#not sure if they live in separate caves or the same cave . that was never specified

[togglesbloggle]

My boyfriend has really vivid, elaborate dreams. He’ll often wake up and talk about some grand narrative- travel, exploration, politics, performances. I’ve always been a little jealous, he can hold really good plots together for them sometimes.

But anyway, this does have a downside; vivid, elaborate dreams make for vivid, elaborate nightmares. I can usually tell when it’s one of those nights, since he grinds his teeth pretty badly.

I was never quite sure what to do when I knew he was having a bad time of it, though the grinding alone was enough to worry me and push me towards intervening. I used to just shake him gently, hope to rouse him just enough to reset the dream or something, but it wasn’t too effective and anyway waking him up all the time isn’t good for rest.

I’m rather proud of the strategy I eventually settled on: gently, so as not to wake him up, I’d lay one arm across his hands, wrapping his fingers around me so that he was holding on. Nightmares being nightmares, I can usually count on a pretty tight grip when this happens.

It may seem a little odd, but consider that holding on to something with both hands is typically a very agentic frame of mind. We hold on to things that give us power, in one way or another, and possessing objects often makes us feel powerful in some respects. That has consequences, even for a dreaming mind.

I knew it was working when he woke up rather mystified from one such dream, and told me that he’d been running through the caverns of some dungeon or cave system, pursued by monsters, but then all of a sudden he was holding a giant anime sword and fought them off instead. So I got to be a sword for him that night, I was delighted.

I don’t usually get to know exactly what happened, since even for a very vivid dreamer like Ritter, nine tenths of these things get forgotten. But I know I’ve been things like door handles, steering wheels, stuff like that. And even when I don’t know what I am to him, he doesn’t grind his teeth nearly as much- the sleep is deeper and more peaceful, so I get plenty of feedback that it’s working.

It’s such a perfect encapsulation of love in microcosm, isn’t it? No matter how much you mean to them, and how much they mean to you, the gap between two conscious lives is fundamentally separating you. But fundamental does not mean insurmountable. There’s this whole world in him, full of dreams and perspectives that I’ll never truly experience. But I will be a part of those worlds all the same, finding little ways here and there to make sure that the dreams of me make him a better, stronger, and happier person.

Or at least, so one hopes. It’s a difficult challenge, and things often go awry. But usually you get at least a little lucky.

[thepencilnerd]

hello!! i have an angsty request >:3

in the past dr robby and reader were in a relationship but as life changed they decided to separate. reason why reader broke it off with robby was because she was getting sicker and she didn’t want to burden him years later reader comes into the er in bad shape (chronicle ill) he never knew she was this sick until years after they drifted apart and maybe some fluff at the end

babes you know i LIVE FOR THE ANGST <33

warnings: depictions of chronic illness wc: 1.9k

The ER was buzzing��monitors beeping, the sharp scent of antiseptic hanging in the air, footsteps echoing against linoleum. Robby barely noticed any of it.

He’d just finished dealing with a combative overdose in Bay 5 when Dana called out to him, holding a chart.

"Room Three," she said, a little too gently. "Chronic case. Looks like heart failure. She's not doing great."

He grabbed the clipboard without a second thought. Then stopped cold.

Your name stared up at him in clean block letters.

And his world tipped sideways.

It was as though someone had sucker-punched the air out of his lungs. Four years. Four years of wondering. Of half-written texts. Unanswered calls. A full voicemail inbox, all of them from him. Of dreaming about your laugh and waking up angry in tears. Frustrated at himself. At you. Four years of pretending he didn’t still check your name in the hospital system every once in a while.

And now—now you were here.

Collapsed lungs. Oxygen saturation low. Congestive Heart Failure. Decompensated.

You were dying, and you hadn’t said a word.

The curtain around your bed was drawn, but he pushed through without knocking, hands trembling.

And there you were.

Pale. Eyes sunken. Lips tinged gray-blue despite the oxygen mask over your mouth. You were bundled in hospital blankets, shivering slightly, your hand lax around the call button.

Your eyes opened slowly, drawn by the sound of footsteps.

You saw him—and blinked, like you weren’t sure if he was real.

A choked sigh. You pulled off the mask just enough to speak. "Hey, stranger."

It wrecked him. The rasp in your voice. The half-smile you offered like this was just a casual run-in, like you weren’t hooked up to machines that were keeping you alive. 

He moved closer, too fast. "What the hell, Y/N?"

"Nice to see you too," you murmured, voice dry.

"Don’t," he said sharply, chart forgotten in his hand.

You looked away. "I didn’t plan to be here, Michael."

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before kneeling beside the bed. "Heart failure? You’re in advanced decomp. Jesus—why didn’t you fucking tell me? Why didn’t you call?"

You didn’t answer.

"You left," he said, voice quieter now but still shaking. 

He held your hand instantly, cradling it like it was instinct. His hands felt the same—warm, steady, familiar. Like no time had passed at all.

You swallowed hard, throat bobbing. "I didn’t want you to watch me fall apart."

He blinked. "You think I wouldn’t have stayed?"

"I know you would have," you whispered. "That’s what scared me. You would’ve put everything on hold. Your fellowship. Your life. Your chance to be more than just a caretaker for someone who—" You broke off, breath catching. "Someone who was only going to get worse."

Robby’s other hand came to rest on your arm—warm, solid, familiar. Your body leaned toward the touch before your mind could argue.

"You think I wouldn’t choose you? You really think I wouldn’t have wanted to walk through this with you?"

Tears stung your eyes. "It wasn’t fair to ask."

"You didn’t ask. You just left." His voice cracked at the end.

A long silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid.

He squeezed your hand tighter. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, grounding you.

"I never stopped loving you," he said quietly.

Your fingers curled around his. You felt like hell, like your body was a failing house, caving in on itself—but his touch reminded you that some parts of you still worked. Still remembered.

"I’m sorry," you whispered. "For not telling you. For walking away before you had the chance to make that choice."

Robby leaned in, forehead nearly touching yours. "I’m making it now," he breathed.

Your eyelids feel heavy, and suddenly you're back in that cramped apartment with the peeling tile and the humming radiator—the place you used to call home.

It had been raining that night. Heavy and loud against the windows. You remember how the lamplight painted long shadows across the floor, how your suitcase sat half-zipped by the door.

You remember the way Robby looked at you when he walked in from his shift—wet scrubs, messy hair, exhaustion hanging from his shoulders.

But the second he saw your face, he knew.

"You’re leaving," he said.

You nodded. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t beg. He just stood there, breathing too quietly, like even that hurt.

"I thought we were okay," he said after a minute. "Are we not okay?"

You tried to smile, but it cracked at the edges. "I’ve been… having more episodes. Dizziness. Shortness of breath. My cardiologist says it’s progressing faster than they expected."

Robby blinked. "Okay. Then we fight it. We adjust the meds. We—"

"No," you said, cutting him off too fast. "You adjust. You take care of me. You cancel your interviews, you stay up all night researching when you should be out living your life. And then one day when you wake up next to someone who can’t even walk up a hill without needing to sit down? What then, Michael? I’m not doing that to you."

His expression twisted. "So instead, you choose to leave me? Without giving me a choice?"

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. "I’m trying to give you a future. One that doesn’t revolve around watching me wither away in front of you."

"I don’t want a future without you."

You shook your head. "That’s what I couldn’t live with."

He crossed the room, grabbed your wrist—gentle, but desperate. "You don’t get to make this decision for both of us."

You leaned in, let your forehead rest against his. Memorized the warmth of his breath, the way his fingers trembled where they held you.

"I love you," you said. "But I need you to remember me like this. Young and alive. Not dying in a hospital bed."

"No."

"Michael—"

"No," he said again, voice cracking. "God, please. Don’t do this."

His voice broke and kept breaking. He sank down to his knees like his body couldn't hold the grief. Tears spilled fast, falling unchecked down his cheeks, and he reached for you—arms wrapping around your waist, face pressed against your stomach. A sob tore out of him, raw and guttural.

"Stay," he whispered. Then louder, more desperate: "Please—please, let me stay. Let me help you. I’ll do anything, Y/N. I’ll give you everything I have. Just don’t walk away from me. Please."

You fell with him, threading your shaking fingers into his hair, holding him close. He felt like a storm in your arms—chaotic, trembling, terrified.

"I know you would," you whispered, breaking. "That’s the problem."

You closed your eyes, voice barely audible. "You’d give everything for me. And it kills me. Because I love you too much to let you."

You kissed him one last time—slow, aching, full of everything you couldn’t say. His hand slipped into your hair, holding you like he could stop the unraveling.

When you finally pulled away, his eyes were red, lips parted like he still couldn’t believe you were really leaving. You rested your hand on his cheek for a second longer—just one more breath, one more heartbeat—before stepping back.

Neither of you spoke.

You picked up your bag. Turned toward the door. Didn’t look back.

—

Later, when the oxygen helped and your vitals stabilized and they moved you upstairs, you didn’t expect him to stay.

But hours passed.

And he did.

You opened your eyes sometime after 3 a.m. to find him sitting in the chair next to your bed, fingers still laced with yours.

You were the first to speak. "You’re not on shift anymore."

"Doesn’t matter."

"You could’ve gone home. Slept in your own bed."

He glanced at you, then looked back down at your joined hands. "I think I’ve spent enough nights in the wrong bed."

Your breath caught.

"You don't have to—"

"I know," he said, cutting you off, voice softer now. "This isn’t about having to do anything." He moved closer and brushed a kiss against your forehead, lingering. "This is about not losing you again."

You turned your face away, voice breaking. "Don’t say things like that."

"Why not?" he asked. "You think I don’t mean them?"

"I know you do," you said quietly. "And that’s what terrifies me."

His brow furrowed. "Y/N—"

"I don’t deserve this," you said, barely louder than a whisper. "I don’t deserve you. I lied to you. I pushed you away. I chose to disappear. And you’re still here, willing to throw everything away just to sit beside me while I—" You cut yourself off, tears welling. "I don’t want you wasting your life loving someone who might not even have much of one left."

Robby cupped your face in both hands, gently, like you might shatter if he held too tightly. "I’m not wasting anything. You’re the one thing I’ve ever been sure about."

You couldn’t stop the tears this time. "I don’t want to be your burden."

He leaned closer until his forehead pressed against yours. "You’re not. You never were and you never will be. Let me be here. Please."

His thumb brushed away a tear. "Let me love you."

You gave in then. Let yourself fall forward, into his arms. He wrapped himself around you instantly, warm and steady, holding you like you were something sacred. Your body fit against his like muscle memory, like no time had passed.

He smelled the same. That subtle mix of soap, sweat, and something inherently him—clean and grounding. Your nose pressed into the crook of his neck, and it hit you like a wave.

And you felt the same to him. Fragile, yes, but still familiar. Still his.

His arms tightened around you, one hand splayed between your shoulder blades, the other stroking the back of your head. You buried your face in his shoulder, clung to his shirt, and let yourself cry.

He didn’t try to stop it.

Didn’t let go.

And when the tears slowed, and you felt his lips press gently against your temple, you breathed in the quiet between you. His scent. His presence. His promise.

"I missed you," you whispered.

"I never stopped thinking about you," he murmured. "Not for a second."

You pulled back just far enough to look at him—really look. He looked tired, yes, but soft around the edges now. Open. Hopeful.

You touched his cheek. "Okay," you sniffled. "You can stay."

The way he smiled at you then—soft and disbelieving—felt like sunlight after a long winter.

He kissed your knuckles. Then your brow. Then the tip of your nose.

Then, slower, more reverent—he kissed your cheek. The corner of your mouth. And finally, your lips. It was soft, tentative, but steady. Like he needed you to feel it. Like he’d been holding it in for years.

You melted into it, a shaky laugh breaking through your tears.

"We’ll take it one breath at a time," he whispered against your lips.

You nodded, forehead resting against his. For a while, you just breathed together—quiet and close. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles against the back of your hand.

"Tell me when you’re tired," he murmured.

"I’m always tired," you whispered, a soft smile tugging at the edge of your mouth.

"I’ll be tired with you."

He shifted, carefully, until he was half-tucked into the bed beside you, mindful of your lines and monitors. You leaned into him, head on his chest, and let his heartbeat calm your own.

"I love you," you murmured into the fabric of his shirt.

His hand found yours beneath the blanket, fingers curling tight. "And I love you—more than anything."

You smiled against him, small and real. "Even now?"

"Always."

And in that quiet hospital room, tangled together and half-lit by morning, you let those words hold you—finally, fully—with nothing left to hide and everything to bare.

[jsooly]

death in the family (8) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, you and tarsem get along pretty well. too well.

note, lemme know how far i can go with the romance !! i have so many intimate/spicy ideas in mind, but do you guys want them?

(MASTERLIST)

/

a younger tarsem occupied your dreamscape. recollections of curious glances, teasing words, and romps in the mud resurfaced, reminding you that for every uncomfortable memory you had of your childhood, there were five great ones.

when the clan children were very young, they didn't try to hide their interest in your existence. you looked different, but you did the same things: hunted, spoke, ate like them... for a few years, they treated you like any other na'vi child. as you grew and they began to understand the threats facing their people, they separated themselves from you.

humans forced their way onto their planet, and even the good ones were held at a distance by the clan. you couldn't blame them for their animosity. you, like the other humans, were a reminder of what they lost. it weighed your frustration and sadness with a guilt you couldn't shake. but it wasn’t about you—not really. it never had been. reminding yourself of that fact was the only way you navigated living with the omaticaya.

you thought you'd be fine living out at the lab on your own, but... home is home. and home was among the clan, for better or for worse. tarsem's invitation became increasingly tantalizing the more you thought of it.

your comm buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. you sat up abruptly, paging through. "spider?"

you were met with silence despite the initial connection. you continued on. "the plan didn't work. someone got in the way, but i can—"

"don't worry about it." his words cut through yours.

you paused, brows scrunching in mild confusion. "don't... what? try again?"

"i appreciate your help, really. i do. i've heard the last few times you tried to call me, and i'm sorry i didn't respond, but you don't have to check in on me anymore. i'm not in any immediate danger, and... i'm doing fine, actually."

what? "spider, i don't—" the line dropped, but you still called out to him. "spider?"

no response.

you frowned, removing your fingers from your comm. don't need rescue? doing fine? without his intel of his whereabouts, it would be nearly impossible to keep track of quaritch's covert team. you sighed and massaged your temples. you tried your best for spider, but if he didn't want to help the rescue efforts, there was little you could do.

you made a promise to continue to check in on him despite his instructions. quaritch understood people. if they could be manipulated, he was on it. a kid like spider was especially vulnerable to offers of comfort and belonging. evidently, he'd been getting comfortable.

you groaned and rose to your feet. you eyed your weapons satchel.

well, tarsem, you thought as you slung it over your shoulder. you win this time.

you informed norm of your departure before seeking out katir to return to high camp.

/

seems you didn't really think this through.

under no circumstances would you trust katir around the clan's banshees—those were like low-hanging fruit snacks to the big guy. you two were still learning each other, and one thing about him was that he was always hungry. he was growing, after all.

speaking of growth—you weren't sure high camp had the space to support him. the cave spaces the people inhabited were narrow enough for ikran, but not for a slotsyal.

you pursed your lips as you stewed in thought. katir warbled underneath you, voicing his confusion of your continued cruise through the air.

you rubbed his neck. "hang tight, kitkat. you'll be okay on your own, yeah? a few days just hanging around?"

he chirped.

"okay. let's set down over here." you guided him to a floating mountain a couple minutes out from high camp. with another firm pat, katir lowered his head to allow you to dismount.

his eyes followed you as you stretched, then constricted upon hearing the war cries of na'vi approaching from the skies. your head shot up, peering at the descending ikran and their bonded partners, spears and arrows poised for attack.

"wait!" you yelled, waving your arms to make yourself visible. their flight stuttered, reflecting the confusion of their riders at your proximity to a stormglider without being... you know, eaten.

you gently nudged katir's head down from his defensive position, like you've seen jake do with direhorses when they grow agitated. his breath puffed from his nostrils in an angry rhythm, shaking his head in frustration. you whispered soothing words to him as the na'vi landed on the flat mountaintop in front of you.

"(this is the rogue stormglider.)" one rider snapped in na'vi, bow still pulled taut. "(what are you doing?)"

you held up your hands to placate them. "(he is tame.)"

"(how would you know?)" they retorted.

you rolled your eyes lightly. "(i've spent a couple days with him. trust me, if he wanted to harm me, he had many opportunities to do so.)"

"mawey." tarsem's ikran came shrieking down from its bird's-eye perch, landing between the scouts and you. he slid off, pushing down his people's bows. "(she speaks the truth. the stormglider is tame by her own hands.)"

you let out a shaky breath when you saw the surprise paint the scouts' faces, stepping back with a nod. with their weapons lowered and holstered, katir no longer perceived a threat and relaxed. he turned into you, nuzzling his snout into your side. you smiled and stroked the crest of his head.

the scouts observed you, and you swore you saw something close to respect in their gaze. you bowed your head slightly, a small smile on your lips.

when they smiled back, you had a feeling that everything was going to be okay.

/

with katir protected from the clan's hunt, you left him to roam freely in his natural habitat high above the forest.

you rode to high camp on tarsem’s ikran. thank the great mother you were sitting behind him, because you don’t know how you’d deal with that smug smile on his. he probably thought he was so persuasive to get you to come back home after just one day of talking to you. 

you scoffed but couldn’t stop your smile. "i can tell you want to say something."

"like what?"

"i told you so?"

"risk gloating in front of you?" tarsem glanced over his shoulder with a grin. "i learned my lesson yesterday."

"yeah, and what’s that?"

he pursed his lips in thought. "you are stubborn, like your father. headstrong, like your mother. i have seen elders go up against them and get a mouthful. i can say now that i share that experience."

you shook your head, laughing softly. "good or bad experience?"

"you're coming home, are you not?" he smiled to himself, happiness seeping into his tone. "unlike those elders, it seems i got the last word against a sully. i will be remembered for generations."

you giggled. "don't get used to it."

"if this is the only thing i win from you in our lives," he continued, softer. "i will die a happy man."

you fell quiet, letting the breeze speak for the remainder of the journey.

with a squawk and fluttering of wings, tarsem and the scouts landed back in high camp. the passing na'vi did not pay much mind to their arrival—after all, regular patrols were a part of life now that the RDA was back.

tarsem adjusted his loincloth as he dropped to the ground, offering his hand. you raised an eyebrow, finding his behavior amusing.

tarsem was always popular. he was strong, quick, masterful with weapons—a real prodigy if there ever was one. when whispers that he might be the next olo'eyktan spread through the clan, betrothals were offered up left and right. he was always sought after, and you personally witnessed some attempts yourself.

seeing the other side of it—him seeking you—was a pleasant surprise.

he didn't have parents that would make him feel as though he needed to be threatened by you, making him the closest thing to a friend outside of your own family. from childhood to adolescence, you believed his fascination with you was childlike curiosity.

but you weren't children anymore. and what lingered between you was no longer curiosity. it was interest. intent. the kind of attention that was far from innocent.

your hand slipped in his and you jumped off his ikran.

he cleared his throat as he walked through the camp. "i have a place for you to stay. quiet, far away from the chatter of the clan."

you smiled appreciatively. "thanks."

"close to my tent." tarsem' continued while his eyes tracked those who passed you with odd looks. "if you have problems, you can come to me."

"as i've demonstrated yesterday, i'm sure i can handle myself."

"i agree with you." he replied, glancing down at you. "i only suggest that you do not have to do it alone."

i don't want to. it’d be nice not to, seemed like the perfect thing to say. but you opted for another smile.

he led you to your designated tent. it was just like the one you shared with your siblings months ago: beads and designs woven into the threads of the canopy, crates for belongings, a computer for updates.

"this is perfect," you praised. "thank you."

"this is your home. you have no one to thank." tarsem said firmly, but his kindness was not lost on you.

/

days and days passed without much excitement. the news of your feat with your stormglider spread like wildfire. when you decided to roam the camp grounds, you were no longer met with odd looks. there was a respect around your name, and it seemed as though your clan was finally accepting you as you were. as one of them.

you visited mo'at and gave her updates of the family: where they were, what they were up to, what you'd seen with your own eyes. you regaled her with the story of pseudo-bonding with katir, cocking your head when she smiled widely, a soft chuckle on her lips.

"i told you eywa does not make mistakes." she hummed, brushing your hair. you mind traveled back to the day your family left, recalling the first time a woodsprite made its way up to high camp. "your father echoes in you."

your father.

another thing you were soon coming to terms with. now that your reputation was growing amongst the people, you were learning that many thought of you as an extension of jake sully. the only difference between the two of you was that you had no avatar—otherwise, the physical prowess and risk-taking was practically identical. you were the last remaining sully in the clan, and they treated you as such. the name—your name carried a weight they couldn't ignore.

you and tarsem often flew together. when it became hard to communicate atop katir given his size, he improvised and took you out on his hunting trips instead. you were a clean shot, after all.

after handing off the game to the clan, you would both crash. more often in your tent than his, after you got an unwelcome surprise visit from a scout one time and rumors spread.

he talked a lot. you figured with his new responsibility as olo'eyktan, he didn't have many people to talk with anymore. everyone looked to him for the answers. he had to be strong, for their sakes.

your tent was special to him for that reason—a place where he doesn't have to be strong. you understood what he was going through, seen your mother console your father many times with varying results. even the greatest leaders feel small sometimes.

after another successful hunt, you and tarsem made your way through the sleeping camp to your tent.

he dropped against the wall with a groan, rolling his shoulders as he shrugged off his weapons. you chuckled at his antics, setting your bow and arrows down as well.

you sat beside him, offering some water you collected on your night out. he accepted it happily.

tarsem observed you with a careful eye. he pulled at your clothes. "you need new things."

"hm?" you glanced down. your clothes were in a rough shape. every branch you ran into and every puddle you splashed in added up, and it was strikingly obvious. "i guess so. i'll stop by the lab tomorrow to—"

"no. get rid of this sky demon attire. wear the people's clothing."

"omaticaya dress?" you asked incredulously.

"yes."

you laughed dryly. "yeah, sure."

"sarcasm?"

"yes."

he rolled his eyes, sitting up straighter and unintentionally towering over where you sat. "i am serious."

you gave him a weird look. "get rid of this sky demon attire. you're forgetting what i am."

"the body does not always reflect the soul." he countered with a shrug. "your father is proof of this."

you snorted, pausing to study him when he didn't even blink. he really was serious, and for some reason that made you laugh harder. "you're serious."

"i said i was, yes."

"do you want everyone to see me naked?" you whispered urgently, disbelief on your tongue.

"i do not understand. naked?"

"without clothing."

he scoffed, gesturing to the sky in exasperation. "silly tawtute concerns. this is normal."

"normal for you." you shot back. "not for me!"

"it will become normal." tarsem retorted as though you were being unreasonable. when he heard you laughing, his frown deepened. "you make fun."

"no." you insisted slowly, though the grin on your face was undeniable. "i'm just not sure people need to see all that. i won't be able to move like i do if i'm worried about flashing everyone."

"flashing?" he repeated confusedly.

your mouth hung open for a moment. you knew that nudity wasn't even an issue for na'vi. as such, you quickly realized they had no concept for things like flashing. to tarsem, you were just babbling on with no good reason to reject his idea.

"flashing is like... exposing myself." you explained weakly.

you expected him to continue to argue with you. but his eyes flickered and a slow smile spread on his lips. "move how you want, ngatsyìp (little one). nothing about you should be hidden. nothing."

your hand shot out to swat his arm, the grin on your face failing to cover up your flustered state. your cheeks were warm, fueling the fire that allowed you to curse, "skxawng!" (idiot!)

he laughed brightly, gathering your wrists in one hand and tugging you to the floor beside him. he easily held you down, but then again, you were half-heartedly resisting.

"i will find beads and feathers for you. you will try them."

"is that an order?" you teased, challenge in your tone.

tarsem matched your taunt with one of his own. "you love to test my authority, ngatsyìp. push me and see that i know how to handle you."

/

in awa'atlu, jake couldn't sleep. fatherly instincts, perhaps?

. . .

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© jsooly ‘25

[frownyalfred]

Thinking about Bruce always feeling insecure about living up to his parents legacy, thinking about him feeling unworthy of using the master bedroom when he returned, thinking about him as Brucie uncounsciously taking his hookups to other rooms in the mansion, never to his (parent's), thinking about Bruce welcoming his kids in the master bedroom with open arms whenever they have nightmares, the same way his parents did to him, thinking about Clark feeling insecure about Bruce's true feelings towards him, thinking about Clark being totally oblivious to how big of a deal it is that he's alowed to sleep beside Bruce in the master bedroom.

The sanctity of the master bedroom is SO real. I grew up in a house with separate living quarters for staff (old old house) and the bedrooms for children were in a wing, and then the master suite and guest suites were in another section of the house. The implied distance between those sections is huge, even if they're only one closed door or a few feet away.

Bruce slowly accepting his place in the master suite -- now that's a fic I'd love to write. Keeping the hookups and random encounters to another equally lavish but different room or wing of the Manor, even. Somewhere that's easy to shuttle people in and out of, maybe near the laundry chutes or the servants' stairwells. Sleeping there even when he doesn't have guests, because the ghosts in the master suite are too much.

But maybe, once Dick is living with him, he can't justify it -- the master suite is near the children's rooms, and sleeping on another floor, away from a traumatized child, seems like a terrible idea. Alfred's rooms are too far away, nestled somewhere in the servants' quarters even though Bruce keeps trying to get him to take a guest suite.

So he takes over the suite, making it his own slowly but surely. Yet leaving portions of it untouched -- maybe the old floor to ceiling drapes, with their antiquated trim and beads. The double sinks in the en suite, made for a couple. He removes the four poster bed for a california king, modern enough to dispel any mental similarities. Big enough for a kid to come and hide, after a nightmare.

Clark being allowed in that room, even near that portion of the Manor? That's a huge step forward, a huge display of vulnerability and trust. It's not just Bruce's room, it's his parents' room, it's just off the children's wing, it is in many ways the heart of the residential portion of the Manor. All hallways, servant corridors, etc, lead there. And the more people that stay there, the more that suite is viewed truly as the center of the Manor itself, outside of the Cave and maybe Alfred's kitchen + butler's pantry.

[b14augrana]

Open Arms

Two players, one last name. Only one of you is suffering from the legacy attached to it

Alexia Putellas x sister!reader

masterlist

Warnings: angst and/or hurt + bit of an inconclusive ending lol not happy or sad kinda just… 🫠

A/N: more alexia angst in the place of aapa pt. 4! heavily inspired by open arms by sza, and i highly recommend that you listen to it because this will make a whole lot more sense if you do + it’s amazing. this song is so dear to my heart and honestly one of my favourites ever, so i had to write something inspired by it because the meaning is so deep and interpretable in many ways. this is just one of them :)

You thought that playing for Barcelona was your lifelong dream.

It was a picturesque scene; two players sharing the same last name stepping onto the pitch in the same jersey. It had been your dream at one point, until you realised the influence of your sister was leading you to believe that.

This set something off in you, like it triggered a chain reaction of thoughts and epiphanies that led up to the inevitable.

It was so hard to shine as your own individual self, when all you were credited for was the name on your back and the uncanny resemblance you had to Alexia. You were good, you were so good, but nobody ever noticed. You knew it would stay like this forever if you didn’t do something for yourself.

You could remember your hometown of Mollet de Vallès to be a place that was rife with FC Barcelona pride; it would’ve been the ultimate betrayal to your neighbourhood if you hadn’t elected to play for the club. It would be the ultimate betrayal to leave them, as well.

You were born and raised in Barcelona. The culture, the people, the club, all of it was surely intertwined into your soul. That wouldn’t stop you from running away from every bit of it and breaking out of the manacles this city held you in.

If it wasn’t for your sister and the fact that all your years spent at the club was deeply rooted in the love you had for her, you would’ve been gone ages ago.

At first, you thought you were just having one of those days when nothing felt like it was going your way, but the feelings persisted and you became more acutely aware of the real problem — you were staying for Alexia, and her feelings were beginning to come above your career and self-esteem.

You could only spend so much time in the dark before you started craving the light. Living in her shadow was simply not good enough. You had spent enough of your life feeling hopeless.

Being on the same team as her meant that the closest you’d ever get to being called good is comparisons to your sister. Alexia was La Reina. Alexia was everything. You? Well… you were barely anything if not Alexia’s little sister, the other less impressive Putellas.

Talks with your agent made the decision you had to make crystal clear; you could continue to be downplayed as long as you stay at Barcelona, or you could leave the club and feel what it’s like to be appreciated for the skill you possess instead of your relations to Alexia.

The hardest part of this entire thing? Telling her.

You could pack your things and book your plane tickets, call your agent and tell him to start negotiating with clubs, let the board know that you’re leaving for good and never turning back, but breaking the news to Alexia was easier said than done.

When you were in her kitchen one night, bearing a burden on your shoulders, you hesitated to speak. The knowledge of your career at Barça coming to an end after one more match was severing your tongue, preventing you from speaking, and eventually you’d cave beneath it and keep it all to yourself until Alexia found out in the worst way possible. The deal was done, you put pen to paper, and you were set to join Bayern Munich. All that was left to do was tell Alexia.

Bayern Munich, so far away from Barcelona, it was perfect. You could restart and build a name for yourself, completely separated from your family name. Even if Alexia did get angry, you would be in Germany within the next month (give or take a week), so what did it matter?

Part of you had faith that she’d understand, recognise your intentions and not take it to heart. The entirety of you hoped and prayed for that.

“Alexia,” you started, turning around in your seat at the dining table to look at her while she poured herself a glass of water. She hummed in response to you, as to indicate that she was listening.

“I’m leaving the club. I’ve signed it — the contract — and it’s done. I’m going to Bayern.”

She turned off the faucet suddenly, standing at the sink with her back to you. Her grip on the glass tightened ever so slightly, and you could hear the deep breath she took.

“What?” she mumbled, turning around to look at you with eyes narrowed in disbelief. You glared at the table, nodding your head slightly.

“I’m going to Bayern,” you repeated, looking up to meet her now widened eyes as she placed her glass down. “I’m leaving Barça.”

She glanced at you, her eyes softening for a moment, and you could tell that she was barely registering the news.

“You can’t,” she responded, “Barça is your home, we belong here, both of us–”

There went any chances of her understanding you. That other part of you that knew she wouldn’t be rational about this, had been proven right. “You belong here, Alexia. I don’t,” you shot back, pointing at her with an almost accusing finger.

“What’s wrong with the club?” Alexia snapped. You glared at her, your angered façade crumbling away to reveal the true sadness that remained behind it.

“This club is your dream, (Y/N). I mean, I don’t get it,” she laughed, her expression seeping with disbelief, “You love it here, I love you here– don’t you remember? We used to talk about retiring here together, assisting each other and scoring from each other’s passes. Remember how you’ve always wanted to score a bicycle kick off one of my corners? Why do you want to leave, when we haven’t done all this, when there’s still so much for us to achieve?”

It wasn’t her fault that everyone kept you in the dark. Alexia would never want you at Barça if she knew this was going to happen. Still, you couldn’t cave now. There was no use in regretting anything, because it was done. Maybe if you had told her about your plans to leave, you would’ve felt this regret earlier, and things would’ve been different. Empty ‘what-ifs’ only reminded you that it was too late.

But still, her plea to make you stay was solely built on whatever regarded her. Not a single thing about what you wanted to do was taken into consideration.

“Tell me what made you want to leave, and I’ll make them change it. Just don’t ruin your career by leaving,” she continued.

“You know what?” you started, standing up so you were eye-to-eye with your sister, “I thought you out of all people would understand, but no. You’re selfish, Alexia. This is what’s best for me, I can’t stay here if I want to be any good!”

You were yelling, and you never liked to yell, but it felt like the only way to properly convey your feelings to the woman.

“I’m not even second best to you. Sometimes I feel like I’m only kept at this club to make you look good, and I am so, so sick of it. For years I’ve– I have no confidence left, no sense of pride in myself, I barely ever feel happy wearing this jersey because it’s always been your dream, not mine! I’m not the Putellas that belongs here, everyone knows that, so don’t try to make me stay because this is my only chance to be great. I want to be great, Alexia, and you should know better than anyone what it’s like to want that.”

It was only normal that you began to tear up amidst your words, and they trembled on your waterline as you spoke.

Alexia looked defeated.

More than anything, she felt unbridled amounts of guilt running rife through her. She wanted to reach out to you, hug you, tell you that everything would be alright and she never looked at you as a dim light that made hers look brighter, but she was glued to the spot, her muscles twitching and urging her to step forward with no avail.

“I love you, and I’ve stayed all this time for you. Honestly, I never even wanted to stay. You’re the only one that’s holding me down.” It was like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and in its place sat a mix of relief and guilt.

Alexia stayed silent, only a singular tear slipping down her cheek, the start of many that she would shed behind closed doors that night. It was more than just losing a teammate to her, and she wasn’t so emotional because her sister was leaving; it was the realisation that she didn’t know you very well in the first place, and the culpability of realising that she really had been holding you down.

That conversation was one of the last you had with Alexia in person. You played one last match for the Blaugrana, and then you left for Germany the following week.

Even weeks of knowing prior to your final match couldn’t soften the blow as Alexia stood on the pitch, clapping for you as you waved goodbye to the fans and teammates alike, tears brimming in your eyes that were akin to the ones rolling down her cheeks.

She walked up to you, and she embraced you like she never has before, like you were disappearing into nothingness instead of another country. You gripped her tightly, savouring the hug and trying to memorise the feeling, and when she pulled away, she had a pensive smile on her face.

“If you ever want to come back to me, I’ll always be right here with open arms. Cuídate, hermana.”

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

what are all of mommy!hwa's rules for his baby? we know a couple for sure but i feel like he has wayyy more

➯a/n: wow i love that someone asked this because YES, yes he does. and he expects his baby to know them letter by letter, no excuses. i included drabbles for some of them because i literally physically cannot stop myself when it comes to this au

Mommy Hwa's Rules

(and the subsequent punishments for breaking them...)

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

Baby Series !

��'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, headcanon + drabble style

♫Baby Playlist♫

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: dude where do i even start — if you're reading this you probably know how fucked up mommy hwa is so just buckle up for the same messed up show honestly😭, captivity, extremely controlling behavior, physical and mental punishment (re: mind breaking), mental isolation, mentions of violence, spanking, force feeding medication, stockholm syndrome, non sexual nudity, mentions of past drugging, ptsd, insecurity, mommy hwa's mental instability

➯disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind.

🚫MINORS🚫

✧No eye contact with others. You didn't have this privilege for a long time — and then you did! And almost immediately lost it again when you looked to Mingi beggingly for help. It keeps you separated from the members. From the bribed staff. Eyes are the windows to the soul, and one look into yours makes it harder to ignore what's happening. It's better for everyone if you just keep your eyes to yourself. Besides, Seonghwa is the only one who should be looking into his Baby's soul. If you get caught, into the corner. If you can't keep your eyes where they belong, you don't get to look at anything. Usually it's only for an hour.

But once, it was for an entire week — only let up to eat and use the bathroom and sleep. You and Mingi got caught making eye contact while planning an escape. You're lucky you didn't end up like poor Mingi, bruised and battered. But still; you thought your knees would never be the same after kneeling for so long. Thank goodness for Choi San. He probably saved your ability to walk.

San caved on day two. You were still headstrong and taking your punishment like a damn champ — kneeling with your weight on your knees like Seonghwa forced you to —but he could see the way you were wobbling from time to time. How your hands were fidgeting at your sides, your brain desperate for any stimulation as you stared at the corner.

When Seonghwa stood up and went to fold some laundry, San all but dived off of the couch and fell next to you. "Here," he offered his cupped hands with a whisper, "take the pressure off your knees." You only blinked for a moment as you looked at his hands. Wondering if this was some kind of trick that Hwa had put him up to. "Please, I can't stand to watch you sit there one more second like this. Let me cushion you while he's gone."

Remember your manners. "Thank you, Sannie," you whisper back as you shakily lift your knees and let his hands slip between them and the hardwood.

✧Sleep in Mommy's arms. It doesn't matter if you thrash, if you kick or bite, if you sob so violently you shake the bed. He will simply just wait until you wear yourself out trying to fight out of his arms snake-like lock around your waist. He doesn't mind. As long as he gets to have you in his arms. He can't sleep any other way. He doesn't mind, sure, but it's still a relief when you stop your every night struggles and settle into a more peaceful routine.

✧Be quiet when there's a camera rolling, especially if it's live. By the time he started live streaming around you, he didn't need to put any repercussions in place. You were just happy that you didn't have to be stuck in the hall with the "meanie" bodyguard or manager. You got to stay in your safe little corner of his world and play; as long as you do so quietly. If you need something, you can just wave your hand and he will see it — because he's always got his peripherals on you.

✧Have a bath or shower everyday, but never on your own. After your first night, he said he'd let you do it alone — and he did. For two days. Then he had to bust in the door when you weren't responding; you were so tired and numb that you had the water scalding hot and nearly burning your skin and passed out from the mixture of exhaustion and sweating. No more private showers, Baby. You could have hit your head!

While Seonghwa is washing his face and doing his skincare at the sink in the morning, you're free to wash yourself up in the shower. He had set the temperature and checked it, and then checked again, making sure — double sure that it's appropriate. He always does. He's terrified that you'll pass out again from the heat even if he's right there. Even if you haven't since the first time. He can never be too careful when it comes to his precious Baby.

If you don't have one in the morning, if you just get cleaned up with him at the sink, you have one at night. Usually, he joins you. He's a tad bit less strict with the temperature because he's within reach to change it or catch you. If you want it a little bit hotter, especially in the winter — he lets it slide. He wants you to be happy and comfortable, after all.

Seonghwa loves to wash your hair. It's up there with rubbing your face after applying your skincare as his favorite things in the world. He buys shampoo and conditioner just for your hair type and he made sure that it's tear free; even though he's still very careful not to get any in your eyes. You actually come to appreciate and even enjoy it.

He's always taken a long time in the bathroom, and with you it's even longer to the point where San and Mingi have had to go to the others apartments to wash up. And while Seonghwa apologizes for the inconvenience, he says in the same exact breath that he has to make sure you're taken good care of — so... Sorry, not sorry. His Baby comes first.

✧No PG13 or above rated things. And nothing scary at all past dinner time, even if it's for kids. He doesn't want you to have nightmares! You already have enough of those as it is... He allows you to read the Goosebumps books that Jongho gifted you, as long as you clear your mind of the spooky stories before it's time for bed. If he catches you watching a scary movie, anything of the sort that isn't a cartoon, you'll be losing the privilege to watch things on your own for a good while.

✧Take your medicine. Birth control and vitamins, whatever else you take, everyday. If you don't want to, if you're afraid he's switched the pills — too bad. He'll shove them in your mouth and hold your nose closed until you have no choice but to swallow them if you want to keep breathing. He just wants to keep his Baby healthy!

✧Eat. Simple. Isn't it? But you're still sometimes afraid that Seonghwa will slip something into your food in the early days. He won't make you clear your plate; if you aren't that hungry he won't force you to get a bellyache by making you eat everything. But at least have some — at least have half, something! And on the other hand, you're always welcome to seconds or a snack before bed if you're still hungry. He just wants his Baby to be healthy and well-fed. You aren't leaving the table until you have at least some food.

"It's almost time for bed." You whisper from across the table, looking at the analog clock under the TV before he taps the table and brings your eyes back. "Sorry, Mommy..."

"It's okay, Baby. Are you tired?"

"Yeah..."

"Then eat. And we can get ready for bed," he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he looks between you and the now-cold plate. "I won't let you go to bed on an empty stomach."

You were so tired. So tired — and hungry. He hadn't drugged you since the first night, but sometimes when he cooked out of your sight you were still afraid that you'd wake up the next morning with heaviness of drugs in your muscles.

"Can-" You decide to finally cave as the sleepiness weighs your eyelids down, "can you heat it up, please?"

"Of course, Baby."

✧Someone has to be with you no matter where you go, and he has to know where that is. If you want to play with Big Bear, you're going to let him know. If you want to nap in Ming or Wooyoungie's bed, tell him before hand. And if at any point he doesn't know where you've gone to, you're getting spanked when he finds you. Then you aren't leaving his sight for a long time.

✧Use a sippy cup or a straw. While he says it's because he doesn't want you to accidentally spill something — it's really because he knows that it makes you feel little. And making you feel little helps him keep you in check.

✧If you address him, it's "Mommy." And if it's not that, don't say it. Seonghwa, Hwa, "Hey, Asshole! I'm talking to you" — the only thing he might let slip is "Hwaseong" or "Mars", because that means you're happy enough to call him by a cute nickname. Other than that, he's not going to respond to you. Cold shoulder until you come to your senses and call him what he is: "Mommy."

✧You shouldn't have lots of junk food. It's not good for you, it should be occasional. Especially candy, that should only be had when you've been good. If he catches you trying to sneak some, he'll probably just scold you for not asking for a snack instead of junk. But you, in your childlike state of mind, love junky snacks! And some of the members know that; so they sneak you some. Yunho and Yeosang, mostly. You can eat whatever you want while at their apartment and they won't tell him. Wooyoung is much braver. He likes to spoil you and he has no qualms doing it right infront of Seonghwa. He can't fight very well, but he will bite the man if he tries to stop him — and they both know it. Wooyoung helps you break this rule without getting you in trouble.

The knock on the bedroom door makes you look up quickly, your puzzle abandoned as Wooyoung peeks his head in. "Hey, Kiddo."

You're currently on lock down for accidentally forgetting to tell Seonghwa you were going to nap in Mingi's room. If Seonghwa doesn't go somewhere, neither do you. If he goes to another room, so do you. He has you essentially sewn at the hip. And he isn't leaving the room a lot on purpose, you all know it. He's scared to lose track of you again, and it's a form of punishment for forgetting something so monumental.

"Wooyoungie!"

"Catch!"

"Yay!" From his spot on the floor across from you, helping with the puzzle, Seonghwa looks up and immediately frowns. Wooyoung threw you a bag of chips, and then a very sugary drink to go with it.

"Wooyoung-" He goes to scold the man, only to be met with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever from you. He stops, knowing he's been defeated already. "I told you to stop spoiling her," he sighs as he opens the drink for you anyways.

You had been through this song and dance a good few times. Wooyoung would throw some junk or candy to you, say he got it just for you and how it shouldn't go to waste. And then you'd piggy-back, saying it would be rude for you not to eat the snacks; because Wooyoungie went out of his way for you.

You were taking up too many of the man's habits for Seonghwa's liking. "You're infecting my precious Baby with bad habits. This is the last time." It won't be the last time.

✧No news. The world is too scary for his Baby! And he doesn't want you reminded that there's an outside world to begin with... Little does he know, San tells you some headlines everyday. If he did know, both of you would be in for a very bad time.

✧Keep your promises. He does! So he expects it from you as well. "I promise I'll be good", "I promise I won't do it again", "I promise I won't try to run, I just wanna go outside". If you break a promise, don't expect him to take your words at face value again. He'll be paranoid (more so than usual), and he'll be stricter; just to see how well you actually mean what you say. If you promise that you'll fold all of your clothes, and you don't put your socks together — he'll take that as a broken promise and make you do it all over again.

✧Don't talk about before. AKA: don't mention life before you were "brought home". You got accustomed to this one very quickly, because Seonghwa gets mad when you mention something like how you miss your job or your friends. And Seonghwa is scary when he's mad.

✧No bad words. You don't need them to express yourself. Plus, you're so precious — he can't stand to hear your little voice saying naughty words. Curse words, yes, but also "hate." He, ironically, hates that word. Automatic ten spanks, then and there. It doesn't matter who's around or what the context was. His Baby shouldn't be saying such vile things.

"-no, you liked it? I hated that movie." Seonghwa's head whips around at the sound of your voice. Quiet and distant, but he heard it. Oh, he heard it.

Mingi's heart drops to his feet as Hwa stops talking to him and sets his focus on you. He didn't hear it, but he was sure whatever you said had to have been bad to make Seonghwa's Baby senses start tingling.

They are taking a break. Spread out across the dance room. You're sitting in your corner still, speaking with Yeosang. "I didn't think the princess was-"

"Baby?"

Now your heart drops. Searching for whatever it is you did wrong to make him upset. You don't even remember you said the cursed word, it came out so naturally. "M-mommy?"

"What did you say?"

"We're jus' talking about movies, M-"

"Get over here. And don't make me count."

✧Respect your things. Your toys, clothes, crayons, pacifiers, ect. If you want to throw a tantrum and throw, rip, or break things — expect them to be taken away for a while. "If you can't appreciate it, you lose it." The only exceptions are your comfort items, which he's promised never to take.

✧Good behavior gets rewarded. Just like an actual child, it's important that Seonghwa's Baby doesn't only get punished for bad behavior, but rewarded for good. How else will you learn? If you've been particularly docile, done something sweet unprompted, or just been a good girl in general; he will let you know how much he appreciates that. Extra TV time, a late bedtime, your pick from the little bucket of candy.

✧Don't talk bad about yourself. Even when you feel stupid or ugly or angry with yourself, there's healthier ways to deal with it than talking down to yourself. He's been there! And it breaks his heart more than it makes him angry — he isn't angry at all, actually! He's devastated that his beautiful, precious, Baby has those thoughts about herself. He's going to sit with you facing the mirror and list every single thing that he loves about you, inside and out until you crack a smile. Even if it takes hours. He can do it for hours if he has to, and he won't repeat a single thing. Every thing added to the list is something you've didn't hear yet that day. And even though it shouldn't, it makes you feel loved. It makes you feel better.

✧Remember your manners. It seems a simple enough rule. One you even had before you were his captive brought home. "Please", "thank you", always respond when someone's talking to you; especially if it's your Mommy. It's simple enough. But you had trouble with it in the early days because by Seonghwa's standards — saying "I love you" back is considered manners. If you break this rule, he's fair with you. Makes you write down all of your manners, including "I love you, Mommy" at least twenty times — at the very least. If you're a repeat offender, five spanks.

"C'mere, Baby," he pulls you from the floor where you were coloring, trying to forget all of your troubles. He settles you into his lap, tucking your head under his chin as he cradles you to his chest.

He doesn't say anything else for a while. He just holds you while the television fills the silence. But neither of you are listening.

He does this kind of often, actually. Just holds you quietly. Keeping you tucked away in his arms like keeping you tucked away from the world isn't enough. To him, it really isn't. He always needs more. More reassurance that you're his and his alone.

"I love you, Baby."

Remember your manners. Is the first thing you think. You know that you should say it back to save yourself the hassle. But you don't feel like it today. You're extra grumpy with him for whatever reason.

"Baby," he hums, pulling back to look at you, "I love you." He says again with his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Actually, on second thought, you don't feel like writing lines or getting spanks. "I love you, too, Mommy."

✧Don't try to run away. You don't want to know what will happen.

[wlfb0ygrl]

WHATEVER im talking abotu the interpretations my brain made out of the vague information slop i obtained years ago . even if no one asked

im gonna talk about the terrible little semi ironic ship here because its whats on my mind the most . also i will be using the placeholder names Sandwich and Whiteboy while talking about them because .still too embarrassed to say what it is

so whiteboy is the biggest freak to ever live . filled with unending internal torment but conceals it with boyish mischief . he feels like a 1950s mad scientist typa guy to me totally the kinda dude to say YOULL SEE !!!!!!! YOULL ALL SEE !!!!!!!! annddd that Did happen to him one time i think because he brought up being “shunned by the people around me for wanting to prevent the situation from escalating” one time . also he talks about himself like he was some sort of almighty ruler at one point but i think that shit never happened and he just Reaaaaally wants to be someones object of worship . even though he knows good n well no one likes him to that degree

and sandwich . well i dont one hundred percent Know what his deal is but i know hes some sort of weird immortal force of nature that is mostly pretty chill despite the destruction he can and has caused . i think he Does wants to do some sort of good for the world but has to do fucked up shit for it to happen (eg committing multiple accounts of arson . yes that is something he actually did) . so like an antihero situation i guess . at the same time he doesnt really feel good nor bad about his cruelty because he knows itll be for the good of the world in the end .or something

AND THEIR DYNAMIC . hoo boy is that shit a slippery slope . i couldnt decide whether it would be more accurate for them to hate eachother or love eachother so i just made it a weird sticky mix of feelings of genuine affection and palpable hatred . because as we all know i eat that shit up . sandwich isnt too fond of whiteboy but he doesnt really hate him per se . he just thinks hes a huge freak (Which He Is) and just doesnt care that much for him as a result . except in certain situations where shit gets out far far of hand THEN he hates him forreal . whiteboy however is different because he does have a lot of affection for sandwich but is AAAALSO conflicted with feelings of hatred for him because of some deep seated internal beef he has with him . its related to the “””situation””” he brings up but ill explain that later .its complicated . and ON TOP OF THAT theres his weird god complex thing where he desires to be wanted and worshipped with Visceral passion . so tldr sandwich kinda just sees whiteboy as a weird little acquaintance and whiteboy constantly switches between wanting sandwich to die and wanting to know him biblically

also . unrelated but they remind me of ⬇️this image . it should be very clear who is who

remember when i brought up that roblox game (that shall remain nameless for now but only because im embarrassed) earlier . well truth is i am becoming DEEPLY autistic about it again not just the game itself but the interpretations my brain made of the characters from what i remember about all of them . also theres a semi ironic ship involved which is just plargos if they somehow got Worse

[cece693]

(2ND) SLASHERS MASTERLIST!

JOE GOLDBERG

Male Reader

You’re My Bro—Wait, What? Summary: Joe is fed up with you calling him all names under the sun—bro, dude, man, friend—but never something that consolidates all that you are or rather the relationship you have cultivated.

HANNIBAL LECTER

Male Reader

Bound by Obsession, Bound By Obsession Pt. 2, Bound By Obsession Pt. 3 Summary: Hannibal detests his patient Franklyn, yet why does Hannibal entertain the pig's illusion of friendship. Oh, yeah, because he's become quite enamored by his cousin, you. Maestro of the Macabre Summary: Beneath his refined exterior, Dr. Hannibal Lecter is a seasoned connoisseur of the internet. And, while browsing late one night, he stumbles upon you—an upcoming artist that touches him profoundly. Thus, begins a fascination that doesn't just label Hannibal a fan, but more of an obsessed stalker. Absence Makes The Beast Desperate Summary: You needed to attend a work conference, simple right? WRONG. Not even minutes after the front door closed, your husband, Hannibal, feels your absence and becomes dramatic as a result. Pathetic, Excessive, Needful, Docile REQUEST: Imagine m!reader being in love with Hannibal. An oblivious man who never saw his red flags only to find out that he's being used as a leverage to get Alana Bloom for one of his plans. Sure, he loved the reader but he had to get to his plans first. Unfortunately, (let's just say Alana is a bitch on this story) and like rubs it in his face that she's the one Hannibal chose (and says that no one would even love a mentally unstable man like reader) Say You're Sorry And Mean It Summary: So, you know how Will continues therapy with Hannibal after he gets out of the BSCI (or however you spell it) . Well, I always wanted Will to be more angry, see more of his violent emotions towards Hannibal rather than falling further for him. So, that's where this idea came to mind: male reader seeking an apology while showing Hannibal he isn't some pawn on his chest board. Poor Imitation Summary: Franklyn Froideveaux didn't need an introduction—even if Hannibal was a firm believer in patient confidentiality—you knew the man had a huge obsession with your husband. However, rather than igniting jealousy within you, it provided you with endless entertainment.

Till We Meet Again Summary: Hannibal has experienced death—from the lives taken by his own hands, from the slow bleed-out of his lineage—but always, at every turn, the personification of death has looked on and become a source of comfort and companionship. Assumptions Summary: Just because your boyfriend is older than you, that doesn't mean he's your sugar daddy or you're some kind of escort. And even if you scream it from the rooftops, there will be some people who preposition you. Hannibal isn't too happy about that. The Unlikely Confluence REQUEST: Hannibal x male reader who is seemingly not that bright been getting away with murder for a LONG time (primary targets r pedos) and 1 night when Hannibal is disposing a body he sees reader doing the same by making it seem like the most recent victim simply died in a cave system? Caged Appetite Summary: Hannibal feeling caged and declawed when he's content with a significant other. So, he lashes out because he never truly let himself adopt another routine (other than murder.) Just Hannibal dealing with emotions not so well. Even Death Cannot Separate Us Summary: Hannibal accounts for everything—he's the great master puppeteer, someone who deems himself godlike—however, you always manage to surprise him. Falling with a terminal illness, Hannibal struggles with being unable to do anything and watching his love wither away. Therapy Works (Well, Kinda) Summary: You thought going to couple's therapy would be beneficial in solving your arguments with Hannibal, however, when they suggests time apart, it doesn't end well...for them. Midlife Crisis REQUEST: male reader x Hannibal and they are basically the same right and they been married for 20 years but recently the reader started to be less elegant and more reckless he made a man cave in their nice furnished house started to eat hot cheetos even leaving crumbs in their bed. And the worst part is he got a ps5 at his big age (the reader and Hannibal around same age.) How Hannibal would react seeing the most elegant smartest man he knows turn into a man child.

Gender Neutral Reader

Even Monsters Have A Soft Spot Summary: When one thinks of Hannibal Lecter—sophisticated, has a refined taste, intelligent—are merely some words that come to mind, so it surprises even him when he becomes bespoken by an individual who's the complete opposite. You Are Free To Leave, But Know This... Summary: You had enough—determined to end your relationship, you assumed Hannibal would react more to your confession, however, he merely nodded and let you walk through the door. He knows you'll come back; this was merely a lapse in judgement.

HANNIGRAM

Male Reader

My Reflection REQUEST: Hannigram x Male!reader who is constantly staring into mirrors, arguing with themself even if others are around? You, Me, and Him Summary: Will has developed an obsession for you—someone who tethers him to normality when his empathy become too much. Hannibal recognizes this and, like the puppet master he is, begins to push Will into accepting his dark side and ultimately takes both you and him as lovers. You Remind Me Of Someone Dearly Pt. 1, Pt. 2 Summary: Hannibal isn't taken aback by anything anymore—his life has been filled with experiences that built him into the man he is today—but during a hospital shift, he's stunned to encounter Mischa again. While the child is of the opposite gender, everything down to their smile is reminiscent of his beloved sister. A parental instinct immediately engulfs the doctor, more so, when he realizes the child doesn't have the best life. Murder Is Our Love Language Summary: So, you know how Hannigram's whole thing is about understanding and feeding into one's dark/immoral side (I can't find the words to explain my brain process, but stick with me). What if Hannigram has a third partner that sees that and enjoys it, but to a sick, obsessive, self fulfilling way. Like, don't get me wrong, they find Hannibal and Will attractive and fuckable, but what gets them going and keeps their relationship alive is murder and tableaus (basically the reader wanting to have a murderer show them their significance through blood and gore.) You're Clearly Mistaken REQUEST: Hannigram with a male reader who tends to psychoanalyze and make profiles of everyone they meet? like they can quickly find out what somebody is like and makes entire mental catalogues of people they meet to be recalled at a later date. perhaps with a photographic memory?

Gender Neutral Reader

Night Management Protocol REQUEST: hannigram x reader who has really bad trauma and it gives them awful nightmares? like reader wakes up after a nightmare and cannot fall back asleep, or be alone, so they just lay in bed beside them. or they go to the living room and stay with one of the dogs.

WILL GRAHAM

Male Reader

A Stray In Wolf Trap REQUEST: May I request some Will Graham x Werewolf Male Reader? I can imagine Will taking home another stray dog he stumbled upon while driving home at night, totally doesn't care that the dog looks more like a wolf than husky with its dark fur... Don't Hide Them From Me REQUEST: Werewolf with will graham but he still has fangs after becoming human and will is obsessed with them?????!?!?!?!? And he has a habit of licking them all the time.

JASON VOORHEES

Male Reader

New Caregiver... (And Lover) Summary: Pamela Voorhees manipulates the male reader into being Jason's caretaker, because (bless her soul) she knows she won't be here forever. So, while giving this male reader attention and 'motherly' love, she unknowingly gives Jason a bride. And because the male reader is so preconditioned to tend to another person they're like 'okay. This guy is definitely crazy but also kinda hot...'

NORMAN BATES

Male Reader

Rugged 'N Handsome REQUEST: You had pulled up to the Bates Motel with no destination in mind. Norman isn't all that used to seeing, much less interacting with people of your 'aesthetics', however, he finds himself much drawn to your certain charm and bluntness.

STU MACHER

Male Reader

She's The Bad Guy, Not Me REQUEST: Male reader being manipulated by Stu into killing Sydney under the guise of saving him. Plus, Stu convincing reader that it was Sydney along with her father who committed the murders.

[fyotherat]

May i request headcanons of Ranpo, Dazai, Lucy and jouno with a s/o who hates being alone?

Like always afraid of being alone with their thoughts and uses other people to distract themselves from them and is afraid of them leaving and abandoning them? Could be angst or fluff or both i dont really mind!

-🥀

Abandonment Issues

Characters: Ranpo, Dazai and Jouno

Warnings: None I assume?

Note: Thank you for requesting! I wrote for Lucy but I'll share it together with Yosano and Higuchi on a second part!

Ranpo

It wasn't usual for you to be separated in the first place, you two were always clinging to each other like koalas.

Because of that, it took a while for him to catch a glimpse of how you felt and behaved when left alone.

He couldn't deny that he felt the same in some situations, you are what feels like home to him, and he never enjoyed leaving your side.

As much of a direct person he is, he wouldn't directly confront you about it, he knew you couldn't help it.. so he decided to do his part to make you feel as safe as possible even without him by your side.

Long cuddle sessions are a must before any mission, or any outing for that matter! He will subtly do his best to let you know he isn't going anywhere.

If he has to be gone for a while, he would make sure to leave some of your favorite candies around the house for you to find, I can even imagine him leaving sticky notes with random compliments and cute faces drawn on them!

"Da-daan! y/n found the hidden candy! 10 points from the world's greatest detective!(･v<)☆"

And if you need a distraction? He would be glad to leave some of Poe's newest mystery novels for you to solve, they're too easy for him anyway!

Dazai

He is similar, even if he doesn't show it to you, he always has that lingering anxiety about you leaving him behind.

He knew it was unlikely but.. what if you somehow learned about his past? Learned about the horrendous things he did without a second thought..? Or maybe you would just find someone better than him..

With those thoughts always in the back of his mind, he didn't have a problem catching onto yours either, he was sharp after all.

It would take a while for him to find a solution or something to distract you from those thoughts.. he didn't have the best ways of distraction, as his first resolute was turning to the bottle, and the fact that he sometimes disappeared for days didn't really help your case.

But he had to find a way to ease your mind and distract you from those thoughts and fears.

He started with small gestures, maybe draping his coat over your shoulders before leaving to visit a crime site would suggest to you that he will be back?

He already declares his undying love to you a hundred times a day, but that was just a part of his personality, playful and teasing.. so he decides to do something a bit more proper, at least before long missions.

Taking your hands in his, he would lean in with a promise, a promise he swore he'll never break.

"No matter what, I'll come back home to you."

Jouno

The hardest case is by far Jouno... He knows how attached you are to him, and something about it brings joy to this sadistic man. Saying words like this.. with that damned smile..

"My my, can't live without me y/n? Too bad I have to leave for work now."

His words of teasing weren't helping you at all, even a small joke about him 'maybe not coming back' from a mission made your stomach curl.

One day, after a long mission that took him away from you, he returned home just to pause at the doorstep, with his sharpened senses he could hear your silent tears.

But the question was.. why were you crying..? It couldn't be because you felt alone.. right..?

With a sigh, he opened the door, closing and locking it behind him.

That night, he finally caved in to listen to your growing fears and your displeasure about his teasing.

How could he keep hurting you for his own amusement when you clung onto him so tightly and sobbed silently in his arms..?

[miguelhugger2099]

Origins

Summary: How you and Miguel came to be the Goddess of Life and God of Death/ First meeting Part 2 from Snowfall. I caved. Next Miguel x Fem!Reader, Fluff, proofread but eh, Word Count: 1,497

Trillions of years ago, when Mother Earth had come to, she decided to birth two beings of life and death.

You were born from a pearl that had washed up on shore after a tsunami, where the sun had shone directly on you upon your birth. You woke up on the beach, the waters splashing on your feet to wake you. You looked around to see no one there except the drum of life beating under your hands. You felt Mother Earth speaking to you, whispering in your ears. Conceived from the water and delivered by the sun, you began your duty as the Goddess of Life, creating new and exciting things to occupy the area.

Miguel had been born right after you, always a loyal one. Birthed from a single stray petal of a marigold flower that had died during a volcanic eruption. He rose from the ashes and obsidian around him and some of it was sticking to his skin. He groaned as he felt the cataclysmic energy burning in his palms while Mother Earth spoke to him. Deeming him the God of Death who would oversee the afterlife and send the energy back to her to be reused again.

Rather than considering the two of you as her children, she classed you as separate entities, gods on the same level as her, tied to your duties with the powers you held. While she gave energy, you would form that energy to create life and then it would eventually be passed to Miguel who would preserve that energy in death and send it back to Mother Earth. You and Miguel still found it more comfortable to praise Mother Earth as a higher being since she had given both of you life. Thus, you two lived your life as servants of her, tending to her and eventually working with humans.

For the longest time, you and Miguel had never crossed paths. For eons, you both had been harnessing and practicing your newfound power, like baby steps for humans. While you worked on creating small insects and fruits, Miguel had been turning some of your plants into poisonous ones and accidentally creating diseases amongst animals. It's not his fault everything he touches turns for the worst!

The moment you had met was the moment neither of you would ever forget.

Humans had just started to be born, a small project Mother Earth had been conjuring up with you. A family was beginning to start with two sets of grandparents, the mother and father and their newborn baby girl. You had been overseeing this family, making sure everything was in check and that the seasons were warm enough for the babe to arrive.

Finally, the baby had been born after hours of labor, the sounds of cheers across the room while the mother was handed her baby. The mother cooed at her child and you watched next to her with soft eyes, having been keeping watch over this family for generations now. You held your hands over the baby's small body and prepared yourself to send your blessings of fertility and prosperity.

Suddenly, you felt a shift in your chest like something interrupting your ritual. You looked down at the baby with worry, wondering what could've happened. The mother and father had noticed a difference in the baby's behavior. She stood still and her little body never even began breathing after just a few seconds of being born. You took a step back, nearly crumbling at the sight. What was going to happen to her now?

Before you succumbed to madness, you saw a large hand hold the baby's head from behind you. You gasped and turned your head to see the God of Death for the first time. His eyes were neutral and unwavering even as he gently helped pull her soul out her body and cradled her in his arms. You watched with a bated breath and confusion in your eyes as the baby fell asleep in his embrace. You looked back up at his face to see he was still looking down at the child.

“Stillborn. She was never going to make it,” He explained softly. His voice was mellow and calm despite how deep it was. He turned to look at you and felt your breath being taken away. His eyes were somber and not all there in the present but they held a softness to it for a grim reaper. His eyes were red. What a beautiful color. “I'm sorry.”

He apologized for ruining this even though it wasn't his fault. He was just simply the collector. The family had begun to sob, clutching their baby and weeping for the universe to bring her back. They became angry at death, questioning why she had to die.

He had heard their insults and knitted his eyebrows together with a purse of his lips. He took a small breath before walking out of the home to send the child to the afterlife. You took another look at the family, deciding you had done what you could and left to follow the God of Death.

“Wait!” You called out, stopping just a few steps behind him. His back faced you but he paused when he heard your voice. His black silk robe fluttered in the breeze as he waited for you to insult and berate him.

“Thank you.” You sighed. He turned to look at you over his shoulder with disbelief. You walked up to him and raised your hand to place it on his arm when he faced you completely. He flinched back before you could and became defensive.

“For what?” His tone was on guard, not trusting you quite yet. You approached him again regardless, placing one hand on his bicep and the other to caress the baby's cheek. You looked down at her sleeping form, peacefully resting in his arms.

“For caring about her.”

He could've very well just ripped her soul painfully out her body, dragging whatever it was to the afterlife with little regard, but he held her as if she was still alive. He continued to hold her and lead her soul somewhere with someone at her side rather than doing it alone.

His mouth had slightly parted in surprise. He had never thought that the Goddess of Life would ever appreciate his efforts. It's why he's always avoided you. He thought you would think of him soiling your creations, ruining all things good by touching them. So he just watched you create from afar, admiring your work and your smile. Doing the dirty work while you weren't looking to protect your lack of knowledge about the afterlife.

You looked up to face him with that same smile and if he had a heart, it would skip a beat. For the first time, he got to see the way your eyelashes batted up at him and that there were a few sparkles in the rim of your eye color. You were more beautiful up close than he thought. He took the time to drink in your features, darting from the dip of your nose to the shape of your eyebrows and the curve of your lips.

He felt warmer and that alone was strange. His eyes glanced down at your hand on his arm where he figured out it was you making him warmer. It was comfortable and he…liked it. He saw the sun set behind you, giving you a soft glow on the curves of your cheeks and hair, the breeze gently flowing through. He took a step back, almost fearful of the power your beauty was gaining over him. He knew he'd soon crave your warmth again but his job came first.

“You're… you're welcome,” He muttered bashfully. “I have to…take her now.” Gesturing to the baby and you nodded, looking at him with amusement.

“Okay.” You giggled and he turned and looked away to hide his cheeks despite not being able to blush.

“Take care.” He looked at you behind his shoulder. Your heart swelled at the shy look on his face and you waved goodbye, feeling good about this interaction.

“I hope to see you again, my lord.”

“…Likewise, my lady.”

That night, you could not get his charming eyes out of your mind. Your hands dug into the damp soil, humming your power into the ground to come up with a new creation.

You carefully began sculpting your project, stretching out the stem and creating a bountiful amount of petals to create a new flower.

You had the image of the petals being the same color as his eyes–a gorgeous ruby red, with the stems being covered in tiny thorns much like his guarded personality. When you were done, the piece had been turned into a proper flower brimming with life and ready to be planted into Mother Earth. You decided to call it a rose–a flower humans would eventually associate with love and romance.

A/N: im not AS proud of this as the first one but i still wanted to write this little au anyway just to post something teehee

[the-daydreaming-show]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 — 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: A brief return to what happened on the day of Jason Todd's death.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬): Bruce Wayne X ScarletWitch!Reader; Clark Kent x ScarletWitch!Reader (platonic); Jason Todd x Batmom!ScarletWitch!Reader.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is a lot of anguish and does not contribute at all to the plot of the main story, but I love how it ends up, and I didn't put it in All For Us for reasons.

So, I hope you enjoy the suffering.

Beta Reader by @igotmessymind (Our savior and goddess, whom we must appreciate so… APPRECIATE HER!!)

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬 / Next Part.

Bruce always prided himself in the fact that you had always said that his mind was very well protected for somebody who was just a human man.

In the first years, when the both of you pretended to hate each other, that was the only thing that gave him some sense of security while being around you.

Of course, if you actually wanted to read his mind and explore his subcontinents that would have stopped you — but something was something, and he used to cling to that thought at that time.

Now it was just a curious fact. 

Dick has learned to protect his mind from magic under your teaching, and he liked to say that he was better at it than Bruce, just to joke around.

In fact, that becomes a part of the training that your husband gives your children. An immovable condition for going out with him to patrol.

Jason has received that training too, but you have confessed to Bruce that your boy had had the same natural protection to his mind before he got to you.

These points are important for two reasons.

One. 

Shortly after his fifteenth birthday, Bruce decided that Jason was beginning to be too neglected and angry for his own safety. That and the hormones make it inevitable that your husband took that decision, with Jason obviously in discord — and, in his rage for the decision, your boy ends up wandering all alone to the city one-day. He found himself in his old house and a box of memories that revealed that, in fact, Catherine Todd was not his biological mother.

It was the natural protection of his mind that allowed Jason to hide from you his guilt. 

He feels bad for lying to you and going after a stranger that just gave him life.

You have taken care of him, and you are his mom. But he needed to know. 

So, without you or Bruce's knowledge, he stole the Robin suit and went to find his mother once and for all.

Two.

When Bruce found the note that Jason had left explaining where he was going. His natural protection makes sure that his emotions will leak out of his head and to you.

He didn't tell you right away how Jason was looking when he left.

Bruce told you that he went behind the Joker on his own.

He should have told you the truth right away. But he knew how much you loved Jason and how heartbreaking it would be for you knew that he was looking for his mother, as if you were not enough.

When he told you the truth was when the Joker in fact was there. But, now you don't care about Jason looking for his mother, you care for his safety.

It was night when Bruce got home. 

Alfred. 

Oh, sweet and kind Alfred. 

He was the one who told you that he had arrived. And you ignore how he looked at you with tears in his eyes and pain when you immediately whispered the name of your son before leaving him alone in the room, almost running to get to the bat-cave. 

Where you thought that you would find your husband and son waiting for you.

But Bruce stopped you. He appeared without his cape or mask, but with the Batman suit still on. 

That was the first signal of something wrong. 

Bruce never went up to the mansion in this Batman gear. Never. Not before you marry and not after. At the start for security, and now to separate his lives.

“Bruce” you greet him smiling and hug him relieved because he was safe, ignoring the silent hassle in your heart “In so glad you two are safe” you wish as you hide your face in his chest. But he didn't return the gesture, he just watched the top of your head, his arms like dead weight at every side of him. You pulled out when you felt how tense he was, and smiled at him understanding, like you can not grasp the idea of him not being able to bring Jason home, and not thinking much of his acting was for the stress of your son running through the world without supervision for several days. “¿Where's Jason?” you asked quietly, calm as you can't be. Your baby was for sure in the cave, making a fit after Bruce scolded him all the way back to the continent. Yes, that was it.

“Love” Bruce started, the tone in his voice was not the one he used with you. Your Bruce was kind and loving while talking with you, but he sounded empty. “I-” he cuts himself when you move with the intention of passing him, and walks to the cave. “You can't go there” he says as he holds you in front of him with firm hands. You look at him, confused. He had never done something like that.

“¿Why?” you ask, “¿What happened?” your mind never went there. 

The thing is, a parent never actually thinks of the worst situation for their children when something actually happens. You spend your whole life worrying about them, but when something happens, it is like your brain is taken by surprise. Or at least that's what happened to you. 

When Bruce told you that you can't go to the cave your mind stopped for a second. A million reasons passed through your mind, but the truth was not one of them. You didn't visualize your baby Jay, dead in a metal table cover by a sheet. And you didn't sit, either.

“I will talk to him, I'm sure his anger is gonna pass soon enough” you said, trying again to pass him on.

“Is not that” Bruce says, his voice as dead as before. This time you tried to take him away from him, which caused him to trade to hold your wrists for you to look at him, but you didn't. You were looking to the hall behind him, the one that while taking you to the secret door to the bat-cave and to Jason. He was physically stronger than you, but you didn't stop, and you will find the mark of his fingerprints in your skin the next day. “He is not mad” he says, his voice breaking out as he saw you fight him.

“Bruce, let me go” you said while fighting still, outraged by his triad of getting away from you boy. “Bruce, stop” your voice crack at the despair.

“Love” he says, as you tried to kick him in desperation, and he took advantage of it. Bruce turns you around facing the other side of the hall, holding your hands over your chest and hugging you in your place. Didn't stop you from trying desperately to get away from him.

He needed to let you go, so you could see Jason. You have to see him. 

“He's gone” Bruce finally whispers to you to hear, with his eyes full of tears, but you didn’t see it, you just keep struggling.

“¿What?. Bruce, what – JASON!!” you couldn't process it. So you call for him. “Bruce, stop. ¡¡Jason!!” you call while mange to take one of your wrists out of his hold and turn around to watch the end of the hall. Empty. No son of yours was there. Jason wasn't listening to you. “Bruce, let me go” you beg, almost trying to climb over him, but Bruce held you again.

“He's gone, the Joker-” Bruce was thankful and heartbroken when you didn't let him finish the explanation. Thankful because he didn't know how to tell this to you. 

¿How will he explain that your son was dead because of him?

¿How does he say that Jason was not coming back because his choice of leaving him and Sheila alone, all open to danger, and that It cost them both their life?. 

And heartbroken, because your mind finally fell into the right conclusion of what was happening.

“STOP IT. LET ME GO, BRUCE” you scream, finally breaking. You start to cry and shake into awful sobs, “JASON” you called him.

Bruce had to hold you until you stopped fighting. You scratched him, begged him, screamed and kicked. But he didn't let you go, and Jason never came up from the cave that night. It Felt like hours, but Alfred told him it had been less than ten minutes before you fell into his arms just crying, all the fight out of your body. The crying didn't stop, though.

You cry for your son all night. Bruce cries with you in silence. All night you rolled in your shared bed, like a wounded animal, crying and calling for your son. Every so often, you sleep and wake up. You would ask for Jason and when he didn't show up he would cry again. You didn't do anything else.

Likewise, you don't know when Bruce left or when Clark showed up. But your friend couldn't help but watch with the same impotence as your husband. 

You understood, later, that it was Alfred who called him, to see if the word of Superman, the only other man who also knew you as Bruce did, could finally convince your husband. 

“Bruce, please” Alfred begged him. The three men stood behind the closed door of the room where you had fallen asleep again after being comforted by Clark, as best he could. Alfred didn't want to be too harsh to Bruce, how waste better that you. “You have to let her see him” the butler repeat himself  “Is the only thing to do” 

Clark looked at both of them in silence. 

He couldn't believe it either. Jason was dead. That boy so full of life and attitude, gone forever, leaving two parents totally inconsolable. He could see that nobody else with Bruce was doing what he was doing at that moment. Something that didn't happen often, but he was thankful for years of having been able to read Bruce so easily that day. When he most needs him. The man he had seen take down opponents stronger, more powerful than him, and even some otherworldly, all with no power of his own other than his stubbornness. Now he was lying against one of the walls of the mansion hall, with red eyes and leaning forward. As if it was difficult for him to breathe. Unable to stand upright under the weight of his child's life, the one he had and the one he would never live now.

He understood. 

So, Clark spoke before Alfred could say more.

“I'll take her.” he said, and it was like everything froze in time for a second “I'll take her, you don't have to do it Bruce. She will not resent you for not doing it, but she will never believe it if she doesn't see him” he made sure to not make any sudden movement to raise his voice too much. Bruce didn't look at him. He stood there in silence for just a minute. Then he nodded his head.

You wake up with the movement. It was Clark. He passed his arms under your knees and around your back, picking you up from the bed. He didn't trust that you would be able to walk all the way to the elevator on your feet. 

“¿Where are we going?” you ask, your voice scratchy from so much shouting and crying.

“To see Jason” he responded gently, as he stood at his full height with you in his arms, you felt like a broken doll. You were a dead weight that wasn't really a weight, but you felt like dead in his arms. Selfishly, Clark thought that he prayed to the universe never to find himself in that situation, and immediately felt bad, so he settled closer to him.

“Really?” you asked, out of breath. Your voice trembled, filled with a mixture of hope and fear. A part of you still didn't believe it, he saw it crystal clear, and he knew he never fully would. There was no going back, he would do this. For you, who was like his sister. And for Bruce, who was his best friend and partner.

“Yes, really” he confirmed. 

You let your head fall over his chest as you two leave the room. Your body felt too heavy and your conscience too light. You didn't notice when they went out into the hallway or got into the elevator. 

The sound it made when it reached the cave floor was what brought you back. Your first instinct was to grab onto Clark, wanting to start asking him back. You have changed your mind. You wanted to stay upstairs, where there was still a chance your son would come back. But you wanted to see your baby and if you came back you would never see him again. You would wait forever for Jason, and you would never leave that place. You knew it.

Not only that, but you couldn't do that to Bruce. Neither to Alfred. Or to your sweet Dick.

Clark takes you up the stairs to the platform at the edge of the cave, where there was a metal table where Bruce used to carry any artifact or mysterious substance, where he usually stayed until he finished identifying or disarming them. He put you down slowly. Resting your legs on the ground first and holding you until you felt strong enough to let go of his shirt. He looked at you, wondering if he wanted him to leave, but you didn't look at him. You could only see that table.

The sheet had no blood. Jason had stopped bleeding hours ago. Behind you, Clark felt the need to throw up or run, whichever came first. The thought of having to see that boy — his nephew, now dead on a table, horrified him, but he kept himself firm behind you. And when he saw that you didn't move, he delicately pushed your sword without lifting his hand until you took the first step on your own towards the body.

People said that the dead seem asleep. But he didn't. When you pulled out the sheet, your son seemed dead. 

Jason Todd was dead. Your son. Gone forever.

“My baby” you whispered, starting to cry, while you touched her cold face and broke by the blows “My baby” you repeated over and over again “My baby. My baby. My baby” you didn't scream, you just clung to his body until Bruce appeared again and pulled you out of him.

You whispered crying, while you touched her cold face. Clark would remember that cry for the rest of his life. Bruce would never recover if he hadn't been the one to take you to see Jason one last time.

And Alfred thus saw the start of a series of events that would end with you breaking yourself, leading everyone to a safe place where Jason had come back from the cave that night. In the end, that was what it took so that they could all end that dark chapter in everyone's life once and for all.

Or at least that's what they thought until Red Hood appeared on the scene, to which Bruce thanked again for that natural protection of the mind that both he and Jason possessed. It was keeping you safe.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz @otchae @d3m0n8ch1ld @marsenbie @mynameisnotlaura @andieperrie18 @totallynotme420 @igotmessymind @amarawayne @calsjack @kodzukenmaaa @mellowdiy @noah-uhhh-what @blarba-girl @dead-sane-stuff @huhuhhuhh

[greatbritishsimchallenge]

"Good morning," said Zale as Frankie began to wake from her passed out state.

Frankie groaned heavily and said, "is it already morning? Surely not..."

Frankie brushed herself off and went to pick up Marina.

"Allow me," offered Zale, holding out his arms to take Marina.

"I told you," replied Frankie, irritated, "It's my job to look after them. You're busy enough."

"You require help. I wish to help," Zale replied simply, "get some sleep. I will care for the children."

Frankie hesitated, but the exhaustion defeated her stubbornness and she allowed Zale to feed Marina. She collapsed onto the bed, falling into a deep sleep within seconds.

When she woke up, she noticed first that the cave had been fully tidied from the baby mess. She looked over to Zale's side of the cave to see he had set up a small table for Hannah to work alongside him while Marina peacefully slept nearby. Frankie smiled a little, but also felt a pang of jealousy at how easily he seemed to be able to manage juggling the childcare with his own work.

"What's all this?" Frankie, grinning widely to Hannah so she would think everything was alright.

"We're making potions!" Hannah laughed.

"Remedies," Zale corrected. "There is no magic here, only medicine."

"Want help?" asked Frankie.

"Are you high?" Zale asked. His tone was neutral, as if asking Frankie if she was hungry, but the very question made Frankie flare her nostrils in irritation.

"No. Not right now."

"Then, yes," said Zale. "Given how easily you were able to pick up midwifery, this should be very straightforward."

"Probably. And it would probably be faster if I had a little coca, too," spat Frankie, knowing that she didn't mean a word of it, but unable to help herself.

"My concern is not speed, but safety. Coca is known to cause overconfidence, leading to rash and dangerous decisions. Medicine requires a clear, cool head."

"What's coca?" asked Hannah.

Frankie could see Zale open his mouth to no doubt provide an honest answer, so she cut in with, "Nothing important. Why don't you go outside and build sandcastles for a bit?"

Hannah dropped the remedies happily and ran outside.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Frankie turned on Zale,

"Do we have a fucking problem?"

"You will need to be more specific."

"...What?"

"I can think of at least ten problems, depending on whether your question refers to 'we' as humanity, mermaids, the relationship between mermaids and humanity, me personally, you personally and - or - our relationship as protectors of Hannah and Marina. You will therefore need to be more specific if you require me to identify a problem."

Frankie, lost for words, rolled her eyes and said under her breath, "Bloody mermaids."

"It is possible that your grievance is solely with me rather than all mermaids," explained Zale in the same calm tone, "Throughout my studies in Britchester, I was considered an 'odd fellow' and largely ignored. While I have never ascertained the precise issue humans take with my demeanour, I gather it more likely that I am the cause of their dislike rather than there being a malignant trait within multiple humans."

"Oh..." said Frankie, suddenly feeling guilty. "I didn't say I didn't like you... you just... come on a bit strong. We've only just met and yet you're constantly having a go at me about my coca."

"While I share a living space and duty of care with you, I have a moral obligation to judge both of our capacities to fulfil our roles adequately," said Zale, "If your actions were conducted in a vacuum, I would have no need to judge how you choose to live; but when your actions have direct consequences for others, I cannot blindly accept them. That is the belief of all mermaids. And, I have come to realise, a belief that separates us from most humans."

Frankie felt like she was back in her philosophy lessons with Peggy - the ones she had always struggled with and hated the most.

Frankie shrugged, "I don't know about that. My mama was a Puritan and was always going on about the importance of charity... though she also wanted to burn people who wouldn't follow her faith at the stake, so maybe you do have a point... still, it must be exhausting caring for everyone all the time."

"My people care for me as much as I care for them. We are one."

Frankie rubbed her head again; she didn't know what to make of Zale or the mermaids. They were so different from anyone she'd ever met. It looked exhausting, they sounded pretentious and their reality was a life of ostracism and poverty; and yet, Frankie was drawn to the idea of community and working together for a common goal. The constant lying, manipulation and exploitation that came with the money and power of people like her mother, Morgan and Flori was exhausting in its own way; Frankie's coca was the way she kept herself going through it all, though she wouldn't admit as much to Zale.

"Well, I may not be 'one' with you and I may be a drug-addled, selfish prick of a human, but right now I am sober and offering to help, so do you want it or not?"

Zale gave a small, formal nod of his head and showed Frankie what he was doing. Once he had demonstrated, he observed Frankie crafting to confirm she could follow the steps. At first they worked in silence, but then Frankie attempted to make conversation, asking,

"Your studies in Britchester... that was a medical degree, I assume?"

"Yes. It takes time to raise the funds to pay for the degree, so only one mermaid is able to take on such a task at a time. When I grow old, another will train in preparation to replace me as I replaced the medic that came before me."

"Very efficient. I never had much interest in university, personally. All those stuffy books and spending hours reading inside. I'd rather spend my days swimming in the sea."

"Idleness is a luxury not all can afford."

Frankie shot Zale a look of annoyance and then said, "What you call idleness, I call living life on your own terms. But, yes, it is the ultimate luxury in life."

"You must be very proud to have achieved it, then," remarked Zale, to which Frankie snorted with sarcastic laughter.

Zale looked at Frankie, puzzled, but before she could explain, a voice cried out,

"Zale! Zale!"

Zale ran out to shore, with Frankie right behind him. The voice was a mermaid,

"Come quick - Caspian has been speared by sailors!"

Zale groaned with the frustration of someone all too familiar with what they heard.

Frankie ushered Hannah into the cave as Zale rushed into the water.

"Cordelia will stay with you until I return," he called to Frankie, "I must go to Caspian's aid at once."

"Can I do anything?" asked Frankie.

"No, you do not possess the necessary training," Zale replied. "Stay here and await my return."

Frankie sheepishly retreated to hover by the cave entrance and watched Zale swim away. She felt embarrassed but wasn't sure why.

Start (Iron Age) | Start (Roman Britain) | Start (Anglo Saxon) | Start (Medieval) | Start (Tudor) | Start (Stuart)

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[hikakuriyyu]

Tension. (part 4)

⁎ warnings: romantic slasher ? mentions of death, mentions of blood, mentions of AND !murder!, manipulation, kissing, female!reader.

⁎ summary: you fell for him. hard. the murders started, and you knew it was him. billy lured you into his dark and twisted intentions. it was so wrong. but it doesn't feel wrong... there was something stopping you. or someone.

⁎ author note: i hope your guys been enjoying the last few parts cuz thinking of a plot is pretty hard 😭. and its my birthday :D so nice, lol. here you go nena :).

You stood there, frozen, your mind racing. Everything felt like it was crashing down all at once. Billy was already outside, waiting for you, the clock ticking faster with every second. You knew what he expected, what he needed you to do to prove you were really in this with him. But killing Dewey? It wasn’t supposed to come to this. You didn't wanna do this.

You swallowed hard, staring at your ghostface costume lying on the bed, the mask staring right back at you. This was it. You knew that if you backed out now, Billy would never look at you the same. This was the moment. You had to show him you were serious. That you loved him.

With shaky hands, you grabbed the costume and slipped it on, the mask feeling heavier than it ever had before. Every step you took downstairs felt like the floor might cave in beneath you, but you kept going, gripping the knife tightly in your hand. Your heart pounded in your chest, but all you could think about was Billy.

This was for him. You were doing this for him.

You hide in a closet and wait for the right moment to come. ''You can do this...'' you thought to yourself. You were so nervous for the first time, maybe you still had sympathy in your heart. You hear a few footsteps coming and prepare yourself. The footsteps inch closer towards the closet. At the right moment you jump out and stab Dewey's neck, hoping that would kill him instantly. Dewey placed his hand on his neck, trying to stop it from bleeding out. You watched the scene unfold, instantly regretting what you had done. Dewey lets out a few chokes before he takes his last breath, body going rigid. You stayed there and looked at his lifeless body. He didn't deserve this...

You snapped yourself out of it and quickly ran to a near window and climbed out before anyone could see you. You ran to the fountain where Billy wanted to meet, hoping he'd be waiting for you there. You see his distressed face, thinking you maybe had gotten caught. He notices you and quickly walks up to you. ''Did you do it ? Is he dead ?'' he asked you eagerly. You look around, making sure no one was in sight before taking of the mask, nodding at his question. ''Yeah...'' you say with obvious guilt on your face. Billy cups your face and presses a soft kiss on your lips. ''Hey... don't worry. You did the right thing. If you didn't kill him we would've been caught by now. But we're free. Together.'' he says softly, brushing a few strands of hair out your face. You relax under his touch right away, thinking about it from a postive perspective. He's right. If you got caught, you wouldn't be able to be with Billy anymore. You couldn't bear separation.

You smile at his words softly before nodding. ''Yeah. I guess you're right.'' you say before looking at the ground. ''What now ?'' you ask, thinking about what's about to happen next. Billy smiled, taking your hand. ''Let's run away together. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.'' he said as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Were you dreaming ? ''Oh my God...'' you exclaimed, not taking your eyes off him. ''Let's go.'' he said as started walking, still hand-in-hand with you. This is the best and worst day of your life.

He walks you to his house, since he lived alone. You walk into Billy’s dimly lit home, the atmosphere heavy with a mix of fear, excitement and uncertainty. The house is eerily silent, as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Billy locks the door behind you, his movements calm and collected, while you stand in the living room, fidgeting, unsure of what comes next.

Billy leans on the wall, crossing his arms, watching you closely. He could tell you were a little on edge. ''Relax. We're safe here.'' his voice is smooth, confident, as if the events of the night didn’t affect him at all. He pushes off the wall and walks over to you. You look at him, the guilt evident in your voice and body language. ''I actually killed Dewey... he didn't deserve it. He was so sweet. I took his life away.'' you say as you take off the ghostface costume, setting it down somewhere before you take a seat on his couch. His eyes narrowed as he followed you, sitting down next to you.

Billy smirks softly before putting his hand on your thigh. "And you did it for us. That’s what matters." He scoots closer, his tone shifting to something softer, almost affectionate. "Don’t you see it now ? You’re free. Free from all those people holding you back." he added. you nod slightly, still unsure, your mind swirling with conflicting emotions. Part of you is relieved to be with Billy, but the weight of your actions lingers in the back of you mind. You look away hesitantly. "Why did it have to be him, though ?'' you say, your voice breaking slightly.

Billy grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him, his expression darkening. "Deserve ? None of them deserve anything. They were all just in the way. You need to understand that. They were part of the game. Just like Sidney." his voice is low, almost a growl, but then his grip softens, his tone changing to something gentler, more... manipulative. "But now, there’s no one left to tear us apart. You and me… we can start over. Together."

Billy wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. You can feel the warmth of his body, the intensity in his touch, and despite the chaos inside you, you find yourrself melting into his embrace. There’s a strange comfort in his possessiveness, in the way he makes you feel like the center of his world. You lay your head on his shoulder softly. "And what now ? What do we do next ?" Billy smiles, stroking your hair as if soothing a child. "Now ? We disappear. We leave Woodsboro behind and go somewhere no one can find us. Just you and me. Doesn’t that sound perfect ?" he said.

There’s a pause, the idea of running away together sounding both thrilling and terrifying. You know what they’ve done can’t be undone, and there’s no turning back. But there’s still a nagging doubt, a hint of hesitation. "And what about... everything we’ve done ? What if they find us ?" you ask him. Billy pulls back slightly, looking down at you with that same smirk. "They won’t. We’ll be ghosts. And even if they do... we’ve come this far, haven’t we ? You trust me, don’t you ?"

His gaze locks onto yours, challenging you, daring you to question him. You hesitates but then nods, feeling the intensity of his control over her. Your trapped, but willingly so, tangled in your obsession with him. "I do. I trust you."

Billy leans in, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to your lips. It’s not just affection—it’s a claim, a reminder that he owns you now.

To Be Continued...

[blasphemousclaw]

Okay, so at some point (or like during the Shattering in general) the only one in Rykard's immediate family that hadn't either fucked off or lost their mind (yet) was Radahn. Ngl that makes me emo because I feel like during the war these two could only trust each other out of the demigods. Just...brothers 😭

aaaand then Radahn gets rotted and Rykard's all alone (or who knows maybe Rykard fed himself to the snake first, leaving Radahn alone)

Also, does Radahn even know about Ranni? Does he think she's dead or is he like "yea she lives there somewhere in sort of hiding but also never answers my letters i think shes mad at me"? Cue Rykard sweating any time Radahn mentions her?

RIGHTTTT I think there was absolutely a degree of trust between Rykard and Radahn that endured even after the Shattering… even though they both seemed to be pursuing their own ends during the war, I don’t think they would have ever taken up arms against each other, regardless if Radahn knew of Rykard’s treason or not.

Rykard’s fondness for Radahn is evident, and I’m sure Radahn was fond of Rykard too, since he at least keeps the one abductor virgin guarding his castle (which is also a unique model with one of each weapon!). Even though they weren’t working towards one common goal, I like to think they would have at least trusted their bond as brothers.

Rykard also shared a closeness and trust with Ranni, but I think there was also always a degree of separation between her and her brothers because she was the only empyrean, and because she also had the special responsibility of being her mother’s heir… it must have been isolating to have these duties on her shoulders while her brothers did not. Rykard and Radahn on the other hand occupy essentially the same position in their family, and they’re both older than Ranni, so there was once a time when it was just them. These things would have certainly drawn them together when they were younger.

Which is why I think Radahn’s fate would have really affected Rykard. We can’t be sure if he even knew because we don’t know the precise time he decided to go snake mode, but if he was indeed still human when Radahn and Malenia fought, and the news spread to him, then I can see him being really upset and unstable. Especially because Leyndell’s assault on Volcano Manor prevents Rykard from leaving Mt Gelmir; he’s essentially stuck there unable to do anything about it. And if he did gift Radahn the abductor virgin army in the abandoned cave, it must have really hurt to know that he tried to protect him and failed.

re: Ranni and Radahn, I don’t really get the sense that they really collaborated in any way… there’s not a shred of a personal connection between the two of them, positive or negative, except for the fact we have to kill him to release the stars for Ranni’s plans. Radahn seems like an obstacle to her plans, but not even because he did it on purpose; I think he did it for his own reasons and it just happened to inconvenience Ranni: if the two were actively feuding, then surely Radahn would weigh heavily on her team’s minds, but the fact that Radahn’s actions hinder Ranni is literally a total afterthought to Iji. Blaidd seems to call him a traitor after the boss fight though, perhaps he means it in the sense that Radahn’s actions hindered his family as a whole, which Ranni represents as the heir.

Anyway, Ranni and Radahn’s non-relationship seems like it could be a combination of Radahn being older and moving away to Caelid, them having vastly different roles in the family like I mentioned earlier, and thus growing up to have different priorities. I kind of don’t think Radahn knows what she’s up to, but maybe he just doesn’t ask because that isn’t his business lmao

[fordtato]

I watched the new Ford vid and I wanted to share some thoughts I had on some of the points in your video. Before anything else, I want to say how much I absolutely fucking love everything you do and that, in my opinion, this video is especially spectacular. My intention here is to show my appreciation for your work by demonstrating how I’ve paid attention to it and thought about it, because I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t care, but I’m definitely not trying to criticize or anything. So, keeping that in mind, I’d like to add some thoughts to a couple points that I feel could’ve been expanded upon, even though the video was already five hours long.

First off, when it comes to the science fair thing, the only point where I do kind of blame Ford is that perpetual motion machines are physically impossible and also delicate. I just think he should’ve made something else and, at the very least, checked on it the morning of the fair and I actually think it’s a little ooc that he put all that effort into making it and was so invested in the fair but then didn’t bother to even look at it before the fair itself. There’s also never any recognition of the fact that something like a perpetual motion machine could literally stop at any point for any number of reasons that wouldn’t require external interference. I don’t think it’s a sin or moral failing like some of the other things people said on the topic of the science fair, but I do think there is some responsibility there on Ford’s end that doesn’t get discussed as much.

The second thing is that I just think that the Book of Bill is pretty openly interpretable in terms of whether it’s fully accurate and canon or not, since it’s made by such a flagrant liar. I respect and appreciate that you view the lost journal pages as canon material that, in universe, was written by Ford, but I also feel like it’s important to acknowledge that we don’t really know for sure one way or another unlike with Journal 3.

My next point is that, on the topic of Ford wanting his house back, it’s everything you said and I would add that Stan staying in the house would require their reconciliation. At the time Ford said that, they were actively in conflict with each other after being in separation for 30 years, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t want Stan to keep living with him given all the tension and unresolved resentment. Especially in tandem with the other things you pointed out, I think it makes complete sense that Ford wouldn’t want Stan to keep living there.

So then, when it comes to Ford being upset with Stan because of how Stan ignored all his warnings and opened the portal anyway, my biggest issue has always been Ford’s hypocrisy here. I can appreciate that, even though everything turned out alright, Stan’s choice to open the portal was objectively bad and Ford is valid for being upset, but he’s the one who ignored all the warnings when he summoned Bill in the first place. While I’d never blame him for being a victim of Bill’s abuse, I do 100% blame him for blowing past all the warnings and reading that incantation in the cave, and it’s hypocritical for him to be mad at Stan for doing the same thing.

Next is the “bumbling leech” quote, and my thought here is just that it makes sense for Ford to tell himself that as like a coping mechanism. When he and Stan were in separation, I imagine it would’ve been easier to tell himself stuff like that and try to believe it and try to stay mad to keep his distance, especially once he was on the other side of the portal. After all, keeping a grudge is easier than reconciliation, especially when you and the other person have no emotional intelligence and limited communication skills.

Lastly, when it comes to pathologizing, I think it’s potentially relevant that Stan and Ford are twins so stuff like autism that’s autistic would be a shared trait that both of them have. I just think it could be interesting to get into the genetic components of some of the different diagnoses that have been proposed for Ford, especially NPD since it does have a genetic factor. If people want to act like Ford is a villain because he potentially has NPD, then those same people have to accept that that would mean Stan does to and tbh I’d love to explore how a cluster b disorder like that could potentially make sense with Stan’s character as well. Maybe then we could actually have a nuanced discussion about such things the way you suggested instead of continuing to demonize these disorders, their symptoms, and the people who have them.

Anyway, sorry this was so long but I just wanted to share and I look forward to seeing what else you come out with in the future 🩷

Well, thank you for sharing, though I do think we disagree on a couple of things. As far as a perpetual motion machine being impossible, like, I think that's the point? Like, the idea is "this is an impossible thing, and Ford, being brilliant, figured it out." The idea of "blaming" a 17-year-old for his physics-defying incredible demonstration of a principle that breaks the laws of physics being... not earthquake stable? Or not sturdy enough to survive a punch on the table? I don't know, guys. Like. Lots of marvels of scientific accomplishment are delicate instruments. I think the logic there is faulty. The science fair project falling apart is not Ford's fault. It WAS stable, then something broke. You can't blame him for making an easy-to-break machine. I've seen this argument floating around a lot recently, and I will be honest, it really annoys me. Would it have been smart for him to check under the sheet that Stan put there to hide it? Yeah, maybe. But it feels silly to say that makes him partly "responsible." I dunno. It's all semantics at some point, and it barely makes a difference, but that isn't how I would describe it.

As far as the Lost Journal pages being written by a liar, I did address this in my ATOTS video, and did not repeat myself in the Ford Defense video, but to summarize : I acknowledge that Bill could have lied in these pages, but for the sake of easily having a discussion about it, I do treat it at face value, simply because it would be annoying to need to add that caveat after every point.

(I also am not a personal fan of the theory that it was forged by Bill, but that's a separate topic altogether. No comment beyond that.)

As far as Ford's "hypocrisy" in warning Stan, I think we have different opinions here as well. Like, Ford does not think that Stan ignoring warnings is wrong, but HIM ignoring warnings is okay. He thinks him ignoring the warnings is the biggest mistake of his life and he's deeply angry at himself. If I burned myself on the stove, and then told someone else not to touch the stove because it is hot, I am not being a hypocrite. I am someone who learned something was dangerous.

Even if we disagree here, however, I appreciate you watching, and you taking the time to share your thoughts with me.

[violetren]

PJO!Show Medusa is a very special kind of tragic that feels much deeper than I remember it in the original book.

In the very first episode of the series we see Sally taking little Percy to a museum to learn a little about ancient Greece to help set him up for his inevitable future, but also planting the seeds of independent thought and a strong moral compass that will make Percy simultaneously an excellent hero and th BIGGEST headache for every Olympian, Titan, and otherwise supernatural being in the world. And she does this by prompting Percy to question his preconceived ideas of the monster Medusa. A woman who was tossed around by the whims of the gods and ultimately killed by them too.

The memory of this lesson carries over and is a major driving force in Percy's decision to follow Medusa inside her home even as his companions AND his enemy react to her as a straight up monster even before she has actually arrived on the scene. Annabeth sees a couple of statues and the "Aunty Em's" sign and is ready to GTFO immediately.

However it's not the only lesson in play.

In this same episode we are introduced to the concept of how monsters hunt. Not all of them are mindless beasts chasing down the scent of the most powerful demigod they can find. Some are drawn in by the demigods desire for glory, or feelings or inadequacy, their fear, or dissatisfaction with their relationship with the gods, and will use those same criteria to manipulate and tear down their prey. Something interesting about this explanation is that it still implies monsters are out there actively tracking down demigods to kill regardless of what is attracting them.

Medusa doesn't really fit with this proactive predator model creating a degree of separation between her and other monsters we learned about and seen so far. However they are very careful to never let us forget that she is a threat. As our heroes arrive there are petrified monsters everywhere and Alecto doesn't come closer than the driveway even after Medusa retreats inside because she knows that Medusa is 1. Powerful, and 2. Doesn't like her personally. Her personal distaste for another monster in the moment helps further distance her from the classic monster model we have been taught to recognise.

Inside the house we learn Medusa's version of the tale. How devout she was with nothing in return. How intoxicating it was to finally feel seen even if not by the god she had spent her life dedicated to. How she was shamed and punished for how eagerly she accepted that attention. She took her cursed punishment and turned it into a gift, a way to protect herself. It's a sympathetic tale. Percy is primed to be sympathetic. Grover who lived in the mythical world first then the mundane unlike both Percy and Annabeth even shows hesitation instead of being able to treat her as an out and out monster even if only for a moment. Annabeth is the only one who identifies her as a monster and sticks to it all the way through.

Everything is set up to make us question whether this iconic monster of Greek Myth, who we know from the books will attack, really is a villain this time around. This is especially effective in the current era of Medusa retellings as a tragic heroine, a protector of those who have been assaulted and abused, who was beloved by Athena not reviled.

Then the turn comes. She offers a deal to Percy, she'll help make sure no one can stand in the way of his goal, she'll petrify Grover and Annabeth if he asks. From there everything spirals out. We go down to her basement storage reminiscent of both a temple and her history as a shrine maiden, and the cave she lived in as a monster until Perseus came to claim her head. We get her villain monologue. Paraphrasing: "You could have taught the gods a lesson by taking a path other than obedience to them and their teachings. Now I will send you as examples and reminders of what their actions have wrought. I will make them see me."

Medusa in this show very much is a monster, despite all of the misdirects, but unlike all of the other monsters we have seen and all those we have been taught to expect even as she is stalking the kids in her basement she doesn't feel like some overblown mythical monster. She feels like a woman who has been driven to madness. Like she is trapped in a cycle and doesn't know how to exit it, so she pushes the onus of breaking the cycle on others and then punishes them when they can't.

If that wasn't tragic enough I have a theory on what she preys on as a monster and why.

She hunts on loneliness or at least a sense of being isolated, because that is the feeling at the heart of her creation as a myth and a monster.

She went a lifetime ignored by the figure she loved the most. Her curse isolated her. It was supposed to drive people away from her/prevent her from getting close to anyone. She was killed without being acknowledged as ever having been human. Then by the rules the dictate monsters in the PJO universe she came back, probably a few dozen times at least before we met her in canon. She set up her shop in the middle of nowhere, harkening back to her life after being cursed in her original myth. Most importantly she sets up on a saytr path in the middle of a new jersey Forest where she'll likely only be stumbled across by other singular lonesome beings.

To really nail down that feeling of tragedy, even though a lot of her victims clearly never got past being terrified of her, someone did. Grover's uncle Ferdinand did. He looked at her with solemn understanding, at peace with his fate, maybe even a touch pitying. He couldn't make her feel seen, or make her realise that she didn't need the gods attention after all this time. And if he couldn't then there was no way in hell that a couple of 12 year olds and barely working age saytr could, and so once again the cycle repeated and she had to die.