#put art in pillar chase

[ramontism]

Is this a safe space to post self insert ermmmm🚘🚘🚘🐇🐇

[thoughtsafterdark]

The Sun's Lover

Sometimes I gaze at myself in the mirror and my mind bends and buckles against warring thoughts and I wonder if I was meant for more.

Sometimes I feel a breeze in the back of my mind

Sparks of errant electricity

A brief glimpse into something other, something hidden

Something on the tip of my tongue and the edge of my olfactory bulb

Colours I can smell, feelings I can hear, thoughts that have no shape or form. Older than my life, than language, than war. Certainties that tease and caress and seduce but leave me dry and gasping like incubi in my sleep.

That leave my tongue sloppy and lazy like tar black molasses squelching between teeth

Thoughts that taste of longer tongues and darker mouths and sharper teeth on a planet circling twin red dwarves, of methane marshes and hexagonal prism eyes that sparkle like blood red rubies

Words slurring together and thoughts hazy as they come back down to a body that feels paper thin and husky like maple seeds in the wind

I think of the wrath that dances just beneath my skin

The bile that churns and rushes to my face, eyes like daggers, lips fixed in a snarl at the slightest insult

I think of my pride, that squirming bag of worms that lights fires in my blood and how it wars with my desperate craving to belong

I watch them from the safety of my window like a xenoanthropologist. How they love and laugh and touch eachother. How they slide against one another like well oiled gears in a way I have never been able to. I think of the eldritch way in which I care, with a gaping maw and drooling lips, with twirling rings of eyes and 6 pairs of wings, with claws that burrow deeper and squeeze tighter the harder they try to leave me.

And I think to myself, girlhood is not so much different to godhood. A self-satisfres ied sadistic existence hiding a crushing singularity of loneliness, topped with pettiness and boredom.

I wish you would come to me in my waking hours and take me away from this place

Steal and hide me away in palaces of sand and moonstone

I can put up a good fight. I’ll run and scream and beg you to stop, make sure to drag out the thrill of the chase. Isn’t that what pretty nymphs are for?

I see my bitterness reflected in the ozone blue of your eyes, the hardness and cruelty shot through with marble strands of gold

Your skin is a thrumming pool of pure power, an atomic bomb bound in sinew and nucleic acids, ready to turn me to a pillar of salt

Your fingers coax the most bittersweet of melodies, leaping and thrumming from string to string like acrobats. They say the best musicians make the instruments sing, but I’ve seen you make lyres moan and weep

I remember the old stories, of girls turned to laurel trees, of wounded pride and donkeys ears. I remember the blood of the Myrmidon spilled outside the walks of Illium. I know you are a wrathful, self-righteous whore, with greedy fingers that leave bruises  in the dips of hips and a silver tongue to match. Your fathers essence is strong in you, stronger even than it is in him. Nuclear fusion and supernovae to his ion and electron arcs. What is a thunderbolt in the face of the sun’s core?

That is how I know you would understand, I know you would thumb at that gaping festering wound inside my heart and bring me corpses instead of flowers. A plague in just the right place, so they can die slowly, in agony. Nuclear wastelands instead of jewellery. And then afterwards you’d smile that chesire cat smile at me, all satisfaction and faux-inoccence, and we’d wear our best skins and most beautiful masks and dance amongst the stars next to the hunter ripped to ribbons by hounds at your sisters command compose ballads, and study the healing arts and crafts but not so well the grey eyed bitch curses me with eight legs and congratulate ourselves on our own brilliance. Spin lies out of ambrosia and nectar and pretend we are good and just, exactly what the mortals deserve

 Fuck me with your fingers with a fierceness you wouldn’t dare use on your precious lyres, piston into me the way the women in my grandmothers village gut fish (rhythmically, ruthlessly, with the sun beating down on leathery skin and the weight of 6 mouths to feed and the memory of your husbands knuckles shattering teeth), reach up into me and wring the neck of my womb like a newly ripe peach, yank it out of me until it lies pulsing and glittering and full of seed, uterine arteries spewing blood. I want to feel you burrowing upwards until I am impaled on your divinity, until you push upwards into my heart and lungs and your hands are peaking up out of my throat. Turn me inside out and wash me clean until my mortality burns away like a chrysalis and I am reborn in your image.

My ascension is a spectacle that leaves many breathless and many more blinded. “I am the goddess of lost potential” I whisper into the crook of your neck “of promises unkept and grudges nursed. Of doorways and bridges and the space between atoms. Of longing and regret and moments lost.” And then you’d smile that ridiculous smile of yours, like you’d seen me like this always, glowing and thrumming with possibility – and this confirmation is somewhat amusing.

“Pithanotita” you’ll declare against the shell of my neck and the rightness of it reverberates deep deep down, beyond the skeletons of cells that no longer exist and multi corded DNA strands, as if you have struck my very resonant frequency and my de Broglie wavelength sings with the joy of being seen. Not a name but a constant, a universal truth. Phoebus I’ll counter, and I won’t bother using a mouth, though the smirk will be implied. Possibility and Poetry need no lips to speak to one another, we are two sides of the same coin. You’ll laugh out loud then, delighted at my audacity. Only your mother calls you by her mothers name. And I can pretend just for a moment that we might last. The first of our kind to have eternity.  That we won’t end up tearing each other to pieces. The sun and his unlikely lover, regret.

[beware-of-pity]

Sins of the father(s) IV

Masterlist

Previous chapter - Next

Bruce Wayne (Battinson) x Reader

Crossposted on Ao3

Summary:

Bruce has never been good with feelings, but to see you in the arms of another makes his blood boil. Hot and tempered, the revelation of a certain someone's death cools it.

Chapter IV: Sorry, I don't want your touch (It's not that I don't want you)

Bruce felt guilty, as he often did. He carried the guilt of not being able to save his parents on that night in that dark alley, of being the sole survivor. People who knew him, close ones, like Alfred, Dory and you, knew that despite having his life spared, Bruce had not exactly survived that fate twilight. A changed man, he had come out of that crime scene, the ghost of a boy everyone knew he would never be again.

So much anger and guilt he internalised over his own existence that he can only let out when he fights the criminals he sees the face of the man who pointed that gun at him and his parents' faces.

But this, this was a new kind of guilt. Knowing that he had disappointed you, angered you because of the pain he was causing you, created a sting in his chest that he thought he would never feel.

He wanted, he truly did, to try to reach out during these past few days. When he had heard that you would host a luncheon with the members of the charity you managed in your father’s memory, he had wanted to go. Support you, be there for you, but to his dismay, he had to, of course, get hurt the night before on his patrol, ending with his entire torso bandaged and bedridden for two days. Alfred’s orders. He had wanted to send something, flowers, perhaps attached with a note filled with encouraging words, but in the limbo between sleep, which he had the opportunity to catch up on after so long, and those few moments he was awake, he had totally forgotten to ask Alfred to run this commission for him.

He wanted to beat himself up, his hands on the steering wheel of the Batmobile tightening around the leather as he gritted his teeth.

Idiot, what an absolute idiot he was. Could he ever do something right? In his entire life, was there something he was good at other than beating up criminals when blinded by his rage?

Cohesive arguments evaded him, his lack of emotional regulation truly getting to him. He prided himself on the idea that he had been able to control his emotions. But, there was something about you, something that drove him to believe he had not grown at all from when he was a young boy.

It’s like he returned to the boy he used to be, emotional and driven by his thoughts in all the wrong ways. Memories of a time he would rather forget in order to forge this new path forced him back right at the beginning. He could only imagine how hurt and angry you would truly be if you found out in just how much danger he was truly putting himself up to every night. What he could imagine, was the true disappointment you would then face him with. With other people, he could do as he pleased, be everything he wanted to be when you were not around, hiding behind someone he was not, but with you?

With you, he felt a sense of vulnerability; he could confide in you, and you would listen, try to comfort him, help him, and reassure him with sweet, shooting sweet nothings. You were like a rock, a pillar that he felt the need to rest upon, and it pained him just as much as it did you to push you away to keep you safe. The fear he felt at the thought of losing you to his foolishness was one he only felt once when he had lost his parents.

Women, he hated to admit, were kind of a mystery for him. He wasn’t well-versed in the art of love or such. The only time he thought himself somewhat in love was with a thrill-chasing street racer named Dorothy, better called Dex, which he had befriended during one of his summers back home from the boarding school you two attended. If he considered himself reckless now, he must have been a wild animal at seventeen when he would sneak out of the Wayne Tower with the first prototype of the bat mobile, racing strangers in the middle of the night, getting stopped by the cops as they pried upon young and reckless teenagers by hiding on a side road or in an alley, waiting for late-night joyriders breaking the speed limit….like him.

It was the first time he had come in such serious and close contact with a woman his age who wasn’t you.

Dex felt like a new adventure he was embarking on, especially during a time when he had begun to question himself about what he truly wanted in life, growing restless about his own reclusive behaviour. She was like a breath of fresh air, exactly like those fast and rushing drives he took about town. A summer he would remember well, even years down the line. A summer that he spent being the wild young man men his age would be, while you went on a leisure vacation about the Amalfi Coast with some other classmates you shared in common.

Dex was everything you were not, and you were everything Dex wasn’t, but he couldn’t lie and say he had not often tried to find you in Dex.

She was wild and reckless, just like he had been, and yet he tried at times to find your strictness and rationality in her. Dex brought out in him the thrill he had been seeking, the one he supposed every seventeen-year-old boy sought in the opposite sex, but his mind told him when to stop and not venture into those bad situations Dex eventually found herself, his mind doing so because you were not there to do so.

He spent his days on the phone with you, which were your nights because of the time difference, and his nights with Dex and their escapades with the group of people, mostly Dex’s friends, planned out for the night.

When you returned in September, practically glowing from the days spent under the warm sun of the Italian coast and asked about how he had spent his summer, he didn’t tell you about Dex or his newfound addiction to racing. Of course, minus those details, you told him he would have had more fun if he had just come with you all, to which he said he would next time….which he didn’t, but he had come to the Christmas party that was thrown that winter to compensate for knowing he would have to decline your offer again when you would later ask. Had it not been for you, he would have spent the entirety of it all standing awkwardly in an abandoned corner of the room.

He had felt foolish, embarrassed, with cheeks flushing a deep crimson, as you danced with him, a red Santa hat on his head, and you dressed as one of Santa’s helpers, just….a slightly more provocative helper. He averted the sight before him many times that night, usually by craning his head to the side or letting his eyes fall anywhere but your more than revealing cleavage…which he hated to admit he had thought about too many times the following days. Could he be blamed? He was a teenager engulfed in the flesh of youth. It wasn’t his fault you were practically all over him, and the fact that he had to carry you back to your room when you had gotten tipsy, complaining that your feet hurt because of the heels you wore, had not helped. He remembered the feel of your soft and warm skin against his shirt all too well, your soft snores that fanned his face as you slept the night away as he carried you, only after he had taken those darn heels off your feet. The Polaroid, taken by a girl he didn’t know, but he supposed you did, commemorated the night with its overall existence, immortalising the night into living memorabilia, instead of just his memory.

He thought he liked Dex, she made him feel speechless in her presence, like he didn’t know what to say, all his thoughts just vanishing, but you….everything he thought he felt for Dex just went with the wind when he first set his eyes on you again after so long.

He did not need this. He didn’t need old wounds and resurfacing emotions that would not help his vigilante work to resurface in the cold and passive man he had turned himself into.

Perhaps Vengeance didn’t….but as for Bruce, well….Bruce was another story.

Women liked him, and he liked them too, but over his early twenties, he never stayed too long to not form any attachments. The only constant one in his life had become you…

He didn’t want to admit it, but a part of him yearned for the comfort of your gentleness, which contrasted his cold and unwavering vigilante persona. It brought out in him a vulnerability he didn’t know he still possessed, one he hated feeling. He couldn’t allow himself any weakness, and you….you made him weak. He couldn’t afford to be weak, not when the worst time of the year was now upon him. In two days, it would be Halloween, and even though the news had predicted heavy rain, Bruce knew that a few drops of water would not stop the criminals from acting out or the streets from not being filled with people celebrating.

The nature of the city could not be stopped by anything, especially rain, which was why he needed to be out there, to fight against it and keep the innocent citizens wanting to only celebrate a fun and jolly holiday from getting in between the criminals’ plans and their own. 

He had thought about how to approach a possible reconciliation throughout the day after, though his mind shut everything down when he saw you on the TV beside Reál as you two walked out of the studio where the last debate between her and Mitchell had taken place in light of next week’s elections.

You smiled and waved at the cameras, who clamoured around you two to ask questions, to vulture deeper into the future that awaited this newfound coalition between the possible new Mayor of Gotham and the newest member of the City Council. Eloquently answering the questions as you went, you were able to evade them until you arrived at the car awaiting you before speeding off.

He had gone on his nightly patrol that night with an unusual sense of irrationality to him.

Robbery, theft, and assault were commonplace in the dark alleys of Gotham, yet that night, Bruce almost looked like he was seeking those things he hated most.

The next morning, the haze of the night had faded, but not the emotions he had carried from it. Tonight, more than ever, he needed ultimate concentration, and yet he almost found himself unable to do so. Frustrated by this, he spent most of the afternoon preparing for his patrol. Training, putting all he felt in the punches he delivered to the punching bag hanging in the Batcave. He had reduced his knuckles raw, almost frail to draw blood if he wanted, which he had to cover with bandages so as to not feel the discomfort of the sensitive skin rubbing against the leather of the gloves of his suit.

When he dipped his fingers in the black makeup he used to fill in the gaps that his mask could not, the coolness of the paste soothed his irritated skin, even as it stained him. As per routine, he went out first in incognito among the crowd dressed as the ‘Drifter’. The old, baggy and well-worn second-hand clothes he had thrifted came in hand when he wanted to blend among crowds, asserting the night, eyeing and studying his possible opponents. The clothes also hid the first layers of the bat suit he wore, the second layers, cape and mask, hiding in the backpack he carried on his back. He swerved the streets with his old bike, he obviously couldn’t go out and about with the Batmobile if he didn’t want to be recognised. He only ever took the car out when he truly needed it, for big cases, which had yet to come and had given him much time to work on it and its potency.

He had just turned one of the streets near Wayne Tower, speeding through the traffic, wanting to get out of the rich and industrial neighbour to head towards Dowton Island, the part of Gotham where criminals ran rampant since it included places like the Iceberg Lounge, under the watchful eyes of the Penguin and his associates, when he approached a sidewalk littered with cars and people hanging around the door of one those central stylised townhouses, surely a get together for the holiday.

He stopped on the side, watching the scene unfold before him, hiding behind a car on the opposite side of the road where the people were making their way inside the house. Fancy dresses, well-pressed suits, gelled and combed hair, shimmering jewels, polished shoes, masks of all kinds. Animals, doll-like ones, some painted and patterned like that Venetian carnival one you once brought him back to your trip there —it all screamed opulence.

Or shamelessness thought Bruce. They care not but for themselves, selfish people who have too much money to their name that they can count on or know what to do with. He watched from behind his full-face visor as another car came through the corner to stop just in front of the steps of the house. A man nearby brightened up at the sight and rushed towards the door of the vintage vehicle to help whoever was inside out of it. A feminine, manicured and well-cared-for hand, adorned by rings and bracelets, reaches out to grab into the one the man has just offered, closing its fingers around it.

Bruce’s eyes track the woman who steps out of the car; her back turned to him, but even with the fancy dress and all, he could still recognise you from anywhere.

Just like the others, it seems like you, too, had taken to dressing to what appeared to be the theme for this party. A black, trimmed, velvet dress, covered with a medieval cape, adorned with a shining, feathered, high collar. The mask, feathered and well-adorned, hid a good part of your face and gave away the animal you were dressed as. A raven, he supposed you fit the part, looking sumptuous and imperial like the bird, the train of your dress, feathered like the bird's tail, created a perfect illusion as you walked. In your gothic costume, you fit right into the art deco modernized stylization of the city. He wondered if the dress was part of some high-brand old collection, perhaps from the 1920s, they had lent you for the occasion. 

Like a doll, he mused, unconsciously, a sense of admiration in his thought

You always had an affinity for such social events, despite how you often complain about how many you were invited to. You were the social butterfly, even when you too were younger, the one frequently pulling him alongside you to wherever you went and looking at you, all dolled up. It’s not that you enjoyed being around people, but you had been conditioned since an early age into understanding that being part of an inner circle befitting your station would do you more good than bad. Your mother was a known socialite back in her younger days,just as his mother had been to a degree, and your father took more good from it than anyone expected, especially during his political campaigns.

Your mother had been a much-needed asset in gaining much of his popularity, reaching places of interest for your father’s cause, which, despite his intellect, he found himself a stranger to. She rouped people with her charms and wit, endearing them to her friendliness, especially other politicians and regimental wives. It seemed that for you, the apple had not fallen far from the tree. You implemented the best traits of both your parents on occasions like these, but even Bruce knew that you possessed both of their bad ones, too, just like he did. He sometimes asked himself where he got his temper, not remembering either of his parents’ possessing one themselves. Or maybe he had just been too young to take notice.

As if sensing being looked at, you turned to look in the direction you felt those eyes glaring holes at the back of your head, unknowingly meeting his, hidden away by the visor of his helmet.

He watched your brows furrow in confusion at who he could possibly be and for a man of his appearance to hang around such a neighbourhood when he did not seem to belong in it. Unknowingly to him, Bruce’s grip on the grips rubber of his bike’s handlebars. Your eyes narrow, slating as if to get a better look at him, for the stranger he presented himself as, to understand if you knew him, almost intrusively analysing him with your eyes as if you could look beyond and under his disguise. But before you could do more than that, the hand of the man who had helped you out of your vehicle, slithering on the small of your back, startled you out of your contemplative state.

Good, old Johnny, your date for tonight. Your friendship went back to your days in boarding school, and though for you he was just a friend, you always knew he wanted something more from you. He wasn’t exactly subtle in that regard, with his long glances and touchy hands. Too touchy and intrusive for your tastes. Bruce had noticed too how you didn’t seem all that reciprocant to his touch, the skin under your dress almost flinching out of reflex from the contact of his hand.

Your attention turned back to Johhny, leaving Bruce, not that you knew it was him, behind your forgotten thoughts. You had a dinner to attend, after all.

You smile politely to Johnny, who, in turn, beams down at you as you two begin to walk to the door of the house, his hand almost leading you there.

The display before him left Bruce completely blank, his insides churning, a burning ache filling his chest. When had he begun to wish to be the one at your side, the one whose hand was the one guiding you around as it rested around your waist? Was this mere jealousy? And, even so, he was confused about what he was jealous of. Was it just his protectiveness? He had often taken a sort of watchful eye over you; maybe it was his worry pulling at him to shove Johnny out of the way like he used to when they were young boys. He did know the man, after all, as he often drolled over you and trailed like a lost puppy whenever you two went, back in the days. Johnny knew very well to keep his act when Bruce was around, relegating to watching from afar rather than approaching.  Perhaps it was an understanding between men; they did seem to understand each other better than others after all, but Johnny had come to understand very well what Bruce’s eyes were implying most times. His dislike, his distaste, his lack of composure and demeanour were truly frightening in his eyes. Which was why he did not want you anywhere near him, wanting to protect you from men like Johnny as much as he could.

And now, busier than ever before, with his mind and thoughts divided between his personal and private life, it seemed that Johnny thought that with his noticeable absence, he could finally rise to the challenge.

Craven vermin.

Not being able to bear the sight any longer and what it fueled in him, Bruce lifts his feet off the ground and speeds off in the night. Going to dispel his emotions in the only way he knew.

Beating criminals.

He had found his perfect scapegoat in a gang that had seemed to round a lone stranger who had gotten off on the deserted platform of the train station. Eight skull-faced gang members against a defenceless man, and for what? The thrill of the chase? The want of fear in their opponent? Or was it because he had been an easy target? After all, how could one defend himself against eight men, clearly stronger than him in physics?

He had stopped them just before they could have caused more than necessary damage, for it seemed that whatever they were doing was a sort of initiation ritual for the newest and youngest entry of their group, who, in all fairness, did not seem too thrilled to be there or be part of what was going down, as he fled the scene after he had put the other seven down.

His movements had been fast and brutal, leaving no room for counterattacks or opposition from his opponents. He had snapped the arm of one, who presented himself as the leader of this organised fiasco and tased the neck of another, a scene he would revisit once he returned to the cave and pulled his recording contact lenses out of his eyes. The scene, he was sure, would be haunting as he watched the man fall and convulse on the ground. He had taken hits, too, but through his rage, he had bounced back every time. His terrifying skill kept the impacts of them from landing as if almost on auto-pilot, he proceeded to break off the others surrounding him like a machine.

Only when the station fell into the silence of the night once more, broken only by the gentle pitter patter of the rain, had his eye noticed the reflection on the wet ground. The bat signal, shining bright, in the sky.

Bruce looked up, wondering just how long it's been there, having lost all composure and awareness of his surroundings.

He could truly get in a rage when he wanted, couldn’t he? He just didn’t want to admit what it was that caused it.

He had met with Gordon, in the abandoned and unfinished skyscraper they utilised as their secret hideout, where he had been told the unimaginable.

Mitchell was dead.

He had been let in in the study where the body was found only because Gordon had made it so after he faced opposition from Officer Martinez. Were it for the line of cops filling the hall of the now gone Mayor’s manor, he surely would not have gotten that far within the first step of his boots near the property.

It had been a gruesome sight. Mitchell’s head was wrapped in grey duct tape, with red, angry letters spelling out ‘NO MORE LIES’. The sight entirely reminded him of what you had told him in your last conversation about them. His head had been mashed, but most of the blood he had lost had come from his severed thumb, cut when he was still alive, seeing the ecchymosis that had formed around the wound. Whoever the Killer was, they had made quite the showcase in sending the message they wanted.

Corruption and lies, corruption that had yet to be revealed as to what kind. No one believed Mitchell to be an innocent man, after all, no one had such a rise to power ethically and conventionally. There was something about Mitchell that both you and Bruce had suspected not to be genuine. It always rubbed you the wrong way how he had seemingly just been able to take over the city in such an easy way after your father was killed. Perhaps it was the bitterness in you, not yet over how your father could just be replaced by such an incompetent man, which you were right about, seeing as to how he had driven Gotham into becoming a cesspool in less than twenty years and three mandates as Mayor of the city. Bruce did often wonder just why he kept on being elected, again, and again, and again.

But to be deserving of such death? It made Bruce wonder as to what the killer was aware of that others were not.

Perhaps, he’ll get to find out soon.

AN: Finally entering the film's territory. We'll be following the events of the movie from now on, just prolonging them slightly to tell more of the story, but the storyline will remain the same. A week of pure chaos to write, yeppi. Also, I recently read the novella called 'Before the Batman: An Original Movie Novel' which is kind of supposed to be a companion prequel novel to the movie. It is not canon, Matt Reeves has not written or said that what's written in the story is canon to his universe, and even though, I, myself did not find it to be a particularly compelling read, I wanted to incorporate certain aspects I liked about it in this story. If you're not familiar with the events of the novel, the Batman Wiki has pages for every character and event in it, so be sure to check it out if you want to know more about what I talk about in the first half of the chapter.

[peachlicks79]

Before the Storm

Before The Storm

"This should be it. Thanks for coming with me, Lena." Kara held the door open for her friend as Lena slipped past, the crisp step of her high heels getting lost in the bar's happy hour noise, patrons yelling over the pumping base and lively karaoke. Kyrptonian eyes were bright as she peered at the bottles lining the walls like an alcoholic library. They were both here on prelude to business for tomorrow: Kara for an interview with the art gallery that was setting to open tomorrow curating works from all human and alien walks of life, and Lena taking a financial investment in an up and coming woman-owned business in the arts. Their meeting inspired a casual stakeout of the places around, and they had stuck to the bar beside the art gallery where Kara had done some research and found out the owners were friends and visited to support often.

"Of course, Kara. It's nice to have a night out sometimes." Red lipstick parted in a fond smile as the CEO took in her blonde friend sweeping by her and leading the way. It was always interesting seeing Kara in different situations in her reporter role. While Lena normally didn't frequent these types of establishments other than the monthly get-together with the Superfriends, it was an even rarer sight to see the Kryptonian around other aliens outside of her Supergirl role.

Victoria Chase had made a name for herself after the storm of Arcadia Bay, photographing the horrific event and raising money for the town's rebuild outside of her family name years ago. The incident had piqued Lena's interest, the adopted Luthor feeling the tell-tale call of bloodline and needing to make a name for herself outside of it garnering many a look at the art portfolio Victoria had taken to posting online. After five years and times of travel capturing more and more natural horrors, Victoria had stated in a press announcement she was looking to open up her own art gallery, away from her parents' Chase Space, with her partner, Max Caulfield in National City. Their motivation to do so was for inclusion of all, aliens and humans alike, to come together and share in expressions of art concerning global warming and other natural events that had taken away homes and towns and cities. A portion of their proceeds would go to charities, and further the awareness of supporting more green ecological steps and inclusive diversity.

Alien Amnesty had been put into place for the better part of three years, but Lena knew better than anyone a law passing would take time to cement itself socially. Noticing the ease of which Kara carried herself between the tables and people, Lena was grateful this establishment had succeeded in making aliens and humans alike comfortable. When Kara beckoned her over to a snagged table and three sets of double shot glasses in front of her, Lena made her way over and raised an amused eyebrow.

"Normally you're an eat first, drink later type." Her statement was met with a wide smile and sparkling blue eyes gently pushing the drink in front of her.

"You don't have to if you don't want, Lena," Kara started, then nodded up as she raised a toast to the ceiling. Lena's eye followed as Kara continued, holding her glass out for her friend to cheers against. "But there was a poster saying we would get a free appetizer if we ordered two drinks, and a free photo after five!!"

Polaroids draped down the pillars and sides of walls, and the ceiling was covered in stories. It looked like a community effort for interaction, and at that the dark-haired woman acquiesed to a quick clink against Kara's glass as she tipped her head back and took the offered drink. Warmth bloomed through her as she swallowed, her chest tightening as she watched Kara down hers, the blonde a mix between business and casual as she slapped her palms down on the table, letting out little taps against the hardwood.

"Whooo, that's new!!" Tilting her head, Lena couldn't help but laugh, Kara's outburst louder than the crackbreak of the pool balls behind their shared space.

"What is?" Kara fanned herself slightly, crossing her legs and bumping Lena's a bit as she repositioned herself. She had taken to wearing more pants as of late, explaining that she enjoyed her costume's suit better with coverage, and it reflected nicely of the fall weather. The blonde may be indestructible, but sensation was sensation and Lena knew better than most the effect of clothing and how it could be worn as an armored aesthetic.

"They serve alien drinks here. Wierdly enough, it tastes better than where we normally go."

"Are you sure you don't want to stick to human alcohol where it won't affect you so you can get more free potstickers?" Lena teased, leaning back and enjoying the relative ease the drink brought her. Kara gasped, mock glaring.

"How did you know my plan? And what if I wanted something else?" Lena threw up a hand in a motion that excused her friend's sentence and laughed. "Darling, I know you better than that."

Blue eyes blinked slowly at her, and Kara's smile deepened as she leaned forwards. Not for the first time Lena's eyes dipped to those pink lips, then blinked to take in all of Kara downing another drink. It had been a fairly hectic week with Alex and J'onn running Supergirl into multiple mob jobs, National City thugs scurrying under the last covers of summer parties and illegal rings where out of towners had taken to coming to. It wasn't anything outside of the ordinary, but Kara had confessed to Lena she preferred the direct fights of alien tussles where she didn't have to hold back as much to hurt anyone. There hadn't been a lot of down time as of late for a one on one get-together, and Kara seemed determined to catch up now since the season was changing and the last they had been out had been near the start of the summer. Lena didn't miss the assassination attempts as more and more time passed and the city understood she had a good communication with Supergirl, but the CEO refused to admit she looked forwards to the blonde superhero always arriving in the nick of time. Damn her and her masochistic streak.

Around them the place burst into a roar of excitement, and Lena blinked. Both her and Kara looked back at the open door where a pair of women had come in, and one was currently in a headlock by a tattooed punk who popped up from out behind the bar. The shorter brunette was laughing, freckles highlighted by the heat of the sun, and in a smooth motion stepped away and a shutter clicked from a polaroid camera. The print captured just in time as the pixie-cut blonde stepped forwards and hooked a leg behind the knee of the lean woman, effectively sweeping the blue-haired punk off her feet and nonchalantly tipping her back onto the floor in a move that would do Alex Danvers proud. Before a real scuffle could begin, a flash of red flannel had settled between the two women and Kara and Lena looked on with interest when another woman with a feathered earring playfully flicked both of them on the nose.

"Cut it out, Chlo, and really, Victoria? Couldn't you and Max have visited any earlier?"

A snort came from the taller blonde, elegantly righting her hair as she took the shorter brunette woman's hand in hers and walked deeper into the bar, where patrons nodded happily to the newcomers and raised hands for high fives.

"Tell that to this one over here. . . she really Maxed out her excuses with the jetlag from France."

"Tori!! You said we wouldn't kiss and tell."

"Oh, so it's YOU I should be grilling, Mad Max!! Not surprised, only disgusted. C'mon, I found a song that suits you both to a T."

Kara and Lena turned back to each other and laughed, a little surprised and both delighted. Victoria Chase and Max Caulfield had touched down in the area, and they were privy to a slightly hectic reunion with their friends. Kara recognized Chloe Price as the punk tattooed owner from the research she had done, and it was a bit of a shock to Lena as she recognized Rachel Amber, if only from her guilty pleasure of watching old campy horror movies in her rare spare time. The Oregonian actress was soon to shoot a movie, little else was known about it. While they watched the four set up by the karaoke where Chloe nodded to the host, Kara and Lena received their three free orders of potstickers and both asked for a different dish on the menu, plus Lena another drink. She'd asked a bit earlier, and Kara had told her she really only ordered 3 alien shots and normal alcohol. Their bar food was turning out to be quite delicious, and Lena noticed Kara was turning a bit red as she looked at her, finishing off the third of the doubles she had gotten.

Behind them, Chloe Price had picked up the mic and was mimicking playing an electric guitar while whipping the cord around in circle as she jammed. Kara and Lena could see the mischievous glint to her as she herded her two friends and partner into a round table and the bar started thumping as aliens and humans alike cheered -- how did Lena just now figure out this was a gay bar?

"To a happy belated birthday to Queen Bee of Blackwell, long may it suck ass so we can forget the fucking horrors there -- to Sticky!! Icky!! Vicki!!"

The crowd went wild. Kara and Lena laughed along with them as the blonde prepared to lunge towards the cocky punk, and they both watched as Max yelled too as Rachel cheered and easily tipped Victoria back into her seat. Charisma flowed out of Chloe as the beat hit, and suddenly Chloe was singing as she mobbed the mic and took over the karaoke floor.

"I don't want a girl who gets a car for her Sweet 16 Or spends a stack of dollar bills on a limousine--"

Kara spit-takes into the air and gapes while Lena freezes.

"I want a girl who takes a bus and who wears baggy jeans--"

Their eyes meet and Lena's eyes hammer. Those words slam into her and she remembers the early first times of meeting Kara, where she had told her she'd flown there, on a bus, after not needing her parking ticket validated. God, her attraction to the blonde had been so very obvious in hindsight. Kara had stood for someone who understood in the first moments of meeting her, and Lena remembered how much it had hurt when the truth had come to fruition. They had slowly pieced it back together, but damn, had it been hard, and she had ached, ached to see how much of Kara she had missed after that reveal.

"Rockin' Nike Airs, what the hell are Louboutins?!"

The kryptonian watched with wide eyes as Victoria Chase kicked off her a sneaker and it hit the upside of Chloe's head. The punk just laughed and continued to skip around, showmanship kicked into high gear as she hit energetic beat after energetic beat.

"Don't want no fake tan, short skirt, Daddy's money don't work!! Shop until you drop on the toooown~!!"

Lena flushed hard as she watched Kara's gaze snap to hers, then down, almost helplessly sliding down her legs before the blonde looked up, guiltily wide-eyed. In the background Max was keeping Victoria from strangling Chloe, laughing a bit herself, and Rachel was getting up, slinking to join her loud girlfriend.

"I want a girl stronger than her father Someone who will laugh at tryna fit in the crowd~"

Kara's eyes are seeming to be an apraisal, and her fingers are grabbing for a potsticker. At this point the song is pointed and from what Lena knows of Victoria Chase, the photographer had been fairly successful in being everything that this song wasn't. Clearly Chloe was making fun, and as Victoria stopped promising violence, Lena watched as she saw Max gently kiss her, grabbing her polaroid camera and snapping a selfie of the four as Chloe pulled Rachel firmly to her side, where they started to sway, looking into her the actress's eyes.

"And all we used to dream about~ Is getting rich and getting out~"

They both watched as Rachel and Chloe touched their foreheads together, singing a beautiful symphony, and then Rachel pulled away to do a twirl, Chloe expertly pulling her close again and dipping her, then pulling her back up to grin at each other. Lena felt her heart clench, partly of her own history, but also because of Kara, who she could see watching her, seeing how she was taking the song. Somewhere deep inside, Lena felt a tie to this song, or at least to the chorus. What she wouldn't give for more time with Kara, especially after it had taken them so long to come back together. Her penthouse had only known happiness when Kara had been there, and it was slowly becoming something more than a place to cry as she pulled herself back together and out from her family's legacy.

"Move to the nicer part of town Where we'd have numbers on our house It took awhile to figure out~"

The Oregonians were all smiling at each other, clearly having remembered the horrors of Arcadia Bay and knowing all of their relationships and friendships were stronger after it. Lena looked to Kara and found her steadfastly looking back, and suddenly Lena is reaching out, Kara's hands in hers, and they cheer to Chloe as she gallantly spins Rachel away from her back to her seat and resumes her birthday callout to Victoria.

"What type of girl that I'm about Who brings the real man out of me -- Rachel knows!!"

The crowd laughs at that, and Lena hears the tempo pick up again, Kara's hand firmly in her own even though the kyptonian is trembling.

"I don't really want no trust fund baby I like my women independent. And I say to people, that's my lady And we don't need nothing e~e~else"

The room was stifling hot, the crowd around them joining the singing. Kara was looking at Lena like she had so many times before, and Lena wondered how many times they had been down this road of calling it friendship while giving to each other everything past friendship and any sort of label. Lena recognized this was ridiculous, but as a businesswoman and a Luthor, she had been raised to stamp down anything that was short of exposing imperfection. Two double shots in wasn't anything near what she could take, but Lena blinked and was reminded, she was in a gay bar with her best friend and it had been upwards of three years since she had Kara in her life. Kara, who had seen her so broken at her worst, and had promised to always protect her. Kara, who even when they were at their fallout and Lena had desperately tried to hate, had not given up. The Luthor may be in her blood, but Lena wondered now what that meant when Kara and her were just women at a bar. Not a reporter and CEO, not a Super and a Luthor, but two best friends, and this song-- Chloe was outdoing herself.

"Don't want a girl who takes selfies, Want her makeup free!!"

This time it's Max that launches herself at Chloe, and the punk laughs as they both hit the floor, wheezing and continuing the song, pushing the photographer away by a palm at her forehead.

"Don't want no mean girl lady, let's call her Sticky Vicki!!"

Victoria has launched herself on top of the pile and Rachel shrugs and joins in. Lena wonders for a moment if there's a chance tomorrow will be cancelled, and that's what it takes to shake the moment. As Rachel yanks the mic from Chloe and yells,

"HER DADDY TOLD HER HOW TO FIX CARS, MAYBE SHE COULD FIX ME!!"

Lena and Kara pull away from each other as as a couple more of Chloe and Rachel's employees head to the front, good-naturedly pulling them off of each other, and Lena thinks this is enough. It's enough that she's here in this moment with Kara, watching women who have built a life from scratch with efforts and the bonds of friendship and love, and she tilts her chin, wobbling a bit as she leaves money on the table and in an instant Kara is at her side, sliding the money back into her purse as she supports Lena's elbow. Kara leaves her own money on the table and they make their way out, giggling as they hear,

"Wanna girl with common sense Who's dripping in confidence DON'T WANNA DIE TO GET RICH BUT SHE LOVE FIFTY CENT!!--"

The shrieking laughing of karaoke dies out the moment they hit outside, and Kara pulls Lena to her front as she slips into a back alleyway beside the bar, Lena tucking into her front as she registers the DING~ of the bicycle's bell as it zooms by. It's not that late by any means, but there is a chill in the air as the breeze picks up around them. The slit in the length of her dress gives Lena some reprieve for how hot it was inside, and she heats up again when Kara unconsciously nuzzles a kiss to her forehead. The alleyways are the only shadowy part of the city's street, illuminated up by the full moon, and before Lena knows it, Kara is asking her a question.

"Do you trust me?"

She's nodding instinctively. It's Kara. The blonde had grabbed her jacket and she used that to tug around Lena, enveloping her in a blanket of warmth and the scent of her best friend. Lena's heart rate ratcheted up, not used to the easy way Kara seemed to hold her close. It had been a while since Kara had told her she was Supergirl, and while they'd hugged, Lena hadn't been in Supergirl's arms since before she had known. That changed now as Kara smiled at her, then gently pulled her into a bridal carry. Lena yelped, burying her face in Kara's neck in embarrassment.

"Shhh, I've got you."

"Kara, I can WALK!!"

"Mmmn, I like my women independent."

Lena pulled back to smack Kara playfully on her arm, then shrieked and held herself back close again. They were in the air, above the tree and cityline, and the moon was full and beautiful and so very big. It illuminated Kara's face as she continued to smile at her, and Lena couldn't understand how anyone could be so beautiful and kind and out of this world -- because Kara was.

"I didn't expect tonight to go how it did." Kara's voice was soft, and she was still looking at Lena, direct and open and with a look that Lena had seen before. Had seen so many times before, and she knew she had mirrored, whether they were alone or not. She mirrored it now, leaning into Kara's shoulder and taking solace in the solidness she knew Kara Danvers was. To her surprise, she could hear the kryptonian's heartbeat, and it was a speeding stutter.

"How did you expect tonight to go?"

In the silence that followed, Lena watched as Kara slowly pulled both of them steadily higher, away from the ground and the city, felt Kara's heartbeat start to speed even faster as Lena used the privacy of the moment to place her palm over Kara's pounding chest. The moon was so different to look at like this, a quiet observer of the earth as it reached out endlessly to touch everything with its light. Lena looked at Kara then, really looked at her as she had before Kara was a friend, before she had to hide her interest with respectable friendship. Kara's pupils were wide, and Lena felt supported in more ways than just the physical as she was shown the world as Kara saw it.

"I expected karaoke to shake you up even more than it did."

Lena let out a laugh, and Kara tilted her head to the side.

"Darling, I've heard Roxanne."

Kara snorted.

Then, a beat.

"I have a song for you, I'd like to share. If it's okay."

Lena could feel Kara's breath on her, a little shaky, and she smiled. Shifting a bit, Lena paused.

"Only if you let me step on you."

Kara's whole body flushed.

"Wh-What?"

The CEO couldn't help the fond smile she had for the reporter. Repositioning herself, Lena righted herself and stepped on Kara's feet, so now they were face to face. Even with the slight breeze around them, she felt safe and warm, Kara's body heat actively ramped up around her. The blonde's cheeks were red, and she shakily grinned as she pulled out her phone, Lena's hands seeking to hold onto Kara's shoulders.

"First met her on the west side of Cali Only took one look and girl you had me"

Lena could feel the harsh tremble of steel as Kara wrapped an arm around her waist, eyes bright and open as she gazes at Lena. They're so high up above everything that they're the only one that exists, and the brunette forgets that once upon a time she's ever been afraid of heights. She had been afraid of a lot of things before Kara, and even due to Kara, but never of Kara. She doesn't recognize the song, but she leans into the warmth of the blonde, bravely listening to what Kara wants her to hear.

"Driving down the Hollywood Hills through the Valley Coastline and even cruising Malibu"

A rumble happens, and suddenly Lena is listening to the silky croon of Kara Danvers singing to her so high up in the air, in front of the full moon and glowing from a soft determination as she holds her.

"There's nothing like that shotgun view Arm out the window, surfing old school"

On a whim Lena lets go of Kara's shoulders and spreads her arms out. She's painfully thinking about the Titanic, but Kara smiles as she sings and the superhero does a slow twirl in the air with Lena, slowly reaching out with her own wingspan and supporting Lena's hands, gently pressing their palms together as their fingers intertwine. Lena is watching as Kara's pupils grow, her body radiating an intense heat, and she presses closer, smiling as she listens to the blonde serenade her.

"Sunflowers black and yellow all over you One hand on the wheel the other holding you"

She's on fire. Her own heart is beating hard in relation to Kara and it's Kara who's in front of her who has always been there, who has been her anchor and her wings and her happiness. Slowly the blonde trails her hands back over Lena's forearms, her elbows, her back, holding her close and slowly twirling them, and it's Lena who reaches up and gently slides her hands into Kara's hair, tangling through and gently taking the back of Kara's neck and holding her. It's so intimate, she's wanted this for so long, and Lena knows, she's always known.

"Took a shot and knew I couldn't miss When you lean if for that first~ slow~ kiss~"

The song continues as Lena's heart pounds, and she can feel Kara steadfastly holding her, will always hold her, and she leans in, letting herself stop as she slowly closes her eyes and trusts in the moment and in Kara Zor-El.

Kara leans in.

"This is the moment that I reminisce. No matter where we are I can't help but remember~"

The song continues on perfectly, and Lena sighs against Kara, tasting her smile and feeling the fullness of her heart finally share the peace of perfection. She's surrounded by Kara, and for once, Lena is enough, has always been enough.

"I know you were the one for me~"

It's sweet. The present moment is so sweet and Lena holds Kara close, batting her eyes open and looking into vibrant blue. Kara's face is split into the largest smile she's ever seen her wear, and she's so beautiful, and Lena tells her, tells her how grateful and thankful and how much Kara means to her, and Lena can feel the purity of this moment as Kara holds her close and they spend countless other more moments just like this.

- - -

The next day during the Chasefield Art Gallery meeting, Victoria Chase and Lena Luthor bond over the success they've fought for being trust fund babies.

- - -

A/N - Dear Lord, what have I done? XD I hadn't cackled like this in a long time for creation -- Melissa Benoist, absolute happy birthday, thank you for your service in acting, may you have a long and happy life ahead of you <3 PS Dear Lord I remember seeing her in person at a Rose City Comic Con so long ago and I almost punched the arm off of my friend I got way too excited hyperventilating XD Violence is never the answer XD

Songs are -

Trust Fund Baby - Why Don't We Sundress - Austin Mahone

[therottingkitchen]

GENERAL INFO

MEET THE FOOLS BEHIND THE ACCOUNT Dakari !! she/her

i draw

florians brainrot infected me

i love pillar chase 2

mostly just the ideas guy in the back so i might not write too much. probably will only doodle

Florian !?! He/they pref, but masc and neutral are okay 2.

I also draw, but I pour my autistic ideas into dakari's head

The Brainrotter ™

Designing and Writing characters..

Artistic and Autistic Individual.

WHAT WILL WE DO ON THIS ACCOUNT?

yap about a pillar chase au that only we care about

make and post art about the au

be cringe and free

WHAT IS THE AU IN QUESTION?

pillar chase 2 au

mostly just jokes treated seriously, we whipped most of it up in the span of roughly 5 days and its the culmination of "yo this would be funny" and the other responding with 5 million fire emojis and bawling their eyes out

TLDR: MX struggling to be a good dad

if you like MX, Mr. Virtual, or Uncle Samsonite, yer gonna be fed well… Lucas is also there. he is such a silly boy WARNINGS !! topics such as child abuse, alcoholism, domestic violence, obsessive behavior(?), divorce, and gore/murder will be brought up. if any of these will upset you, tread cautiously. warnings will be put up at the top on any post that contains any of the following, and it probably won't go into excruciating detail. !! also. might get a bit suggestive-ish? heavy maybe. probably just gonna be a lot of sappy smooching and pining tbh. DNI💥💥

if you dont like people being joyous and cringe and frolicking in the fields

proship, racists, pedos, zoos, the usual. if you dont like gay people get off the page or youre in for a scare😱😱😱

NSFW

[dreamsofminnie]

“Ethereal Paintings”

The 5 pillars of deprivation {Y/N’s}

Y/N-> Fine arts(General) major, loves using her hands to create works of art in any and ALL physical forms. Hand cramps don’t stop her from chasing her art high; usually doesn't get art block. She gets lots of commissions with her art so she is thriving very well. She hates A.I/[redacted] art, for obvious reasons and because of her art has been recently fed into the program and being used. Pecae is her artist name.

Yoimiya-> Fine arts(Printmaking) major, loves to design. Ayaka gifted her a print-making shop and that day forth was Yoi’s undying love for Aya. Her print shop is where she love to hang out and basically where she lives. Her prints get made and sold and she even sells smaller stamps. She still helps out at her dad’s firework shop whenever she isn’t buried in her own shop. Y/N’s best friend since their elementary years.

Albedo-> Humanities major and Fine art(Drawing) major, usually listed under the Humanities and Art. He focuses on oil pastel and chalk art. His works are shown on the concrete to the art building. Is amazing at anatomy drawings but only lets his friends see and use them as references. Became friends with Y/N through an anatomy class in which she was struggling.

Ayaka-> Fine arts major(Watercolor) with a minor in dance. Her specialty is watercolor since she works well with the flow of the paint. A lot of her works are made upon fan’s which Ayato made a small business on for her. She also pleaded Ayato to open up a print shop for Yoimiya where she could work with the best quality. Met Y/N through a shared watercolor class which Akaya learned great techniques from her.

Layla-> Astronomy major who is forced to take 5 classes and additional winter classes. Her weekdays are jammed packed with studies and experiments but at least she is efficient enough to keep her weekends open for her friends. She and Y/n became friends through a forced physics class that you took. (Layla carried you throughout that terrible class)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Wanted to put a digital artist but didnt know who would fit in tht role

Y/n & Yoimiya & Ayaka & Layla share a dorm; which Albedo likes to crash when his roommates are unbearable. /sometimes brings Tighnari. (Nari begs Bedo to take him with him away from Haitham and Kaveh)

[deviantartdramahub]

I recently lost a friend to the darkness, so amidst of all the chaos and the mess and because it's still self harm awareness month as it is every year, I want to share a short story.

Once upon a time, I had a friend named Kitty. Kitty was one of the best artist friends anyone can have around and was a pillar of the groups I've been in for years. She came from the island of Anuta and liked to form her individuality by artistically turning pictures of oddly shaped clouds into things that those clouds are shaped like, as a way of challenging herself while getting recognition.

After six years of recognition, she found herself in a conflict, being she was accused of wrongly snagging other peoples' cloud pictures in order to turn the clouds into other things. She fiercely defended herself for a few days but after six days relented after the person invited others to participate in the criticism of her. Regretful, she deleted her presence and then made a new one, which was fitting since she also had a lot of very very NSFW content.

Despite this, people still recognized her from her face. Having surrendered at that point, she wanted to fix her image, to earn forgiveness. To do that, she offered one or more of three things: A) to change her ways B) to make amends C) to win favor

This, however, changed nothing. She tried doing everything that was told of her and it didn't change her social standing. She tried fulfilling commissions for free and it wouldn't work. It was like a trading game, she established what she wanted (forgiveness) and gave everyone the name-your-price tool. They put the price at ∞ and it from then on seemed like she was chasing rainbows. She was forever without her crowd.

I witnessed something devastating as this was going on. Forgiveness is tied to hope. People hope to be forgiven and forgiveness leads to hope. She could never repair what was lost and I saw someone slowly spiritually implode and crumble. Her very last work of art was the following Crucible meme.

Ruined by the fact she could not repair what was lost, she realized she had nothing to lose and acted like a wreck for an additional few years, which was in stark contrast to her cheery, diplomatic self she was trying to be when she thought she could try to restore herself in her community. She reasoned, if someone could only be hated by those she cared about having good relations with when she's good and only hated when she's bad, why try to be anything aside from how she wants to be (as opposed to someone who strives based on what is fair)? It's how the ring of gyges works. This may be why some people were known to make friends specifically with the friendless, even when they were buttholes to other people, to be a new light for those in the dark, but alas, where are those lights now?

Her very few friends (two of us, but sometimes that feels empty when nothing happens) would later try to forget about it, saying we consider ourselves satisfied in the conflict, enough to "amount to winning", but her critics would say they won, having eventually chased her off after much destruction caused by her. This is, however, despite the fact those critics still rage about her, an aspect that, as a side note, I had an enlightening conversation with AI about yesterday, inspired by the trend.

Like I said, a trading game. If two sides believe they have won, which implies the two sides believe an interaction was worth it, how is that different from a regular trade of favors or goods? Except... exchanges like this aren't any where both sides act like it's worth it, if it's one where one side is genuinely striving for interpersonal tranquility while the other is willing to complain or throw stones or whatever you call it for years long after they claim the victory happened (for why send soldiers where there is no war), sometimes projecting while they're at it as if anyone in their audience doesn't see through the slandering or slurring for that reason, as if they're in mourning or can never be at peace based on their constant rambles. That's how you know they're, by definition, losers.

So this is what Hell is like, a group of people who sense they live a self-defeating way of living but are silenced from reaching their hand out by their habit of bragging about what's not worth bragging about while bringing everything down with them.

[lotuslovers]

‘Running from love’ // t.r part 3

Pairing: female!potter(james’ sister) x Tom Riddle

wc: 3.9 k

Summary: In the past, the reader hadn't hope to fall in love with him, their goal was to prevent the rise of the Dark Lord but nothing seemed to go as planned when they are sent back into the future. In the months following the return, Tom Riddle continues to haunt their nightmares and their new reality as he closes in on them. How can an old love cause so much harm?

Trigger warnings: brief mention blood but not highly graphic

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | tbc

Maybe time favored her, maybe it hadn’t but as the spring days passed, the memories and nightmares slowed. My brother had unwillingly given back my locket, only Evans could be thanked for such an action. However she convinced him to. To my surprise, the enchantment on the locket sealed the portrait shut against all attempts from the boys to discover further information. We had reached a weird sort of relationship, where the boys were stumped with my situation and had put it to a temporary rest in favor of Peter’s own growing relationship with Fabian. Hardly any new information helped stall them, all around with worrying over exams and attempting to chase the last years of our youth we got ourselves into more mischief than we could maybe put up with. The only thing standing in between our summer were the looming tests and the last few weeks of class.

When we walked into the DADA classroom, a dark brown wooden cabinet chest stood in the center of a cleared out room. Desks were gone, as they had every other Thursday when objects or creatures were brought in to learn how to property battle against. As the student filed in before the class began, “Any ideas of what resides in this cabinet?” our professor called out to us. Hands rose calling out, cursed objects, the unrested souls, dryads, banshees, and fairies were all amongst the guesses but by the end all were met with a “no”. She began, “Today’s lesson will focus on not what we can do against the Dark Arts but what we can do to protect our own minds against them. How might we work to prevent the uncertainty and danger of our world if we cannot face our own issues? The Dark Arts targets one’s own weaknesses, to use them against us in hopes of weakening our resolve.” Glancing around the room she shooed us back to make room in the center, “We will be dealing with a boggart, this creature works to twist one's own worst fears by taking on their shape. The only way to properly deal with one is to laugh, we must all fight our fears by casting a riddikulus spell and laughing.” the class nervously glanced around.

“Now take out your wands,” she said, “everyone must repeat after me riddikulus.” a classroom of students repeated after her. “Which one of you wishes to begin?” her eyes swept over each individual. Five hands shot up, “Nersen you’re up, everyone form a line starting by that pillar” she pointed her wand to the left.

Students rushed, some crept to the back like I had but slowly the line would begin to dwindle. A new boggart appeared each time, from the fear of heights, to more physical things such as sharks or spiders, to grim depictions of a loved one's death or bloody scenarios which caused one boy to faint.

Each one was far scarier than what was humanly fathomable, and as each one passed a sinking feeling grew, a voice called out snapping her out of a trance, “Mrs, Potter? You’re up”. Willing him to not appear, she bravely walked in front of the prying eyes of her classmates to stand it in front of the looming chest. The whole cabinet shook, uneasing them once more as her Professor made eye contact with her to confirm she was ready. As much as she steadied herself, the second the binding was dropped and the cabinet door opened she knew.

As a billow of smoke escaped the cabinet, the whisperers of her classmates' guesses were drowned out by the drumming of her heart beating. Out of the darkness, a figure emerged that truly existed out of the dream realm, Tom had returned.

As young as the day she left him, he stalked out eyeing up the girl. “I missed you y/n,” Tom said as she quickly backed away to distance herself from the man. The classroom fell silent, “you haven’t visited me since you left” his voice dropped as he spit the words with a foul distaste.

“How come? I thought you were better,” his voice shook raising in volume, as all the build up emotions slowly began to engulf her. She was beginning to shake from him standing in front of her eyes once again. ���You left me, how could you?” his stride came closer to her. “I waited days which turned to weeks and now years for you, my little witch. Why did you leave me?” an eerie smirk graced his lips. Whispering to her ear, “I loved you, I really did, and you left me” as he towered mere inches away from her.

The classroom around her became a blur as the murmurs grew, the rest of her classmates stepped farther away from the two. Tom leaned away to circle around her, taking in her quivering shape as he idly twirling his wand in the air. Her wand was shaking in her hand, a miracle it hadn’t dropped, her own Professor was at a loss for words in confusion, her friends were visibly concerned but she tried to remember what to do. Steadying her wand, quickly turning around to face him, fisting his robes and pushing him against the wall, “you did it to yourself Tom, it’s all you. I don’t control fate”.

Digging her wand up into his jugular, staring into his eyes briefly looking down to see red droplets of blood fall down his neck, his eyes looking at her curiously but also to taunt her. Giving him one more bitter sweet smile before saying “Riddikulous” and vanquishing him off to the cabinet. Turning around idly the whole class looked at her with wide eyes, what had she done. A resolution grew within her, as the power of her and she ran out of the class. Out of the daze the marauders jumped to their feet and bolted out of the classroom not listening to the calls of the professor. Rounding the corner they had no luck spotting her, Peter pulled out the map before shoving it off to James’ hands. He traced her name as she was running down the corridor in the left wing of the castle towards an exit.

“Off to the Black Lake” he yelled, taking off through a secret corridor sprinting towards where her name was last spotted. Past banisters, classes in session, the four made it out the exit in record time. Taking a breath they spotted her against a willow, they approached her as calmly as they could bear to muster.

Seated on the banks of the Black Lake where she would’ve accompanied him 35-40 years ago, though she sat alone absent of his presence. Hot tears cascaded down her cheeks as they held the entire sobs back. The boys gathered around her, desperate to comfort the shaken girl to the best of their abilities. James took the lead and gently wrapped his arms around his sister pulling her into a tight embrace whispering that everything would be fine. Her painful cries echoed against the wind as the sounds haunted the boys’ ears. Her body shook, hitting her hands against his chest lightly “why, why me” she mumbled hiccuping before falling into his arms. The older Potter stroked her hair softly looking towards the others for what to do, only shrugging in reply having no clue what to do. Bringing his head down “calm down, you’re safe it was just a boggart” she pulled away from him “but it wasn’t James, he’s still out there”.

He grimaced at the reply before Remus spoke, “Tell us what happened, we’re here y/n” his voice was soft and delicate. Wiping her tears away to collect herself, lifting her head up entirely, nodding slowly. “It’s your boggart” James said to which Sirius snorted “obviously” lunging at Black throwing an arm out to whack him on the head. Briefly glaring before returning his gaze “Pads I didn’t finish, y/n who is he?”. Shifting under his eyes Remus spoke up before she could. “He was in slytherin robes, he must’ve been the one to give you the locket and it was him in the picture right?”

Sighing in defeat leaning your head down to rest in your palms “That was Tom” the marauder looked at you curiously as you brushed off the second question. Peter had voiced his own concern “He said he loved you, why haven’t we ever met him?” wondering aloud. “It’s complicated” you mumbled in defeat, they gave each other skeptical looks. Seated all uncertain on how to proceed before Sirius spoke “Why is he your boggart?” voicing the question everyone was thinking, “again. Complicated”. You understood they all held the best intention at heart but all you wanted was to find a place to hide and never see the light of day again. Solemnly looking up through your red eyes, allowing yourself to make eye contact with them as you pushed out of James’ arms and seated beside him completing the circle.

Plucking up a clover in your hand, slowly tearing the leaves apart, accepting the turn of events. “Before I tell you, you must swear on marauders code you won’t speak or tell any of this to anyone else '' you enunciated every syllable twisting the stem in your fingertips. “I’m serious I will hex you to oblivion” glaring at the boys who grew quiet. Moony and Wormtail nodded while Padfoot and Prongs shared a skeptical look, “Why so tense?”

Smacking him in the head “For once in your life trust me, you're at risk just knowing me” they gulped at the honest words, “I don’t understand” Remus chimed in. “You will after you agree to protect my secret, okay?” all of them shared a look before nodding.

Striking out your hand in the middle of the circle “pinky promise me boys'' to which they all agreed to your strange habit. Collectively silencing themselves to hear out the reasoning.

Shoulders relaxing, the tension slowly leaving momentarily taking a deep breath in. “So it’s a lot. The only other person aware is Dumbledore” clasping your hands together, “Dumbledore? This is to do with those secret meetings'' James spoke. Nodding in response “It does'' playing with your thumbs, he grasped them in his hands easing your nerves. “It started after the welcome back feast, I got a letter telling me I was requested in his office. There he addressed his concern on wanting to select me for a mission. Why didn't he choose Aurors? I don’t know, he picked me specifically for some idea I would be ideal. He didn’t brief me on the details until I agreed.” all attention was on me as the words flew out of my mouth, Remus brows furrowing, Sirius nodding, Peter and James hooked on my words slightly widened eyed still grasping it all. So I continued “We had monthly meetings, to fill me in on the task details. I could never tell you guys, it was a rule, sorry” nodding glumly “as pissed as I am you never told me I get it, but what does it have to do with Tom?” Prongs asked.

Huffing and crossing my arms “I was getting there, wait a minute. During the meetings it was determined the day before everyone got back from Christmas holiday was ideal for the mission to occur” the realization dawned on them. Piecing it together with my odd behavior “The day you came back in the afternoon all weird and out of it” Peter said to which you only nodded. “The mission was for me to go back in time to lead a dark wizard away from the Dark Arts and prevent the casualties. All while he was still a student at Hogwarts, with the use of a time turner”. Shock evidently took up their features “Are you kidding me? Dumbledore sent you back in time” Prongs erupted, releasing your hands and clenching his fists angrily. Sirius took a less angry approach “What year?” to which you responded glumly “1943”. You swore you nearly saw James faint “what? You can’t be serious” you only nodded guilty.

Finishing up you continued “My job was to lead the wizard to good, he could have gotten there. We were making outstanding progress, I didn’t mean to get attached” voice slowly cracking “I didn’t mean to fall in love, neither was he” your voice became painfully low and full of hurt. “Tom?” Remus asked softly as you looked up to hold his gaze, the answer was abundantly clear. Yes. “mhm. It was Tom, we fell in love. It just happened neither of us expected it” you exasperated. James as if dreading this day breathed in a harsh breath “and what happened?” he asked shakily. “We were getting close, he was changing. All the previous deaths that would have occurred previously never had to occur, he abandoned his plans due to me and my attempts to save him”.

The details hurt to voice aloud but you continued “one day the time turner broke. I was there in the 40’s one moment and the next I was back here, this time period. Even Dumbledore isn’t sure how it happened. He became heartbroken, raging before he reverted to his old ways. He lost his light, he lost me.” a shiver reverberated down your spine. Death silence blanketed the group, the only sounds heard were the wind hitting the tree branches.

Breaking the silence, Remus started “Tom became a dark wizard, all your efforts were in vain” murmuring incredulously. “So there is no way to go back and save him?” Peter voiced his concern to which you shook your head. “The time turner was affected when it broke and brought me back. The nearest it can bring me back is 1966, but it wouldn’t be worth it since I am not guaranteed I could get there safely let alone return ever or alive at least. The odds aren’t good.” glumly you admitted with heavy guilt weighing you down.

Sirius merely nodded in understanding, “So you loved him, it’s been over 35 years he’s probably over it, you need to move on. You can’t guilt yourself for it anymore. You did your best to save him, that’s all you could have done” he told you, eyes softening when meeting yours. James became unnervingly quiet until he finally spoke “I actually agree with Pads, for all you know he’s probably in Azkaban. Time changes people”. Shaking your head furiously “no. no. no” you quickly pushed off the ground as the grass imprinting on my palms with such force. “There is a reason why I asked you to keep it quiet. He’s not in Azkaban, he’s still out there. He’s killed people James, he is dangerous, I am in danger when he finds me” throwing your arms in defeat “He is a dark wizard but he is also the Dark Lord”.

They all froze again, shock had stolen them in their spots “you mean the dark lord” he asked, “death eaters, dark mark, dark lord?” Sirius added, hoping it wasn’t him. “That’s obviously what she just said” Remus chimed in with a grimace, “Yes Tom is Lord Voldemort” saying the name made Peter let out a squeamish squeak.

James watched her incredulously pointing his fingers accusingly at her “You fell in love with Voldemort?” he was visibly angered and flustered as Sirius hit him in the arm. “Please tell me you didn’t..” he trailed off uncomfortably “with the dark lord” shifting awkwardly. As soon as Remus laughed everyone dissolved in a fit of laughter besides the two Potters “James Fleamont Potter!” you hit his head. “I did not shag Tom” you said turning bright red before mumbling “a pity really he was so fit” to which Sirius howled with laughter rolling in the grass. He threw his hands up defensively “hey I was just being an older brother”, scoffing in response “I did snog him though, he was such a good kisser, oh what I wouldn’t give to shag him” you teased him. He stood and tackled you, kicking him hard before rolling away out of his grasps.

Retreating back towards the group, Sirius voiced his own concern “Can’t you just go to the dark lord, explain what happened, snog him, tell him you love him so he forgives you and stops murdering everyone?” he asked hopefully. Snorting at his comment “A real smart plan you have Black, that won’t work especially since he’s changed, he might honestly want to kill me for breaking his heart. If he knew I existed now he would probably be furious, he always was protective and over bearing of me. I don’t know if I want to risk my friends and family’s lives to see him again” you admitted aloud to which he visibly gulped in reply.

“Well shit, you really managed to get yourself in the worst situations” Remus chided

“I'm a Potter” “Hey-” “Don’t act like it isn’t true, first day of Hogwarts, third year during your quidditch match against Slytherin, shall I continue? ” “Point taken”

Nothing was resolved that afternoon, but such a confession brought together a new understanding between us five. A secrecy of how terrible my situation was, no matter how much we attempted to joke around with the subject we knew it could only add terribly for myself. The dreams were filled with memories of my time with Tom, nightmares appeared occasionally but they hadn’t taken as big of a mental toll on myself as in the past. Evans had intended to confront me on the matter, she really tried but there was no power like that of a Potter who lacked accountability.

Following the incident, I still got weird looks from those who were and weren’t within our DADA class, at times a noisy Ravenclaw would come up to me asking questions. I wished my fear to have been anything else, yet luck was never in my favor. But I would only have to deal with a few more weeks before it would be a distance semesters past.

∞

Staring off into the hazy sky the wind rustled through the blinds of my open window. Peering out to the stars I was lost in my thoughts, mirroring my past routine at Hogwarts yet this time within my own home as we had just left Hogwarts. My own parents still had no clue about the time traveling situation entirely or the whole I’m in a weird intertimeline relationship with the Dark Lord thing. Guilt was eating away at me as I knew I could have been the change the war needed. Dumbledore already requested my presence to meet with him before the school year resumed. The ‘war’ began to pick up as raids became more frequent and whispers of pureblood families choosing the Dark Lord’s side began. Already the ministry was working to cover up the recent muggle and muggle born deaths, only four had happened but it was four more families then necessary. The raids weren’t covered in the Daily Profit but sent as a briefing letter by Dumbledore sent every couple of weeks. He seemed to trust the wizarding world was good enough in my hands, for what odd reason to trust a legally seventeen year old even if I have lived longer than that.

The scarier part of it all was the owled message I received this evening from Regulus. Ever since my encounter with the boggart, I decided to also confide in the younger boy over my cryptic relationship with Tom. In exchange, he had fully trusted his own secrets in me. Written on the parchment was a short message:

‘I have found out my parents have discussed the need for me to be branded with the dark mark. They discussed it over dinner and decided I will be marked on my sixteenth birthday over the yule holidays. I do not want this, we need to speak soon in person. I am afraid mother might begin checking the owls if we keep writing so often. ~ R.A.B’

My heart felt heavy when I received the message almost immediately penning a cryptic message back on a loose sheet of parchment. Scribbling fast ‘My summer holidays started off well, I have fully caught up in all the readings, especially the books you’ve recommended. Will you come over soon? I’m sure you can floo over by the fireplace or maybe have a relative apparate you over. Anytime before 11 pm works, maybe tonight or when you are free. ~ R.” knowing he would get the message. The hours began to tick away as I awaited for the night, bringing up to know I stood in the center room. The first floor was silent as luckily everyone was residing in their rooms.

The fire cackling caught my eyes as I paced forward meeting the newly shaped face in the hearth. “Ah reggie” I said, visibly a grimace in displeasure overtook his features. He seemed half asleep with some recent circles under his eyes “y/n, so what was it you needed me for at this hour? And what was that shitty letter about?”. This kid never seemed to let me play into the cautions always with his Black dramatics and not a single care. Letting my idea come to light I spoke “You don’t want to get marked, and I found a way to solve it. It’s time”

“Time for what exactly? What are you getting at?” he grumbled as his form began shifting in the fireplace as if pacing his room. Smooth silky pajamas hugged his frame closely as his lanky body took long agitated strides. Waving him highness’ attitude I continued my “I'm going to write to him”. Stopping dead in his tracks he threw me a glare to mimic even mums, letting his emotions proceed to get the best of him. He couldn’t even attempt to hide his blatant dislike for my idea but I wasn’t going to let his righteousness affect my plan. “That might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. That’s entirely suicidal not to mention insane, you can’t possibly think he won’t kill you on the spot” chiding at me as if I was the younger one out of the pair. But I was fed up with it as my voice rose in agitation, “He won’t he cares for me” and I could already begin to hear his laugh. I kept eye contact with him as the words flowed out of his lips, “This is the most idiotic thing you’ve told me” he said almost pausing for me to get offended.

“I've heard that before, not a surprise” I said, arching my eyebrow enough for him to visibly see. Leaning closer to me in this fiery image of sort his jaw clenched not in anger but my so called ‘stupidity’.

“You can’t be serious”.

Without further patience, I tried to control my own temper. “Regulus, I will be safe, you shouldn’t worry. I knew it would come down to this anyway. It will be up to me, but I will be okay and I promise you that.” she said, hearing the familiar creek from the staircase. “I can’t talk any longer. I'm sure one of them will be down any second”. I could make out his mutter curse words under his breath as he gathered his thoughts once more. Speaking up, “Fine you stubborn girl, don’t you dare die…you’re the closest I have to a real sister even if we aren’t blood. I need you as well to keep my brother alive. Promise you will be safe?” his eyes were desperate as he finally managed to give up his inner conflict. But it filled me with relief, “I promise reg, good night”, finally letting a yawn pass his lips he let out a last “Good night Potter” before swiping his fireplace iron to end the call.

[silverynight]

Reading all these scenarios makes me so inspired lol. I love your responses and page! While reading these, all I can think about is how I recently watched Ella Enchanted....and so, what if Tanjirou was hit by a blood demon art that forces him to do whatever someone tells him to do? But, he doesn't know it because no one has said anything to him yet (or nothing out of the ordinary he wouldn't agree to or do). Until, he's with the pillars for training along with Inosuke and Zenitsu, and Zenitsu is whispering to him about how they're in love with him...AGAIN!

Tanjirou: "I swear, they're not Zenitsu. They're just kind!"

Zenitsu: "No Tanjirou, I SWEAR, they are. Anything you do would catch their attention! Anything!"

Tanjirou, eyebrows scrunched together: "No. That's not true."

Little does he know the pillars are looking over when....

Inosuke: "Why don't you strip then? That'll prove it." As he picks at grass.

Zenitsu: "Idiot, that'd distract anyone-Tanjirou?!"

Tanjirou has stood up, and has started to take his shirt off?! Everyone is shocked, especially when he just keeps going, until Zenitsu yells stop. Tanjirou stops....completely....like freezes. Yeah, NOW the blood demon art is noticeable🤭😂

Tanjirou is just completely embarrassed and the hashira keep staring at his chest, trying not to ogle, but it's really difficult even though they've seen him shirtless before.

Then they realize what's going on or at least they get an idea and while Tanjirou puts his clothes back on, they start thinking that the best is to keep him in a private room until the blood demon art wears off.

However, one of the slayers, who's always been kinda obsessed with Tanjirou, decides to take advantage of the situation and shouts: "COME KISS ME, TANJIROU!"

And then it's chaos because all the hashira are pissed, Shinobu frees Tanjirou immediately when she tells him to "do whatever you want" and the boy stops in the middle of the backyard, confused and distressed, because he was about to kiss someone he's seen only a handful of times. Sanemi is already chasing the slayer and Gyomei is cradling Tanjirou in his arms and taking him to one of the recovery rooms.

"You should cover your ears, Tanjirou. But do as you want."

Tanjirou does. And he is very grateful to the Pillars because for the rest of the day they're very careful with the words they use when they're with him.

He's still not sure if Zenitsu is right about them being in love with him, but he knows they care deeply about him.

[rotschopf-thedrow]

Tiny Scene Tuesday

Today's menu: crutch, attract, chase.

[Create a short piece (art of fic) that encompasses those 3 words.]

Thanks, @mallaidhsomo, for the prompt.

Shepard looked up from his bed when the doors to sickbay opened and put the datapad aside. He had to grin. Kaidan hadn’t even kitted down yet, and yet he was standing there, small tendrils of dark energy coiling around him. “What the fuck, Shepard? I leave the ship, like, for one tiny mission, and you get yourself attacked and injured!”

“Calm down, Kaidan. It’s not as bad as it looks. A couple of hours under the bone knitter, two or three days on crutches, and I’m as good as new.”

“Yeah. Right.” Kaidan threw his helmet onto one of the beds, followed by his gauntlets. “What happened anyway?”

Shepard tried to shift, but he had almost no room to manoeuvre without pulling his injured leg out from under the knitter. “We were supposed to meet a contact planetside. He took one look at Garrus and bunked. We gave chase, and the bastard led us right into an ambush.”

Shepard watched Kaidan fumble with the latches of his chest piece, wincing when he just pulled both chest piece and back plate over his head. Both suit VI and mexo protested as they were disconnected unceremoniously.

“Batarians?” Kaidan silenced his suit alarm with a flick of his finger over his omni-tool.

“Yeah. With two heavy mechs. But that wasn’t what got me here.”

Kaidan huffed and put his hands on his hips. “Do I even want to know?” he asked, before he continued to remove his armour.

“Nah. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Shepard nodded, but Kaidan’s snort told him that he definitely didn’t believe him. “Sure. Because anything you do is, ah, completely ordinary. Because you don’t, like, attract trouble or something.”

Shepard smirked. “Absolutely. Just normal business.”

Kaidan sighed, finally sitting down next to Shepard in only his under armour. “So, you didn’t do anything stupid?”

“Actually he did.” Both Shepard and Kaidan looked at James Vega, who was leaning against the door with a wide grin plastered across his face. “The building was collapsing on top of us, but Loco went in and saved both Garrus and my ass. Pillar came crashing down and buried the commander. He’s lucky he’s only got a broken leg and a few scratches.”

Kaidan shook his head, a small smile playing around his mouth. “Nothing out of the ordinary, my ass,” he murmured before he took Shepard’s hand.

Shepard nodded, before he pulled Kaidan’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss into the palm. “Just business as usual.”

[thekingofthenameless]

22 or 23 please

I am so sorry it took me so long to answer this my inspiration fluctuates between things like a ping pong ball! Despite it being about the blorbo of all time 😭

22 is gonna be answered in another post!

23. Unpopular character you love?

MERLIN

And that should be very obvious. 🤣

Listen. I love him. I do. But… I have a few problems with his character now, and that’s because of the writers.

He’s pretty inconsistent sometimes.

For one, his powers. (Or supposed lack thereof?)

He’s described as the most powerful wizard to have ever lived, but he doesn’t… really do anything to show it.

He banished Morgana himself according to Trollhunters, ended the Eternal Night, fought the Arcane Order for a millenia, (all offscreen), was implied to have banished their Titans himself, and was briefly able to put Bellroc and Skrael in chains. That’s… pretty much it.

The discrepancy in his magic is really obvious between Trollhunters and Wizards if you take the time to think about it. For one example, in Trollhunters, he flies when he ends the Eternal Night; in Wizards, he levitates himself on a chest to get himself up to his ship?

For another example, I’ve seen so many people talk about how “weak” he is because he couldn’t make the Amulet or banish Morgana without Douxie’s help. But in Trollhunters, he builds it alone, with Moppet!Douxie only handing him the parts he needed, and he could have used his telekinesis for that. He also banishes Morgana himself, and he thought his magic was gone because of that, not because of Morgana keeping him asleep and stealing it for nine hundred years.

In Wizards, Douxie does most of the work building the Amulet, and he’s the one who banished Morgana because Merlin “couldn’t”.

But those are retcons. There’s literally art of the cave painting where he banishes Morgana in the artbook!

He got nerfed!

He also has powers that seem to only be there for one plot reason, and they’re never mentioned again, as if he, the wizard who is supposed to be the most powerful one of time according to the writers before he showed up onscreen, would forget about them. I can think of at least two: teleportation and freezing time. Teleportation was only used once. Once, a barely noticeable time when he did it in A House Divided to leave Jim alone to think. Not when Galahad’s sacrificing himself, not when Arthur is jumping right towards him, and not when Arthur has him in a chokehold. Freezing time was also only used once! It wasn’t used in literally any situation where it would have been a lifesaver. (Possibly literally.) It wasn’t used when again, Galahad was sacrificing himself, when Jim was slamming the shard in his heart to become, unbeknownst to him, a beast under the Order’s control, when Beast!Jim was holding his son hostage, and when Arthur was, again, jumping right towards him. But it’s used in the next episode after he dies to save Douxie, who I have complicated feelings about. But he’s going to be in another post.

That’s just his powers. Now onto his trauma and how that isn’t shown at all!

He’s already so interesting but he could have been so much MORE.

To sum it up, his apprentice betrays him and indirectly murders his Trollhunters and gloats about it. A very old friend sacrifices himself to buy him time while he’s dealing with his worst enemies being back.

No you know what? I’m pissed about this actually. This, right here, could have been a great thing. This could have been a scene where Merlin quietly admits it, or Nimue, midway through attacking him, realizes his desire/remembers it from him getting Excalibur. And she softens, and he explains why he did it, and he sets her free. It would have shown his motivations a lot more and would have given him a way to shine as the deurotagonist, but no. This quirky asshole who we’ve seen for all of five minutes slams a pillar into her and knocks one of her teeth out when he couldn’t even properly chase down a Mephit! This little bitch empathizes with her and sets her free even after he did that. What does Merlin get? He gets eaten. This badass gets reduced to being comic relief with Steve when instead that could have happened. Just one of the many ways canon in general does him dirty!

For one thing, they made this stupid boy with an accent the protagonist of Wizards, when it would have made far more sense to have Merlin, an already major character, the protagonist. It would have also been more interesting imo but I’m kind of biased. He was also supposed to be the deurotagonist, but that’s more of an informed thing than anything. Grace was surprised when she looked it up on the ToA wiki. He could have so many moments, and this is just one of them.

Then he fucking dies. Arthur gets murdered by one of Merlin’s worst enemies and then they resurrect him as a lackey for who knows how long because the canon timeline sucks And in Wizards, he stabs Merlin in the gut, right through his armor and throws him out a window. He ends dying like a minute later. And just. God. Someone asked the writer I’ve been talking about how that happened, and he was like “Merlin’s armor doesn’t hold up against dark magic that well.” Which doesn’t make any sense. 🙃 HIS ENTIRE TOMB IN TROLLHUNTERS IS ANTI-MAGIC, AND HE LITERALLY ALREADY A VENDETTA AGAINST DARK MAGIC EVEN BEFORE MORGANA BETRAYED HIM. And it’s so annoying when Merlin is portrayed as a weak wizard because he’s the most powerful wizard ever! Canon unfortunately doesn’t really show it BUT HE IS He was the one who defeated the Arcane Order and banished their Titans for a thousand years. He was the one who sealed Nimue in a cave, and he was the creator of the Daylight Amulet. He was the one who fought Morgana and banished her. He was the one who ended the Eternal Night. And in Episode One of Wizards, when he astral projected to that guy, all the streetlights on that street were broken before he even showed himself. But thinking about that made me realize he’s really only powerful when the plot demands it. If the Arcane Order could kill him, they would have when he was fighting them for a millennium. They wouldn’t have killed him by proxy, with a lackey. Especially Skrael, who seems to have a higher vendetta against him than his sibling. And since he can teleport, he should have been to grab Galahad like he will in EE, and he could have teleported out of Arthur’s grip. I also don’t know why his armor isn’t anti-magic when his entire tomb is.

Also HE'S LITERALLY ABLE TO FREEZE TIME IN THE NEXT DAMN EPISODE AND YET HE'S NEVER SHOWN USING IT BEFORE THAT DESPITE THE FACT THAT HE'S A TIME WIZARD AND HIS CENTER OF MAGIC IS SUPPOSED TO BE TIME IT'S JUST STUPID TO ME NOW

I'VE RANTED ABOUT THIS BEFORE BUT HE'S LITERALLY ABLE TO FREEZE TIME IN THE NEXT EPISODE

AND YET HE'S NEVER SHOWN USING IT BEFORE THAT DESPITE THE FACT THAT HE'S A *TIME WIZARD*

IT'S JUST NARM TO ME NOW

ALSO MERLIN IS A THOUSANDS YEAR OLD WARRIOR AND THE ONLY FIGHT HE ACTUALLY WON WAS AGAINST A FUCKING SIXTEEN YEAR OLD

Granted a very skilled sixteen year old but it still!!! Doesn't make sense!!!

So basically Merlin’s death was literally just to give him angst, and if anyone could kill him, he would have died YEARS AGO.

Oh, and canon and fanon can’t decide on Merlin either! Canon says Merlin is the most powerful wizard of all time, but he never gets to show it, and it seems more of an informed thing than anything. And the fact that’s he’s the fucking deurotagonist of Wizards is an informed thing too. And there would been more of his backstory, and more characterization, but it got fucking cut

His exact quote? He said “Leave them alone, Morgana.” He said them. He wasn’t referring to just AAARRRGGHH!!! If he had, he would’ve said “Leave him alone, Morgana.” HE. SAID. THEM.

He can TELEPORT

LOOK AT HIM.

He got done dirty. So dirty.

my ramble about just the canon angst he went through

He breathes FIRE and look at him in this one. HE TAKES DOWN MORGANA WHILE HE’S INJURED AND SLAMS HER INTO THE GROUND.

LOOK AT HIM.

Important characterization scenes for him are cut

MERLIN WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE A COUPLE OF EPISODES ABOUT HIS BACKSTORY BUT IT GOT CUT OF COURSE

I don't know why the writers did that. Maybe it was supposed an Aesop about how

"Expectations don't live up to reality." Or something.

But if he's really like that, how did he survive fighting the Arcane Order for a literal millennia? Why did Morgana want his magic so much that she kept him asleep for nine hundred years just to get it?

Canon flip-flops on him constantly, and he's only as powerful as the plot needs him to be.

He could have teleported out of Arthur's grasp, or he could have frozen time before that even happened and gotten them all out of there.

He made the Cradlestone to free the babies, and ended the Eternal Night, but they weren't really dwelled on, making him seem more like a living Deus Ex Machina if anything. In Wizards, he needed another master wizard to help him complete the Amulet.

He can teleport!! He was gone. He breathes fire in some storyboards. l'm not joking.

Before he appeared onscreen, he seemed like a revered figure. He's described as a "wizard that has power" in the art book. in EPISODE ONE.

Trollhunters actually makes him seem more badass compared to Wizards where he got more screen time.

He actually is badass, but he doesn't get to show it except for when the plot needs him to.

He was nerfed and I will not accept otherwise.

It was just to give Douxie angst.

me shaking the writers YOU DO NOT HAVE AN EXCUSE

Okay I’m mainly talking about his characterization, but he was done dirty by this too!

Look at him!

He looks amazing.

Then canon downgraded him into just an old man!

I’m sorry, but I can’t take his design seriously when he looks like that compared to his concept art.

There’s also the fandom. I originally thought that I would put it under the cut so people wouldn’t have to see my opinions, but you know what? This needs to be said, and I’m leaving it out in the open.

Five episodes. Five. And that was enough to inspire a whole tag around hating him, people who whispered a word about even liking him were harassed off the site,

And even hated for being traumatized *cough* **Merlin** *cough*

y z

I didn’t specify that it was Merlin in the first rant, but you could probably guess from even that.

*Merlin stomped on Douxie’s self-esteem as soon as he adopted him*!

“*Merlin doesn’t understand emotions! He has the emotional density of a turnip*!”

Another canon to fanon ToA thing is **MERLIN’S WHOLE PERSONALITY!!!**

He’s constantly made into the worst person ever. A bad dad. An emotionally abusive manipulator. A fucking pedophile.

“Quotes”, “meta”, and “evidence” that he’s a bad person are pulled from thin air. I know I’ve said this before, but I really feel like people are just coming up with reasons to hate him, or they’re purposely making him worse than canon so they can hate him. One time, I saw a fic author ADMIT they were writing Merlin worse than canon on purpose.

It fucking sucks to see him be changed so much. I’m know I’m going to do him justice. I know that I’m writing him in character. I have meta from Aaron, actual, honest to God **quotes**, screencaps, etc. But it still fucking sucks. I put the tag Good Merlin on Emerald Embers, but I’m still nervous that someone in the comments or somewhere else will say he’s out of character.

I am so sick of people demonizing him when Morgana is RIGHT THERE!

And yet those five episodes were enough to cause a whole tag called the Merlin hate train, people wishing violent death upon him or giving him ones, and people who gave even one hint that they liked him harassed off the site.

And most of the reason was because Merlin “manipulated Jim into becoming a half-troll!”

But he didn’t. He sat Jim down and laid out his options: 1. take the potion and win against Gunmar and whoever else he would have to fight, or 2. don’t take the potion and die a brutal, painful death.

Also, kind of off subject, but when Jim turned back to human, there was controversy over whether he should have stayed troll or not!

MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MINDS FANDOM

And the voice acting I showed you? Is from that scene. Merlin is a very, very emotionally constipated person because of all the shit and trauma he’s been through over the course of millenia, and him saying that is essentially baring his soul to a child that he barely even knows.

Does the fandom give a shit about that? No!

Does the fandom give a shit when he said “Leave them alone, Morgana.” referring to both AAARRRGGHH!!! and Angor? The latter of whom was a slave at the time? No!

Does the fandom give a shit when he grieved over his Trollhunters’ deaths? Most of them murders? No!

Does the fandom give a shit when he grieved over Galahad’s death? No!

Does the fandom give a shit when it’s implied that he sealed Nimue away to seal her away from Arthur’s massacre of magic kind? No!

Does the fandom give a shit about him being surprised when Jim gives him an affectionate nickname in Wizards? No!

DOES EVERYONE FORGET MERLIN HOLDING DOUXIE’S HANDS AND HIM HOLDING RIGHT BACK?! DOES EVERYONE FORGET MERLIN CUPPING HIS FACE? DOES EVERYONE FORGET HIM CALLING HIM HIS SON? DOES EVERYONE FORGET THEIR HUG IN EPISODE TEN?

YES

And many more things!

They were making tons of aus with Merlin as the villain, *of course*, and they were giving him death threats and saying they would kill him, throw him out of a window, and do a ton of other shit.

I hated seeing it, and sometimes I could literally feel my body getting distressed because of it.

But the worst part of seeing this?

They were wishing death on him because of their own fanon versions.

And even if he is written as a good person? He always only cares about Douxie.

His trauma, his sarcasm, his empathy, all go poof. Reddie is one of the few people who knows that he’s a good person, but even she acts like he doesn’t have any empathy at all. Hopefully I’ve demonstrated that he is a very high empath with the above.☝️ Hardly anyone in the fandom™️ appreciates his complexities at all!

No matter what, whether he’s characterized as a good person and/or good dad, or bad person and/or bad dad, all of his complexities are erased. No matter what.

Actually a lot of them.

Anyways,

and he’s mine now.

Thank you so much for the ask!

[rabidrodent]

you ever get the feeling that like, nothing really exists anymore?

like ever since the mid-2010s, we've just been floating in a catatonic state. a cultural void. things continue to fade and go out of style, per usual, and yet nothing new is there to take their place.

like ever since trump was elected, culture itself was put on pause and never really turned back on. not to imply that he's solely at fault, that's silly. but there was an absolute vibe shift that happened overnight. did you feel it? that feeling that everything that culturally worked before suddenly didn't work anymore?

i think a lot of it has to do with the huge corporate consolidation we've seen the past decade. there's no money in anything anymore. there's no money in art, in journalism, in music, in tv, in animation, in comics, in social media in general. all creative avenues are in the dirt, siphoned off by a select few. anything and everything is in a complete rut.

you ever flip through cable/satellite tv nowadays? it's an absolute desert. dozens of channels just airing a single show for hours on end. all that money was moved into streaming, which worked for a little while, but now it's all fragmented, and again, no money for anything.

entire genres of movies thrown away in favor of chasing the next monotone billion dollar worldwide blockbuster.

the tech world, one that once brought wonder for the new possibilities of the future, now in a rut of hyping predatory, cynical, half-baked ideas that only serve to undermine the fabric of society. all to sponge up some short-term hype money before it all crashes and burns, then it's onto the next big dumb scam.

social media in general feels dead. twitter, once a titan, now a destroyed husk. numerous alternatives sprouted to take its place, none grabbed much a foothold. the site will just slowly rot away, leaving nothing but a massive void in its place. dead internet theory run amok.

where are the new artistic movements and aesthetics? the big new music acts? the shows that everyone talks about? like... memes in general...? remember when people used to joke about a singular thing for longer than a few days?

maybe that's just the death of the monoculture. everything we live, fragmented into dust, smoothed into a gray paste.

or maybe i'm just old and passionless and not paying attention anymore. i never wanted to be a "kids these days" guy, but maybe that's just an inevitability. but you hear distressed stories from teachers about how kids and teens are basically functionally illiterate nowadays, and you wonder... no, this actually is different, right? this isn't just the unstoppable trudge of time casting away old forms of thinking, but there's actually a foundational underlying problem here that's negatively affecting the world at large?

maybe it's me, maybe it's the world. i just feel that all these established cultural pillars we'd come to rely on for years, decades, centuries, have withered away, with nothing new to take their place. a world of rubble and melancholy. you can kick some rocks around and build a sand castle, but nobody's around to notice or care.

[saratogaroadwrites]

Per Aspera Ad Astra (18/18)

Per Aspera Ad Astra | saratogaroad | banner art credit Rating: T Wordcount: 183k Characters: John 117, Cortana, Thomas Lasky, Sarah Palmer, Fireteam Osiris, The Warden Eternal, The Didact, The Librarian, ensemble of other Halo characters Relationships: John-117 & Cortana Other Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, fix-it, Male/Female Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence Warnings:  War imagery, seizures, graphic description of injury

Snatched from the jaws of death, Cortana and John find themselves adrift in a galaxy that has long since moved on. As they attempt to find their place in this strange new world, they find that the fight is not as over as they thought. Chasing a signal across the galaxy in desperate hope, they come to a stark conclusion: the Reclamation has begun, and they are helpless to stop it.

=

You're sure they're here?

I'm sure. Cortana leaned her head back to catch his eye, traffic cameras caught a group matching their description outside one of the hotels here three nights ago, and they were seen again leaving that hotel fifteen minutes ago. They're here, and they're coming this way.

Pressing his back against the decorative pillar, John fought to keep from moving. Tension roiled beneath his skin, begging for an outlet; he settled for rolling his shoulders, the synthetic material of his jacket crinkling. The senate hall below them was full of people; staff and local officials, members of the press, even a few activists and protesters. A few sangheili, too, all of them in the softer civilian harnesses rather than armored combat gear. He wondered idly if they felt as exposed as he did. Durban's largest embassy was nestled in the middle of Biko's most populated city, full to bursting with civilians on their morning commute. It would last easily for another hour, Cortana had explained when he'd pointed out the crowds on their way in, and would provide good cover among the workforce. Any ordinary person would have been lost among the throng.

The people they were looking for were anything but ordinary.

What are they doing here?

I'm still sorting it all out, but from what was written in the ONI report they're all serving as bodyguards to one Richard Sekibo. He's a big name when it comes to continuing peace talks between humanity and the sangheili, which has gotten him some rather negative attention from some radical groups. She glanced sidelong at him. ONI funded radical groups.

Do you think they know that?

Pretty sure they've guessed. She tucked hair out of her eyes, returning her attention to the hall below. Judging by how the cameras were moving, she wasn't using just her own eyes to keep watch. That last mission they were on put them on the same path as Sekibo. Reports say they saved his life from an assassination attempt and stuck around, but given the trouble they're noted as running into I'd put credits on them knowing this is bigger than racist idiots.

John clenched his jaw so tightly his ears started to ring. He'd known that ONI had its secrets but this was too much. To target a peaceful diplomat, one of their own, was one thing. Preventing lasting peace between humanity and the sangheili was short-sighted and he couldn't understand their reasoning, but fine. There had to be some tactical importance behind the idea. But that they would target UNSC assets like Blue Team...it unsettled him. The look on Admiral Osman's face at the hearing flashed across his mind's eye, the way she had looked at Cortana like she was an obstacle to be eliminated...did she think that way about Blue Team? Were they all just obstacles to her?

A chill settled across his shoulders, Cortana's wordless attempt to ease his worries. Taking a deep breath he shook his head, forcing his muscles to relax. It didn't matter. Whatever was going on, they would handle it. Once he had eyes on Blue Team he would help them complete whatever mission they had taken on, and after that. Well, they'd deal with the rest after that.

And FLEETCOM doesn't know this is happening.

No. ONI kept this under the radar, kept Sekibo's attempts to call for help from reaching the right ears. As far as Lord Hood knows, Blue Team really did go MIA in Covenant space. It just wasn't because of the Covenant.

No. It was because of ONI. They kept things compartmentalized, and for good reason. If it got out that they were targeting their own people, there would be chaos in the ranks. Dissent would spread, splintering through the UNSC forces and leaving mistrust to spread in its wake. He understood keeping things on a need to know basis, but this went too far. He couldn't understand it, and he probably never would. The war was over. Why were they so determined to restart it? He set the question aside for later.

We'll need proof if we're going to tell him what really happened.

I'm working on that, too. Cortana sighed, both physically and mentally. It's going to be one hell of a mess.

John could imagine. He hummed quietly, rolling his shoulders. The skylight overhead offered a clear view of the sky above, a thick layer of rose colored clouds left over from the overnight rains just now beginning to break and allow scattered glimpses of the almost white sky they were hiding. Deneb's pale blue glow sent shafts of light down to the city, the soft warmth falling across the hall. Cortana reached out, cupping a sunbeam in her bare hand. She'd changed her code to appear more human and the near-white light rippled across warm olive skin, but even changing her colors couldn't change the softness that came to her expression as she felt real sunlight for the first time in her life.

John had to swallow the lump that rose in his throat. She deserved this, the chance to feel sunlight on her skin, and so much more.

"Does it feel real?" He asked quietly, the two of them in their own little world. She looked back at him, her eyes still so blue. "The sun. Does it feel real?"

Cortana blinked. Then, slowly, she smiled. The comforting chill wrapped itself a little tighter around his shoulders and he held it close. Maybe he'd never quite figure out an answer to the question she had asked him back then, but to be here in this moment with her was enough.

"Yes," She said just as softly, "It does."

The break in the clouds blew on past, returning the hall to the dimmer artificial lights below as they stole the sunlight but not her smile. She suddenly turned her attention to the main doors, the mechanical workings pushing hard to open the sturdy metal sides as a crowd of people walked inside. Men and women in suits, hands to their earpieces and eyes on their tablets, heels clicking against the marble floor. Diplomatic personnel, Sekibo's staff. He would be just behind them, and with him Blue Team.

John stepped out from behind the pillar, reaching out to grasp the rail with both hands. Cortana pressed in against his side, her light warm and buzzing against his skin as they watched, neither saying a word. The crowd of staff kept walking, going to begin the set up for the talks that would start soon. John gave them a once over, then turned his attention to the rear of the group. A dark haired woman with a serious face walked in beside an older man, a hand on the holster at her hip. Their heads were pressed in together, her whispering something to him, but John's attention wasn't on the two of them. It was on the three taller figures that surrounded them.

Against the backdrop of average humans there was no mistaking them for anything other than Spartans, and though five years stood between them John would have known his team anywhere. Fred loomed over the two in front of him, a little grayer at the temples and with a little extra color to his skin that hadn't been there the last time John had seen him, but he was still recognizably Fred. That was one.

A pace to Fred's left, Kelly strode through the hall like she owned the place. The blue dye in her hair was fresh, the bright color a vivid reminder of Reach's horizon at dawn. She drew stares but didn't care, more focused on keeping watch. That was two. A pace to Fred's right, Linda pulled off a pair of sunglasses, her bottle green eyes faintly narrowed as she considered the hall, the closing doors, and their surroundings before she locked eyes with Fred and gave the signal for all clear. That was three.

John's chest had grown tight, and he had to remind himself to breathe. They were alive. Somewhere deep inside, a tired old part of his heart remembered how to beat again. Cortana leaned over enough to look up at him.

Well? She smiled fondly, Don't you want to go say hello?

He did. He looked down at her, her smile warming him from within, then looked back down to his team. Rather than call out to them John whistled six clear notes, the sound echoing through the hall. More than a few people looked up, looking for the odd sound, but he paid them no mind. His attention was firmly on his siblings, watching as the three of them stopped dead. The dark haired woman froze when they did, looking back at Fred with one hand still on her gun, but his focus was elsewhere. The three once lost members of Blue Team turned in different directions to scan the area for the source of the whistle, their old signal, and it was Linda that looked up first. John watched her jolt as if struck, frozen by surprise for the span of three heartbeats. She didn't speak, didn't need to, but he could see the question in her eyes.

John?

Kelly saw him next, leaning back for a better look at what had caught Linda's attention only for her own eyes to go wide. Catching onto his sister's surprise Fred jerked his head around, stopping dead a second time and adding his gaze to their stares. John had to smile faintly, both sides of his mouth lifting upwards. What? Was he really the strangest thing they'd seen all day? They hadn't seen anything yet. Cortana snickered, catching the thought. He glanced down at her and she arched an eyebrow, tilting her head. He reached for her hand.

We go together.

Always.

Her small hand slipped perfectly into his grip. For the first time in years, John had everything he needed. No matter what happened, or what they had to face, he knew that things would work out somehow. They had each other, after all. That was all that mattered.

With that thought in mind, and with Cortana at his side, he headed down to greet his family.

[demonslayedher]

Okay but Sanemi… Sanemiii.. Nemi… Nii chan🥲 I was midway reading Genya’s chapter from the light novels, and came here to say this.

Just understanding who was Sanemi before joining the Demon Slayers corps, will make it 💯 % understandable why he acted violently to Nezuko and Tanjiro at the pillar’s meeting. He wasn’t a typical shonen character with high temper, he was lost thinking “What is so special about those two to be given the faintest dim of hope to reclaim the demon sister” , the same thin hope he wished for while chasing his beloved pitiful mother … if Tanjiro didn’t headbut Sanemi’ sense back ig Sanemi would’ve gone far..

I want to say a lot actually ( just deleted a big ass paragraph hahaha) but please, if you pass by this pitiful ask, don’t let a day pass without appreciating Sanemi.

He held mountains of burden and lost a lot </3

Avo, I'm pushing this because I know you've read and enjoyed some of my other fanfic, but have you read "The Pillar Training Oath"? That is my deepest dive post-canon into Sanemi (and Giyuu), and because I was trying to be as faithful as I could, writing some of those Sanemi scenes hurt.

I am so, so, so, so, so, so not ready for Chapter 179 to be animated. Ahahaaaaa, I'm tearing up as I'm writing this. ヽ(；▽；)ノ Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh-----

Okay, so, what I want to say most on Sanemi is, just like how he pays no mind to the physical pain he puts himself throw (Buddy! Dude!! Sew those up!! Let those heal!!!), he probably pays even less mind to his emotional pain. He cares so much more about the people he loves than about his own suffering that he can very, very flippantly offer to accompany his mother to hell without a second thought, despite how much he'd love to see his siblings again too. He can't even care less that this means he's dead.

But Sanemi, against his own will, is a survivor. And he has to live on, carrying his silent sufferings, so silent he doesn't even recognize them. It's not that he consciously runs from or buries his pain, even for all the hurtful things he's said to Genya to chase him off he's never even considered trying to forget about Genya as a way of protecting himself. Sanemi doesn't seek anything for himself, which means he doesn't seek others' validation; it's okay for Genya to go on hating him for murdering their mother as long as it means Genya lives.

A--aa-a-and then he didn't---!! ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡AAAAAAHHH-----

Phew, ahhh, moving on.

Sanemi, becauses he puts such little weight to his own suffering, has not really faced his own suffering, so when he has no choice but to face it, it's completely overwhelming, whether he's overcome with sorrow or with rage that someone had the gall to keep their demon sister alive (he indeed had very good reason to hate Tanjiro, as analyzed here). While not confronting his own emotional pain, Sanemi has poured his efforts into what's ultimately been distractions for him, to the extent that eliminating demons is an obsessive purpose.

The uplifting conclusion of the manga gives us the impression that he's going to be able to live on and find a new purpose, and without demons to defeat or family to protect, we're left to assume Sanemi can only start looking within himself for purpose. He will have to look to his own emotional needs, to confront not only his sorrows, but also ask himself what would make him--himself, a person of value even without the context of others--happy.

I don’t think he's ever done that, and however it happens post-canon, that's bound to be Sanemi's next battle.

Edit: Credit for the lovely Sanemi art goes to pi_su05 on Twitter:

[gamerbearmira]

Mirabel probably has friendly fire on once she goes back to the Encanto. Like, KLEE HAVERS ARE GONNA COMMIT MASS ARSON TO SUMERU, AND THEN WE HAVE GENSHIN!MIRABEL OVER HERE ALMOST DOING A DOMINO EFFECT OF ARSON IN THE ENCANTO.

Alma and the rest of the fam are sweating in the Casita with Antonio having his shield up, and Dolores is trying to put the fire out using overload😭🤚.

But art Idea: Dolores chasing someone with an Electro infused belt, or Dolores showing B0oba Sword technique to the fam, bonus if you draw their reactions as well.

PLEASEE FIRE IS EVERYWHERE.

Antonio is so used to it, that the Madrigals are kind of scared that he just so casually put up his shield in front of them and going in to help Dolores. And Dolores is just. Speeding after her while Antonio is shooting up pillars to stop her. He also uses Parce to help, something he learned from, “The Great Arataki Itto” and his beloved bull.

[egelantier]

disco elysium

i fall into a proper gaming binge every half a year or so, and then forget that computers games exist altogether. my last bout of addiction was hades, a gorgeous roguelite about trying to get out of the underworld and dealing with family, bigger on the inside than it seemed outside. now i've spent a week headfirst into the beautiful madness of disco elysium, and i'm nowhere close to done. middle of the second playthrough, at least a couple more ahead, maybe three, maybe five - this kind of not closer to be done. finally, almost a decade later, there's a spiritual successor to planescape: torment, perfect, unique and compelling like nothing else. i'm head over heels in love.

(and a note: it's very much a game that can and should be played by non-gamers. it's a true click-and-pointer; the entirety of its action happens through dialogue. give it a try.)

in disco elysium, your character wakes up in an absolutely trashed hotel room, coming off a bender of epic proportions, fucked up beyond recognition, and fully amnesiac. it turns out you're visiting a (very much not) sunny town of revachol, a slowly decaying remnant of revolution and consequent war, and, well. you're a cop, and you're here to investigate a murder. namely, a murder of somebody whose dead body is still hanged in the backyard…

this is a horrendous mess, and you are a horrendous mess - bloated, amnesiac, confused, weird, pathetic, with a host of warring impulses and demands fighting for space in your head - but thankfully there's a pillar of stability and light in your dark world, waiting just downstairs: lieutenant kim katsuragi, your assigned partner from another station, a man with godlike sense of dignity and practically endless amount of quiet patience for your bullshit. together with him, you can investigate a crime, try to stop a small civil war, solve a couple of questions of the universe, and maybe, if you play your cards just once, dance a truly epic dance together in a shot-up church. there are also cryptids, karaoke, board games, collecting bottles for money, a mystery of a crashed police car, discovering your own feelings about the homo-sexual underground, and many, many other things.

(the gameplay: you have four sets of stats (intellect, sensitivity, physicality, interacting with objects) and, depending on how you distribute them, you play a wildly different character every time. there's no way to fail: your detective can be dumb as a bag of rocks but able to get by on intuition and muscle memory, or smart and horrible with people, or empathetic and weak, or - the combinations are endless. the game is conducted via a combination of red stat checks that you can do only once, and white checks that you can try, fail, up your stats and retry again. aside from a handful of cases, a lot of time it's easier - and funnier - to accept failures rather than try for a perfect go every time. you are a hot mess, after all. there are ten game days, a variety of sidequests and tasks, and almost endless variability in how you approach them. everything is connected, except for that one door.)

(there's also a political system, where you eventually pick up your political affiliation: a communist, a libertarian, a fascist, and a wishy-washy uncommitted liberal. the game has a lot of things to tell you about all your choices, most of them funny, some of them horrendous. there's no innocence here, and no way to weasel out of the consequences of your worldview; and you could also see that it was done by eastern europe people.)

and the thing is. the thing is, it's very much the kind of a game where you perform a field autopsy on a three days old corpse while a couple of preteen kids are watching avidly and offering their color commentary, and at some point you have to rummage in the corpse's mouth and feel its brain stem. a lot of very, very bad things happen or happened - to you, to the people around you, to the town around you, to the world around you. where in fallout you rolled into town with your stats jacked high and your blaster in hand, and solved ancient disputes and established peace, here the weight of the history is very, very heavy, and you're very, very small. you can't solve the decades of violence and war and trauma and colonization and poverty with the power of your save-scumming and pithy one liners, alas; but you can solve a murder. you can help a sweet and worried old woman. you can put your cheek to a kid's fuzzy plush toy, when offered. you can tell a person, gently, that their loved one is dead, and lie about how drunk they were when they did that. you can replace a taxidermied bird you broke. you can sit on the swing with your partner, waiting for the low tide, and whistle together - two birds on the wire…

it's the gentlest, kindest, sweetest, most hopeful game i've seen in the last decade. it's a goddamn manifesto to human spirit, and to how only - well, love - holds the world, always falling apart, together. a huge part of it is your relationship with kim, because believe me, whoever you are, most of your playthrough would be dedicated to chasing kim's approval and to winning his trust. but it also sneaks into all the cases, all the dialogues, all the little throwaway details. everybody is human; everybody is awful; everybody is holy, even you. oh, even you.

(there are storylines you can or can not discover. about why harry is such a mess - and it's awful and i loved how it was done, with empathy and grace and no judgement; about the state of the world, a bit of eldritch horror so throwaway and beautiful i would read entire volumes just about that; about the city of locusts; about a small girls' memory of playing in the reeds; about the scar of the revolution. suliram, ram, ram…)

(it's also brilliantly, awfully, absurdly, hysterically funny. Art Cop run alone makes me just about die. every failure is funnier than the other. you can be as weird as you want to - in fact, the game encourages you to be as weird as you want to be - and the world around will react accordingly, outperforming you in sheer absurdity. there's a war-and-peace sized amount of dialogue and description in the game, and it's written by some damn genius of pratchettian caliber.)

and, and and. honestly, the best way to get sucked into this game is not reviews, it's random quotes and screenshots, out -of-context spoilers - it's more or less impossible to resist. but please, oh please, give it a try.

>Someone's been walking around in your dreams lately, looking for something. Tidying up, rearranging. Storing away all the unrealized dreams, putting old pains in boxes. The worst nightmares have settled down for a while. A spot of light on the bedroom door after the dark. The fluttering of eyelids in the spring sun. A thought that arises, only to disappear again. And yet there's a pattern emerging…

>What if you didn’t lose your memory? What if something in Martinaise came and stored it all away. For you to slowly open one box at a time. So you can choose which parts to keep. Keep almost none of it. Only the flowers on the windowsill. Only the distant sound of a radio. Lose all the actors, the dark shadows, leave only the still lifes, the blissful distant wash of waves. If everybody knew -- you never did. She’ll be coming soon. That is all.