully scrutinize every detail in the office, even though parts of your dossier have been redacted. Ensuring everything else remains undisturbed, you lock the office door behind you and descend the stairs with a fury that feels volcanic, ready to erupt. Your steps are hurried, each one fueled by the tempest of questions swirling in your mind. You want answers from Charlie—immediately. Not only about the grotesque contents of his office but also about what could have possibly been more important than dining with you tonight.

Reaching the base of the stairs, you place the key firmly into Mary’s hands. She looks at you without a word, her expression a mixture of understanding and quiet resignation.

"Mary, return this key to its proper place, and afterward, pack some of my clothing and essentials into the guest room. Once that is done, you’re dismissed for the evening," you say, your voice taut with suppressed rage. It takes all your composure to keep from snapping, your anger simmering beneath the surface—anger at your husband’s deceit, at that ghastly mural, at those haunting paintings, and most of all, at the invasion of your privacy. Mary nods silently and turns to summon Ed, who arrives shortly, adjusting his jacket as he steps into the house.

"Ed, I believe Mrs. Mayhew would like to see her husband," Mary says, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. Ed hesitates, glancing at you as though questioning whether this is wise, but your determined stride leaves no room for debate. Without waiting for further discussion, you step out of the house, your heels clicking sharply against the stone as you head toward the car. Settling into the back seat, you fasten your seatbelt.

"To the hospital," you command, your tone brooking no argument. Ed nods and starts the car, and the journey begins, the air in the vehicle heavy with your unresolved fury and the weight of the revelations awaiting confrontation.

You don’t take long to arrive at the hospital. At the reception desk, you’re informed that Dr. Mayhew is currently attending to a particular patient. Frustration wells up within you as you rack your mind for a plausible excuse to gain quicker access to Charlie. Fate, however, seems to be on your side. From across the hall, you spot your husband emerging with his patient, their conversation light and pleasant as they approach the hospital’s entrance. The moment Charlie's eyes meet yours, it’s as if he instantly senses that something is amiss. Yet, it’s not just his presence that catches your attention—it’s hers.

The woman with him feels unsettlingly familiar. You quickly piece it together: she was on the mural in Charlie’s office. If your memory serves you correctly, her photo was captioned with Detective Megan Duval alongside the words romantic past. Like a puzzle clicking into place, the realization stings.

"Darling, what are you doing here?" Charlie asks, his voice calm yet edged with unease. He steps away from Megan and approaches you, placing his hands gently on your arms as if to comfort you. But you brush him off with a sharp movement, your temper barely restrained.

"I came to confirm that Detective Lois might have been right after all. But aren’t you going to introduce us, dear husband?" you ask, your tone laced with biting sarcasm. Your eyes bore into him before flicking to Megan, whose expression hardens alongside Charlie's.

"I can introduce myself," Megan interjects, stepping forward with a measured tone. "I’m Detective Duval. I assure you, you’re jumping to conclusions. I’m here as a patient, and your husband is my doctor." She extends a hand toward you in a gesture of civility.

You glance at her outstretched hand, but the sight only fuels the jealousy roiling inside you. "Save your platitudes for someone gullible enough to believe them, Detective Duval. I won’t keep interrupting whatever this is. Have a good evening," you retort, your voice dripping with venom as you turn sharply on your heel.

Your emotions are a whirlwind—jealousy, betrayal, and anger all threatening to consume you. You think fleetingly about causing a scene but find yourself too overwhelmed to do so. You just want to leave. You make your way toward the car where Ed stands, waiting patiently. But before you can reach him, something stops you. Or rather, someone. Charlie strides past you, moving with alarming determination. Before you can react, he hoists you off the ground and unceremoniously throws you over his shoulder, completely ignoring your protests.

"What do you think you’re doing, Charlie Mayhew?" you demand, your voice seething with indignation as you struggle against his grip. He doesn’t respond immediately, his steps firm as he carries you away from the hospital doors, leaving both Megan and Ed in stunned silence.

He carries you with unwavering determination to what you assume is his car in the hospital parking lot. Despite your protests and the sharp slaps you land on his well-toned back, he doesn’t release you until he places you firmly in the back seat of the vehicle.

"If you wish to keep protesting, then fasten your seatbelt and save your anger for when we’re home," Charlie says, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet authority. He adjusts your position as best he can, ensuring you’re seated properly before closing the door with a firm click. Without another word, he circles to the driver’s side, the tension between you hanging heavy in the confined space of the car.

Without exchanging another word, Charlie drives you both home, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel and his demeanor tense. You notice his stress as he occasionally picks up his phone, typing out terse messages to someone. You make a pointed effort to ignore him, directing your focus instead to the passing scenery outside the window. It doesn’t take long before the car pulls into your driveway. The house looms ahead, quiet and still. Mary has likely already left for the evening, and Ed is nowhere to be seen, leaving no trace of having followed behind.

When Charlie parks the car, he steps out briskly and moves to your door. Without hesitation, he leans in, releasing your seatbelt with deliberate care. His face is close to yours, and the air feels charged, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. "I’ll be waiting for you inside," he says in a low voice, his gaze steady as it locks with yours for a lingering moment before he straightens and walks toward the house.

You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car and heading toward the house. Once inside, everything appears meticulously arranged. On the dining table sits a prepared plate of food, likely Mary’s thoughtful gesture for Charlie. However, he stands in the middle of the living room, tension radiating from him as he nervously removes his tie and lab coat.

"I’ll be sleeping in the guest room," you state firmly, your tone brooking no argument. You turn on your heel to make your way to the guest room, but Charlie’s hand shoots out, gripping yours and halting your retreat.

"While I do regret leaving you waiting tonight," he begins, his voice steady but undercut with frustration, "that does not excuse your behavior. You have crossed a line." His eyes bore into yours, the weight of his words settling heavily in the space between you.

"I crossed a line?" you counter, your voice rising with incredulity. "And where exactly is this so-called line when you're the one keeping secrets from me? Or are you really going to stand there and tell me that you and Detective Duval share nothing more than a professional relationship? That there wasn’t a single other doctor in this city she could consult? Spare me, Charlie."

Your words are sharp, cutting through the tension as you step closer, your movements circling him like a predator confronting its prey. Despite the fury simmering between you, he seems unfazed—or perhaps too confident. He takes a deliberate step toward you, his hands moving to unbutton his dress shirt, the faint rustle of fabric punctuating the charged silence. A sly, almost teasing smile tugs at the corners of his lips, breaking through the serious expression he had worn moments before. His eyebrows lift slightly, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes as if daring you to push further.

"Are we done with the accusations, or would you like to continue?" he finally asks, his tone low and edged with amusement, even as your frustration mounts.

"I fail to see the necessity of you removing your clothing while we’re in the middle of an argument," you say, your resolve wavering slightly as your focus slips from the reason for your confrontation. "But let me make one thing clear—you will not distract me. I won’t let you deceive me, Dr. Mayhew," you add, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster, though your words carry a partial untruth. You could reveal what you found in his office, expose the secrets he's so carefully hidden. Yet you don’t. Perhaps because you’re unsure of your next move, or perhaps because a part of you is, indeed, distracted. Your eyes betray you, drawn to the sharp lines of his well-defined chest as his shirt slides from his shoulders. A twinge of frustration flares within you—not just at him, but at yourself for letting him affect you this way.

"My beloved wife, if I were having an affair with Detective Duval, I’d be far more discreet than to let the entire hospital catch wind of it. But you are correct—Megan and I do not share a purely professional relationship. She was my girlfriend before I fell in love with you," Charlie says, his tone calm yet deliberate as he shrugs off the last of his shirt and tosses it onto the sofa. "In fact, our relationship ended because I chose you. What you perceive as a sign of infidelity is nothing more than two former lovers finally reconciling after years of bitterness. Does that satisfy you?" You study him carefully, your mistrust lingering despite the ring of truth in his words. There’s a certain earnestness in his voice, one that’s difficult to ignore, but the revelation stirs unease within you.

"If that is all you have to say, I shall take my leave," you declare, turning on your heel to retreat to the guest room. Yet your attempt is futile. Charlie’s arms encircle your waist, pulling you firmly against him. His lips graze the back of your neck, planting a soft kiss before trailing down to your collarbone. His warm breath fans against your skin, unraveling any coherent thoughts from your mind.

"I would never betray you, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice low and full of conviction. "For two years, all I ever wanted was to hold you in my arms; I would never risk losing you. You and I are more than husband and wife—we are partners." His face buries itself in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent before pressing more kisses along your skin, his path leading to your ear. You say nothing, unable to form a response, and instead turn to face him. The tension between you is palpable, burning you from within. Your fingers graze his lips, as though committing their softness to memory. His arms tighten around you, drawing you closer with unrelenting need.

You cup his face in both hands, pulling him toward you. Your lips meet his with a hunger that surprises even you, as though only he could quell the yearning deep inside. His lips are impossibly soft against yours, and you hardly register when the kiss deepens. Your tongues dance together, a gentle yet fervent battle for dominance, while his hands roam your body—caressing your waist, gripping your hips, exploring the curve of your back. He begins to tug at your dress, lifting it as if desperate to rid you of it, guiding you toward the sofa. But before he can take control entirely, you pull him down first, making him sit as you take charge.

You settle onto his lap, feeling the undeniable evidence of his desire for you grow beneath you. Your nails trace over the expanse of his chest, leaving faint red marks as you savor the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. Charlie captures your lips again with fervor, his hands firmly gripping your waist, guiding your movements against him as if ensuring you stay anchored in his embrace. The heat between you is all-consuming, maddeningly intense.

Yet, the image of him with Megan flashes in your mind—a thorn of doubt piercing through your desire. The uncertainty gnaws at you, twisting your emotions. Without thinking, you bite down on his lower lip with more force than intended. Charlie pulls back sharply, a pained groan escaping his lips as the faint taste of his blood lingers on yours. "What the hell, Y/N!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with irritation, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of confusion and frustration.

"That, Doctor Mayhew, is what you get for testing your wife’s patience," you retort, steadying yourself as you rise from his lap, your tone cool yet charged. "Goodnight, Charlie," you add with finality, stepping away from him and heading toward the guest room, your mind a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, anger, and something you can’t quite name. Charlie calls your name a few times, his voice softer now, almost pleading, but he ultimately lets you go, leaving you to your thoughts.

[thebennsofdallas]

In defense of Season 6 (What we do in the Shadows)

I’ve seen talk about season 6.  How people are disappointed. How the writers have blown it, how Guillermo and Nandor are in so few scenes together, how canon has been thrown by the wayside.

So, I have to gently disagree. I think this is the best season of the series and that’s coming from a full-on Nandermo truther (with Laszlermo tendencies). I think this season HAS moved Guillermo and Nandor’s story forward. But it’s so much more than that. These 8 episodes have connected all the vampires in ways I never expected.

Think of all we learned about the vampires in just the first episode. Guillermo and Nandor apparently made an agreement to stay away from each other until Guillermo got his life together. (UNTIL. Keep that in mind.) Nandor obviously didn’t give a fuck about that and has been keeping tabs on him in secret. How else can he be so matter-of-fact about being separated from Guillermo and also, know where he was working?

Nadja has longed to interact more with humans and Laszlo forbade it, which caused a massive rift between them that lasted years. Man of science Laszlo had a dream to reanimate life out of dead tissue that he gave up on in favor of spending more time wanking. And Colin Robinson has been lonely for a real friend, even one made out of random body parts.

That’s a lot of stuff there, good stuff. Yes, we briefly had to deal with the prospect of Jerry destroying our show (okay, that was probably just me) but it turns out, Jerry was just a vehicle to reveal more about our beloved characters (I think Jerry will be a factor in the finale but that’s another story). The same with Guillermo’s departure from the vampires’ employ. It was barely a separation. Nadja and Nandor felt compelled to follow Guillermo all the way to his office, to “protect him”. And Laszlo restarted his project to create new life and allowed Colin Robinson to join in.

The writers are mixing and matching the cast in a way they’ve never done before. Nandor/Nadja, Laszlo/Colin, Colin/Nadja, Laszlo/Nandor. It’s a fresh spin on the old dynamic and it’s hilarious. And it demonstrates how much these four care about each other and that feels new, too.

As for Nandor and Guillermo, it might feel like they aren’t together as much but when they are together, it packs a punch. Except for the beginning of episode one, when Nandor childishly pretends like he doesn’t remember Guillermo, there’s been no more pretense. Guillermo has always worn his heart on his sleeve where Nandor is concerned but now, Nandor is wearing his there, too and it’s exciting to see our suspicions confirmed in a big, big way — these two idiots love each other and it’s just a matter of time before they have to acknowledge it. I don’t expect a vampire wedding in the future but something is coming. I just know it.

Episode 9 tomorrow, y’all. Episode 9 is where this show usually goes off the rails and into a ditch. So hold on. It’s gonna be a bumpy night.

[bizarrelittlemew]

hello ida!! I love your gifs and I find the info and resources you share really helpful, especially in terms of gifmaking. I was wondering if you would mind sharing what the correct etiquette is for when we spot a stolen/uncredited gif come across our tumblr dashboard? I don’t like/reblog posts if I suspect the gif is stolen, but I wasn’t sure if there’s something more you (or gifmakers in general) wish people would do to help.

if you can’t or don’t want to answer this that’s completely fine! just if you had any tips :))). thank you for all the gifs you make for us!! x

hi anon thank you for this lovely message and great question!!

first, some tips for spotting when gifs are stolen/uncredited: (it sounds like you already know this anon but i've been asked before so i might as well include it)

if the post has several gifs and they are different sizes/dimensions - this is the easiest one perhaps. gif makers usually put effort into layout. if the gifs are weirdly cut off because they're not the same height, it's definitely suspicious

if the gifs are different quality - some grainy and/or choppy, some crisp and smooth

if the gifs use different fonts for subtitles

if the gif(s) are posted alongside unedited stills/screencaps

this is more difficult, but if the coloring styles of the gifs are different. things to look for are: saturation/vibrancy, the amount of contrast/light, the colors of the shadows, whether a particular color is very prominent/emphasized

if it's an account you don't know makes their own gifs and they suddenly post some, or if they post a lot of gifs that fit the above and from many different scenes

obviously, if the gif is watermarked with a different username that OP has never used, or if they say something like "i found this gif" or "someone posted this gif to discord"

if you actually recognize the gif(s) and know that it's made by somebody else/from a different post

these are just some things to look out for. if i see some of these signs, i usually investigate: does OP usually post gifs that you know are their own? do they have something on their blog stating they make them (like e.g. a link to their gif tag, or if it's mentioned in their bio)? of course, if it's one of the very obvious signs, like i recognize my own or a friend's gif, and it's uncredited, then it's directly to...

what to do when you spot a stolen/uncredited gif: (aka your actual question anon <3)

this is unfortunately a little more difficult since you can't control how people react to being called out for not crediting properly. luckily, most people just genuinely don't know how much work goes into giffing (i wrote a little more about this here) - they will usually be receptive and add credit to the post. but some people will be dicks no matter how kindly or even just neutrally you go about it. just remember they are the ones breaking etiquette, not you.

anyway, some things you can do if you spot a post with stolen gifs are:

don't like or reblog (as you already mentioned) - in order to not spread the uncredited version further

in a reply, ask for the source of the gif to be added to the main post. i usually mention that making gifs takes work and skill, and seeing them reposted (re-uploading to a new post, not reblogged) without credit is incredibly demotivating for the people who spend their time making them (or some variation of this)

that said, what i have sometimes done is reblog with the addition of a link to the original post(s) and asking them to not steal gifs in the future. but this is mostly when it's my own gif(s) lol

i sometimes link @saltpepperbeard's excellent post about giving proper credit

i hope this is useful/helpful and again thank you for asking <3 i'm always happy to answer questions about gifs!! 🫶

[laconchadetumadre]

"broke all of his stuff"

cartman gave kyle aids, and while kyle did laugh at cartman it WAS ironic that cartman was always threatening to give kyle aids and then got aids himself, kyle was not to blame for cartman getting aids and he wasnt mocking him, cartman's situation is ironic and thats intented on the creators side, kyle is meant to be a stand in for the audience (since only the audience would remember cartman's aids gag).

"stole his girlfriend"

kyle didn't set out to "steal" heidi from cartman, he recognized that she was in an abusive relationship and wanted to help (because he related to her unbalanced power dynamic with cartman, hence the whole "we are all going out with cartman"). although i do agree he should have stayed out of it, i don't believe this is enough to justify cartman's harassment towards kyle.

"sabotaged his happy future with a wife and kids"

cartman was planning on murdering 10-year-old kyle, and at the end it isn't even kyle or any of the boys who ended up activating the time traveling machine, it's cartman's baby who does after shouting "Fuck you, Uncle Kyle!". It is the hatred against kyle that Cartman himself had instilled into his own family that ended up wiping them from existence. It might not be super on the nose that cartman had been badmouthing kyle to his family even since before reuniting with him, but it is definitely hinted at in the Post Covid special given that Yentl recognized kyle right away and didn't seem happy about him.

"REFUSED to help him when he was sucked into a parallel dimension"

kyle wasn't looking when cartman was sucked into the portal though, he was skeptic about the whole thing so he probably didn't even think cartman was in danger. cartman also tends to overreact or emotionally manipulate the boys so it is pretty reasonable that kyle is doubtfull whenever cartman asks for help. kyle is also usually critized for "sticking his nose where he shouldnt", so i actually think it's nice when he gets to walk away from things tbh. Also, Kyle isnt responsible for cartman, its not his job to care for him or do anything whenever he is in trouble.

"still kept fucking harassing him for being fat even when cartman stopped making jew jokes for the most part"

did you skip the cupid ye episode? cartman has definitely not grown out of his antisemetisism or harassment of kyle quite yet.

"and ya'll have the nerve to shame cartman just for lightly teasing kyle at the end????"

people are allowed to have their own takes on the specials. i personally did like the final punchline even if kyle was the butt of the joke because it was very in character for cartman.

"the reason why this episode was such a breath of fresh air was bc it finally showed kyle being nice to cartman for once and being a good friend BACK"

there are multiple other instances of kyle being nice to cartman or helping him out, this isnt the only time this has happened. off the top of my head i can list off a few episodes here: jewpacabra, tegrity farms (when kyle tried to pay off cartman's and butters debt to some vape dealer), mexican joker, "help, my teenager hates me!", manbearpig, etc. the biggest difference between kyle and cartman when they are helping each other out is that cartman is often forced into helping kyle out (tonsil trouble, mexican joker if you squint, since stan got cartman deported) or is doing so in order to make up for some atrocious thing he has done to kyle previously (mexican joker); on the other hand, kyle is often helping cartman out of a shitty situation that cartman put himself in (tegrity farms, jewpacabra, manbearpig, its a jersey thing, etc).

"cartman helps kyle with shit all the time too i mean deadass remember when he got out of the hospital bed to save kyle from the PC people????"

while there are moments where cartman's actions end up benefiting kyle or the other boys, what happens more often is that cartman realizes helping out the others will result in something beneficial for himself, just like in the very example you provided. kyle says so himself in the end of the episode "It just seems to me like we all lost in this, and that the only person who won was you" his opinion may be biased but, at the end, cartman did get to pull a very racist scheme with the whole mexican pregnant women and tacos thing and faced no consequences for this in particular and, to top it all of, it isn't this particular scheme what solves the problem, it's kyle deciding to succumb to peer pressure that fixes everything.

"yet, kyle didn't appreciate it and still broke all of cartman's stuff"

correct me if im wrong but if this is referring to that one time kyle threatened to break cartman's xbox then we are talking about "tounsil trouble" (12x1), which happens before cartman "saving" kyle from the PC people in Stunning and Brave (19x1) so it's imposible for kyle to "appreciate" something that hasnt happened yet.

"and tried sabotaging his relationship the next season"

cartman self-sabotaged his relationship with heidi, he had already attempted murder and kidnapping on her and successfully jeopardized her health by tricking her into eating junk food and then fatshamed her for putting on weight.

"kyle going out of his way to help cartman with a weight loss drug is honestly the LEAST he could do"

considering how many times cartman has endangered kyle's own health, i dont really think so. even if they were both on even terms, no one really owes you any help to get your own medical records straight (except for the health system itself but that's besides the point).

"to make up for all the times cartman was nice to him and tried helping him and he was an ungrateful little bitch about it."

like i said, kyle has helped out cartman just as many times, and kyle actually does it out of the kindness of his heart, unlike cartman who is usually trying to get something for himself.

"that's why i'm rlly not that mad abt cartman making that ginger jew joke at the end"

this is the only thing i agree with from this whole rant.

"at least they're even now"

i think cartman would end up getting screwed over a thousand times more if kyle tried to make things "even".

ya'll forget how much cartman unconditionally supports kyle

ok so i HATED how after the end of obesity special all the people who shit on cartman while blindly supporting anything kyle does were all like "ugh i can't believe cartman insulted kyle even after how much he helped him in the episode!1!1 😤" or "wow kyle is such a good person he's still willing to help cartman even after everything cartman's done!1!1!" like ok i'm gonna stop you right there LOL. are ya'll forgetting how much of an ASS kyle's been to cartman the past few seasons?!?!? (and rlly the whole series lol) that piece of shit deadass broke all of his stuff, stole his girlfriend, sabotaged his happy future with a wife and kids, REFUSED to help him when he was sucked into a parallel dimension where everyone is replaced with a diverse woman, and still kept fucking harassing him for being fat even when when cartman stopped making jew jokes for the most part. and ya'll have the nerve to shame cartman just for lightly teasing kyle at the end???? the reason why this episode was such a breath of fresh air was bc it finally showed kyle being nice to cartman for once and being a good friend BACK. ya'll are forgetting the fact that cartman helps kyle with shit all the time too i mean deadass remember when he got out of the hospital bed to save kyle from the PC people???? yet, kyle didn't appreciate it and still broke all of cartman's stuff and tried sabotaging his relationship the next season LOL. so yeah kyle going out of his way to help cartman with a weight loss drug is honestly the LEAST he could do at this point to make up for all the times cartman was nice to him and tried helping him and he was an ungrateful little bitch about it. that's why i'm rlly not that mad abt cartman making that ginger jew joke at the end bc i mean at least they're even now and it's rlly nowhere near as bad as all the unappreciative ways kyle has tried to screw cartman over after cartman was there for him.

[sashaisready]

Since You've Been Gone: Chapter 3

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Masterlist

After a regrettable first meeting in the cemetery, you discover that you have something in common with a certain member of the Avengers. Unfortunately, you can't choose your neighbours, even in death.

(Setting is approx. post TFATWS)

Hi all, sorry for the delay with this – I ran out of steam a little with this story so I’ve decided to leave it as a mini series. Maybe I’ll come back to it in future and expand but for now I’ve run out of road and am lacking inspiration in where to take it – so this will be the final part. Thanks for reading! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

You sat within the safe walls of your apartment, watching the rain batter the windows outside. It had been raining all day, far heavier than the city was used to at this time of year. Thank god you’d been working from home today, commuting would’ve been a bitch. You peered outside to watch the small flood in the parking lot beneath your window. Water steadily rose as it licked the bottom of car tyres, and you prayed that would be the worst of it.

You’d been anxious all day as you watched it get worse out there, watched the puddles spread and the flower baskets soak. You kept thinking about the cemetery, how the grave might be faring in these conditions. The hardy stone would be alright of course, but what about the candle holder? The ornaments? The flowers?

It would all probably be fine, normally bad weather did little else but move a few things around at the gravesite…but you couldn’t remember the last time it was this bad. It made you nervous thinking about it as the wind picked up.

It wasn’t like you could go check it out now, driving in this mess would be a nightmare and a death wish.

You moved away from the window and made yourself a cup of herbal tea as you tried to think about something else. Anything else.

So, you thought of Bucky.

You weren’t really sure how it had happened, how he had weaved his way into your head. Initially he had just been the guy at the cemetery, the one you tiptoed around after you’d inadvertently pissed him off that first time you met. He was there doing his thing; you were there doing yours. Sure, he was handsome. But you hadn’t really given him much thought beyond that. Although you had thought it was nice to have some actual flesh and blood company out there for a change – even if he was just as quiet as the permanent residents of the cemetery.

But ever since the incident with that obnoxious man with the phone a few days ago, he’d been creeping in more and more. You didn’t know why; you barely knew him. But he often popped into your head when you least expected it. His big blue eyes…the slight poutiness to his lips….the way his hair framed his face-

A loud crack of thunder shook you from your thoughts.

You winced as you sipped your tea, flinching at the lightning bolt that followed. The weather was kicking up a gear.

You turned away from the window, taking brief comfort in the warmth of the mug in your hands. Your mother used to say there was no point worrying about things you couldn’t control; they’d still happen regardless of how you felt about it. Which was true…but you could never brush things off in same the breezy way that she always had. You often thought she’d have something similar to say about you visiting them. ‘You should be out there living! Not worrying about us! We aren’t going anywhere!’ you could practically hear in your head. Although sometimes it was hard to remember how her voice sounded. And you knew it would only get harder to hear it as time continued its relentless march…

You were sure everything would be fine.

…But you’d go visit the cemetery the second the weather improved. Just to be sure.

🍂

The rain continued all night. Your sleep was broken and stolen by the continuous thunder. Frequent lightning flashes had illuminated your entire bedroom and forced you awake each time you had drifted off. Even without that going on, you weren’t sure if you would’ve managed to rest, the anxiety churned and churned in your stomach as you worried about what you’d find when you got to the cemetery. At least it was the weekend, and you didn’t have to drag yourself into work in this state.

Logically, you knew you were overreacting. It wouldn’t come as a shock if anyone had told you that. Your parents would not be disturbed by the rain, their stone was built to withstand far more than some rough wind and water. Everything else at the site didn’t matter in the big scheme of things – some flowers, a few ornaments – nothing expensive, nothing irreplaceable.

But you’d put so much effort into maintaining it.

You hadn’t been able to control your parents’ deaths, but you could control their gravesite. Not the weather of course – but you could maintain it, bring flowers for it, keep it nice and neat. Grief often meant chaos, but this was something orderly and manageable that you could oversee.

Most of the time, anyway.

You woke up feeling groggy, almost like a hangover, but were relieved to see the rain had finally stopped. You rushed through your morning routine, showering, dressing and then shovelling down breakfast, practically running out of the door with your car keys in hand.

The drive over was tense, the anxiety heavy in your belly like a stone as you got closer to finding out what awaited you.

You parked up and dashed through the cemetery, hugging your coat close to your body as you zipped closer to your section. You were disheartened to see a few branches had fallen off trees along the way, petals from different flowers strewn across the grass. It didn’t fill you with confidence.

As the grave came into your eyeline, you were surprised to see Bucky already there - hunched over and moving rapidly. You couldn’t work out what he was doing from that distance.

As you drew closer, you realised he was crouched over your parents’ grave. You stiffened, unable to grasp what was going on.

He must’ve sensed you coming as he suddenly stood up and turned to face you. His large body stood like a shield between you and the grave as you tried to peer past him. You could see the concern written all over his expression.

“Hey, hey…it’s okay…but…” he warned gently, his blue eyes somehow still intense but softer than you’d ever seen them.

You attempted to manoeuvre him out of the way, stressed now as your heart pounded in your chest. What was he trying to keep from you? Of course you were fruitless, it was like trying to move a brick wall. He grabbed your arm with his gloved hand and held it tightly, but not painfully, to still you. You were surprised at the swell of comfort his touch brought, but you were too worked up to really let it calm you.

“There’s been some damage from the storm…but it’s okay…” he told you cautiously.

“Just let me see…” you practically hissed, your eyes welling with tears.

He sighed in defeat and reluctantly stepped aside, dropping the hold from your arm.

You gasped as he revealed the grave. The flowers were ruined, ripped apart by the storm and strewn about, countless petals littered across the plot. The little vase you’d kept them in had fallen in the wind and cracked against the headstone, shards splintered along the glass. The candle holder had met a similar fate, the ornaments no longer resembled what they had originally. The whole thing was a complete mess. Worse than you had imagined.

“Oh!” you whispered in shock as you knelt over the debris, not even sure how to start cleaning up this mess. Your heart sank entirely. You knew it was an overreaction, but it almost felt like you’d let your parents down somehow. Even though none of it was your fault, and they surely wouldn’t care even if they’d been here. You picked up the broken candle holder and held it up futilely, as if it would somehow magically come back together.

“I…I have some garbage bags in my car. I’ll get one,” Bucky said quietly.

He disappears, although you barely notice. You’re back on your feet again, your eyes flitting over to the Barnes’ plot. The flowers Bucky had previously laid against the stones were wrecked just like yours, but that was the extent of the damage. That’s because he was sensible and didn’t cover the graves in stupid, breakable trinkets like you did.

You felt a wave of self-loathing wash through you and found yourself unable to look at the mess any longer. You stomped away quickly; your eyes squeezed shut. You practically ran back to your car and started the ignition before you fully knew what you were doing. Suddenly you had driven home, and you were back at your apartment. You managed to fight back the tears until you were home and safely behind closed doors, embarrassed to be crying over something so silly.

After some time had passed and you wiped your eyes, you had a horrible realisation of Bucky’s last words to you – he was going to get a garbage bag for you! And you’d run off! God, he must think you’re a total freak. Mentally unstable. Or incredibly rude, at the very least.

You sighed, taking a deep breath. No more of this. Time to put on your big girl pants and woman up. Bucky was trying to help, and you’d run away like a spooked rabbit. Seeing the grave in that state was upsetting, yes, but it was fixable. There would always be more flowers and more candles. Like you’d already told yourself, your parents weren’t exactly going to be disturbed by a little rain.

You’d had your little wallow, but action was the best solution.

You checked the time. Bucky would be long gone by now, but maybe you could leave him a little note apologising for rushing off. You felt embarrassed about how you’d behaved, trying to push by him to get to the grave when he was only trying to help. You felt like you were always fumbling, always doing the wrong thing in front of him. But then…you felt like that in front of a lot of people.

You grabbed your kit plus a few extra supplies and headed back to the cemetery. You knew yourself well enough to know that staying home and doing something else would only mean your mind drifted back to it later. Get it done, then you can move on.

You drove back over to the cemetery, better prepared this time. Or so you thought. As you approached the grave, you certainly weren’t prepared for what you found.

“Bucky?” you asked with disbelief.

He was still there, hunkered over your parents’ plot. As he stood you gasped, the candle holder was in his hand – now completely intact.

“I always keep superglue in the trunk of my car so…” he trailed off sheepishly.

As he stepped aside, he revealed the similarly repaired vase at his feet, and one of the ornaments. You just stared at them open-mouthed.

“I couldn’t save them all, I’m sorry,” he continued, “but at least some of it is salvaged. And I put aside the broken stuff for you in case you wanted it as a keepsake or something”.

“You…you did all that?” you whispered, “for…me?”

He shrugged again like it was nothing. “Well…yeah. I know how much this place means to you…and I was a total jerk the first time we met. Walt up at the office told me last week that you had taken care of my parents’ graves, but I’d just assumed it was the staff here. And here was me thinking you were messing around with it. I was out of line. So, the least I could do was…” he nodded over to the recently repaired objects.

You were unable to hold back your smile, the grin stretching across it lighting up your entire face. You rushed forward, enveloping Bucky in a bear hug. “Thank-you,” you whispered to him.

He stumbled slightly in surprise at the sudden contact but caught himself and let out a light-hearted chuckle, “yeah…you’re welcome”.

He hugged you back, and the two of you just stayed like there for a while. You both allowed yourselves a moment of comfort in the other, both orphans, both grieving in different ways and mourning different lives, but still connected by bereavement and feeling untethered after losing your roots and foundations. The…friendship, could you say? That had developed between the two of you over these last couple of months had been a surprise, but it was certainly welcomed.

You both pulled apart, slightly embarrassed, when you spoke again.

“I’m sorry I got upset…it’s dumb I know, they’re just silly stuff. You didn’t have to do all of that…”

“No,” he cut you off. “It’s not dumb. It’s important to you, you put a lot of work into this place. It’s okay to be sad about it”.

You nodded, smiling at him. It was such a relief that he just got it. He understood.

“Would you…uh…” he cleared his throat, “…maybe wanna get a cup of coffee with me, sometime? Maybe meet somewhere outside of a cemetery. With living people. You know..if you want to…”

You beamed ear to ear, “yeah. Yeah, I do want to”.

THE END

[divorcingjimmatthews]

[Spoilers] The Norman Masterpost

I'm collecting everything I remember surrounding the story Julie tells Ethan in the RV. Feel free to add to it if you find something I missed!

In the story, the character "Norman" dies in his friends' arms, which upsets Ethan. To fix this, Tabitha reasons that Norman can't be dead, because it was monsters that killed him, and there's no such thing as monsters. This is the scene that introduces us to the four characters in the Matthews family, but it also introduces us to some other elements that will keep coming up through the show.

THE LAKE OF TEARS

After his seizure during the night they spend in the RV in S1E2, Ethan claims to have "seen" the lake of tears as a drawing in Victor's room.

"I saw the lake of tears. It was a drawing on the wall. There were so many drawings on the wall. Like when I used to draw with crayons... and you would put it on the fridge? And we were all there in the drawings, you and me and Mom and Julie. But somebody screamed, because the spider came down from the ceiling."

I find it interesting that Ethan could see drawings of his family that Victor made, before they even met Victor. It seems that Julie can visit the past during her seizures, while Ethan can see into the future.

Many of Victor's drawings depict water droplets, large bodies of water and a large spider. We can see a few of them here.

"TELLING A DIFFERENT STORY"

The norman story is longer in an earlier version of the script. In this longer version, Ethan begs Julie to change the ending, but she tells him that she can't change the ending because the story's over. Tabitha suggest that they can tell a different story (one that brings Norman back to life), but Julie argues that it won't matter because "her story came first".

After the crash, we get this sweet scene of Julie writing a different ending for Ethan in S1E2, where Norman's friends are able to save him. However, it doesn't seem to land as Ethan's interest is grabbed by seeing the BIW outside the window.

Once Julie becomes a storywalker in season 3, she tells Ethan she might be able to save Tian-Chen, and maybe even Thomas. It's now Ethan who tells her that it doesn't work that way — she can visit chapters that have already been told, but she can't change them.

E: "You're a Storywalker." J: "So if I go back to those ruins, do you think I could do it again?" E: "Maybe, why?" J: "Well, if... if this is real, that means I can change things. I can save Tian-Chen. Maybe I could even save Thomas." (😭) E: "It doesn't work like that. You can visit the chapters, but you can't change them." J: "Why?" E: "No one can change a story once it's been told."

Still, that doesn't stop her from trying. We see future Julie trying to save her dad in the finale. It seems Ethan was right, as she's not able to make any meaningful changes to the narrative.

She does, however, throw Boyd the rope, so we will have to wait until S4 to learn more about storywalking and what Julie may or may not be able to do when she visits the past.

There is also the possibility that, just like with Norman's story, it will be Tabitha who changes the ending with a different approach of her own. When Victor recalls what the BIW told Christopher in S3E8, he mentions "someone who loved the children" telling them a story that gave them hope.

"The children were born in the dark, and they were murdered in the dark. But someone who loved them told them a story. The story gave them hope, and when the children laid on the stones, they poured their hopes into the roots to make the symbol, and those roots became the tree."

I'm guessing this "someone" is very likely to be the first incarnation of either Tabitha or Jade. The story they told created the gateway out of the town, so who knows what else is possible?

JIM AND NORMAN

In Tabitha's dream in S1E9, we get a closeup of some of Ethan's toys in the steps of the lighthouse. Moments later, we're shown Jim hanging upside down. This is the scene that popularized the theory that Jim would eventually die.

The dream is about Tabitha's memory of the RV crash, so both Jim hanging upside down and the focus on Norman make sense without implying Jim's death. However, Jim did eventually die, so the connection feels worthy of mention.

The show makes a point to remind us that Norman got buried alongside Jim when their house collapsed. It's interesting that he's present every time the possibility of Jim's death comes up.

Lastly, I find it interesting that Jim's death seems to mirror Norman's (death by monster claws, right after he cracked the code that unlocked the answers that might save them, complete with a loved one crying in despair.)

THE SECRET FAIRIES

The "secret fairies" are not brought up again to my knowledge, but I can't help but wonder if we've met them. Could they be the children that only Jade and Tabitha can see?

They are central to the story of the show, so it would make sense to me that they were introduced as early as possible alongside the rest of the elements I've mentioned.

CONCLUSION

Like Victor said, I also think "the answers to the end are at the beginning", so I think Tabitha might find a way to wish or reason the monsters away with Jade's help, and potentially save Jim.

[friend-of-kyoshi]

Transcript:

“3 things happened last week that I have yet to see a new story or article link together, but they’re best understood as one story. Trump has repeatedly made threats about going after people that he views as opponents, but he’s stayed vague on the who and how. This 3-piece story sheds some light on both those questions. On Wednesday the 20th, Trump posted on social media demanding that the Senate not pass the PRESS Act. This had been a bipartisan bill to codify Biden administration protections for journalists. The law would prevent federal law enforcement from forcing journalists to turn over confidential sources or sensitive documents other than in a few very rare exceptions. On thursday the 21st, the House passed HR 9495, which includes something that at first even some House Democrats didn’t recognize for how dangerous it is. The bill would allow the Treasury Secretary to designate a nonprofit as a terrorist-supporting organization if they’re found to have been giving material support or advice to terrorist groups in the last 3 years. That means that the IRS would remove their nonprofit status. Lawyers for groups like the ACLU very quickly pointed out that the phrasing of this law would allow the Treasury Secretary to make a designation like this without providing any explanation or any evidence. So it can be used as a way to label ANY nonprofit, including universities, as terrorist-supporting organizations based on nothing but the unilateral decision of a presidential appointee. The bill will now go to the Senate, where Democrats can only vote against it by also voting against the rest of the bill, that provides tax protection for Americans that are taken hostage overseas. Lastly, on Friday the 22nd, Trump posted on social media saying that he plans to name the Wall Street financier Scott Bessent to be the Treasury Secretary. Bessent has openly supported Trump’s plans to permanently extend tax cuts for the wealthy and implement extreme tariffs on imports. And this is despite warnings from economists about how harmful both of those plans are. So to summarize, what do these three things telling us? Republicans are pushing a law that would allow a Trump loyalist to declare any nonprofit, including universities, as a terrorist-supporting group without any proof or explanation. Trump has ordered Republicans in the Senate to block a bill that will keep him from targeting journalists and making them reveal their confidential sources. This suggests to me that these threats of retaliation… he’s not gonna be going after people like Biden who have hurt his ego in the past; he’s gonna be going after journalists and nonprofits who get in his way in the future. This will let him go directly after confidential sources to make it more dangerous to speak up and talk to the media. It will let him go after groups like the ACLU or Earthjustice who take his administration to court, or universities that don’t punish campus protesters. He could end their tax exempt status and stigmatize donating to them because they’re labeled as a terrorist-supporting organization.

So what can you do?

Well, the one thing that might work is pressuring the Senate. See, Republicans don’t yet have a majority there, so passing HR 9495 would require some Democrats to give into the pressure over the other part of that bill. For the PRESS Act to pass, Democrats need to push it through. And remember there were Republicans who planned on voting for that bill before Trump told them not to. So if you have a Democratic senator, call them and tell them to pass the PRESS Act and block House Resolution 9495. If you have a Republican senator, call them and tell them the same thing. You can find their phone numbers, email addresses, whatever, by going to this URL at the Senate website. I hope you had a good Thanksgiving, and have a good weekend.”

[arkhamabyssfiles]

Loading FILE...RED_HOOD_MEMORY_13 BRUCE WAYNE: AGE, 38 JASON TODD: AGE, 17

Jason yawned and stretched, it had been a slow night, which was all good with him as Finals were coming and he had to study. He passed Bruce by the Batcomputer and was in the process of debating with himself for the eleventh time this week if he should bring up the fact that Helena had…confessed to having feelings towards him...again. And this time—it somehow seemed more serious even when she’d said it when she’d been half asleep and tired to the bone. While carrying her upstairs it had slipped her, and he knew by her awkward and flustered reaction the next day that she remembered it. Jason had nearly dropped her when she’d said that in his ear, he felt his face grow slightly flushed at the memory so he waved it away.

But he felt guilty for some reason, and he believed it was his duty to inform Bruce.

“What is it, Jason?” Bruce asked without turning on the chair, startling Jason who’d spaced out behind him.

Jason swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I—There’s something I think you should know…”

Now, Bruce did turn the chair around. An expectant look in his eyes—if you could call it that. It unnerved Jason, but now he’d reached this point he might as well go through with it.

“It’s about Helena…She—She kind of—said she had a thing for me…”

There was a moment of awkward silence and Jason looked up at Bruce’s eyes. He wasn’t expecting to find him smiling, or as close to smiling as he got, in amusement.

“Yes. She’s had a thing for you for quite some time now.”

“I—You knew?” Jason asked trying to swallow his dismay at the situation.

“I’m afraid so. I think you were the last one to realize it.”

“Fuck,” Jason passed his hand over his face. This was even worse than he’d been expecting. Bruce had been laughing at him all this fucking time…

“Language,” Bruce corrected without much heart behind it. 

Jason dropped his hand from his face, “Aren’t you going to—I don’t know, say something?”

“Like what?”

“Like to stay away from her.”

The slightest downturn of his lips showed Jason he was surprised, or at least not quite expecting that. Ha, that was something at least.

“No.”

Jason really wished Bruce could be more eloquent from time to time without prompting, talking to him about normal day-to-day stuff was sometimes like pulling teeth.

“Then you’re fine—”

“It was to be expected. Both of you are close in age, and see each other almost every day… And you’re opposites in background, interests, and personality...” Bruce said so matter-of-factly that it exasperated Jason.

“But I’m no good!” Jason burst.

Again the smallest of changes in Bruce’s face appeared and piercing eyes searched him. “Is that what you believe?”

Jason looked away, cursing himself for uttering such nonsensical insecurities in front of Batman of all people.

“She thinks you’re more than good,” Bruce pointed out.

Jason’s heart squeezed, what about him? Did Bruce think he was good enough as well?

“You’ve come a long way, Jason, from the life you were born into…” Bruce stood up from the chair and walked towards him, but still left some space between them—“it’s not easy to walk away unscathed. But that doesn’t mean you’re bad or less for it. You’ve not only survived but taken a path to make the world a better place. I’ve seen enough of said world to assure you, that there are very few people who choose to do so. Most will never go beyond thinking that as long as they do no wrong they’re already helping the world. But you know better than anyone how that ends, don’t you?”

Now he closed the space and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“And another thing that matters is what you want, Jason. Don’t think of going or not going along with her just because out of some duty to me or anyone. Figure out what you want for your future, and do what you can to achieve it. If you don’t think you’re ready yet, then work slowly towards it. You’re young, you don’t need to rush.” He gave him an encouraging pat and returned to the chair of the Batcomputer. Before turning away to the screens again he added, “And I would prefer for Helena to be where I can easily keep an eye on her if she were to get a boyfriend.”

Jason cringed so hard at the idea of him being anyone’s boyfriend…He’d never given it much thought beyond thinking it must be nice to have someone love you and love back romantically in a far-off way—like how it was in books.

“I—I’ll think about it,” Jason muttered, unable to think of anything else to say, because his head was a messy tangle of thoughts and realizations that left him even worse than how he’d started.

END OF MEMORY... For more FILES check previous entries...

[marshallsmikaelson]

"You don't think that's a bit... weird? N-Not in a bad way. I mean, you and I - we only met, what, a couple days ago?" Marshall questioned, quickly corrected himself, and looked the male over curiously. Maybe it was a wolf thing he didn't understand. Maybe Wyatt really did just find his presence or scent or whatever to be comforting. The latter Marshall couldn't personally fathom why. There wasn't anything particularly 'remarkable' about him. Sure, he was good-looking, but wasn't that where anything interesting about him ended? Most people only found him interesting in the future because they wanted to ask something about the Mikaelson family. Needless to say, those conversations didn't last long. "And I do vacuum my own room! I'm not spoiled and pampered that much!"

As Wyatt squeezed himself onto the reading bench, Marshall chuckled. He hadn't realized just how bulky Wyatt's build was and how small the bench really was. "Wha--No, we don't need anyone to lose any hands! It wasn't their fault and I was literally asking them for it last night." Marshall stated quickly at the suggestion. Sitting so close to the other, Marshall could smell the remnants of the man's cologne and a sharper scent of Wyatt's own natural scent coming through. It was pleasant; and for a moment he kind of understood how Wyatt might have found his scent to be the same.

He watched Wyatt dance his fingertips along his sweater before looking back up and meeting the man's gaze; brows lightly furrowed from a curious confusion the entire time. "Maybe..." He hummed some and dropped his gaze. "My friend Maxfield would insist that the guy I was last night was the type of guy I could always be if I just learned to stop doubting myself or overthinking about what people would say or think about me. And, maybe he was right in a way, you know? I mean, I would still say last night was terrible, but when I think about what I can remember, a part of me did enjoy myself, after all. A part of me doesn't regret everything, you know? It's... confusing." He shrugged.

He shook his head quickly once more. "There I go again, rambling on and on while you're just forced to sit and listen to it." He chuckled. It seemed to be a recurring situation for them.

"I don't know—just made me think of you, I suppose." Wyatt's gaze drifted thoughtfully, the words slipping out before he could fully grasp their origin. He wasn't one to dissect his instincts; he trusted them implicitly, perhaps more than a rational mind ought to. Yet, they had never led him astray, even if a touch of witch's intuition colored his judgments.

At Marshall's quip about shedding, Wyatt's eyes narrowed playfully before a smirk tugged at his lips. "So, are you admitting you don't vacuum your own room?" he retorted, a hint of teasing in his tone.

"I see..." Wyatt murmured as he settled beside Marshall on the small bench. His leg brushed against Marshall's as he adjusted himself on the small space. "Sounds like there are folks who could use a lesson in keeping their hands to themselves," he mused. "I'm pretty sure I've got a spell to remove hands somewhere." A soft chuckle escaped him, lightening the mood.

He lifted a hand gently, fingertips grazing the fabric of Marshall's oversized sweater. "Hence the cover-up," he noted, his eyes meeting Marshall's for a few seconds. "But something tells me you're not the type to open up... like that so easily," he said softly. "There's no need to rush anything of that nature, just take things slow. Magic has a way of barreling past boundaries, and many times even if it picks at something deep down inside of you its not really you own actions when magic is involved. Or compulsion."

[chickenoptyrx]

Found out I actually had a time-lapse recorded of this drawing from last month. Not adding sound tho :U

[rafumeika]

What Mahito did: Manipulate Junpei into being his friend and then killed him in front of Yuji, laughed about Yuji's desperation to save him, killed Nanami, got Nobara into a coma, destroyed one of Todo's hands

Yuji with Mahito at the end:

What Sukuna did: Threaten to kill Yuji's friend multiple times, ripped Yuji's heart out of his chest and then tricked him into making a Binding Vow that he would have to forget in order to bring him back to life, laughed at Yuji when he desperately begged him to try and save Junpei, told him over and over again that his mere existence would bring destruction simply by being his vessel, destroyed Shibuya and killed countless of innocent people, ditched Yuji to make Megumi his new vessel, then sinked Megumi's soul as deep as he could in darkness in order to keep control of his body, killed Tsumiki, killed Gojo, killed Kashimo, killed Higuruma, killed Choso, almost killed Yuta and pushed him into using Kenjaku's CT to get into Gojo's body, kept praising literally everyone else but Yuji (while still trying to kill them), who he kept talking shit about instead, got pissed when Yuji showed pity and told him that he would kill every single person still left alive that Yuji cared about before finally killing him

Yuji with Sukuna at the end: