#post isn't even about him but he's in my brain so..

[ihrthoney]

no grave can hold my body down

pairings: arkham knight!jason todd x f!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, a lil bit of suicidal thoughts but nothing too major

word count: 1.8k

an: this is a more detailed version of this post! please request jason todd fic ideas pls pls pls. sorry if theres any mistakes it’s almost midnight lol

Almost two years had passed since Bruce Wayne came to your door and revealed who he was. Nearly 730 days since your boyfriend "died". Gotham was a city full of awful crimes and even worse people but you've never hated anyone like you hated Batman.

You can understand that he tried, the guilt he must feel probably consumes him and a sick part of you is glad. Not only was your boyfriend killed, with video evidence might you add, but his body was never recovered.

Jason would hate it if you saw the video of the Joker killing him but you needed to know. It was all for naught though, you never buried a body so your brain fully believes he isn't dead.

Whether or not it was the grief of having the love of your life ripped away from you or the feeling in your gut, you know Jason isn't dead. Until there is a body in front of you, you will do anything that you can to find him.

-

It started with swallowing your pride and asking the person you loathed for help.

Bruce obviously refused, he wanted to avoid another young person's death. You caught him by surprise with how you begged for his help, he fully expected you to be mad at him, to threaten him for answers. But no, instead you got on your hands and knees and begged him for help, which somehow made it worse.

For weeks you kept reaching out to him, asking him for any clues or hints, anything at all! He has all the resources a person could ever need, he's known as the greatest detective in the world but he can't find his son?

"I've told you, Jason is... Jason is dead. You saw the video. Get out of Gotham and move on, there is nothing more I can do for you." You didn’t stop there though.

You knew of Nightwing, that he was the robin before Jason. So you reached out to him when he was on patrol. Unlike Bruce, you actually felt bad for asking for help, especially since he was working and was grieving himself.

Even through the domino mask, his face scrunched in sympathy, and as gently as he could he told you he couldn't consciously help you. He couldn't let a civilian rope themself into business they wouldn't be able to walk out of.

Understanding of his reasoning, you started going against the law. You started to sneak into offices at different police stations in Gotham (they were sloppier than you could've ever thought, no wonder people love Batman).

Given Jason's at the time profession, he taught you how to defend yourself. There was never a time you didn't carry a knife on you, but you always left your gun at home. Living in Gotham, it was best to take all and every necessary safety precautions.

Using the very low-level skills you had, you searched places that were abandoned and discarded, anywhere that Joker was ever near in the past few years. A part of you knew that what you were doing was dangerous, that if Batman had found anything he would've done so already.

But you couldn't just go to work and pretend your boyfriend wasn't out there somewhere, alive or not you had to be absolutely sure. If you died trying then so be it, it's better than living in the reality of Jason not coming home.

-

A year went by, 365 days of feeling your sanity drain out of your body. You've been caught a few times by the police for trespassing and once by Batman himself who scolded and lectured you about your activities. He was livid, upset at you willingly putting yourself in danger. You were at a higher risk of dying than he was and yet you go out in nothing but black clothes and a few weapons. He's genuinely shocked you're still alive.

After Bruce catches you, he makes sure to keep tabs on you which prevents you from going out. Even if he's busy, if he sees your tag too far out he will drag you back to your place.

There's a part of you that wants to give up, to actually take his advice and move away. But you know deep down inside nothing will put out the fire of finding Jason. Even if you moved to a different country, you know you would still look for his hair, to listen for his voice in the crowd.

Months of gaslighting yourself that he'll knock on your door and say it's just one big prank, that he was on a big mission far away and couldn't tell you to keep you safe.

Millions of excuses rolled around in your head day and night, work was a blur. Bruce even tried to compensate by offering to pay for your rent, to help you seek medical help like a therapist. You know it would do you good to rest but the guilt of leaving Jason behind was too strong. He's been through so much in his life, you wouldn't dare abandon him.

You still stayed in the apartment you were looking at with Jason, "a safehouse" he called it, you weren't even 18 at the time but you both allowed yourselves to think ahead.

Every piece of furniture you bought it with him in mind, "This would be convenient for him to hide his gear," "He likes this color, plus the blanket is soft so it'll help him sleep." Jason consumed you, call it unhealthy but he was your night in this dark city.

There was a spare bedroom, you were going to originally use it as an office/workspace but instead, it's covered in all the papers you've stolen to find him. The floor, walls and even the door were covered, overlapped, and written on with any possible clue you could've stumbled upon. It's been months since you've been able to add something that wasn't already on there. So instead, you sat in the room and just stared at it, cried, ripped things down, and put them back up with tears streaming down your face. It didn’t help that you would hear Jason’s voice soothing you whenever you cried, reassuring you whenever you were down. You knew it was your subconscious trying to console you but you liked to believe he was really there.

Then there were the hallucinations, they started back when you stumbled upon a hostage situation in an old arcade at the end of Gotham, you swear it was Jason but when the guy looked up at you all you saw was a stranger. You were stuck in the police station for hours, yelled at for stupidly interfering in a dangerous situation. The cops looked at you with annoyance now, you were nothing more than a crazy love-sick girl.

-

Lately, work has been exhausting, learning there was a new robin made your stomach swirl. It was like Batman just moved on, how is that fair? How could he move on while you were stuck chasing dead ends? Why couldn't you just accept his death?

Instead of eating dinner, you let yourself boil in whatever hot water Gotham could provide and scrubbed layers of guilt off of your skin. You put on an old shirt of his, which was horribly faded by how much you wore and washed it then curled up in bed; The bed was too big but you didn't want a smaller one in case he came back.

Usually, you triple check that your windows and doors are bolted shut but for tonight you just trusted your brain. Sometimes, it felt like it would be easier if you didn't wake up anymore, at least when you closed your eyes you could see the Jason you knew and loved.

Tonight was one of those nights where sleep was in and out, so when you felt a hand push back some hair behind your ear, you grabbed the knife under your pillow and lunged forward though there were no sounds of anyone in pain, in fact you heard the knife hit the floor.

"You have to be faster than that, sweetheart."

That voice. You would know that voice anywhere.

You blink your eyes open, slowly revealing the man you love in front of you. Except, he wasn't in front of you. This wasn't the first time he's appeared in front of you, it broke your heart all the same.

The exhaustion creeped up your throat and tears started to slip down your face, "No don't cry baby, it's okay." 'Jason' attempted to reach his hand toward you but you shook your head, backing into the corner of the bed,

"This isn't real. Go away, please. Not tonight."

The ache Jason felt in his chest at the sound of your distress hurt him in a way he's never yet experienced. His poor girl crying, thinking he wasn't real.

"I'm real baby, I promise." He calmly approaches you, kneeling on the bed, a hand reaches out towards you again,

Your head was buried on your knees as you hugged yourself into a ball, "You're not! I haven't found you! This can't be real!"

"Please look at me sweetheart."

You noticed his voice sounded different, deeper, more matured. It caused you to slowly look up, "There you are."

That's when you see him. The scars, the tired look in his eyes, the rage he's hiding behind it; There’s a difference in color in his eyes but they're beautiful all the same. They still look at you with love.

None of your hallucinations were this detailed, to be honest you couldn't imagine what he would look like after the years have passed. So to see this, you knew it was real. (Or some villain was damn good at illusions.)

He was caught off guard as you hugged him tight, he had to swallow down the feeling to pull you off. You were the exception to everything, so for now he could stomach the feeling of being held in place because he (is trying to convince himself) knows it's out of love.

You sobbed in his chest, apologizing over and over and over again, "It's okay baby, take deep breaths please."

Again, you started to shake your head, "It's not okay, I should have found you. I tried to find you, I'm so sorry!"

"I saw the room baby, I know you tried but that wasn't your responsibility." He tried to reason with you, doing what he could to calm you down. It's been years since he's seen you, years since he's dealt with anything normal, his mind is all over the place.

"Don't say that, I love you Jace. I would rather die than stop looking."

Jason tensed at the phrase, after everything it's hard to believe you, to believe any of this but he wanted to see you. He had to.

A hand found its way in your hair, holding you close to his chest, "You did good honey, thank you for trying."

Lifting your head from his chest, you looked into his eyes, "I would do anything for you, I need you to know that."

He can only offer a small smile, he knows you did and there's a small piece of his heart that can rest knowing you didn't forget him, that you still loved him.

He hopes he can learn to love you again, too.

part 2? lmk down below :)

© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Zayne: A Few More Minutes | SFW

I'd like to apologize if this isn't my best work. I debated not posting this because when I initially tried writing it, I was at work and I was overstimulated, so I don't know if it makes perfect sense. I tried tho, I really did.

Pairings: Zayne x Reader Warnings: Angst with Comfort, Nightmares Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Zayne

It had confused you at first, his hesitance at the start of your relationship. Before you two even began dating, he had been on edge with the thought of you sleeping under the same roof as him. It wasn’t until you had come into his office that one day that you found out why.

The nightmares.

He had been sleeping in his office, probably exhausted from work. It was a fitful sleep, and by the time you got over to him, he was in a full blown panic. You had woken him up, let him hold onto you, let him breathe and calm down.

Zayne initially never wanted you to see that, never wanted you to have to wake up in the middle of the night to his whimpers as the nightmares plagued his dreams almost every night. That was until you had insisted on staying the night with him, telling him it was okay.

He had woken up, as per usual, tears staining his cheeks and his heart hammering in his chest. It was different this time, though. He could feel your hand running through his hair, the scent of your shampoo pressed against his nose, and your soft voice whispering that he was alright.

His arms had instinctively wrapped tighter around you, not daring to let you go. You were the only thing grounding him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

You had never seen Zayne truly cry, the time when you saw his episode in his office he had managed to hold back. This time, however, in the comfort of his own bed in the middle of the night, with you wrapped up around him, he couldn’t help it.

He didn’t make much noise, but you could feel the wetness of his tears as it ran down your neck. Your hand never stopped playing with his locks, doing your best to comfort him. However long he’d need, you’d be happy to stay there for him.

You weren’t even sure how long you two had laid there with him in your arms, but you do recall how his body had slumped as he managed to calm down enough to fall back asleep, never uttering a word about what happened. Your eyes had grown heavy after that, seeing him now peaceful in your arms.

Then you woke up to the sound of birds outside, your alarm ringing on the bedside table as you groaned. Zayne was still in the same position he had fallen asleep in, slowly rousing from his own sleep.

“Zayne…?” You murmured, checking the time. You were used to him being the first one awake to get ready for work, but in your sleep addled brain you recalled he had the day off.

Zayne groaned against you; despite what everyone seemed to think, Zayne wasn’t a robot. He didn’t like mornings, especially early ones. He knew the importance of making the most of his day though, and making it to work on time, so he’d wake up before the sun even came out normally. So seeing him groggy like this was a treat, the stubborn side of him winning out as he didn’t want to start the day.

“Zayne, come on.” You murmured, “I gotta get ready for work.” As much as you didn’t want to work, you understood it was a necessary evil to pay your bills.

“No,” the word slipped out of Zayne’s mouth before he could even register it, his arms wrapping tighter around you, “Stay here.”

You felt like your heart was melting as you brushed his bangs out of his face, catching a glimpse of tired hazel eyes staring at you, “Are you suggesting I play hooky today?” You teased; the ever responsible Zayne was trying to convince you to call out of work.

“I can write you a doctor’s note…” he murmured, his head nuzzling into you, “Just gimme a few more minutes.”

“Are you sure it’ll only be a few?” You asked, knowing he was falling back asleep already. His nightmares always tended to leave him more exhausted when he woke up.

“Mhn…” he couldn’t even bother with a response as he closed his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll text Captain Jenna and tell her I caught a cold.” You said leaning over to grab your phone, but his grip on you tightened again, “Zayne, I need to at least tell her something.”

“Just a few more minutes.” He tried again.

“You got five minutes before I roll over to text her, then I swear we can relax for the rest of the morning in bed.” You settled on, your arm going to curl around him.

In the end, it was more than a few minutes as you both drifted off to sleep.

[in-uthenera-we-wait]

It's been a few days since I completed the Veilguard and I am going feral about the dynamics between Mythal, Solas and Lavellan...

It's just a bittersweet kind of pain when I think of them and I want to get my thoughts out before I am overwhelmed by them. Also, this post took way longer than expected to write!

Detailed deep-dive under the cut (to avoid spoilers)

Colour-coded because my brain is weird like that!

Also this is a loooooong post... you have been warned!

On Mythal:

It is clear right from the start (of when we discover the memories of the Dread Wolf) that Mythal is an integral part of who Solas was... Or should I say, who Fen'Harel was/is.

Solas, as a spirit had no desire to take a body and took one for the love of Mythal.

And when I say love, I do not see it as something purely romantic... It goes above and beyond that and not always in the right way.

She sought to mould him into someone she could use. She saw it as Benevolence (the attribute that her spirit is supposed to represent), but I think her purpose had been corrupted even then, even before Solas gets his body at her behest.

The reason I believe it's so is because, true Benevolence doesn't discriminate and denotes a desire to do good for others. Compassion is that desire enacted.

Mythal's benevolence was conditional. Her benevolence came at the cost of suffering for the Titans. So, there was a sliver of selfishness to her purpose. This isn't necessarily bad but this means that she is no longer truly what her Spirit was supposed to depict, not completely. And this sliver of selfishness is what permeates the entire relationship she has with Solas.

We, as the player, have only ever seen Mythal either through the very rosy lens of the Elvhen who worshipped her very much like the way Solas does, or through Flemeth. The latter is no longer the Mythal that Solas knew. She is a fragment of the original who has gained the wisdom and experience of millennia through the hosts she inhabited.

The truest depiction of what Mythal must really have been like is the fragment we encounter in the Crossroads. She honestly, isn't as likeable as Flemeth/Morrigan was/is.

She is openly haughty, expecting her petitioners to convince her of the dangers to the world outside, and sounds almost bitter that her most ardent devotee hasn't visited her once since she was killed and the remnant of her essence was extracted from the dagger to reside in the Crossroads. She faults Solas to an extent for her fate, and clearly doesn't hold him as beholden as he does her.

So, it felt weird to me that she would be so willing to release him from her service, even more so if you had to fight her for the fragment (as I had to).

The only way I can see her being moved to help convince Solas (especially if we fought her in her dragon form) is that she was observing the world outside the crossroads when she is in Rook's possession, the way Rook interacted with Solas, and even more so the way the Inquisitor speaks of her friend/vhenan.

On Solas:

Solas... the man, the myth, the legend! Where do I even begin to unravel the mess that he is!

Originally, a spirit of Wisdom, tied to Mythal in a way that has him put through the thumbscrews of War and Strife, so much so that I see his transformation into Pride as something like a callus that forms over skin that has been rubbed a few times too many.

His love for Mythal was the start of his doom, and right there, his purpose was changed from Wisdom. Because, wisdom would have remained a Spirit.

Now, the nature of that love is up for debate. Again, I don't see it as something that is purely romantic. Though, I think the way he feels for her is different from the way Mythal feels about him. There is more devotion on his side. He says that he will follow wherever she goes and takes on a physical form for her.

And then, slowly, one step after another, he strays away from the path of wisdom - crafting the Lyrium dagger, making the Titans tranquil, allowing the other Evanuris to claim godhood, letting Mythal persuade him to each of these steps, his regrets have her face.

Remember the following dialog he has with the Inquisitor after they drink from the Well of Sorrows? When he asks them how they will ensure the Inquisition doesn't fail, and when the following dialogue ensues...

Let me present you with evidence on how much he was hurt by that.

INQUISITOR: I trust my friends.

SOLAS: I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory.

We had already posited that the 'her' in the dialogue above was about Mythal. But back then, we had assumed it was because of the trust Mythal had in the evanuris that caused her death. What if it wasn't so? What if he was speaking of the trust HE had in HER?! He trusted Mythal to stand by him as he had stood by her. And she had failed him.

It could be that this is after her death, but something tells me this was before. Because Felassan's response to Mythal not joining them would be different if it was because she was dead.

So, we've established just how hung up he is about Mythal, because he has this vision of hers that might not even be true. He views her through the lens of adoration and worship that ends up putting her on a pedestal rather than view her as the flawed person she is. He could never be truly free unless he sets aside these feelings he has for her.

I also found it interesting that he has refused to visit the fragment of Mythal that was stuck to the dagger when she was killed. That fragment is the truest version of his friend as she was when she died. He refuses to acknowlege Flemeth and even Morrigan as Mythal.

Even in the end, it is this fragment of Mythal that he knows and remembers that releases him from her service. Because he wouldn't accept it from anyone else!

And with that established, let's move to the final part of this triptych.

The Inquisitor is a tricky one to analyse because they can be so many different things depending on the player. But for this essay, I will be focussing on Lavellan who romanced Solas and sought to change his heart.

On the Inquisitor:

She is everything that Solas believes is wrong with the veiled world his actions resulted in. A shadow of his people, tranquils with no connection to the Fade (especially true if Lavellan is not a mage). He also begins to believe that the anchor is what makes her who she is. That has to be the case, because any other explanation would make his future plans questionable!

But then, she walks into his life, curious and bright, kind and caring, asking him questions with an open heart! The first thing she does is assure him she would protect him from prosecution. She changes everything!

He tries to justify his feelings for her by assuming that the anchor has changed her. But nope! She shoots that down as well. She is truly herself, with or without the anchor. A rare and marvelous spirit.

Lavellan sees him for who he truly yearns to be seen as. Wisdom. She seeks to understand him and asks nothing in return. She is ready to help him whenever he asks for it, and even when he doesn't. She tells him he does not need to mourn alone, when his spirit friend passes!

His one true fear: Dying Alone... and she allays it by promising to be with him, no questions asked.

He almost decides to give it all up and stay with her... as just Solas. To be with the one true person who truly saw him beyond the cool and collected mask he wears. But he doesn't... In another world perhaps but not this one.

And so, he leaves her in the end, because his regrets are too much to be set aside so easily. He also sees bringing down the veil as an act of self-sacrifice, now more necessary than ever because this would mean She would live on happily in a world where his mistakes don't exist anymore. Also, he doesn't want her to see what he would become.

But she perseveres. Every time he pulls away, she reaches out. The parallels between the Solas/Mythal and Lavellan/Solas relationship is just *Chef's kiss*!

She represents Hope for me. And I'd say, she is true to her purpose that way. Even when things don't go the way she wishes it did, she still hopes. Her Hope springs eternal. And that is what saves her, Solas and the entirety of Thedas!

So, towards the end, her Hope burns bright against his Regret. But he is unable to see it until he sets his own regrets aside. And for that to happen, he needed Mythal to release him.

Mythal was his past. But Lavellan is his eternal future. It was up to him to move from one to the other.

Once he was free from that bondage, he could look towards Hope.

Only then could he truly see it... that she had seen him as he truly was, and she loved him... that she loves him still.

In the end, her love did endure, and how!

'Var lath vir Suledin' indeed!

[dissapointu]

hey! Thank you for sharing your writing process and advice, I'm sure it will help me improve?

Also, you mentioned in that post that "English isn't your strongest suit", and it made me curious to know what your native tongue is (if you're comfortable sharing that information) since I really couldn't tell English is not your first language!

As for the request: could you write a short drabble or headcanons (whichever you prefer) about Ekko with a s/o who's not used to receiving physical affection?

(omg this turned out too long i'm so sorry)

-🫧

Bubbles!!

Ah, Im not fond of sharing that much information, but I will def do your Drabble and headcanons for you!

————————————————————————

Drabble:

Ekko noticed the way you stiffened every time he leaned in for a quick side hug or brushed his fingers against yours when handing you something. You always tried to play it off, but he wasn’t dumb—he saw the way you glanced away, the little jolt in your shoulders, like you were half bracing for something bad to happen. It wasn’t rejection; you let him touch you, but it was obvious you weren’t used to it.

One evening, you sat together at the Firelights’ hideout, the glow of his hoverboard casting faint neon shadows across the walls. You were fiddling with something he couldn’t see, pretending to be way too focused on it. Ekko, lounging back against some cushions, gave you a soft smirk.

“You know,” he started, voice easy and teasing, “I’m not a mind reader, but I feel like hugs shouldn’t make you look like I just asked you to fight Sevika in the pits.”

Your head snapped up, wide-eyed. “What? I don’t—”

“You do,” he interrupted, sitting forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not saying it’s bad or anything. Just… What’s up with that?”

You hesitated. You wanted to say something. Wanted to explain. But the words got tangled in your throat, knotted with embarrassment and a lifetime of just… not being held.

Ekko caught your pause and his grin softened. “Hey, it’s cool. No pressure.” He reached out, palm up, halfway between you. “But, like… if you ever want me to hold your hand or whatever? I’m here. No weirdness, no judgment.”

You stared at his hand for what felt like an eternity, heart thudding in your chest like the hoverboard’s engine. Finally, carefully, you set your hand in his, your fingers trembling slightly.

Ekko’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and steady, like he was anchoring you. “See?” he said quietly. “No explosions. You’re safe with me.”

And for the first time, you believed it.

Headcanons:

1. Ekko is observant as hell – He picks up on your body language way before you ever say anything about it. The stiff posture, the way you hesitate before returning a hug, the awkwardness when he casually ruffles your hair—it’s all logged in his brain.

2. Slow, steady affection is his strategy – Ekko doesn’t push you into big gestures. He starts small: a fist bump, a quick shoulder pat, maybe even offering you his jacket when it’s cold. He lets you get comfortable at your own pace.

3. Physical affection turns into a shared language – Once you start easing into it, Ekko makes physical affection feel natural and safe. He’ll rest his arm along the back of your chair when you’re sitting together or pull you into his side during Firelight meetings when you’re tired.

4. Words first, touch later – He’s great at offering verbal reassurance before anything physical. “You good with this?” “Can I hug you?” He makes sure you feel in control of the moment.

5. He loves the progress you make – That first time you initiate something? Like leaning into his side or grabbing his wrist to pull him closer? He melts. He tries to act chill about it, but his smile is so big it’s embarrassing.

6. Turns it into an inside joke – If you ever freeze up after he hugs you, he’ll jokingly hold his hands up like, “Alright, my bad, didn’t mean to spook you!” It’s lighthearted, but he’s serious about never crossing your boundaries.

7. Big on protective touch – Even if you’re still getting used to casual affection, Ekko’s hand instinctively finds the small of your back when you’re weaving through crowds or sitting close during tense situations. He’s subtly saying, I got you.

8. Once you’re comfortable, he’s touchy as hell – Once you give the green light, it’s over. He’s playfully tapping your nose, looping an arm around your shoulders, or tugging you into his lap like it’s second nature. He thrives on showing you how much he cares, and now he doesn’t have to hold back.

[mrhrns]

Astarion issue

Consider this post as another meaningless shitpost from me. After it I'm going back to my endless work. I was silent about this for gods know how much time, and now I can't hold it inside. Not anymore. Important note: I do realise that I am nobody and my word has no power and blahblahblah, yet I think it is significant, at least for my own self, and who knows, maybe I'll find people with same thoughts. There is... a reason I would like to stay out from BG3 community and fandom. I do wish to contribute my own art someday, however, because my love for this game, its characters and Larian st is huge, but getting inside of fandom, searching for things here and there? ...I don't think I want it. And yeah, that bloodsucker bastard is a main reason for it. Not him directly, but how people perceive him. What they think about him. What they feel. What they show, draw, tell and discuss with everyone else about him. And mostly all of it is... Well... I have complicated feelings about it. None of them are pleasant. Disturbance, disgust, disappointment, and many more similar to it. Why? Here where I realise that mostly the problem is myself. "It's just a fictional character, just some pixels on your screen with voice, why care?" I do. If only anybody knew how much he means to me. I don't have light and easy life, I am in a constant state of survival, I have a list of many different traumas, and holding him in my little silly head helps getting through that shit. Pure shit. Believe me. Because, hell, surviving all he had in his undead life and still managing to be that charismatic (even if it's just a mask), that willing to move forward (even with mood "well, we are doomed")? An icon. Imperfect and by doing so relatable in almost everything for me. And that is why my brain can't help it but feel about him everything like he is alive. Existent. Just somewhere else, far away with no chance of meeting him. And that is why whenever I see porn arts with him, thirsty commentaries, erotic merch like statues, discussions whether he will drink the menstrual blood or not (and even getting his main scenarist involved in that crap) and god damn, that full-sized sex-doll? A bitter irony that his whole point as of fictional character was also showing him as a person with sex-trauma, who was always perceived as a pretty toy-thing for a night against his will with no care for his actual personality in his world, and it is exactly what people do in real life. Here I am glad he isn't real. All of it isn't surprising, though, considering that steam achievements have shown that only a half of players got through the first act.They don't know and they don't want to know. Am I going to tell people what to do and how they should enjoy these fictional things? Of course not. But I would be damn glad if people were digging just a bit more under the surface, but it's a whole other problem that goes with everything else in our world. I just really needed to pull this all out from my brains and put it somewhere, sitting in my dark corner and grumbling at people, just like always. And in the end - yes, I do understand that not all of his fans are like that. Doesn't really help with going frustration.

[fist-of-vengeance]

just saw someone on tiktok discussing whether or not a character "deserved a redemption arc" and i am losing my mind. we as a society have lost sight of what a redemption arc IS. it doesn't mean a character is rewarded by the narrative. it doesn't mean the other characters forgive them. it only refers to a character acknowledging their mistakes and choosing to better themselves, which any person can do, no matter how terrible. of course there's no shortage of badly executed redemption arcs, and a character who willfully committed countless atrocities having a change of heart after a single conversation about the power of friendship is simply poor writing and unrealistic. not every character who CAN change WILL. but there is zero value in debating whether a character "deserved" to be redeemed. no one in fiction or reality needs to be "worthy" of making better choices. there is no fixed point where a person is "too evil" and therefore forbidden from doing anything differently. it's always worth it to change, and implying otherwise is both a genuinely harmful ideology and bad literary analysis

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I've been doing a lot of reflection as of late, especially after this past class.

This past class was about the Torah and Tanakh in general, and the way the rabbi talked about the commandments (specifically the ten commandments) has made me really reflect on how I interpret them, specifically the fifth commandment, or honoring your mother and father.

This is a commandment I have wrestled with for a long time - in fact, it brought me away from g-d at multiple times. I was severely abused when I was incredibly young by my mother, and I used to feel insulted at the implication that I were to honor her while she got to live a better life. It was hypocritical, in my eyes.

But this rabbi surmised that this particular commandment was because parenthood is an act of creation, something that is like the g-d from which we come from. My realization is this: I don't think we're necessarily meant to take even these commandments literally.

I this particular commandment is more of a call to honor creation - creation is a gift, and like any gift, many people simply will not like it and will discard it. The person who abused me created me, but she did not honor creation. She didn't honor me, but I can still honor it.

I have started to honor creation much more. I'm too young, too unstable, not mature enough to be a father (though I fantasize about it), but I create all the time. I create relationships, I create with my hands through crochet. I create memories, I create my world. And I can honor who I am and where I came from that made me who I am. I've been learning one of the mother tongues of my family (Italian, since part of my family originates there) and it was judaism that inspired me to do this.

I don't think g-d wants me to honor my abuser. I think He wants me to remember the Holy action of creation. When I am a father, that act of creation will be Holy, and indeed, I am already joyful about the thought.

I have seen many people struggle with this particular commandment, but I think this perspective helps me personally. I don't think I ever have to forgive my abusers (plural), and I don't think I am commanded to simply because they happened to be family. I am commanded to recognize the holy, to elevate the mundane. In doing so, I will remember g-d. Through creation, I honor g-d and everything he has done for us, for me, and for our collective people.

[anxiously-awaiting]

hi his outfit is a fucking MESS rn but <3 bedi alter for your thoughts

[corfisers]

i really need to finish this one day

[elisedonut]

fuck i'm actually going to end up enjoying Sevpercy huh

maybe in a picky I like them when they are in my head or when I do it kind of way

or in a time travel way because when it comes to Snape I like his teenage self a lot more than his adult self

[sskk-manifesto]

What a good episode. Maaaaaan

[steakout-05]

i think having TF2 as a special interest really early in my childhood influenced so many things about myself and my identity.... my gender is big men my sexuality is big men and my sense of humour is big men. i even named myself after the "very tiny and scrawny but still big" big man and i think about all the big men in TF2 on a semi daily basis,,,,,, anyway yeah i like the men in TF2 :)

[ladyhavilliard]

So. I think I do fixate on people, huh.

[ningningkittie]

🦨💭

[cerealmonster15]

back to the trials and tribulations of I Dont Know How To Write Chenyas Voice

[todayisafridaynight]

GENUINELY so funny AraSawa occurred to you too for the hanahaki tags, but thinking about it, I appreciate both scenarios for different (but related?) reasons.

Because I've personally always found the base concept of hanahaki aesthetically immaculate, but impossible to relate to or take seriously. They don't love you back Specifically In A Romantic Sense so your options are either to DIE or have a surgeon come in and delete love.exe? Lol. Lmao even. Couldn't be me. Of course, to each their own, but sort of like what you were saying with Aoki and Yumeno, it's just not something I'm ever going to "get."

With MineDai, something I love about the canon dynamic is that I really don't get the impression Mine's even pressed about Daigo loving him back. Of course, there's a degree of "pining" as shown in his first character story, but it's also immediately subverted in that what Mine was pining for is a simple workplace friendship that would be more reflective of their status as oath brothers in his eyes. Like, fair enough, all things considered, right?

And in spite of the arguments that could be made here, I honestly do believe him overall when he says his love for Daigo is selfless and without ulterior motives. Even with his desire for friendship, it's super important to me that he resolved to never impose that upon Daigo unless it was what Daigo wanted. That's why Daigo had to be the one to initiate their friendship instead.

It's just refreshing, because often the execution of these types of concepts feel sort of adjacent to incel rhetoric in forcing two people together inorganically to lessen the "suffering" of one. Especially with the life-or-death nature of hanahaki played-straight pushing it to an extreme, and especially with the enormous backlog of fan-content where Mine is primarily only concerned with his own desires. But for Mine, because it doesn't cause him Suffering to not be loved back romantically (at least as far as he knows), "the problem of hanahaki" would not about The Pain of Unrequited Love, but a physical manifestation of extant problems.

It'd be about obliviousness, it'd be about miscommunication, it'd be about saying he's fine when he's not, it'd be about how the emotional barriers he puts up only serve to hurt him when his needs are unmet (kind of what we were talking about RE: Katase and past relationships; super excited to dig in and reply btw, I'm just rushing the Yokoyama clip for tomorrow), it'd be about workaholism and the need to overachieve in order to feel accomplished, loved, and wanted, and how all of that might intersect with physical illness.

That I can relate to and take seriously, because ignoring symptoms and keeping them to yourself so as to not inconvenience others really can kill you. Your crush not liking you back? Uh, not so much. But it's certainly not all gloom and doom either, because all of those things can be as comedic as they are tragic. So I think the Short, Sweet and Funny approach would be perfect.

And with AraSawa, it's kind of Just Works, right, precisely because it's another thing for Jo to endure in silence and make excuses for. "Just pretend it didn't happen. Brush it under the rug. That's what you do with secrets." It's so good as a representation of guilt and secrecy. And this is pretty much rehashing something my friend said (not about these two specifically) but if he just came clean, it might stop, but instead he continues to hurt both of them. The flavor.

In the case of Hanahaki for Mine and Jo, I do think and agree it would more be a matter not of their 'beloved' not liking them back, but just the fact they themselves either refuse to openly acknowledge the feeling, or don't try to confront the feeling and do something about it. It's more so an issue of themselves being so focused on being useful and overworking themselves that they give themselves sickness (that sickness spurring from that unspoken of love and the inability to express it because they don't know how to and whatnot)

Maybe it's just because I generally try to see things silly and funny, but yeah I dunno: letting your own overthinking or not wanting to be a disturbance just feels better than what's traditionally done with Hanahaki