#please ignore my garbage lettering

[eqt-95]

💖 rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out

please👉👈

oh anon, i am definitely the wrong person for this one, but here goes nothing:

- - - - - -

Lena has a secret. 

No, it isn't that she’s doubling as a superhero in her free time. That’s Kara.

And no, it isn't that she has an unquenchable crush on her best friend. They'd solved that eons ago.

And definitely no, it isn’t that her toy collection is extensive and well-stocked. Everyone at game night already knows about that.

The secret went like this: 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Lena replied with the innocence of a Luthor.

“So it just so happens that the bartender who has been making eyes at you all night is now being sized-up by my sister?”

“Correlation without causation. I thought you were a scientist,” Lena shrugged and tried her best to conceal a knowing smile.

“Uh-huh,” Alex replied with an arched eyebrow that said much more. “And that fact he grabbed your ass on the way to the bathroom?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Well I for one am not about to do a bunch of paperwork over an NDA because Kara can’t keep it together over this ass-hat groping you, so if you will excuse me-”

- - - -

And this: 

“Hey babe?”

“Hm?”

“What’s this?”

Lena looked up from her work and squinted at the letter gripped in Kara’s hand. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just some administrative stuff,” Lena hummed and returned to her work.

“Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’. It looks like you were served.”

The scowl that followed was one that could be seen from space which meant it was impossible to ignore from across their apartment. Lena rolled her eyes. 

“It’s just Morgan Edge playing bully again, darling.”

“Yea but,” Kara continued, eyes skimming the multi-page document that now had a few extra crinkles in it. “He’s suing for patent rights? Who does he think he is-”

“It’s nothing, really. I’ll handle it tomorrow.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just-”

But Kara was already gone through the terrace door and halfway across the city.

- - - -

And most of all, this:

“Ms. Luthor, The Sun has accused you of covering up nearly a dozen fatalities since-”

“Lena Luthor, it has been alleged that Obsidian North’s stolen technology was found in L-Corp’s latest-”

“Ms. Luthor, how do you explain the recent deaths associated with-”

“How do you sleep at night when your maniac brother is still on the loose-”

“No comment,” Lena repeated for the eighteenth time. She pushed ahead, trying to find a path between L-Corp’s front door and the waiting car that would take her home. Unfortunately, the best path was also the longest. Worse, when she looked ahead, her car was nowhere to be found. What she did find was wall-to-wall traffic and no chance of freedom.

Great.

More questions were hurled, a flash sent blotches across her vision. Another came an inch away and sent her staggering. It felt like a garbage compactor except worse because garbage compactors weren’t sentient creatures known for shouting lies while doing its job.

She clambered through the crowd and found a gap. She glanced around for her security guard who was lost amidst a second offshoot of angry journalists and misinformed citizens. Now wasn’t the time for manners as three journalists and an oversized camera pivoted toward her, so instead of waiting, she booked it down the sidewalk.

They followed with vigor and ignorance and a stubbornness that would have made Lillian proud, shouting rather uncreative conspiracy theories and growing closer by the second. Lena turned a corner then, in a move she might have patted herself on the back for, slipped into an alley. She breathed a sigh of relief until-

“Ms. Luthor-”

“Lena Luthor-”

“-you can’t hide from the truth.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Lena heaved, staggering backwards in the kind of stereotypical way she mocked television shows for.

The cameraman was fastest, breaking into her personal space and jamming the lens into her face.

“Ms. Luthor-”

“-is it true Supergirl won’t speak to you?”

“-how does it feel having National City’s Darling reject you?”

What happened next might have been comical if Lena weren’t breathless, irritated, and fuming that her anniversary dinner was being interrupted by a wave of wannabe reporters hanging onto the coattails of the marketing dollars that funded their tabloids. 

Be that as it was, she was not in her usual smirky-mood when the burst of air sent all of them turning on heel to find an equally irritated and equally fuming Supergirl towering over them with the kind of anger usually reserved for the extra-bad baddies.

“S-supergirl,” they all seemed to whimper in unison. 

The camera was fumbled then dropped. The lens splintered with a deserved crack. A few short seconds later, it was the only evidence anyone with a press badge had been there.

“Where’d you take them?” Lena asked when Kara whooshed down moments later. She pushed off the brick wall and closed the distance, raising her hands to fix Kara’s ruffled cape.

“I considered the middle of the Pacific-” Kara shrugged.

“Oh is that right?” Lena smirked, letting her hands climb to brush an errant strand of hair into place.

“But then I remembered the whole ‘hope, help, and compassion’ thing,” she continued, her own hands finding a home on Lena’s waist. “So I dropped them off just outside the city limits instead.”

And there it was: the secret. Somewhere between Kara, all beet-faced and rage hovering over the cowering reporters and then dragging said group of gaggling reporters to the edges of town, Lena felt it - that tiny pang of warmth and safety and appreciation that always came with her overprotective Kryptonian. It also usually sent a tiny pang of something else through her.

“Well that was very big of you,” Lena replied, the gap between lips narrowing. “But just so you know,” she continued, her breath ghosting across Kara’s lips, “I had it handled-”

Kara skipped her lines and closed the gap, pressing lips, hands, and body against Lena until her back found the brick wall again and nothing but the taste, touch, and smell of Kara consumed her. Lips dragged to Lena’s jawline then neck then exposed shoulder. Hands grabbed against the restrictions of fabric. Lena cursed (again) the constraints of a supersuit.

“I really need to design you a new suit,” Lena huffed.

“Probably for the best.” Kara replied, fingers venturing dangerously close to public indecency. “Alex says we need to leave before someone sees us anyway.”

“Tell Alex to stop committing voyeurism. There are websites for that.”

“Oh, she did not like that,” Kara snickered, lips pressing a final kiss to the crook of Lena’s neck. 

“Turn that thing off and take me home, Supergirl.”

“What about our reservations?”

“I have other dinner plans tonight.”

- - - - -

ask game

[chuubian]

Bulle fruit pancakes

Tags Arlecchino x fem reader, fluff, domestic life, anxiety, blood, death, soft Arlecchino, Arlecchino acts like an old man in this she’s my favorite gilf

Summary After a mission that nearly breaks you and Arlecchino apart, she decides she can’t let her job get in the way of your relationship. Living in the countryside after running away from the fatui can be scary. But Arlecchino finds a way to comfort and reassure you that you’re safe with her.

A/N: This is actually based off a conversation in stormbringer where verlaine tells rimbaud about his plan about running away and giving chuuya a normal life 😭😭 i wanted to cry during that and now i can’t stop thinking about it.

Images of Arlecchino, covered in blood and lifeless infront of you have haunted you since your relationship started. Her job is dangerous. Stepping out of line could lead to her being hunted down and killed. As her girlfriend, they wouldn’t hesitate to target you for revenge too. The fatui is not a philanthropic organization.

Her job requires her to constantly be away from home, sometimes you go weeks without hearing from her, wondering if she was killed— or, god forbid, captured and tortured. As a trained soldier, she would probably be able to handle it and escape, but it doesn't make it less frightening. There are still people stronger than her in this world— though it is very few.

On her last mission, Arlecchino is supposed to be sent to Inazuma for an undisclosed amount of time. Naturally, this revelation fills you with anxiety. How could they not know even a general timeframe? Was it this serious of an assignment. You begged her to please ask for a new assignment, but she brushes your worries aside. Telling you that you're overreacting and that if you can't handle it then there's nothing she can do to salvage the relationship, her cold red eyes staring into your soul, taking note of how you react.

You instantly go speechless, humbled by the threat. Sitting back down quietly, unwilling to lose her. Maybe it won't be so bad. She can still send letters. Arlecchino's gaze softens, leaning over you, kissing the top of your head gently. It was so sweet and intimate that you couldn't help but lean into her pleasant touch.

"I'll try to get back home as soon as possible. We can still write to each other."

Sighing softly, you look up at her. There was a flurry of emotions stirring up inside your chest. How were you supposed to be okay with this? You're brought back out of your thoughts by Arlecchino softly cupping your cheeks. Her nails, although sharp, feel soothing against your heated skin.

"It'll be fine. You worry too much."

Leaning away from her touch, you take a hold of her hands. You don't even want to look at her.

"How can you be sure? You don't even know how long you'll be gone."

Her eyes narrow, she pulls her hands our of your grip.

"I'm going whether you like it or not, it's my job. I expect you to reflect and come to your senses while I'm gone."

With that, she grabs her bags and leaves. Not even offering you so much as a goodbye. You sit in silence, feeling cold and abandoned. It's hard to even get up, your mind is filled with worries about what could possibly happen on this dangerous trip.

For the seven months Arlecchino is gone from home, she rarely writes. You can't really blame her, you don't respond to her letters either way. Nevertheless, you can't help feeling betrayed by her. She didn't stop to consider your feelings at all. It might be selfish, but you wish she cared more about you than her job.

When Arlecchino shows her disgraceful face around your shared house again, she's covered in blood. She doesn't wait for you to invite her in, taking the initiative to push past you, rushing into your bedroom and packing your clothes into a garbage bag. Stunned, you try to stop her.

"Arle! What are you doing?!"

She ignores you, seeming engrossed in her task. You try to pull her hands away, but instead of letting you, Arlecchino smacks your hand away. She looks back at you with a frenzied, irritated look on her face. It's clear you shouldn't mess with her, but you have barely talked to her in seven months, she can't force you to do anything. However, Arlecchino is nothing if not commanding and forceful. The look in her eyes chills you to the bone. Now you understand why she has such a high ranking in the fatui.

When she finishes packing your clothes, her cold hand wraps around your forearm- pulling you away from the bedroom, away from the house, and away from Snezhnaya. She doesn't speak until the harsh winter storms are far behind, in favor of the mild winters and humid summers of the Fontainian countryside.

"I'm leaving the fatui."

"What?"

She rolls her eyes, seemingly still aggravated.

"I'm leaving the fatui."

Your initial reaction is to doubt her new announcement. Even if she isn't lying- she betrayed you, she doesn't get to drag you away to Fontaine. But thinking it over for a few seconds, you realize something must've gone wrong. You take in her appearance, jacket turned brown. It makes you shiver, a sense of dread looming over you, the fright that comes with it sinks deep in your gut, making it hard to even move with the burden of your emotion weighing you down.

"Why? Did something happen?"

She moves to hold your hand instead, pulling you closer. The warmth radiating from her almost makes you forget about how stained her clothing and hand is.

“We’ll talk about it when we get to our destination, okay?”

You nod and follow her lead, unsure of what’s going on. Although the both of you aren’t speaking, it’s comfortable. The scenery of rainbow rose fields and exotic birds is a welcome change from the brutal blizzards that leave nothing but a white wasteland in Snezhnaya. As you both approach the cottage in the distance, you notice just how remote everything is. There's no people around at all, it doesn't seem like there's even any electricity. This is going to be a hellhole in the summer.

Arlecchino sets your bags down on the couch when you first enter, sighing softly. She starts taking off her soiled, blood covered jacket. Looking over her exposed arms, your mouth goes dry. It's been too long since you last saw her, and it was hard not to stare at her defined arms and strong back. She was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her skin was glistening. You reached out to grab hold of her arm, finding it hard to resist. The feeling of her soft skin and firm muscles is invigorating. It's just so right. You're interrupted in your thoughts by Arlecchino sitting down and pulling you onto her lap.

"What are you thinking about, my love?"

"You still haven't explained anything."

While talking to her you can't help but run yours hands over her arms and shoulders. The years of training in the fatui have sculpted her like a Greek god, you can hardly even pay attention to what she says. She tilts your chin up to look her in the eyes, sharp nails digging into your jaw.

"i meant exactly what i said, I'm leaving the Fatui."

Scowling, you shake her shoulders. Why does she always have to be so tight-lipped?

"Okayyy but why...? This is so sudden! And especially for a harbinger its hard to completely escape, what if they come looking for us? You came back covered in blood, I was worried all seven months! We barely even talked in that time, so what gives you the right to drag me away from home?!"

You felt like you're going crazy, How is this normal in any way? Arlecchino can never just talk to you like a normal person. She shushes you by putting a finger over your mouth. Pushing her hand away, you glare at her.

"Why cant you ever talk to me like a normal person? Am i not worthy of knowing your thoughts? Or what you're up to?! Seriously you're so fucking condescending and irritating, Arle!"

She smirks in response. Seriously!?

"You're angry at me but you still use a nickname?"

You can feel your face get warmer, embarrassed and angry with her. She knows you too well, she always has to rile you up in the way only she knows.

"If you don't explain I'm walking the whole way to Snezhnaya."

Her grip around your waist tightens. She wasnt going to let her prized possession leave her so easily.

"Fine fine, Ill explain."

You cross your arms, waiting for the explanation.

"Look... I didn't want my job to get between us. You're more important to me than the fatui is so It's not a big deal okay?"

"That's it? You couldn't have told me that before dragging me to Fontaine?"

Gently running her fingers over your sides, she presses a soft kiss to your cheek. The tensions leaves your body at the tender show of affection. All the anger and worry dissipates, leaving your mind feeling light. It's a welcome change from the grim thoughts running through your head for the past seven months. It's amazing how easily Arlecchino can manage to lower your defenses- she's your biggest weakness and she knows it.

"I'm sorry, but i had to get us away from there as soon as possible... They'll definitely look for us but its okay, I'm here. I'll protect us. I've taken all the precautions i can. You trust me right?"

You nod, leaning in and resting your head on Arlecchino's shoulder.

"But... you're not even the strongest harbinger, what if they find us?"

She soothingly rubs your back. It's comfortable moments like this that remind you of why you fell in love with her. She's usually so cold and brutal, but during intimate moments she turns sympathetic and unguarded.

"They won't, i made sure."

"You came back covered in blood, I was so worried."

Your eyes start watering. During that period of minimal contact, your heart was aching for your lover. Aching for someone you assumed didn't feel the same way. The lump in your throat grows bigger, making it hard to breathe or talk properly.

Arlecchino lets you cry into her neck all night. Holding you tightly and never letting go. She could never even conceive of a world where your relationship isn't her top priority. A sense of warmth washes over you, melting away the cold lonely feeling in your heart.

It's been months since you ran away with Arlecchino. Months since you've been away from civilization and big crowds- but surprisingly, you don't feel isolated.

The paranoia of being found by the fatui never goes away. Slowly creeping up on your mind, becoming more and more persistent until it pounces- causing severe panic attacks and barbaric nightmares. Images flash before your eyes. Portrayals of Arlecchino collapsed on the floor, slumped over, covered in her own blood, eyes flat and lifeless. Your cottage has been ransacked and destroyed by those barbarians. All your furniture and clothing were scattered across the ground, some of them charred until they were unrecognizable. You could feel the heat radiating off the fire burning your back.

You tried to scream for help, but for some reason your voice wasn't working, your throat was closing. Your mind felt fuzzy, it was hard to think or move- like your legs were made of lead. You didn't even get to say goodbye. She was taken too soon.

Suddenly you were shaken awake. Eyes fluttering open, your cheeks were wet with tears and you could feel your heart tightening in your chest. Arlecchino's worried face was hovering above you. Gasping for air, you search for comfort in your lovers arms. Relieved to see her again alive, wrapping your arms around her and squeezing tight, leaning into the warmth- the life- radiating off of her.

"What happened, my love?"

She tenderly caresses your hair, running her slender and sharp fingers through the strands. It sends tingles through your scalp and down you spine, quelling the dull ache through your body.

"Y-you died..."

Your voice was shaky and weak. It was clear to Arlecchino that the nightmare had affected you deep to your core. She gently kisses your forehead.

"I'm here, I'm not leaving any time soon."

She gently pulled you back bed, laying you down in her caring embrace. The soft golden light of the sunrise is shining through the window and into your eyes. It made Arlecchino's smooth skin glow. She looks so heavenly, even with her messy bedhead. How had you landed someone so gracious and bewitching? She cooed softly, her enchanting voice lulling you into a dreamlike daze. Even with the horrible nightmares that haunted you, mornings like this were your favorite part of being with Arlecchino. She never fails to make you feel secure again.

After a few minutes of laying in bed and holding each other tightly, Arlecchino decides to get up, attempting to pry your arms off her.

"Noooo don't leave me!"

Whining, you hug her closer, refusing to let go of the human heater that sleeps on the other side of the bed. Unfortunately, Arlecchino is much stronger than you so she manages to get your hands off her, instead deciding to pin your wrists to the bed, straddling your hips.

"We have to get up eventually, my love."

Pouting, you start complaining and trying to free your wrists.

"But does it have to be now?"

She chuckles lowly, leaning in so close that you can feel her breath fanning over your face.

"Yes, it does."

Your heart is beating so fast, her face is so close, you can feel the electricity in the air. The heat radiating from her skin was making your face burn. It was hard to look her in the eyes, if you made eye contact you would probably burst into flames. But despite you avoiding her gaze, you could feel her staring at your lips, looking down at you under her, with your hair splayed out, so disheveled but still so beautiful. The butterflies in your stomach seeming to want to escape, fluttering against the walls of your stomach, making your muscles quiver.

She squeezes your wrists tighter, leaning in even closer. You could cut the tension with a knife. It was like there was a magnet pulling your lips closer, like the universe is working to bring the both of you together. Slowly, she presses her lips to yours. She tastes like heaven. Your head goes fuzzy and your body feels like it's floating. It's too soon after that, that Arlecchino starts pulling away. Her lips are parted, panting softly. Her eyes are darkened, her pupils dilated.

Suddenly, she sits up- looking high and mighty, like an ice queen.

"We need to get up."

She drags herself out of bed, giving you a playful smack on the ass.

"Agh!! you're mean!"

Smacking her hand away, you attempt to drag her back to bed.

"Come back!"

"Nope."

She smirks taking a hold of your hands, kissing the knuckles. It made you forget your goal. Before you could get back on track she pulls you out of the comfortable cotton sheets, wrapping her arms around your waist.

"Arle!"

She ignores your cries and carries you over her shoulders. You squirm and kick, trying to get free.

"Put me down!"

She holds the back of your thighs tightly, laughing at your struggle. Once you both arrive in the kitchen she finally puts you down on the kitchen counter. She stands between your knees, with her hands on your thighs.

"I told you we had to get out of bed."

"Well maybe i didn't want to."

"But i want you to, the sun is already up"

You scowl, pushing her hands off you.

"It's only seven! we should be sleeping!"

She shrugs, not seeming to understand the problem.

"I like waking up early."

You run your fingers through her hair, pulling her closer.

"You're like an old man, seriously why do we need to be up so early?"

She wraps her arms around your waist, pulling your bodies closer.

"The sun is up, it's time to eat."

You sigh, giving up on trying to convince her to be normal. Getting up from the counter, you walk around the kitchen grabbing ingredients and tools to start cooking breakfast.

"You better stay out of the kitchen, your cooking is deadly."

Arlecchino doesn't even try to argue, she knows it wont do any good. Sitting down at the kitchen table, admiring the view, she rests her chin on her hand.

It seems like a dream, the birds chirping in the distance, the beautiful flowers in the garden, the sounds and smells of your cooking- it all feels surreal.

You cut up the bulle fruits, mix up the batter, making Arlecchino's favorite dish-Hearthfire's trail, adding spices (which are desperately needed). You cant let her live on without spices anymore, it is physically hurting you to see her eat bland food. How does she even do it? She's just torturing herself.

After a few minutes of cooking you finally finish, giving her a nice big serving of pancakes with bulle fruit jubilee, and her stupid beloved Hearthfire's trail. She looks at it confused.

"Did you do something to it? It looks different."

"No... i spent so long making it perfect for you and you're complaining?"

She decides against pressing you for more information, trying some. Quickly, her face turns red. She evidently isn't used to eating anything other than bland meat. Regardless, she doesn't spit it out, deciding to swallow it before complaining.

"Why did you do this to me??"

Her voice is hoarse, you cant help but burst out in laughter. You've never seen her so flustered.

" Hehehe... Arle! you can't go on eating unseasoned food forever! It's time to be an adult."

"Seasoning is useless! If your food needs spices to taste good then its just bad quality."

Shrugging you point to her food.

"I worked very hard on that, you have to finish it."

She grumbles softly, complaining but doing as you say anyways. She sips her tea between every bite, suffering due to your little scheme. After she's done, she digs into her pancakes, seeming much more delighted at the taste of cold ice cream and sweet fruit on her tongue. You giggle watching her, amused by how weak she is to something so simple.

"Arle... How did you manage to get the position as the fourth harbinger when you cant even eat cumin?"

"Our position isn't based off food preferences, it's based on strength."

She clearly isn't as amused as you, her eyes narrowed.

"Still..."

"I just have a taste for quality food."

"I would hardly consider what you eat to be 'quality'."

"Hey! I eat your cooking, so that means you think your own cooking is bad."

Oh she thinks she's so funny. Groaning, you sit up straight.

"My cooking is good!"

"You don't seem to think so."

Scowling, you ignore her. You eat your pancakes angrily.

"Do you like my cooking?"

"No."

Her face betrays her words, she's smirking- enjoying getting under your skin. You decide you need to get revenge.... by wiping putting the whipped cream and ice cream from your pancakes on her face.

"I hate you."

She only laughs in response, wiping the cream off with her pointy fingers and licking it off. Her long forked tongue dragging over the blackened skin. She doesn't even try to hide her intentions, staring you right in the eyes with that evil, sinful stare.

The rest of the morning is a blur. You can only remember the feeling of pure bliss and the warmth of being in her arms. All the worries about the fatui finding you are completely forgotten when you're with her. Arlecchino makes you into a happier, more secure person. There's no other place you'd rather be.

[like-it-or-not-i-am-alive]

Now, I hate to bring political garbage to my page. I do it oh so sparingly, you know? But this warrants the chatter. I just want you to listen to this man speak about voting. Mainly the first minute of audio. This is a clip taken from The Hill's video stream of former president Donald Trump's speech at the 'The Believer's Summit' (https://www.youtube.com/live/EK-2ciNXBMU?si=D3fKwQ_rWxXtFfEw). I do have captions enabled, but be warned they have a lot of random letters due to Trump's 'unique' speech style.

Also, please note the odd cut at the beginning where Trump's head seems to clip is NOT an edit on my part, and I do not believe it is a cut on The Hill's part either. As the words continue in flow and do not appear edited. Also in that this is a streamed video and is unlikely to have tampering. I believe it may just be a glitch in the stream. That or we fell through a mandala universe in direct sight.

Trump talks about the 'cheating left' and the necessity of christians to vote. People have commented on how he says he is not christian (this does reflect on the captions), but I actually don't think that was intentional on his part. It may be word soup in that after an hour long speech, the sentence didn't form correctly (or dementia episode lol). However, my focus is more on his next few sentences/claims about how this election will remove all need for christians to ever vote again.

I question how this can be interpreted in any way other than 'I am the last vote you'll make.' I see a lot of things the candidates say that can be taken out of context. Yet here I have provided a clip with prior and continued context, as well as the entire video, and yet this doesn't seem interpretable. I can't see the angle where this can be taken out of context. I can't see where it's a joke. I can't see where it means something else. How do you interpret: "Get out there and vote. You won't have to do it anymore. Four more years. You know what? It'll be fixed. It'll be fine. You won't have to vote anymore, my beautiful christians.... In four years, you won't have to vote again. We'll have it fixed so good you won't have to vote again."?

You can't. He means every word of it. Even if you pull the angle of 'he'll fix the country so well that its christian core beliefs will be in control and no matter who you vote for, it'll be christian.' It's scummy. It implies heavily that in four years, the need to vote will be unnecessary because no matter how you vote, the set 'correct' person will win. That can't be achieved without voting.

You could suggest he means 'this is the only election that matters and when the next candidacy rolls around the effort is unnecessary but that doesn't make a lot of sense either.

The only way to not make this sound predatory is by suggesting he's just hyping the crowd and doesn't actually mean it... but that can't be it. At least, not to the people who follow Trump like he's the next messiah. Since that would imply cognitive decline. After all, saying he means it harmlessly and doesn't mean to sound so manipulative negates the idea that he's a competent ruler leader.

However you interpret it, whatever you take it to mean, you can't ignore the warning signs.

Doesn't it feel dystopian? This is the behaviour they warn us about. Extreme nationalism. Pushing religious ideology as politics. Placing your leadership on the same pedestal as a god. 'Vote with me to be a hero'.

Its cultism.

Scary shit.

[empressgeekt]

Now I am curious what would happen if you fused your Challange au with the fic "Caught in the Middle" 👀👀

OH....well....once more "Caught in the Middle" is not my au please go support its author! And for that scenario.

Creek would be at the wedding. He doesn't really have a role, he's just the guest who's here for the food and drink. Branch takes him to Grandma Rosiepuff's Pod before the ceremony, and they go through the addict finding old pictures of their moms growing up.

When Viva snatches Poppy out of no where, and Branch goes feral. Creek just sips his wine and ignores the problem for as long as possible. Then he hears Branch start screaming on the roof and he follows the drama. By the time he gets on the roof the others have gone after Viva leaving Bruce and Branch alone until Creek got there.

Creek: Alright? What went wrong now mate?

Bruce: Nothing you need to worry ab-

Creek: I wasn't asking you.

Branch: Just a flaming pile of garbage family reunion.

Creek: *immediately catching on* Oh how lovely, they can stay with my parents in the outhouse.

Bruce: Uh, Bitty who is this?

Branch: Oh sorry, you haven't met yet? Spruce meet our cousin, Creek.

Creek: You'd know me if you bothered to send a letter in recent months.

Branch: He's the only family who hasn't treated me like I don't exist.

Creek: *wincing* Actually that not....

Branch: YOU APOLOGIZED! UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE!

Creek gets dragged along the adventure, because John is convinced that more family the better for the harmony. He just comes to watch the trainwreck unfold and be the pillar that Branch needs.

[novankenn]

Reluctant Hero?

= Two = (Chapter List)

Jaune was the first off the airship. Shoving and shouldering his way through the waiting hopefuls to reach the nearest garbage bin, where he proceeded to finally empty his stomach.

????: Way to go, Vomit-Boy!

Jaune rolled his eyes, another nickname, at least it was better than some of the others he had been given. He ignored the laughter at his expense, and knelt down to open his duffle-bag. His cybernetic hand held the can of beer he had retrieved. With a tap of his thumb, he punched in the tab of the can.

????: Alcoholic beverages are banned from academy premises, Mr Arc.

Jaune looked at the busty woman, in a white blouse, purple cape, and pencil skirt. With her sunny blond hair up in a tight bun, she could at a distance be mistaken for his mother. He gave her a smirk and then proceeded to drain the can. Once empty, he crushed it and tossed it into the recycling bin.

Jaune: (Belch) No sense wasting it.

????: I am Professor Goodwitch. I shall be escorting you to the Headmaster for your... ahem... meeting.

Jaune: (Picking up his duffle-bag with his left hand.) Okay, lead the way.

A small explosion caused the pair to whip around. Glynda Goodwitch pulling out "Disciplinarian" while a pair of four inch spikes suddenly appeared from between the knuckles of Jaune's cybernetic hand.

Seeing a white haired young woman, berating a black haired girl with red tips as she lay in a small crater, caused both of them to roll their eyes. But before Professor Goodwitch could say anything, Jaune moved forward. He shouldered the white haired woman, causing her to stumble and nearly fall.

Jaune: (Offering his human hand) Need help?

????: How dare you? Do you know who I am?

Jaune: (Looking over his shoulder as he helped the other girl to her feet) No, and don't care, Snowy. (Turning to the girl from the crater) You okay?

????: Thanks.

Glynda: Ms Schnee. Ms Rose. What is the meaning of this... disturbance?

Weiss: She knocked over my belongs and then set off an explosion!

Ruby: You were shaking around that vial of dust, and it made me sneeze!

Glynda: Enough. I do not have time for this type of childness! Both of you clean up this mess and report to the auditorium.

Weiss/Ruby: Yes, mam.

Glynda: And you, Mr Arc. Have a meeting to attend.

Jaune: (Rolling his eyes and shaking his head) Lead the way, professor.

/==/ 15 minutes later /==/

Ozpin: Mr Arc, it is a pleasure to finally meet you face to face.

Jaune: Um-ha. Yep. Whatever. Have you translated those passages?

Ozpin: Unfortunately, not yet. Doctor Oobleck has been working on it, but he feels he will need more time.

Jaune: Shit!

Glynda: Language.

Jaune: (Looks at Glynda) Well, sorry, for expressing myself. (Returns his attention to Ozpin) That is no good. We're kind of in a time crunch here.

Ozpin: Time crunch? What do you mean?

Jaune: I chased it off this evil three years ago...

Glynda: Is that the story you're using to explain murdering those people?

Jaune: (Snapping while reaching up and touching the pendant hanging about his neck) I didn't kill them! That... that... whatever it is, took them from me!

Glynda: So you say. You're nothing but a...

Ozpin: Enough. Mr Arc please. Why are we pressed for time?

Jaune: It's coming back. It's growing stronger, and it wants that book.

Ozpin: And how do you know this?

Jaune: I can see them. The shadows in the deep forest. They've been getting closer.

Ozpin: I see...

Jaune: No, you don't. Is the book safe? He knows not to read the book aloud?

Ozpin: Doctor Oobleck is following all of your directions to the letter.

Jaune: Go...

It was at that moment something slammed into the closed windows of Ozpin's office. It hit with enough force to startle all three occupants of the room, while also leaving a spider-web of cracks in the pane struck.

Jaune: Damn it! (Jaune crouched down and pulled a sawed-off double barrel shotgun from his duffle bag. Cracking it, he checked to make sure it was loaded, before with a flick of his wrist snapping it closed.) It's already trying.

Ozpin and Glynda had their own weapons drawn and watched as the young Arc moved forward, his shotgun held out before him.

Ozpin: What do you mean?

Jaune: Were you NOT listening? It wants the book! It wants the verses that will set it free, read out loud!

Glynda: That's not possible.

Jaune opened the window and on the sill was a small nevermore, its once red eyes milky white. Even with its head flopping about, it still attempted to fly, beating its wings ineffectively.

Jaune didn't waste any time and smashed the butt stock off his weapon down upon the stricken creature, smearing it into an inky paste.

[akihabaradivision]

ARB Birthday Special: Keiko Yumi

~~ December 22nd ~~

"The first draft is just you telling yourself the story."

Login Lines:

*Sighs* "Finally done! Hopefully once I send these in, my publisher will get off my back for the next month or so. ...And in record time too! Once I drop these off I can head to work and see what assignments Nemu-san has for me. ...Hmm? A message from... Nemu-san? 'Work is canceled. Enjoy your birthday.' My... birthday?!"

"How foolish can I get? I've been so busy with work I neglected to notice today was the day of my birth! I messaged Nemu-san back thanking her, though canceling work was unnecessary. ...She didn't message me back, but I assume it was because she was busy with work of her own. ...But still, what am I going to do with this free time I have?"

Voice Lines:

"I received a lot of 'happy birthdays' and such from the people of Akihabara, which is nice. ...You know, it's funny. Back when I was younger, nobody really paid me any attention. I was just another face in the crowd, so to speak. And if they did pay me attention, it was usually always negative. I can't count the number of times I got bullied back in high school. I definitely don't miss those days."

"...I don't believe it. Otome-sama, herself, sent me a 'happy birthday'! I don't believe it! I always figured that I wasn't worthy enough to be in the Prime Minister's shadow. That I was just one of the many people working under her. I mean, not that I don't mind working for Chuohku, but... too be recognized by the Prime Minister, herself. This is an honor I don't take for granted!"

"What the...? Where did all these gifts come from?! Are these all for me? Most of them are from my friends at school. ...Ha. Like I mentioned earlier, when I was younger I was used to being ignored or bullied. But now, I'm adored. I don't know if its because of my manga or just because I'm in the D.R.B. ...One thing is for sure, I definitely don't miss high school. Uni beats that place any day."

"Sheesh, it's going to take a while to get through all of these gifts. Here's a fancy one! It says it's from... my mom. Tch, great. What did that hag have the audacity to send me for my birthday? ...Some cash for my birthday? How original. And what's this now? ...A photo of my high school graduation? ...Tch, I won't ask how she managed to take a photo of me like this. Probably asked grandma for it. The nerve of her! She thinks me so soft sending me this will make me forgive her?! To hell with that, and her!" *Throws the present in the garbage, not giving it a second thought*

"Criss? What are you doing here? I mean, not that I'm not glad you're here, but I thought you mentioned in your last letter you were stranded on Hokkaido exploring a haunted hospital or something. ...You hitched a ride with someone? How many times do I have to tell you that's not safe? There are a lot of dangerous people out there, Criss. Any one of them could do something to you if you're not careful." *Sighs* "Well, I suppose the important thing is you're back home and safe. But please be more mindful next time."

"...You got me a birthday gift? Not that's it not unappreciated, but how? I thought you were out of money? ...Ah, that explains it, I guess. So, what is it? ...A hoodie? Oh, and it features a manga artist on it. Cute. It looks really nice. Plus, you got it in pink, my favorite color. Thanks Criss. This was really sweet."

"Nikki? You're here? Wow, someone alert the papers! The recluse actually left her room, for my birthday, no less! I'll definitely have to mark this date down on calendar! ...Haha! Sorry, I couldn't help myself. But really, I'm glad to see you've gotten out of your room, at least, once this week."

"Anyway, are you here to wish me a 'happy birthday' too or... A gift? From you? ...Wow, I'm definitely going to have mark this day down. ...A drawing tablet? ...Wait, this is a Wicom Cintiq Pro, isn't it? Do you know how expensive these things are, Nikki?!" *Sighs* "Fine, I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. But I really find it disgusting that you earn more than I do when you work far less. ...Yeah, whatever."

Criss Lines:

"Hey Keiko! Happy birthday! ...I was stranded, but thankfully, I managed to hitch a ride with some nice gentlemen who gave me a lift back to Tokyo! Oh, come on, Keiko! They were really nice gentlemen! Trust me, I have an inkling if I feel someone is dangerous or not. ...Alright, I'll be more mindful, but I'm really okay, as you can see."

"Anyway, here's your birthday gift! ...Oh, my check came in from my YouTube videos! It wasn't as much as usual, but it was enough to get you a gift. Ta-da! It's a mangaka hoodie! I saw it on the way here, and thought it would really suit you! ...Thanks Keiko! Glad you like it. Promise me you'll wear it, okay?"

Nikki Lines:

"Hey Keiko. ...Are you quite finished? ...You know, if you're going to act like this, then I'll just leave. I don't have to stand here and be ridiculed for my life choices. ...Whatever. Anyway, here's your birthday gift. ...Yes, it's a drawing tablet, one of the most expensive ones on the market, FYI. The guy I ordered it from said this would help with artists who draw digitally. ...Look, if you don't want it, I can always return it and get my money back. ...What can I say? Video games are my bread and butter and they earn me money."

[the-white-soul]

*Flowey smiles, glad he's been forgiven for now. When Frisk is here and this hassle is through with, he'll continue trying to convince them. Because deep down, don't they want the perfect world where everyone is happy? This would make him happy. He is certain they'd understand that at the least.*

You don't need to be so scared, you know. If it comes down to it, Chara and I have the power to wipe them out faster than they can call for backup. And so far, *He looks at Chara.* the only times I get hurt is when I allow it.

I agree that Chara is the most justified here! They've been through a lot and have seen everything and know everyone. If anyone gets to judge, it's them.

I just hope nothing happens to Frisk while they're distracting Jack...

Say... *Flowey hums and taps on a petal rhythmically.* I could watch over them while the rest of you sneak into the prison. I'll make sure they're safe! He is a pretty big threat, and if Frisk is supposed to rile him up, who knows what could happen.

(Kara) "I'm not sure about this. Chara?"

(Chara) "Frisk would get him riled up more than I can possibly believe. That all sounds good but Flowey, you're too powerful. I don't think we can go through this without you in the center."

(Kara) "We've done crazier things."

(Chara) "Kara, *Brings them to the side so no one can hear* this isn't just about the plan, I don't want Flowey to die."

(Kara) "We all have to make sacrifices. Plus Flowey would easily defeat Jack if he wanted to."

(Chara) "*sighs* fair enough. *Comes out of the corner* You can do that plan, Flowey. Go out and be Frisk's bodyguard. Just please promise me you'll do anything not to die. You've been the one nice monster to me for hundreds of years. I'm counting resets as time. I also want to warn you, that they have the power to reset. They haven't used it since they went out of the underground, but if they ever suggest to reset, slap them in the face and tell them not to. Understand?"

(Noelle) "Kara, I need to tell you something as well. *Blushes, but hides it*"

(Kara) "How many times will I speak in private? I'm getting more secrets than priests!"

(Noelle) "*Pulls Kara by the arm to a place that is 500 feet away. It sort of hurts Kara but they ignore the pain.* Alright no one is here. Kara, Noelle died but I could never see her die. I wasn't around."

(Kara) "I don't know what you mean... *Shushed by Noelle*"

(Noelle) "If I don't leave here alive I just want to say, Noelle loved you. When she would talk about you before Susie was her main interest, she would go insane. She'd tell me daily how happy she was around you. Every day. She told me that she wanted to love you but couldn't work up the courage. Even when I saw you two together briefly, she was happier than an angel when I saw you two kiss. That's what I always used to call her, my little angel."

(Kara) "Why are you saying this?"

(Noelle) "*pulled out a letter from her bag. It was very old and dusty* This is a love letter that she wrote to you for Valentine's Day. I want you to read it. I think Noelle would've wanted you too."

(Kara) "*Started reading* Oh, what should I say? I don't know how to start these. Alright, here it goes. Kris, you're what makes my life fun. As neighbors, we know each other but I don't think that's enough. I've been waiting for the moment to tell you this forever, Kris I love you! Your smell, your love for your brother, your kindness to everyone. I will follow you till the ends of the earth. If you don't want to date me please say no but if you do, I'd like to go to the pizza place. You can fake scare me like when we were kids! Even then I had a crush on you. I don't know how to end this but let me say this, Kris I will always be your friend but if not, I'll love you forever. *After it has a part that is clearly used by a different pencil* What was I thinking. If anyone finds this in the garbage can please keep it in there. It's terrible, it's terrible, I'm terrible, why would I think anyone would be in love with me?"

(Noelle) "Now that you've read it..."

(Kara) "*Hugs Noelle while crying* Dess, thank you! I'll cherish this until I die. Noelle was always the sweetest girl ever."

(Noelle) "*and that's why I can't tell you anything*"

[ghcstvalleychief]

No but the Lutawolf thing pissed me offfff! I was disgusted about the Emmett Till thing because any of us with a brain saw how that comparison was awful (and even though they tried to double down and swear it was a comparison instead of just apologizing and growing from this experience) but in that post they said a lot stuff that sounded very much like victim blaming and ableism as well. The whole post was rife with it but these parts stood out:

“Now, if you accuse someone. You have to have proof. And I don't mean bruises on wrists. I give those to my submissive when I do bondage.

For instance, if it was me. I could tag several people on here who know me in real life that can verify everything I've told you guys. I could point you to court casings. There were video taps, DNA, and much more. So much that they pled guilty. Never mind that they only got five months.

So not only do we not have proof from Poi. Other than pictures that were found to be stolen. She took someone else's pictures to use as her own. Do you see what I went through. I have videos and pictures. If it had been me that she stole from, I'd make her the abuse victim she wants to be so badly. “

As someone who’s also a survivor but was very young and couldn’t provide proof for many reasons, I was met with this same attitude from people for years because I spoke out. I hate survivors with superiority complex because the rest of us that don’t fit their perfect definition end up feeling belittled and invalidated. Like this isn’t even about the Poi/Build thing it’s about making other survivors who’s story probably looked similar on the outside, feel like crap all over again. Although, I find it funny that someone who says they don’t care about one party or the other, they definitely did a good job of painting Poi as the “psycho” and Build as the poor innocent baby. That’s why comparing him and his situation to Emmett felt even worse than if they’d just left it at that. Emmett was an innocent child and Build is a grown ass man with a documented history of similar behavior. The whole post was just disgusting all around.

I was contemplating abandoning the KP fandom after you said you probably would but, after this, I think I’m out for good. So many people who I used to admire here have recently shown themselves to just have the worst opinions. Anyway, sorry I just wanted to rant. There’s a lot of drama going on so please just ignore this if you want to.

Fuck Lutawolf. You know, I said I was gonna stay off of here, but I caught wind of all this bullshit and I had to see for myself what the fuck was going on.

I had that person blocked for quite some time but I unblocked them because I want them to see everything I'm saying regarding this issue.

At the end of the day, you can defend your shitty fave without comparing that piece of shit to an innocent child who was tortured and murdered as a result of false accusations. This is NOT the same. Build is NOT Emmett Till nor are their situations the same. Build is a garbage individual who has had a pattern of being awful and everything is finally catching up to him. Build is a racist, homophobic, misogynistic piece of shit (as per his own words when he wrote that sad sob letter last year after we found out how he truly thinks). He is not being unfairly targeted due to racism or outright hatred. Actions have consequences. You can't walk through this world thinking you can say and do whatever you want without there being consequences.

That's not how this works. Fuck Build, fuck his fans/supporters/staunch defenders, and fuck anyone else who thinks they can use murdered Black children to absolve Build of any perceived guilt. You can make a point without using Black trauma to justify and manipulate people into feeling sympathy for a guilty piece of trash. The Black trauma was used to really hit everyone right in the feels so they can care enough to ignore that he has a history of being awful. His fans have covered it up and have been trying to get other people to stop talking about it for MONTHS. Since that's not working this time, I guess they have to pull out the big guns. They're spreading misinformation and trying to quiet his accuser while also trying to force the rest of his cast mates to come out and defend him when there's nothing to defend. Brands are publicly renouncing him and cutting ties with him for a reason. He's bad for business and rightfully so.

Your fave has always been a bad person and it's finally caught up to him and now everyone knows. Stan who you want. Support who you want. If you want to support a guilty man, just say that. We won't respect you but at least be honest with yourself and everyone else.

[cas-coding]

my mom is being a dick so im making it all your guys problem because i dont have therapy until thursday

im going to put my vent below the cut because it will probably get triggering, but id appreciate if you guys would let me know any official terms for what my mom is doing to me/if there are any online resources to help

so my mom got home from work today and she was really pissed at everyone and everything. she yelled at me to take out the trash (which i usually do on tuesdays, but much closer to 5pm than the 3pm that it was at that moment) and i said sure let me finish this snack and if i have time before i have to pick up my brother, ill do it then. if not ill do it after.

she said okay and went back to her little candy crush game. two minutes later she tells me i need to pick up my brother. i say yeah i know. ill leave to pick him up at 4pm (which is roughtly 45 min away atp) and she sighs and says fine.

im like okay im not taking this bait. so i finish my snack and i do the garbage. then i pick up my brother and he's a dick to me too. leaves his metal waterbottle on the floor of my car where it will bang around and distract me from driving (i have drivers ocd and a lot of driving anxiety, so ive told him multiple times not to do this and hes usually good with it) and then my brother is all dramatic about getting out of the car and his knee hurting (he is 15) and i say the house isnt that far but im sorry it hurts and he calls me a bitch. what was i supposed to say

but anyway back to my mom. i havent told her my daily stories yet (and i know im fortunate to have parents that care about my day to day) so i tell her this story relating to my friend. i say hey he's been doing this recently and it's annoying and i wish he would stop. i talked to him about it a couple times and he wont stop.

my mom looks me dead in the eye and asks me why im so dramatic about everything. why does it bother you so much. its your fault. get over it. stuff like that. and she says it in this perfectly nice loving mothering voice. im sorry, what?

i said that ive asked him to stop and we've had conversations and he wont. i said its not my fault im trying, please don't say that to me. and my mom just keeps going on, saying oh youre overreacting, just get over it, why are you so pissy with all of your friends.

so im like emotionally exhausted and i blurt out that i have trauma from past friends. my second grade best friend moved away and then ignored my phone calls. my fourth grade best friend moved across the country and never responded to my (five!!!) letters. i told my seventh grade best friend that i thought i might not be a girl (surprise, im a trans man) and she called me the t-slur (i know i can say it, but i really dont like it because of this experience). i told my mom that that friend then went on to tell all of my high school friends (who only knew my chosen name) my birth name and then those friends struggled to use my chosen name ever again because 'oh your birth name fits you so much better!'

and you know what my mom said? she started lecturing me. how i cant let people hurt me. how its my fault i get mad at people. how im the reason no one wants to be my friend. how im damaged goods because of all the shit i wont get over. etc.

and i dont care if my mom makes me food. i dont care if she gives me a house to live in. that's bare minimum and i am not required to love her for that.

and she's never once proved to me that she deserves my love, so in ten years when shes wondering why i never call, this is only one reason why. she does this in so many ways and so many scenarios that i dont know how anyone tolerates her.

as soon as i can financially leave her, i will, and i will never look back.

[writerben01]

About A03 etiquette

So, I got a comment I thought was rude, and then spent a bit of time explaining why that is. And then it turned into 1000 words, which is long enough that I thought I'd share it for the whole class.

Below in image and transcript for convenience:

Comment:

Honestly, him hearing all that and still thinking he has to impress these garbage people is killing my interest in him as the MC. Combined with the sheer length between chapters and I can already see you dropping this work before he ever actually gets past this pathetic behavior. He has near limitless power but refuses to use it for himself but for 'parents' that treat him like roadkill.

My response:

This is kind of a rude comment. If you do keep reading, please pay more attention to the way you word your comments in the future or I may be forced to remove them. I'm not interested in a character that's been brainwashed his whole life to believe one thing and suddenly doing a 180 when the one person they've been allowed to view as an ally turns against them. I'm not interested in going from zero to complete power fantasy without all the steps in between.

Their response:

Not what I meant and I think you know that. I'm talking about how he's still entirely delusional after being outright told she wanted to kill him, thinking he should have just waited longer instead of that being an actual wake up moment, you kept in delusional. Also, I used zero swear words and said nothing rude, I just pointed out that this style of writing almost always gets dropped before the author actually gives the audience the pay of. You as an author have a limited window to gain and keep reader attention in our online age, you have to balance out the chapters being as satisfying as the wait indicates and I'm not feeling that with your MC. Take the criticism and use it to prove me wrong or just ignore it as 'rude', your choice.

My response

Okay, I'm going to assume good faith on your part so I'll explain further. There are multiple ways to let your thoughts known about a fanfic. There are bookmarks which can contain public reviews, there are posts on your own fanblog/discord/reddit posts that can spark discussion in public forums of your own community. The comment section of AO3 is usually seen as equivalent to fanmail (and that's how I'm treating it). A large part of that is the view that if you don't have anything nice to say about a fanfic, you don't say anything at all.

I would like to ask you to read your original comment again and imagine this from my perspective. I've spent somewhere between 10-20 hours writing this chapter, doing research and taking the effort to publish it online in proper formatting. This is free labour that I'm doing for my own enjoyment and I'm sharing it because I assume there are people like me out there who would find enjoyment in reading it. When I get to post another chapter, I'm excited and the only thing I'm hoping for in exchange is comments that will give me renewed energy and excitement to keep writing.

Do you think your comment achieved that effect?

The content of your comment reads to me as:

you think the way I'm writing my MC isn't interesting

you think I'm updating too slowly

you do not believe I'll keep working on this fanfic

you are frustrated with the choices the MC makes.

Being honest and vulnerable here, this comment hurts me. Criticism can hurt sometimes and that would be a me-problem. But I feel that this passes beyond subjectively hurtful into rudeness. It lacks any gratitude or introduction(That is, writing a letter without 'Dear X' is rude; writing a comment without some 'thanks' is rude too), and it lacks anything positive to counterbalance the criticism which is also considered rude. I don't feel like it invites me to explain and excitingly talk about my choices in writing this chapter, or what I've got in store. It makes me feel like I need to defend myself. And that does not spark joy.

Actually, let me just rewrite the comment into a form that's non-rude for comparison: "Thanks for the update! I mostly enjoyed it (especially the fight against Anko) but, honestly, him hearing all that and still thinking he has to impress these garbage people is making me lose my interest in him as the MC. And I have to admit I'm a little worried about whether this behaviour will be fixed while you're still working and publishing this story. It's so frustrating that he has near limitless power but refuses to use it for himself but for 'parents' that treat him like roadkill. What are your plans to make him take control of his own life?"

I don't mean to harp on, but I was hurt by your first comment, and you seemed hurt from me telling you I experienced it as rude, so I'm hoping this all explains where I'm coming from.

I'm happy to write and share my stories, and I'm happy to hear and respond to questions and criticism. But I do set certain boundaries. If you want me to respond to your comments (and maybe even change the story to accommodate your preferences; I do that for commenters all the time), you can't just leave a comment listing what you disliked and what you're worried about. When you do that, it makes me feel like a content machine getting feedback for the next iteration of content I'm spewing. That's what I mean when I say your comment is rude. You're fully entitled to have your opinions on my writing, but you need to follow basic etiquette if you want me to read and engage with it (and as warned, not having your comment deleted).

I get after all this you may not be interested in the response to your actual criticism, but I do feel like if you've made it this far I at least owe it to speak to your concerns.

Your repeated assertions that these kind of stories get dropped hits a nerve. It makes me feel like I need to somehow prove myself, as if my fanfic history doesn't speak for itself. I finished a 450k story last November after 5 years of consistent work. I have major anxiety about posting stories if I can't guarantee I'll be able to finish them, which is why I go overboard taking measures to facilitate me in that. I'm fully planning to see this story through. If that at any point changes, I'll be able to give a proper notice months in advance, and I'll still feel responsible to write some kind of satisfying ending (even if that has to be in the form of an outline).

As for the MC, I'm characterizing him as someone who is abused and traumatized. His mother tells him she wanted to kill him, and his main response is to find a way to blame himself. The implication I'm going for is that years of emotional abuse have conditioned him into blaming himself. Both because his mother would often put a lot of responsibility on him, and because abused children in general figure out strategies to minimise abuse and then blame themselves when they suffer. They can't control their abuser, but they can control themselves. They have to be perfect, while the mother can be so angry she yells she wanted to kill her own child, and MC is still able to excuse that.

I don't like calling this pathetic, and I'd sooner choose 'damaged' or 'lacking self worth'. And the story I'm interested in telling doesn't have the MC skipping over all of that as if its easy. I want to portray it as hard. He doesn't have a therapist to talk to, and it's not something he likes talking about to anyone else either. Especially since this whole thing has now wrapped around to the other significant event at the end of this chapter. I've just gotten around to him making some significant strides in this in chapter 10.

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

letter to mother in law

I'm writing this shit

in epic poetry

written in my own

fucking writing voice

calligraphy

and it would be

just your luck

if I got famous

just because

you bitches

slay me

like the knights

used to slay dragons

and you fucking know

those dragons were way

more awesome

than any

of those fucking knights

maybe not for humans

or civilizations

but just to take a moment

in collected and concentrated

awe

and imagine

those mythical creatures

in our lives

around our hearts

isn't that where you really

and secretly

and truly

dream?

Oh that's just me

talking about the things

that spin and dance around

in my brain

while all you can do

is listen to the garbage complaints

of the son you obviously

didn't raise to think for himself

just obey

and avoid the consequences

I don't play that way

always had to as a kid

I'll say whatever you need to

slip into whatever role

you think you're

manipulating me

into

see where you take this

wonder where it will go

then stop

change my mind

and do what I please.

It's my life.

I get to.

I am raising three young adhd children.

I say that because it matters.

It's a condition diagnosed by people who

spend years

learning about emotions

document the data

that has been collected

then studied by researchers

over years

with a motivation to

understand the behavior patterns

of humans who seem

to have an issue of extra energy

and a different way of

perceiving the world

and how you can make their lives

and your own life

raising them

more harmonious and enjoyable

for all of you

just by educating yourself a bit more

about how mental health works

it's like you think mental health

is a thing

and not an intentional

maintinannce

of not raging out

when everything and

everyone you care about

seems to see

is how you're failing to be

the kind of human

they want you to be

because you came here to be you

and they want a different version of you

but you're you and

you're me

and all our relationships

are mirrors where we

recognize parts of each other

and have to either

integrate it or

absorb it

or take it into your heart

without any kind of filter

because they are the ones

who teach you how to

write love on your heart

and some of them

choose to brand you with it

and tell you not to

scream when it burns

because that means you're

not tough

and only the strong

survive

some of them buy

brushes and ink

and write it in

permanent color

and the older hearts

get the love

lovingly tattooed on their heart

if they want to

and it's sharp

and it also burns

but not like the brand

and some hearts

carve the names

who branded them

off of themselves

with lightsabers

or talons

and find a way to

make the scar tissue

beautiful mess

a mural of

a journey tapestry

with a tragic beginning

but those were hard lessons

all of us end up learning

along the way

they just got it faster

I guess

because life is nature

and nature is here to

grow stuff

and see what kind of

wild things survive

so we survived

with the names

we love

on our hearts.

To me you are the woman

who taught Ben that

Meet Joe Black

is the right way

to think about love.

I know that he will

watch The Mask Of Zorro

by my side

with Theo

who was a cowboy

for Halloween

and Ben was a cowboy too.

You have a picture of

Fiona wearing

a pink cowboy hat

in your bathroom

and a pegasus on the shelf in there

with so much stuff about horses

I always felt a little at home.

It's okay that I changed your feelings

about me when I

lashed out

with the fourth draft

of hate poetry

raging at your husband

because he's critical as fuck

as a pattern of behavior

and it's annoying

I've mentioned this

politely in prose

hate poetry

is the second warning

I'm just making up

arbitrary rules here

but follow them

or else you get

my creative hobby

of making my

grievences

into poetry

and you can literally

sue me

because I'll never stop

advocating

for myself

in a way

that pleases me.

But only if you ignore my direct communication.

Or try to abuse me with your mean judgements and words.

Also, I respect reasonable boundaries.

I also like to approach conflict and not avoid it.

I also give you the option of having me not come to Ben's stuff at your house. I won't take it personal and I am completely fine staying home alone. I don't need to be a reason of conflict or something that keeps the family separated.

I know what it's like. I am separated from my two of my kids for some holidays. It is what it is.

You don't have to like me. I don't have to be part of things. I just don't want Theo to miss out.

[jazzyblusnowflake]

Why not move? I’d never stay in a country that treats its women this way. And you working for the government indirectly supports that. Good luck.

Okay so

i've been mulling over this ever since it came to my inbox and i've been trying to find a way to answer this and NOT be impolite or improper because i am aware that not everyone knows the complications of straight up moving to a different country, as it is not as simple as just moving to a different STATE, like the US, [and to be fair i've heard that even THAT could be stressful] and as someone who has LIVED in 3 countries and has visited another 5+ countries, let me tell you that your question is extremely ignorant and insensitive and straight up hurtful to all the people who both DONT want to leave their communities here and also the people who DO want to leave but are too poor to do so.... because our country, due to the prohibition by good ol' murica has now the lowest money currency value on the PLANET, and we have been suffering in silence for DECADES- with NO way to transfer money into our country- [donation campaigns are usually a scam, pay attention to those please] so in short? we are poor as absolute FUCK-!

and the process of moving somewhere else is already hard enough for people who DONT have as much financial issues, let alone US.

what exactly would anyone propose we do? when we dont have the money to request for any sort of visa, nor to get a house in a different country, nor food, nor for studying, living, getting medical or MENTAL health help- etc etc etc???

and reports of smuggling people out of the country usually come back as human trafficking or the gov blew them up or killed them somehow? idk this has actually happened with a PLANE once-

the only way to leave this country is being filthy rich, fucking LUCKY, or just a very very VERY smart student which again more often than not requires both money AND luck to get accepted in any university... so again.... no money!!!

like im sorry for snapping but here i am being told "why don't you leave" as if i haven't tried to find a way all my life, as if its some sort of sick joke- i cant, i fucking CANT!- i have family members i care about and wouldn't want to leave- other countries treat us like garbage thanks to online media portraying us as monsters- i cant spend another 10 years to study shit all over again just to send a letter to foreign universities with barely enough luck because im NOT that smart at all!! and it reminds me of when i look at my dad and say i wish we lived somewhere else and he looks at me like "then leave" in the cruelest way imaginable because he KNOWS we cant fucking leave due to him being a diplomat-

every country has its own culture and history and communities that they value and want to protect and stand by, so people cant just LEAVE, and even if they do, more often than not, other places would never accept them or appreciate them the same way their own country would. Like did yall tell black people to leave america after the BLM movement when George Floyd got killed? this is our home and we need to stop saying "then leave" and start saying "we need to start fixing this shit"

we are so fucking tired. please stop saying "then leave" if you just "don't want to help"...

as for me working for the gov, my dad is already a diplomat and keeps me away from doing anything against the regime, and also i'm considered one of the LUCKY ones in my country, who has a job that ensures a constant pay since the first semester of UNIVERSITY. im one of the few that could actually have a meal at night without worrying about what i'm going to eat tomorrow, and at the same time i teach kids from the inside to not take shit from the gov. i consider myself VERY lucky.

we aren't playing a videogame to take shallow black and white SIDES- even the protesters have destroyed privet properties and peoples cars and etc etc, and some people straight up want the monarchy system back as if that very system wasn't the entire reason that half of our countries riches and history isn't in the BRITISH museum today instead of their homeland!! this shit started over the freedom to WEAR what we want not to HURT everyone in blind rage!!!

Please never say "just leave" to anyone else ever again, especially to someone who doesn't even know if they'll live another day stepping out of the door, let alone drive all the way to an airport or the country boarders or something.... if they even HAVE the money to go that far.

So thankyou for reading and being concerned in your own way but id rather stay here and die in a country that doesn't accept me as a WOMAN than to live a futureless life in a country that wouldn't even accept me as a PERSON.

[animationadventures]

I’m just... so sick of my shows getting screwed over.

Danny Phantom... canceled because some exec thought SpongeBob mattered more.

Glitch Techs... canceled because some exec thought The Loud House mattered more.

Steven Universe... canceled because of homophobic execs.

Infinity Train... canceled because of ageist execs who think a cartoon needs child protagonists to be relatable.

DuckTales... canceled even though it’s centered on some of the company’s oldest core characters and had a big audience.

And now The Owl House... canceled because some exec had the extremely narrow-minded thought that story-driven series don’t belong under Disney’s banner.

Losing Danny Phantom didn’t hurt as much because I was younger then and it was the only show I closely followed at the time, and I didn’t find Glitch Techs until it was too late.

But every show since Steven Universe has been canceled one after the other, and I can feel more and more salt being rubbed in the wound with each unfair cancelation.

Each show listed above has characters, stories, and action sequences that make them memorable for generations to come. So you can imagine how much it infuriates me knowing how poorly they’re treated in favor of cheesy, unmemorable garbage.

We’ve tried things like petitioning and sending letters to studios to save Infinity Train and The Owl House, but we’ve been ignored by executives who think they know better when they honestly wouldn’t know good storytelling and marketing even if it flashed a neon sign right in front of them.

After how The Owl House has been treated, I know I’ll never be able to look at a cartoon the same way ever again, knowing that whatever big cartoon comes next could be subjected to the same treatment.

I’m just sick of fantastic, memorable shows being treated like this.

Please reblog.

[shootsun]

I don't know if you are still taking prompts but if you are: Shadowpeach being soulmates in one of those soulmates au where it's really obvious to outsiders they're soulmates (red string, tattoo of each other's name, identical marks, glowing when touching, feeling each other pain, whatever) and yet both of them refuse to acknowledge it. Bonus if one honestly doesn't believe they actually are soulmates but used to think they were and the other is just in 50 layers of denial even back when they were friends

so. to preface this. i am an idiot who can't make up their mind on the best of days. As there was not a specific soulmates au chosen, i...picked all of them?

the idea being that the longer you don't accept your soulmate, the more the universe tries to point it out to you, until you're covered in matching marks, scars, glowing when touching, 'ink' that moves in the direction of your soulmate, handwriting, first and last words etc...

/this also doesn't have a happy ending.....(yet)..../

----------

“Have you met your soulmate?” MK asks one afternoon, and Wukong pauses mid-bite.

He tilts his head, his golden eyes unfocused as he thinks about all the evidence he has pointing him to his soulmate. The years and years of ignoring every string, letter and angry goose.

“I don’t have one.” He lies, and MK’s eyes widen for a second before he jumps up animatedly, his hands moving just as fast as his mouth. 

“But what about your string? And, and I’ve seen your palm- their handwriting is really-”

“I don’t have a soulmate, kid. All that junk about the string of fate and ink marks and all that first word garbage is just that. Garbage.” Wukong laughs mirthlessly. 

MK stands across from him, his face uncharacteristically serious. “If you ignore your first tie to your soulmate, the universe will give you another, and another, and another until you accept the bond.” He recites the first thing they teach kids, a lesson passed down generation after generation. 

MK looks down to the strings that are tied around his littlest finger. “And there’s more than one kind of soulmate.” 

Wukong sighs and steps forward, placing his hands on the kid’s shoulders. “Bud, I didn’t mean to be a downer or anything. I know I’m tied to somebody. But for all intents and purposes, I don’t have a soulmate because it would be a bad idea. You know the kind of life I lead.” 

MK frowns as Wukong continues, allowing a tinge of bravado into his voice. “I mean, I know, I know, who wouldn’t want me as a soulmate? I’m the Monkey King! But-”

“But you’re the Monkey King.” MK finishes. 

“Choosing just one soulmate would break all my fan’s hearts,” Wukong sighs dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. 

MK squints and hums out an unconvinced noise, but nods and drops it, thankfully. 

That night, after the kid had gone home, he passes a mirror and sees a flash of white fur in lieu of his gold. 

He stops and stares at the reflection peering back at him, and softly swears as he raises a hand to the glass. 

“Another one?” He mutters. A face he knows better than his own looks out at him and Wukong presses his fingers to his temples, trying to massage away the ache that compounded there. 

It takes him the rest of the night to get rid of all the mirrors in his hut, shoving the glass into an unused room in his ‘Shame Temple’ as he’d once lovingly dubbed it.       

Finally on his bed by maybe two in the morning, Wukong drops his glamorous for the first time in a century, unraveling layer after layer of magic. 

His hair unfurls, becoming a burnt caramel colour, and his eyes revert back to red as his claws and nails extend. His head brushes walls and he turns his gaze to his hands.

Macaque's handwriting covers his arms, his palms. The demon’s first words to him are scrawled across his right palm, (I’m a friend!) and his final words “Please don’t” have a single line through them on his left palm. Macaque’s half-finished grocery list spans from inner wrist to inner elbow, and Wukong raises an eye at the amount of food. 

“You couldn’t have written that on the back of a receipt or something?” He scowls, tracing out how the demon still smudges his handwriting when he’s in a hurry. Wukong raises his hand in the air, staring at how the words shimmer on his fur and then vanish, allowing the myriad of scars he’s collected to reveal themselves.

They have matching scars as well, a sign from three centuries ago - one from Macaque’s revival, and he lowers his hand to trail it over his face, feeling the puckered skin that crosses over his eye. 

Ink slithers across his fur, staining gold and white streaks a violet colour as Macaque moves around the city and the markings try to follow him. 

Wukong idly wonders if he confesses, accepts the bond and everything that comes with it, how many of the signs will leave - if any. 

The red string wrapped around his finger seems to heat up and he scoffs before turning over on his side. He can still remember the first time he tried to tell Macaque they were soulmates. 

The demon had laughed in his face and then told him to never joke about that again, even as Wukong had held up his hand and tried to entwine his and Macaque’s fingers. 

He hadn’t brought it up again, even as centuries passed, and with each one came a new sign of some sort, a blaring obvious sign, that they were soulmates. 

It’s ridiculous, and damn near overwhelming, just how many signs he has to deal with. 

Macaque ignored each one, or explained it away when anyone else brought it up, and by the time Wukong had waged havoc in heaven, he’d come to peace with it.

It was better anyways if he didn’t have anyone to worry about like that. At least, that's what he told himself.

That’s the lie he tries to tell himself again as he fails to go to sleep.

“Oh, fuck.” 

A gaggle of geese surround his lawn in an aggressive swarm of feathers and honking, all collectively swiving their evil little beaks in his direction and hissing in unison as soon as he steps onto his front porch. 

He can’t help it - he screams, his fur fluffing up as he leaps onto his somersault cloud, trying to escape the horde of demonic birds. 

The geese chase him into the city, to Macaque’s dojo, and Wukong doesn’t hesitate to dive through one of the windows of the building to escape one of the birds who got a little too close to his tail. 

He rolls to a stop, flat on his back in front of Macaque in his kitchen; the demon choking on his morning tea as he groans. 

“Wukong?” Macaque sputters, wiping tea from his chin. He’s still in his sleepwear, and Wukong thunks the back of his head on the floor before replying.

“Morning Liu’er.” His voice is tired, even to his ears, and Macaque frowns, his ears twitching.

“Do I want to know why there’s a fuckton of geese outside my dojo?” The demon asks, taking a sip from his mug as he waits for a response. 

“No.” Wukong doesn’t move as Macaque starts to walk towards him, and remains still even when the other nudges him in the side with his foot. 

When Macaque nudges him again, he ignores the dim purple glow emanating from under his fur as he sits up and swats at the demon.

The shadow monkey easily avoids his hands and steps backwards gracefully.

Wukong sighs and stands, brushing shards of glass off his clothes. 

“You’re my soulmate.” He says and watches as Macaque’s face closes off, any remnants of a teasing expression dying instantly.

“I told you not to joke about that,” Macaque’s voice is cold, and the demon makes to shoulder past him when Wukong snakes a hand out and presses the demon to the wall. 

“I wasn’t joking then, and I’m not joking now.” Wukong hisses. “I’d like to not be covered in reminders anymore, damn it.”

Macaque glares at him and snaps his teeth angrily. 

“What are you talking about?” The demon growls, trying to squirm out of Wukong’s hold. 

“When was the last time you dropped your glamours?” Wukong asks, and he rolls his shoulders back, allowing the heavy magic to drip away. 

Macaque sucks in a breath when he sees his scar on Wukong’s face, and then he lets his eyes travel to where Wukong’s hands are wrapped around his wrists.   

A purple glow seeps from Wukong’s palms, where they’ve met skin to skin, and the red string around each of their pinkies is the smallest it’s been in years. Black ink has slowly started seeping down Wukong’s forearms before finally settling on his fingers, staining the appendages.

“Your words, your scars, every time you move, it’s all mapped out on my skin.” Wukong leans forward and Macaque stares at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t wanna be soulmates? Fine. I’ve had centuries to get over it. But don’t lie to me, or yourself.” The god exhales, and slowly releases Macaque’s wrists. He turns, and is about to step away when arms wrap around his waist.   

“You’re a bastard.” Macaque mutters to his back. The demon presses his face into Wukong’s shoulder blades. 

There’s a shift in the air as Macaque drops his glamours, and a golden glow flickers to life, illuminating the room behind them. 

Wukong looks over his shoulder to see a familiar scar, white fur, and six glowing ears. 

His own handwriting coats Macaque’s palms, and swirling black ink finally convenes where his back meets Macaque’s chest.

“You’re my soulmate.” Macaque thumps his forehead against Wukong’s spine. 

The words hang in the air for a second, and then Wukong blinks. 

When his eyes open again, the red string is still tying them together, but Macaque’s handwriting has disappeared from his palms. He can’t feel ink sweeping across his fur anymore, and there’s no residual purple or golden glow. 

He reaches for his face, and the scar across his eye no longer carves through his cheek. 

“Can you leave now? The geese are gone.” Macaque steps back, and Wukong looks at him. 

His glamours are back up, and a scowl is plastered over his face, trying and failing to hide the tears that prickle at the corner of his eyes. 

“Mac-”

“I’ve accepted it. Now get out.” Macaque points to the window Wukong had busted through, and the god pauses before the window sill.

“In another life, I think we would’ve been happy.” 

[moonlitdesertdreams]

When it rains, it pours

A/N: Enjoy a very short, very aimless drabble. The weather has done nothing here other than be garbage, so I'm projecting :)

Tags: Jason Todd x f!reader, Jason Todd x you, Jason Todd x Reader, Jason Todd, Red Hood, Bruce Wayne, Batman, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Batfam, Batfamily, DC Imagines, Red Hood x f!reader, Red Hood x you, Red Hood x Reader, The Joker, Death in the Family, Lazarus Pits

WARNINGS: none <3

Summary: It rains, you and Jason cuddle

Word Count: 590

Thunder booms over Gotham City. 

Torrential rain floods the streets, and the flash flood warnings streak across your phone screen. Your open bedroom window lets in a cold breeze, enough to coax you out of bed and close it. 

Wrapped in your comforter like a child in a blizzard, you realize you’d woke up alone. The other side of the bed was empty, and when you laid your hand on the pillow it was cool. You glanced at your bedside clock, where the red letters glowed ‘7:13’. If it weren’t for the wispy gray light of a stormy summer morning, Gotham would still be dark. 

You pad out of your bedroom, the smell of coffee wafting down the hall and into your grateful brain. Gotham Daily news buzzes on the TV but the sound of rain on the covered balcony drowns it out. Trekking that way, you find the door cracked open and the gritty smell of cigarettes combines with coffee. 

Jason is on the balcony, leaned back against the bricks. His head is tipped back as well, cigarette between his lips and eyes closed. You abandon the comforter on the couch, and nudge the door open enough to step out, sidling into Jason’s broad body. His arm winds around you automatically, fingers squeezing into the flesh of your hip. 

“Good morning.” You him, lazily reaching up to pull the cigarette from between his lips. The drag you take elicits a cough, you haven’t smoked since college, but the burn down your throat warms you. 

“G’morning.” He answers, tipping your chin up to press a kiss on your lips. You return it easily, snubbing the cigarette on his ashtray and curling tighter to his body. 

“It’s cold out here.” You observe. “And you hate the cold.”

Jason shrugs. “Was goin’ stir crazy inside.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you venture on a limb. “You having nightmares again?”

Jason, to his credit, doesn’t react. His eyes flicker to you, catching onto the worry. “Not normally. Just last night, the, uh, thunder. Got all in my head for some reason.”

It wasn’t really surprising. Jason only smoked when the Pit-thoughts were intrusive, or when he was suffering through the worst of his post-traumatic stress. 

You slip around to his front, arms tangling around his neck. Jason responds automatically to your comfort, tucking his face into your neck and breathing in. 

“I love you.” You murmur, scratching your nails against the short hair at his nape. 

“I know.” 

Jason walks you backwards into the apartment, and you giggle when it leads to you both toppling onto the couch. He grabs your discarded comforter and wraps it around you both, wiggling around until you’re both comfortable. 

The sound of rain continues, echoing through the balcony door. Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles in the distance, but Jason seems to ignore it, more focused on finding the TV remote. He curses aloud as it clatters to the floor. 

“Goddamn remote…” Jason flops childishly back into the cushions, and you pillow your head on his chest. “I guess I… really don’t need it though.” 

His nose nuzzles against your crown, and you curl your fingers into his shirt. Warmth bleeds into your clothes, and the smell of rain permeates the apartment. The natural urge to sleep through these storms wraps around you both, and you doze aimlessly as it pours. Each time you drift back to awareness, the rain is still falling. 

So you follow, Jason safe beside you as the rain pulls you both under.

- - - - - - - - -

As always, if you enjoy please like/reblog and check out my links for more :)

Masterlist | Send me ideas

[yourheartonfire]

Oh my god, I just read that fic you wrote in white hero marries villian for protection. IT'S SO GOOD😳 if that's okay, could you please continue that in a part 3? Like if you don't mind..

Sure! For those just joining, here’s where you can find Marriage of Convenience Part 1 and Part 2

The hero slammed through the double doors of the safehouse's training gym, the smell of ozone snapping around them.

"Remember to stay calm, darling!" the villain called from where they were dangling from their wrists from the ceiling, and then wheezed as the vigilante punched them in the ribs again.

"Mentor!" the hero screamed. A moment later, the older super came pacing out of the shadows where they had been waiting, watching blank faced as the vigilante did their work.

"Hello, [Hero]," Mentor said, tucking their magazine under an arm. "I'm glad to see you're okay."

"I won't be for long if you don't explain what you think you are doing to my spouse," the hero snarled, and pointed to the vigilante. "And why you're working with that sadistic prick!" 

The vigilante gave the hero a cheerful, black-gloved wave. "Nice to see you too. I heard you got kidnapped?"

"I'm getting to the truth," the mentor said patiently, the voice of reason. "Of how you fell into the hands of this piece of garbage."

"I object, I am not garbage," the villain called out, rotating gently, "I am at the very least trash, if not refuse -" They cut off with a hiss as the vigilante casually scraped their knife down the villain's side, leaving another red line welling behind.

The hero's eyes went wide and black. Above them the bars of fluorescent lights blew out in a series of pops and sparks.

The villain flinched. So did the mentor. The vigilante, startled, grabbed for the villain -

"No! Hold!" the mentor said.

"Please don't provoke them," the villain said just as quickly. Some of the very real fear must have come through, because for the first time that day, the vigilante held their hit. They looked from the lights to the mentor sharply, but the mentor ignored them, focused on the hero.

"Let. Them. Down." the hero hissed, face shadowy in the red glow of the emergency lights.

"All right," Mentor said, holding out their hands. "Let's take a breath. I just want the truth."

The hero pressed their hand hard into their chest. "I explained," they said slowly. "In great detail. In my letter. What happens. If I use my powers again."

Vigilante blinked. "What happens if they use their powers again?" they muttered to villain.

"In a nutshell? [Hero] explodes. We all die," the villain stage-whispered back. "City goes boom too."

The vigilante drew back sharply towards the exit, eyes wide. "[Mentor]...?" they growled.

Mentor shook his head. "No. Bullshit. You're one of the best I ever trained. You just gave up? Without even coming to me for help?"

The hero drew back sharply. "Is... that what this about? I went to [Villain] and not to you?"

"[Hero], I could've helped you. I still can!" Mentor grabbed for the hero's hands. "We can find a solution, another fix."

The hero closed their eyes and hissed out a breath. "You don't believe me. After all... Fine. You want inside my head, let's get you-know-who to tell you I've not been coerced. That this is my choice." 

The villain cocked their head, but both the mentor and the vigilante clearly understood who the hero meant. "Now wait-" Mentor started.

"Get them," the vigilante snapped, halfway to the exit. Mentor glared and they glared right back. "This is already not what you said."

Mentor sighed but pulled out a phone.

"And let them down," the hero added to the vigilante. 

"Aw, you care?" the vigilante cooed, drawing their knife again. "I thought even you claimed this was just some marriage of conv-"

Around them there was a horrible squeal of metal and concrete. A few dozen screws snapped and clattered to the ground.

"[Vigilante]!" the mentor snapped in warning.

"Ooh scary," the vigilante muttered but backed hastily to the door.

"I'm fine, darling," the villain sang out through bloodied teeth. "You worry about you. Maybe your meditation?"

"I taught them that!" the mentor snapped, but hero was already folding their legs into position, closing their eyes. Mentor glared. The villain smiled and flipped them the bird.

They waited in awkward, interminable silence, until finally a small, nondescript person sauntered in to the heroes' safehouse. The newcomer took one glance at the hero, and in an instant their entire demeanor changed.

"Oh shit!" they said, backing away with alacrity. "Let [Villain] loose! Right now!"

Mentor grimaced in pain and resignation, but the vigilante didn't wait to be told twice. The chains slackened and the villain collapsed.

It wasn't the villain's first rodeo. They knew how to manage pain, how to hold onto your defiance. But this was, they realized as the hero rushed to them and they fell into their spouse's outstretched arms, their first time being rescued.

The hero staggered under their weight, but managed to get one of the villain's aching arms over their shoulders, managed to get them moving towards the door. Meanwhile the villain rocked under the absolute riptide of emotions that went through them, to feel those gentle hands smoothing down their back and the overwhelming rush of being safe.

"Oh," said the newcomer, head tilted, eyes dark as they watched the hero and villain stagger out. 

"I'll be here when you come to your senses," the mentor called. 

The hero paused in the doorway, turned to face down the senior hero. "This is why I went to them," they said, gesturing to villain. "I knew you wouldn't believe me. That you would never not see me as a problem to solve, as untapped power to be unlocked and put back in the field. No matter who you put in danger trying to unlock me."

Mentor folded their arms. "And you'd rather sell yourself off to evil?"

The hero shrugged. "You're the one who taught me how to read a situation and compromise."

They let the door bang shut on the good guys, and the hero and the villain limped together off into the night.

"You never told them I wasn't garbage," the villain said finally. "I hate to put my foot down, but I really feel we should socialize less with your friends."

"Oh shut up," the hero sighed, but a faint smile flickered past.

The villain let themselves relax into their spouse's shoulder. They'd worry about the heroes later. Right now they were here and this felt good.