#replace hate with compassion

[always-is-always]

Ships - Solos - Antis - ARMYs 💜

When I took my first step as a Baby ARMY (literally newborn level) in 2019, I had ZERO base understanding of anything in the world of K-Pop. Not one iota of any previous experience, and no baseline to begin from.

So, when I took that second step, third step, and then the tumble down the Bangtan rabbit hole, I had a LOT of learning to do. That's putting it mildly.

I knew nothing about the music, the culture around the music, the people in that world of music, the history behind it, the culture of Korea, the language (of course!!), and everything else connected to it. I was starting like that newborn baby who couldn't communicate logically, and who didn't understand anything about what she was seeing and hearing.... All I knew what that I wanted to learn more.

When I first saw the words "ship" and "shipper", I had no idea what it meant. I had to Google it. lol... Here in the US, it isn't really a part of the music culture. At least for my generation...

I didn't understand what "jikook", "taekook", "vminkook", "yoonmin", etc... were. When I finally figured it out, I still didn't understand. I didn't understand why people combine names?? 😂

When I started seeing references to "solos", "antis", "ot7", and such, it was confusing, as with those labels came a lot of emotional content. People loving. People hating. People projecting negativity onto other people who believed differently and felt differently. Literal fighting within the fandom.... what the heck, I thought?? What is this fandom? What is ARMY? Why do people hate on one another (total strangers most of the time), so publicly??

Four years into this, I still don't understand why people who claim to be ARMY have to brinig such negativity into the energy of the fandom. It just doesn't help anyone. It's certainly NOT what Namjoon, Seokjin, Hoseok, Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung, or Jungkook would want. It's the opposite of what they would want.

Every single time I read an ARMY's words that they hate another ARMY/fan/human, it makes me cringe. I'm shocked at how easily people voice hatred and send it out into the world, just like exhaling a breath.

I shy away from embracing any label, in regards to my own identity in this life. Maybe it's because I've navigated on the planet for a long time (many lifetimes), and I see how labels create separation, war, judgement, and just more negative energy. Within the fandom it's the basic finger pointing and negativity, that turns me away.

As Human Beings, we are responsibile for every single word, every action, every thought, and all energy that we contribute to the Collective on this planet. Not one Soul is immune to this.

With everything that is happening out on the world stage, what and how we feel matters.

If we want to see changes occur within the fandom then the first step is taking responsibility, and making conscious choices. Begin with the removal of the word "hate", from one's vocabulary. The fandom is a reflection of bigger things that are happening on the world stage. Everything is connected, in the Collective Field.

Hopefully this will be the last time I post about this. It's not my preferred topic by any means. It is something that I'm cognizant of in my daily life, as I navigate this Earthly Path. It is important for us to be aware and to be conscious, as it is our contribution to life and this planet, every moment of every day. 💜🌏💜

[blueskittlesart]

never let anyone tell you an art degree is useless. i am currently using mine to slowly roast a fly to death by blocking off the top of my lampshade

[genderkoolaid]

as someone with ARFID i really couldn't care less about the distinction between "picky eaters" and "genuine eating issues." if you are an asshole to someone you see as "just picky" i will never, ever trust you. i've lived through the trauma of being shamed and humiliated for my eating needs.

frankly i think a LOT of "picky eaters" have some kind of sensory problems– autistic or allistic– and shame is never useful. i don't fucking care how annoying you think we are. if you've never lived through the humiliation of being the only one not eating at a dinner table, or having to choke down something disgusting you already know you hate because other people insist you don't know your own body, or getting a hunger migraine in a house full of food because none of its edible to you? you don't understand how awful it is to have food issues.

whenever i see people draw this distinction between being "just a picky eater" and "having a real problem" all i think is, who does this serve? most people don't even know ARFID exists. there are so many undiagnosed autistics, or just people with a variety of issues that aren't officially diagnosed. why do we need a medical label in order to be treated with respect and compassion? why did i need to be diagnosed as autistic for my family to realize the abuse they put me through for years because of my eating habits?

it's such an easy habit for neglected groups to fall into– the idea that a medical diagnosis can save us. that by appealing to the medical/psychiatric industry, we can be protected from abuse and given basic respect and resources. but the truth is that it should never have come to this in the first place. dignity doesn't come from an abled doctor telling you that there's a medical reason for your symptoms. it comes from being a person. once you accept that you need a Good Reason to have your needs respected, you doom yourself to neglecting and abusing those who have your same struggles because they aren't lucky enough to access medical recognition.

tl;dr solidarity with all "picky eaters" stop guilting people for having varying food needs, if we make you irrationally angry that's YOUR problem not ours, and abolish "children's menus" & replace them with simple-food menus for people of all ages

[helioooss]

i. when i close my eyes, you replace him

synopsis: after a rare drunken night, y/n wakes up in bed next to the most untouchable girl at yonsei: karina. she’s immediately thrown into a mess she never wanted, torn between her own moral compass and the undeniable pull of something she doesn’t understand. some lines, once crossed, can never be undone.

w/c: 5k+

warnings: heavy cheating, implied sex, alcohol, smoking, just normal uni stuff, swearingggg, slow burn

a/n: hi, had to separate it into multiple parts. hope u all enjoy this one even though its been awhile. ps. i don’t condone cheating lmaooo + the song below really sets the tone

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

vanilla, maybe a little jasmine.

something expensive, like the kind of perfume you would smell in those fancy department stores where the sales assistants look at you like they know you can’t afford anything.

it lingers in the sheets, in the air, in your skin.

a slow, relentless throb sits at the base of your skull and your mouth is dry. you blink against the dim morning light filtering through your blinds, the remnants of last night still a haze in your mind.

and then it hits you.

your body is bare under the sheets. no clothes. nothing. but someone is warm against you.

long, dark hair sprawls across the pillow next to you, silky strands cascading over an exposed shoulder. her skin is pale, smooth, untouched by the morning light yet glowing like it holds its own. your breath catches. her back is turned to you, slow, steady breaths rising and falling beneath the sheets. peaceful.

completely unaware that your entire world is about to collapse.

your first thought: who the fuck is this?

your second (in denial) thought: why the fuck are you naked?

your brain is too fogged over to piece together what happened, probably mushed from all the alcohol you had last night.

you swallow, slowly — very, very slowly, propping yourself up on one elbow. your hands shake as you pull the blanket up over your chest, as if that’ll somehow make this situation better.

carefully, cautiously, like you’re disarming a bomb, you lean forward to get a look at the stranger’s face.

and then your stomach drops straight to hell.

karina.

karina?!

you don’t even need a second look. you’ve spent enough time at yonsei university hearing about her, seeing her, watching her float through campus like she’s too good for the ground everyone else walks on.

you slam back against the mattress like you’ve been shot.

she’s untouchable. too cool. too pretty. and currently in your bed. naked.

she looks impossibly pretty even in sleep, long lashes resting against her skin, lips slightly parted, collarbones peeking from beneath the covers. your heart lurches into your throat.

what the fuck.

this is it. this is how you die.

your breath is stuck in your throat as you practically fling yourself out of bed, scrambling for any piece of clothing within reach. you don’t even check if they’re yours — you just yank them on, hopping on one foot as you try to shove your legs into something, anything, all while keeping an eye on her sleeping form like she might wake up and smite you on the spot.

somehow, by some miracle, she doesn’t stir.

you do not have time to ask yourself why she is here, nor do you have the time to remember that she has a boyfriend who could break you in half with his bare hands.

all you know is you need to get the fuck out.

without a second glance, you dart out of your room, sprinting down the stairs so fast you nearly trip over yourself.

the first thing you see is giselle standing by the stove, flipping bacon with the ease of someone who’s used to cleaning up after her drunk friends.

the second thing your eyes fall upon are yunjin and ryujin sitting at the table, looking like they’ve personally been dragged through the depths of hell.

“i hate the smell of eggs,” ryujin grumbles, forehead resting on the table. “why couldn’t you make pancakes?”

giselle barely spares her a glance. “because i’m not your mother and you’re lucky i’m even feeding you.”

before ryujin can argue, you come to a screeching halt in the middle of the kitchen, eyes wild, hair a mess, voice a strangled whisper-yell: “chat, what the fuck.”

yunjin peeks up from where her face is buried in her arms, squinting at you like you’ve personally offended her. “what now? turn that volume down, please.”

“i’m fucking whispering, you idiot!” you grumble, staring at her, breathless. then just point — frantic, shaking towards your room upstairs.

giselle pauses mid-bacon flip. “okay, that’s terrifying…i see we’re not using words anymore. what exactly happened?”

“how about i ask the questions: what happened last night?” you demand, voice breaking slightly. “tell me, now.”

ryujin lets out a long, dramatic groan. “can you not? my head is killing me.”

“i’m serious,” you hiss, eyes darting between them. “i don’t remember anything, but i woke up and —” you lower your voice to a whisper. “just fucking tell me.”

“no clue,” ryujin mutters, rubbing her temples. “this is why we don’t let her drink because she fucking tweaks like she’s in philadelphia the morning after.”

“you were drinking,” yunjin says, ignoring the comments from ryujin. “like, a lot. i think you even beat the devil in shots, which is insane because she has a liver made of steel.”

“but —”

giselle suddenly chimes in, flipping a piece of bacon with a little too much force. “oh, wait. i did see you. weirdly enough, you were with karina.”

your blood runs cold.

“what?”

she just shrugs. “yeah, i was talking to minjeong and ningning when you guys walked past us. both of you were drunk as fuck. she said you were gonna show her a guitar collection or something?”

you stare at her, horrified.

“i don’t own a guitar collection,” you whisper. “i can’t even play the guitar!”

“yeah, i know,” giselle raises a brow, arms crossed. “so…?”

yunjin, still groggy, suddenly gasps, eyes going wide as she claps a hand over her mouth. “no fucking way.”

giselle follows her gaze — to your neck.

“oh my god,” she breathes, staring at the faint red marks trailing down your skin.

ryujin tries to stifle her giggle with a cough, failing miserably.

“not funny,” you snap, panic rising in your throat. “jaewook is going to kill me.”

yunjin’s jaw drops open so fast you’re worried it might unhinge like a snake. “is it really karina?” she repeats, eyes wide.

“karina,” you confirm, still whispering like the walls might have ears.

“as in the karina?” giselle asks slowly, voice laced with disbelief. “my friend karina?”

“no, as in some other random karina — yes, the karina. her boyfriend is gonna bury me in that damn field!”

“okay, let’s not be dramatic,” yunjin adds, but there’s clear amusement in her voice.

“not dramatic? not dramatic?” you echo, voice bordering on hysteria. “jennifer, i woke up naked next to karina, who has a psycho boyfriend twice my size, and i don’t even remember how i got there!”

“…well, when you put it like that.”

“oh my god,” you whisper, gripping your head. “i’m actually going to die.”

there’s silence for a hot minute, minds reeling in escape routes, until giselle, ever the problem solver, crosses her arms. “we lie.”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“we lie,” she repeats. “when she wakes up, we pretend you were never in that bed. you slept on the couch. she passed out alone. nothing happened.”

you stare at her like she’s just suggested setting yourself on fire. “that’s your plan?”

“do you have a better one?”

you press your lips together as you run your hand over your face.

“exactly,” giselle says in that tone, clapping her hands together. “so, when karina wakes up, she never saw you in that bed. you were never there. simple.”

this is the worst morning of your entire life.

as you throw yourself onto the couch like a corpse with your arms folded over your chest, your angel of a dorm mate pulls a blanket up to your chin.

“see, like clockwork,” giselle adds with a sly smirk.

your mind is a tangled mess of panic, regret, and complete and utter confusion. you close your eyes, willing yourself to relax — to sell this whole i slept on the couch act but your heart is hammering so loudly in your ears that it’s impossible to focus on anything else.

your brain refuses to shut up, a million thoughts crashing into each other at once, all from the absolute catastrophe that was waking up naked next to yonsei university’s golden girl with no recollection of how or why.

you are not the kind of person this happens to. you are top of your law class, notoriously composed, the one who actually plans things, the one who does not let emotions — or tequila —cloud her judgment.

point of the matter is…you don’t do stupid, reckless, irreversible things.

this was supposed to be a quiet weekend.

but no. because yunjin and ryujin can’t go one saturday without throwing a party, and because you are unfortunately their dormmate, you had no choice but to exist in the war zone that was your shared space. you should have locked yourself in your room, noise-canceling headphones on, ignoring the chaos.

but then ryujin had come along with just one tequila shot, which probably turned into just three, which turned into a complete and total blackout.

your eye twitches.

this is her fault.

and now, here you are. pretending to be asleep, willing the universe to undo the last twelve hours.

you almost laugh. not because it’s funny, but because it’s so fucking absurd that you don’t know what else to do.

karina, the karina, the closest thing yonsei university has to a deity. the kind of girl who walked through campus like the world existed for her entertainment, who made everything look effortless, who made people stupid just by looking at them. she was untouchable, unreachable, unattainable. and yet —

somehow…

she had ended up naked in your bed.

you grip the blanket tighter, your stomach churning.

and jaewook.

god, jaewook.

if karina was a deity, jaewook was her devoted disciple. if she so much as sneezed, he would probably donate a lung.

they were that couple, the one that made people gag from how perfect they seemed. and he was loyal. so loyal that it made you sick sometimes, the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the world.

what the fuck happened last night?

your brain tries to piece it together, but there’s nothing. no flashes of memory or drunken conversations replaying in your head, not a moment where you could have possibly imagined this happening.

the couch dips suddenly, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

your muscles go rigid.

no. no, no, no —

“dude.”

oh, for fuck’s sake.

“go away, ryujin,” you mutter, eyes still squeezed shut.

“no, no, no,” she whispers, and you don’t even need to look at her to know she has the most punchable grin on her face. “i need you to open your eyes and look at me so i can personally watch your soul leave your body.”

“not happening.”

“you —” she pauses for dramatic effect. “hooked up with karina.”

your jaw clenches. “shut the fuck up.”

“no, because, you hooked up with karina.”

“i swear to god, ryujin —”

“you —”

you slap a hand over her mouth, cutting her off before she can cause any more psychic damage. “if you say it out loud, it becomes real, and i am not ready for that kind of responsibility.”

she peels your hand off, grinning so hard it physically hurts to look at. “i cannot believe this. you, of all people.”

“what the fuck does that mean?”

“it means,” she waves a hand, “you’re, like, the most socially unavailable person i’ve ever met. you voluntarily do your readings before class. you say no to, like, everything. you have a permanent ‘do not disturb’ sign on your face. and yet —”

“stop.”

“— you managed to bag karina.”

you groan, pulling the blanket over your face. “go. away.”

“so, like, was she good?”

“what the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

before she can push any further, the sound of soft footsteps echoes from the stairs.

the dorm goes silent.

your heart stops.

you and ryujin lock eyes. hers are wide with excitement. yours are filled with sheer panic.

giselle’s voice comes first, casual, like this is just another normal morning. “morning, hottie.”

then, the one voice you really didn’t want to hear right now — soft, smooth, effortlessly composed. “good morning.”

your pulse nearly explodes out of your chest when you hear giselle moving around the kitchen, probably pouring herself coffee like this isn’t the biggest crisis of your life. “did you sleep okay?”

karina hums. “yeah. i think? i don’t really remember how i got where i was, though.”

your stomach turns.

ryujin is staring at you, holding back a laugh.

giselle, the absolute hero, keeps it cool. “oh, you were super drunk. you passed out on y/n’s bed. that’s why she’s on the couch.”

a pause.

a long one.

you swear you can hear karina thinking. “right,” she finally says, but it’s hesitant. something in her voice tells you she doesn’t completely buy it.

“hey,” she continues. “did minjeong and ningning get home safe?”

“yeah,” yunjin jumps in, voice faltering. “giselle got them an uber last night.”

“oh, good,” she exhales. “thanks for the hospitality. and tell y/n thanks for letting me sleep on her bed. i have to rush out and check on the girls. promise i’ll make it all up to you later on!”

oh, fuck off.

you squeeze your eyes shut harder, willing yourself to look as asleep as humanly possible.

you stop breathing.

she still thinks you’re asleep, still thinks you’re innocent.

you can almost hear giselle smile. “of course. anytime, love. message me when you get home.”

there’s movement, the rustling of fabric, the faint click of a phone being picked up. she is finally leaving.

the front door opens, then clicks shut.

one.

two.

three.

“holy fucking shit!” ryujin yells as slaps your arm so hard you nearly fall off the couch.

“ouch! what the fuck,” you hiss, rubbing your arm as you glare at her.

“you got away with it,” she grins, like she’s proud of you.

“got away with what? i don’t even know what happened!”

yunjin strolls over, sipping a glass of water like this is so entertaining for her. “guys, she knows something is off.”

you groan, shoving your face into the pillow because she definitely did. “do not say that.”

“she totally does,” she insists. “she hesitated. did you hear that? the pause? she knows.”

“she doesn’t know know,” giselle corrects her. “and that’s what matters.”

ryujin flops dramatically onto the floor, still grinning like a maniac. “you. and karina. i’m never getting over this.”

“i don’t even know what ‘this’ is!” you exclaim. “i blacked out.”

yunjin smirks. “so romantic.”

“maybe you guys had, like, a deep emotional connection before passing out,” ryujin says. “soulmates typa shit.”

“oh my god, i will murder all of you.”

“you already tried last night,” giselle says. “you nearly threw up on my shoes.”

you groan, throwing your arm over your face. “this is the worst day of my life.”

“yeah, okay,” ryujin grins. “until karina walks through that door next weekend again.”

you go completely still. oh, fuck. this is far from over.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the rest of the weekend is hell. before this, your life had been simple. structured. predictable.

you were y/n, top of your law class, the human embodiment of do not disturb, an over-caffeinated, emotionally unavailable machine built for academic success.

there was a system in place: study, work, sleep, repeat. everything in its place, nothing left to chance. you weren’t the type to get involved in drama.

and yet here you are.

ryujin, yunjin and giselle have turned your dorm into a psychological battlefield, launching attacks when you least expect it.

a whistle when you pass by. a ‘hmm’ when they look at your neck. giggles when you so much as breathe in their direction.

but the worst part?

the comments.

“y/n, i think you need a turtleneck collection. just a thought.”

“she really got you, huh? didn’t take karina as the possessive type, but here we are.”

“you’re one step away from being branded. guys, should we get her a collar, or?”

“oh, c’mon,” ryujin sighs dramatically, “at least own it. let the world know karina claimed you as hers.”

you nearly threw a shoe at her for that one.

but you don’t give them the satisfaction of reacting. you shut down, as you always do when life throws something stupid at you. you focus on your assignments, make your coffee extra strong and ignore the laughter that follows you through the dorm like an inescapable curse.

so when your phone buzzes on sunday with a text from your “coworker” (he owns the place), taehyung, you see your chance for freedom.

-

from taehyung:

bro im sick can u cover my shift

sent 1:04 PM

-

you scoff. sick. right. you saw him last night at the party, downing soju like it was a hydration challenge.

-

to taehyung

hangover ≠ sick

but sure

anything to get away from this dorm.

sent 1:05 PM

-

you grab your hoodie, sliding into your shoes as you make a beeline for the door. predictably, ryujin and yunjin notice.

“where are you going?” yunjin asks, sprawled on the couch like a queen surveying her kingdom.

“away from you.”

ryujin snorts. “so dramatic.”

you ignore her, then frown. “where’s giselle?”

“oh,” she grins. “you know, at karina’s dorm like almost always.”

you freeze for half a second. “why?”

“to see minjeong and ningning and karina,” yunjin says, yawning. “those girls never get hangovers after our weekends. it’s unfair.”

you swallow down the inexplicable discomfort that sentence gives you, then mutter, “good for them.”

“did you put your collar on?” ryujin asks, bursting into a fit of laughter with yunjin as they push each other.

“fuck off!” you yell out, slamming the door shut before they can make another claiming joke.

your job at the vintage clothing store is normally a blessing.

it’s tucked away on a quiet street, away from the chaos of campus, filled with racks of old designer pieces, shelves of worn-in leather boots and stacks of vinyl records no one under 30 knows how to use. it smells like aged fabric, dust and the occasional whiff of espresso from the café next door.

most times, you get to be alone with your thoughts.

unfortunately, your thoughts are the last thing you want to be alone with today.

you spend the first half-hour making small talk with taehyung who dragged himself in just to swap shifts with you and give you a mini-handover (he insisted), despite looking like death warmed him.

“so,” he groans, leaning against the counter as you check inventory, “what did i miss last night?”

you barely glance at him. “you were at the party. how would i know?”

“yeah, but i blacked out before midnight. you seem alive, so i’m guessing you didn’t go that hard.”

“you know i don’t go hard at those parties,” you stare at the register, gripping the pen in your hand a little too tightly. “but yeah, sure, something like that.”

“huh,” he yawns, stretching his arms out. “any gossip?”

“no.”

he eyes you. “you’re lying.”

“i’m working.”

“so am i.”

“you’re standing there doing nothing.”

“it called assisting,” he points out, crossing his arms. “i’m technically your boss so you i can just stand here.”

you sigh. “just go home, taehyung.”

he salutes lazily, finally giving up on trying to get information out of you as he dragged himself out of the store, and finally, you’re alone.

but time moves painfully slow when you’re avoiding your own thoughts.

you try to make it pass by putting together outfits, pulling pieces from different racks, layering coats over sweaters, setting aside things you think might sell well. you tell yourself you’re being productive, but the truth is, you’re distracting yourself.

because no matter what you do, she lingers in your mind. bits and pieces of the night are starting to return. flashes of moments, like someone slowly restoring a corrupted file.

karina approaching you in the balcony, taking a shot with you and ryujin, her lips curling around the rim of the glass.

you grip a hanger a little too tightly.

what the fuck were you two even talking about? why did she even approach you?

your stomach twists, but before you can spiral any further — the bell above the door jingles.

you glance up, prepared to do the usual “welcome, let me know if you need anything,” but then, your soul leaves your body.

because walking into the store, looking like they just stepped out of a perfectly curated instagram post, are the last people you want to see.

minjeong. ningning. giselle.

and —

karina.

“oh,” ningning grins, like she already knows she’s about to have the time of her life. “look who it is.”

“y/n!” giselle beams, like she wasn’t just at your dorm this morning, cackling at your misery. “what a coincidence. i thought you had the day off?”

karina just looks at you, eyes sharp with some unreadable emotion and you swear you forget how to breathe. your throat is so dry.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, voice slightly higher than usual because you sure as hell know ryujin and yunjin called her. “i took a shift from taehyung.”

“y/n, we’re shopping,” minjeong says innocently, scanning the store. “this is a store, right?”

you clear your throat. “yeah but —“

“aw,” ningning coos, “is someone grumpy? hungover? woke up on the couch?”

“i’m working,” you say through gritted teeth, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. they definitely know something.

“sure you are,” giselle smirks. “totally wasn’t just staring off into space before we came in.”

you force yourself to inhale. exhale. normal. be normal. but you can feel karina’s gaze burning into you, like she’s waiting for something.

you shift awkwardly. “…do you guys need help finding anything?”

ningning grins. “yeah, actually, i think we need a very high-necked sweater. maybe a scarf. or, ooh, maybe a better concealer.”

“whatever yizhuo, it’s a fucking rash,” you huff out, sit at the front desk, fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard, trying to look as busy as humanly possible.

but it’s impossible to focus when, just a few metres away, they are giggling.

little snickers, hushed whispers, the kind of laughter that’s definitely about you. you don’t even have to look up to know it’s happening. every few minutes, you feel their gazes flicker in your direction, lingering just long enough to make your ears burn.

and it’s killing you.

because you are trying to reply to customer enquiries, you really are. but how is anyone supposed to focus when the four most dangerous people in your life are shopping in your store like they own the place?

the worst part is how casual they’re being.

“does this scream rich housewife or rich housewife going through a scandal?” ningning muses, throwing an expensive-looking fur coat over her shoulders.

“scandal,” minjeong replies without looking up from a rack of leather jackets. “definitely scandal.”

“perfect,” ningning hums. “that’s the goal.”

they giggle. you type absolute nonsense into the enquiry form. you cannot do this. you cannot sit here and pretend that your entire world isn’t crashing down around you.

and so, you endure about ten more minutes before you completely snap.

“giselle,” you hiss, standing up so abruptly that your chair screeches against the floor. “outside, please.”

the pink-haired girl, who had been flicking through a stack of vinyl records, looks up, blinking innocently. “me?”

“yes, you,” you grit out. “now, thank you.”

the other two (god knows where karina is) immediately burst into laughter as she follows you outside, smirking like she just won the lottery.

the cold air is a slap to your overheated face. your skin is burning, your pulse is erratic and you’re so stressed that your left eye is twitching.

“alright,” she begins, crossing her arms, clearly enjoying herself. “to what do i owe the honour?”

you glare at her. “why are you guys even here? you’re such a shit-stirrer, bet this was ryujin and yunjin’s idea.”

she gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “wow. y/n, this is the hottest vintage shop in town! we’re just a bunch of girls supporting a small business. why are you being a hater?”

“aeri,” you shake your head, squeezing the bridge of your nose.

“what?” she says, feigning innocence. “can’t a girl shop without being interrogated by the y/n police?”

“giselle,” you repeat, voice dangerously low. “don’t do this.”

“do what?” she blinks at you, all wide-eyed amusement.

you clench your jaw; knowing all too well that she does things sometimes just to fuck with you. “don’t act like you don’t know exactly why i’m asking.”

“oh, come on,” she groans, rolling her eyes. “is it really that bad? who cares about jaewook? he hasn’t even scored a goal for over a year.”

his name alone makes you shiver. “aeri, he’s a goalkeeper!” you sighed because…she can be unbelievably dense sometimes.

she clicks her tongue, looking at her pink nails. “like i said, don’t care.”

you run a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply as you steal a glance at the other two. “did you tell them?”

“tell who what?”

“giselle.”

“okay, okay,” she grins while shaking her head. she’s enjoying this. “no, i didn’t tell minjeong and ningning anything, never said a word.”

relief immediately floods your chest. “oh, thank god —”

“but they did.”

your stomach drops. “what?”

“what do you mean, what?” giselle tilts her head, smirking. “they live with karina. have been, for years. of course they know. she tells us everything.”

“but —” you blink rapidly, brain completely short-circuiting. “but you said —”

“i said i didn’t tell anyone,” giselle shrugs. “i never said they didn’t know.”

“giselle,” you whisper, gripping her by the shoulders. “do you want me to die? he’s going to kill me.”

“a little,” she admits. “but you’re making it so fun to watch.”

you let go of her like she burned you, staring at her in complete disbelief. “so minjeong and ningning…”

“knew the whole time?” giselle finishes your sentence, nodding. “yep — but relax, they hate jaewook anyways. you have nothing to be worried about!”

your entire life flashes before your eyes. oh god. this is worse than you thought. before you can start digging your own grave right there on the sidewalk, the shop door swings open.

“sorry to interrupt your little lover’s quarrel,” ningning says sweetly, poking her head outside. “but karina needs help with sizing.”

you go completely still. “what? why me?”

“sizing,” ningning repeats, blinking. “you do work here, don’t you?”

giselle claps a hand on your back. “go on, employee of the month.”

you turn back to ningning, feeling your entire body betray you as your face grows hotter. “can’t she get —”

“oh, she specifically asked for you,” ningning confirms, smiling like the devil. “so, you know. chop-chop.”

you are going to pass out.

giselle is practically shaking with laughter when you cast another glance at her and then back at ningning, who just raises an eyebrow, waiting.

your fate is sealed as you drag your feet just outside of the fitting room; heart pounding in your ears.

this is ridiculous — you have defended mock trial cases against the most cutthroat professors in the department. you have stared down intimidating judges with a straight face and delivered speeches in front of an entire lecture hall without breaking a sweat.

and yet —

you cannot bring yourself to knock on a fitting room door. pathetic. then, another memory slams into you, so vivid it almost knocks the air out of your lungs.

karina. in your room. the door clicking shut. “touch me, y/n.”

you barely had a second to process before she was on you, pressing you against the door, lips finding yours with such certainty, like she had been waiting all night.

you remember the warmth of her hands against your skin, the way her perfume; that expensive, sweet scent that still lingers on your sheets and clouding your senses, made your head spin in a way alcohol never could.

you remember your fingers tangling in her hair, her breath against your jaw, the way she —

“y/n?”

you jump, startled.

her voice is soft, muffled through the fitting room door, but hearing your name come out of her mouth — so natural, so casual — sends a violent shudder down your spine.

she just said your name. not some generic ‘hey’ or ‘excuse me’.

you swallow thickly, clenching your fists, forcing yourself to remember that you are at work and that you have a job to do.

before you can respond, the door swings open. and there she is.

karina stands in the small fitting room, looking up at you with mild curiosity, one hand resting on her hip. she’s wearing a white baby tee, cropped just above her waist, too tight for comfort.

you swallow.

the fabric clings to her, the neckline dipping just enough to reveal the sharp lines of her collarbones. her dark hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that makes her look almost too perfect, like she walked straight out of a glossy magazine and into your workplace.

she tugs at the hem of the shirt, frowning slightly. “do you guys have this in a bigger size? i like it, but i think i look terrible in this one.”

your brain is not functioning. there is a slight ringing in your ears. your vision is blurry. you are physically incapable of forming a coherent thought.

“uh,” you manage to croak out, voice embarrassingly weak. “we…we don’t keep stock in the back. everything we have is already on the floor.”

she sighs, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. “that’s too bad, it’s making me look terrible.”

this is your chance. this is the moment where you say let me know if you need anything else and walk away like a normal person.

except…

“you look hot,” you say it before you can stop yourself.

she turns to you, one perfectly arched eyebrow lifting slightly, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. “yeah?”

your stomach fucking plummets straight into the ground beneath you.

hot?!

why the fuck did you say that? why would you do that to yourself?

but now she’s looking at you, actually looking, and you can’t back out, can’t take it back, can’t pretend you didn’t just blurt out the world’s most unprofessional sentence.

“yeah,” you say again, somehow making it worse.

her lips curl slightly at the edges, and for a split second, you think she might actually tease you for it, but then her gaze flickers downward.

your blood turns to ice because she’s looking at your neck.

panic slams into you at full force. you knew your cover-up job was bad, but you didn’t think it was that bad.

apparently, you were wrong.

you yank the collar of your sweater up, heart slamming against your ribs. “do you need anything else?”

karina doesn’t answer right away.

instead, she tilts her head, studying you like she’s trying to figure something out. her expression is unreadable, but there’s something in her eyes…something sharp, something knowing.

then, finally, she says, “about last night —”

your breath catches. this is it. she’s going to order a hitman so no one else can know your secret. the pounding in your ears is louder than ever; it’s embarrassing.

she is standing in front of you, in that impossibly tight baby tee, looking at you like she’s waiting for something. her lips curl slightly, a ghost of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth.

“thanks for looking after me,” she continues, voice softer than you expect. “and for being so considerate.”

you freeze, completely unprepared for the gratitude. you don’t know what you expected…maybe indifference or some teasing remark, or even just an outright dismissal of what happened last night.

but this? this sincerity? it throws you completely off balance.

“it’s nothing,” you clear your throat, forcing yourself to smile, but it feels unnatural, like your body hasn’t caught up with your brain yet. “i mean, it was…yeah. no worries.”

karina keeps looking at you and the weight of her gaze makes your skin prickle. and now that you’re really seeing her, it’s impossible to ignore just how stupidly pretty she is.

her features are sharp, carved to perfection: high cheekbones, delicate nose, lips that look like they belong in an art gallery. her dark hair falls effortlessly over her shoulders, strands framing her face in a way that seems unintentional but is devastating nonetheless.

but it’s her eyes that undo you.

dark, observant, laced with something that makes you feel completely exposed. like she sees right through you, past the mask of composure you’ve spent years perfecting.

you are so fucked.

“i’m finally glad to meet you, you know,” she adds with a beaming smile, tilting her head slightly.

your brain short-circuits. “what?”

“giselle always says good things about you,” she explains, shrugging. “but you’re always busy. i swear, i thought you were a myth for a while…then i saw you in campus laughing with her a couple of weeks ago.”

your mouth opens, then closes. giselle, the spawn of satan whose mission is to annoy you, has said good things about you? that’s a surprise.

you clear your throat once. “yeah, well…law isn’t exactly a relaxed degree.”

karina’s expression shifts, something like intrigue flickering in her eyes. “is it really that bad?”

you nod. “yeah, final year.”

“makes sense,” she hums.

you frown. “what does that mean?”

“you have that…lawyer energy.”

“lawyer energy?” you repeat, deadpan.

“yeah,” she lifts a hand, gesturing vaguely. “like, you’re very put together. very serious. like you could argue your way out of anything.”

and finally, you smile as you shake your head. “that does not sound like a compliment.”

she grins. “it’s a little impressive. kind of scary, but impressive.”

you don’t know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment, but either way, you’re definitely not equipped to keep having this conversation. your brain is already struggling to process the fact that you’re standing here, talking to karina like it’s normal.

like last night didn’t completely obliterate your moral compass.

and then, just when you think this interaction can’t get any more dangerous —“

“i want to make it up to you,” karina offers. “for looking after me last night.”

your world crumbles. “you don’t have to —”

“let me buy you lunch sometime,” she interrupts, eyes locked onto yours. “between classes.”

this is a horrible idea.

this is the worst idea.

you cannot be seen having lunch with karina, not when — not when she —

“oh,” you stammer, scrambling for an escape route, “i’m actually…only ever free on wednesday nights. but only for a short time, so —“

“perfect,” she cuts in smoothly, clapping her hands together. “dinner on wednesday, after our classes.”

you blink. “i —”

“i’ll pick you up.”

you have been cornered.

karina cheated on jaewook with you and now she wants to take you to dinner? is she even aware of what happened last night? does she care?

your moral compass is begging you to say no. to stop this before it becomes something you can’t walk away from. but she is looking at you like she already knows what your answer is going to be.

and that’s what makes it worse.

“okay,” you hear yourself say, completely betraying every rational part of your brain. “wednesday night.”

she smiles. “good.”

and then, like she hasn’t just set your entire life on fire, she turns back to the mirror, adjusting the hem of her top. “i’ll take this, by the way.”

you bite your lip, still recovering. “the one you said looked terrible on you?”

she meets your gaze in the mirror, lips curving. “well,” she begins, “you said i looked great in it.”

the way your heart stops should be considered a medical emergency but before you can even process that, the rest of the girls are making their way to the register, all far too smug for your liking.

“great,” you tell karina. “i’ll meet you over there.”

ningning hands over a pair of sunglasses, minjeong has a leather jacket draped over her arm, and giselle just watches you, her grin nothing short of pure evil.

“how’s law treating you, y/n?” minjeong asks, casual, too casual as she leans against the counter.

“it’s fine,” you say stiffly, scanning her items, refusing to look up.

“just fine?” ningning teases. “we hear your name all over campus, you know, like how you won us another mock trial against korea university.”

“yeah,” giselle chimes in, “so impressive. such a role model.”

they are all provoking your end and they all know you can’t do anything about it. “lovely, hope i see you all again soon. not.”

minjeong smirks at you before putting the jacket she just paid for on. “trust that you’ll see us at your dorm next weekend.”

karina is the last to pay. she steps forward, handing over her card, and as you process the transaction, you can feel her eyes on you.

watching. waiting.

you don’t look up.

then, as she grabs her bag and heads for the door, she pauses. she turns slightly, glancing over her shoulder, one hand holding the door open.

“i can’t wait for wednesday,” she yells out, and then she’s gone.

the door swings shut behind her, and you just stand there, gripping the counter like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

you are so unbelievably fucked.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

monday morning rolls around and you’re clinging to your law student routine like a life raft in the middle of the ocean. nothing steadies the mind quite like dense constitutional law readings and back-to-back lectures.

the weekend, with all its chaos, is firmly behind you. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

but as you stand in the dorm’s small kitchen, flipping an egg with robotic precision, you’re reminded that nothing is ever truly behind you when ryujin and yunjin exist in your life.

“so,” ryujin starts, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “a turtleneck, huh?”

you don’t respond.

“interesting choice,” yunjin adds from the table, her chin propped up on her palm, watching you like a hawk. “didn’t know it was suddenly winter.”

you exhale sharply. “i swear to god —”

“no, no, we’re just admiring the effort,” ryujin interrupts, smirking. “like, it’s a bold move. but hey, i get it,” she gestures vaguely toward your neck. “you’d want to cover all that up before your date tonight.”

the egg you just flipped lands slightly off-center. you slowly turn around to the pink-haired girl already halfway through her breakfast. “giselle.”

yunjin is beaming, practically vibrating with excitement. “apparently, someone asked you out to dinner.”

your so-called friend shrugs from the corner of the kitchen, sipping her coffee, completely unbothered. “what? it was funny.”

“no, it’s not,” you snap, pointing your spatula at her. “none of this is funny.”

but ryujin and yunjin seem to disagree because they’re laughing their asses off, practically doubling over the counter.

“she wants to wine and dine you?” yunjin gasps, wiping a tear from her eye. “this is huge.”

“nah, buddy,” ryujin says between her laughs. “jaewook’s really coming after you now.”

your stomach twists at the reminder.

“exactly,” you mutter, turning back to your eggs, suddenly losing your appetite. “she has a boyfriend. this isn’t funny. it’s…it’s messed up.”

giselle sighs, finally looking a little guilty. “i know, i get it. it’s just…none of us expected this. you didn’t expect this.”

you clench your jaw. “because it shouldn’t have happened.”

silence, except for the sound of eggs frying.

yunjin speaks first. “look, if you don’t wanna go, don’t. no one’s forcing you. but…doesn’t it make you wonder?”

you don’t answer. because it does.

why you? why now? why, after years of only ever exchanging passing glances, did karina suddenly want to know you?

ryujin leans against the counter, watching you carefully. then, with a smirk, she mutters, “maybe she’s realised she likes them a little nerdy, a little feisty.”

you throw a piece of toast at her head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

by the time your first lecture rolls around, the teasing is still ringing in your ears, but you force yourself to push it aside. you slide into your usual seat in, staring blankly at the lecture slides, trying your best to absorb the information — but your mind keeps drifting.

professor choi is droning on about the evolution of human rights treaties and while normally you would be engaged, today, you’re just grateful to be anywhere but your dorm.

the teasing from your friends were relentless. at least here, surrounded by other law students drowning in coursework, you could pretend none of it ever happened.

beside you, irene adjusts her blaze, a classic, pressed navy number before glancing over to you. “so, how was the party?”

if anyone embodied sophistication, it was her. she was effortlessly composed, always put together and somehow managed to balance a social life while remaining at the top of the class. unlike you.

you exhale, rubbing your temple. “messy.”

she clicks her tongue. “ugh, i knew it. i was going to go, but i’m already behind in this class. stayed in and revised instead.”

you glance at her pristine notebook, filled with neat, elegant handwriting and huff a quiet laugh. “yeah, i can see that.”

she smirks. “so? anything exciting happen?”

your grip tightens around your pen. “define exciting.”

she raises a brow. “anything that would make me regret not going.”

“then, no,” you take a sip of your coffee, staring at the projector screen as if it can shield you from this conversation. “just the usual chaos, but i’m impressed that you skipped a party for this.”

“i’m serious,” she says, sighing dramatically. “choi’s exams are a nightmare. i have to be prepared.”

the lecture goes by in a blur of legal precedents and treaties. when it finally ends, you’re gathering your things when she turns to you. “we have time before the next one. brunch?”

you nod. “sure. same place?”

she smiles, nudging your arm lightly. “obviously.”

it’s routine by now, a well-practiced tradition between the two of you whenever there’s a big gap between your classes. navigating through the crowded hallways of yonsei is always a battle, but today feels especially suffocating. students are rushing between buildings, groups gathered in corners, debating over case studies or gossiping about the latest scandal.

the two of you head out, weaving through the sea of students in the hallway. as you make your way towards the café, some guy, clearly distracted by his phone, nearly collides with irene.

wrong move.

she stops in her tracks, turns sharply and levels him with a look so icy it could freeze hell over.

“watch where you’re fucking going,” she says, voice deceptively calm but laced with authority.

the guy…some poor unsuspecting sophomore, immediately looks like he wants to crawl into a hole. he stammers out an apology, but she has already dismissed him with a flick of her gaze.

you chuckle, shaking your head. “you really have a talent for terrifying men.”

irene flips her hair over her shoulder, completely unbothered. “it’s not my fault most of them are weak-willed.”

thankfully, the café is tucked away in a quieter part of campus, nestled between tall ginkgo trees. it’s the kind of place where professors come to sip espresso and students pretend to study while people-watching.

you order a black coffee — strong, no nonsense. irene gets her usual iced americano, claiming it’s the only thing keeping her sane these days as the two of you find a table under the shade, the bustle of campus life continuing around you.

and the conversation starts off with something far more welcome than whatever the hell your dorm mates have been tormenting you about.

“so,” irene starts, elegantly cutting into her toast. “what’s the plan after graduation? not too long till we’re in the real world now.”

you wrap your hands around your coffee cup, letting the warmth seep into your skin. “probably a master’s. i want to specialise in something. maybe corporate law, maybe international.”

she hums in approval. “solid choices. not as exciting as criminal law, though.”

you snort. “i like my sanity intact, thanks.”

“makes sense. i’m thinking of taking a gap year, then go into firm work, though. i don’t have the patience for more studying.”

you smirk. “shocking, considering you’re basically law royalty.”

“shut up,” she smiles, rolling her eyes. “but seriously, you’d do well in a masters program. you actually like all the heavy theory.”

“so, where’s the next destination?” you lean back against your chair, exhaling and crossing your arms.

“i want to see more of northern europe,” she admits. “my dad wants me at his firm right after but i’d rather start somewhere else, build my own reputation first. i just don’t see myself working at one place for too long, either.”

“smart,” you hum in approval. “nothing worse than people thinking you only got in because of family connections.”

she smirks. “exactly.”

irene’s the kind of person who never stays in one place for too long, always chasing something beyond the next horizon.

while everyone else planned their careers within the safe confines of seoul, she was already looking at the world. she’s always been that way, even in the way she speaks — already one step ahead, like her mind is filled with things you haven’t even thought to consider yet.

and you’ve always admired that about her.

you’re mid-sentence, talking about potential universities for your master’s, when she suddenly interrupts you.

“she’s really pretty, isn’t she?”

you’re confused. “who?”

she subtly gestures with her cup. you follow her gaze and your stomach twists into knots.

of course.

there she is.

walking past with jaewook, his arm draped over hers in that effortless, this-is-mine way. karina’s dressed in a navy blue blazer and jeans, simple yet elegant, her hair cascading in soft waves. even in casual clothes, she looks like she belongs on a magazine cover.

but it’s not just that…it’s the way she moves, so effortlessly confident, so sure of herself.

and then, as if she can feel your stare, she turns her head.

she smiles.

it’s small, subtle — almost unreadable. but it’s there. you don’t smile back.

instead, you look away, taking a sip of your coffee like nothing happened. irene immediately nudges you. “what was that for?”

you snap your gaze away. “what?”

“you just ignored her — she smiled at you.”

“no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

you groan, rubbing your temple. “can we not do this?”

irene smirks, clearly entertained. “so you have met her; was this at the party?”

you glance back once more, but karina and jaewook are already disappearing into the crowd. your stomach churns.

“i’ll take that as a yes,” she watches you, amused. “you need more friends outside of your dorm mates and me, you know.”

“this is my final year,” you tell her flatly. “i might as well keep the system that way.”

irene hums, taking a slow sip of her drink. “i just hope somebody crashes it.”

you scoff. “not happening.”

sometimes, when irene talks about leaving, about how she doesn’t want to stay in one place forever, you wonder if that’s why she’s never let herself get too close to people.

or maybe that’s just your excuse. because in a way, you and irene are similar.

you don’t let people in, either.

which is why, right now, as she sips her smoothie and casually talks about karina, you feel like the ground beneath you is shifting because irene knows you.

she sees you.

and if she ever realises what’s actually happening — if she ever connects the dots…you don’t know if you would be able to handle her thoughts about it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

part 2 — wearing no disguise, you erase him

[timmydraker]

Tim who has never been good at understanding the words of Shakespeare and Dickens.

He can understand metaphors and knows about philosophy, but he’s always struggle to truely grasp the tragedy and helplessness so may of them hold. The idea of someone being doomed from the start, by the author and the narrative or maybe just the world they were set in, just doesn’t really make sense to him.

Part of him knows it’s because he was born with a vintage silver spoon placed delicately in his hands, but there’s more to it than that.

See, most of the bad things that have happened to Tim have either been consequences of his own action or the fact that his friends and colleagues all have the same dangerous job.

To him it just makes sense that bad things will happen and so he can just… prepare for it. He can do what he can to fix it or move onto something else and push away his own feelings because what else is he supposed to do?

So, no, things like Hamlet and Dorian don’t really click for him

At least… until he thinks about Jason.

Born in poverty with a world surrounding him that would not bother to care or offer help to him purely because of how he looks of his parents.

A mother who loves him endlessly, only to fall into the drugs she tried to protect him from.

Finding out that mother didn’t even give birth to him, but the father that never showed anything other than distain and cruelty was still his own.

Being given Robin, hated by the first one for a time, only to die in the suit by the hands of a mad man all because his real mother sold him out.

Waking up in a coffin, digging himself out and roaming around catatonic and the only thoughts he can actually process is that he must be a ghost.

Being taken by a league of killers, lied to and trick and tormented into thing a perfect weapon.

Realise his mentor, who he once thought the father he deserved to have, has failed him and let his killer free because of something as fickle as a moral compass.

Seeing that mentor seemingly replace him with a perfect rich kid who doesn’t swear or complain or sneak off without permission from what he can tell.

Having no real friends in that time.

Having no one to trust because everyone had an ulterior motive. Everyone uses him.

And through out it all, even with all the hate and the bitterness and injustice he had been faced with, his first course of action is to make the home he first had and the only one he will ever have… safer.

To protect the kids like him from becoming statistics and killers, from the pain he felt and the false promises of the Batman.

Jason keeps honesty and integrity, even when no one else offers it to him in return.

Tim can’t understand Macbeth or Antigone or Othello, can’t see why someone would write something so morbid just to try and entertain.

But he can understand, or at least try to understand, Jason Todd.

Because that is someone who had actually been hurt for no reason. Someone who had been tormented by the universe, by fates and coincidence, with no real lesson being taught other than the world hates him.

Sure Jason has Roy and Biz and Artemis and Kori, but what about a brother?

Dick tried, he still does, but he fails Jason over and over by trying to make him ‘better’.

Damian doesn’t really care too much, not out of malice but there’s just not much of a connection between them.

Cass tries, but Jason is always awkward around her and that’s not his fault, you can’t hide a thing from her.

Duke liked Jason a lot, but again, the newest Bat is trying hard to find his place in the world of vigilantes and can’t quite find it in himself to be too close to Jason’s violence.

But Tim…

He’s morals have always been held together by the simple fact of ‘it’s not really that approved of’ and not much else. He won’t kill, but unlike the others he is happy to leave a Rouge in a sinking ship and not feel a hint of guilt.

He adores Jason’s Robin, he knows to some extent how much he lost with that, and now he knows that Jason might not need much more than a few good things.

Small things, nothing that will trick him into thinking the world is apologising because it won’t, but enough to show him that Tim thinks he’s still worth something.

Tim won’t try convince him to become a better person or to stop killing, he might ask him to be a bit more rational and probably won’t be able to stop himself from giving tips on how to run his business, but he wouldn’t ask for his violent brother to change.

Because unlike everyone else, Tim knows that violence exist for good reason.

If it keeps his Jason alive, Tim will gladly hold onto his blood soaked hand.

[seekingxanadu]

Are Jason Todd stans really out here cribbing about Dick and Damian content ? Are you fr right now ? Just saw someone say they "hate how Dick treats Jason" with reference to Dick attempting to adopt Jason in his original origin story. Dick has NEVER mistreated Jason during his Robin days. In fact, Dick NEVER mistreats Jason even after Jason -

(a) attempted to kill Tim in Titans Tower

(b) attempted to kill Tim and Damian during Battle for the Cowl

(c) actually killed people wearing the Nightwing suit leading to the city and police thinking their hero Nightwing had turned evil

(d) attempted to forcibly unclothe Dick and a minor Damian in front of cameras.

Please Jason Todd stans. Your singular fixation on a fictional character is understandable. Even sympathetic. But don't try to INVENT negative stories about other characters just to make your uwu fav the best there is. That's just plain whining and it is entirely pathetic to watch that breakdown.

Do you know why so many folks Dick and Damian's relationship? I can take it or leave it Damian but whose heart didn't fill up with fondness when Dick returned from Spyral and received THAT welcome hug from Damian? What did Jason do? Punch Dick. Remember, this was after Jason had laughed mockingly at Dick's funeral (in the scrapped issue that was replaced with Nightwing #30). Remember, there is precedence to such behaviour from Jason. When Talia and Deathstroke got Chemo dropped on Bludhaven with Nightwing in the city, Jason was confronting Batman. At Batman's dismayed expression at Chemo's touchdown, Jason mocked Bruce with the loss of Dick.

So please can it with the "how could Dick mistreat Damian?" because some folks wrote fics on Dick and Damian but not Dick and Jason. Maybe if Jason hadn't been so committed to being a murderer and a serial killer? Who knows then.

But then again, imagine being jealous of a child who discarded so much of his lifetime learnings and embraced the philosophy of compassion and empathy that Dick endeavours to follow every day and set as an example for his younger teammates.

[liplinerloser]

The coffin of Andy and Leyley

A long term relationship with either of them

(Spoilers for Decay Route, It’s a long one! My requests are open <3)

Minors DNI

Andrew Graves

He meets you in high school, when he could still be bothered to talk to people. You sit next to him in an English class, he catches you with your head in your hands after it’s over, and despite not knowing you or really giving a fuck about you, he bites. Asking if you were okay was apparently the wrong answer because you start sobbing.

At this point he’s ready to walk away, but he can hear through your tears that you’re struggling with your grades, and it’s all gone to shit. That peaks his interest, Andrew ‘academic validation’ Graves knows exactly what that feels like. Begrudgingly he asks if he can help you, seeing you perk up at the thought. He ends up keeping you around for reasons he can’t understand.

He’s attracted to vulnerability, although he would never admit it, it makes him feel more secure in his own abundance of issues. If he’s smarter than you it also makes him feel like the superior one in the relationship that you can rely on.

Doing an English degree, he’s obviously poetically romantic when he wants to be, writing you your own sonnets, or ranting on and on about the historical context fuelling an authors writing career while playing mindlessly with your hair. He’ll take a lot of candid pictures of you to keep just for himself.

Andrew uses relationships outside of his obvious family unit to distract from said family unit, and convince the barely functioning moral compass ticking at the back of his mind that he is normal, he’s proving it by being with you, and loving you, and wanting you. No matter how many times your touch makes his skin crawl with inexplicable guilt

You notice bizarrely he never seems to have much time for you, you’d heard from a friend of a friend, Julia was it? That was the norm for him, though she seemed reluctant to get into details. You’re sympathetic to your boyfriend, maybe he’s busy or has a difficult home life.

he introduces you to the only other person in his life, his little sister, “the bane of his existence”, the fire of his loins, lovingly nicknamed Leyley. You inquired about the parents but alas, they weren’t in the picture god rest their souls.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, she hates your fucking guts. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a man, a woman, or anything on the spectrum; the sight of you with her Andy makes her viciously nauseous, and she seeks to correct it at once.

Your time with Andrew will constantly be cut short, with Ashley feigning illness, fear of being home alone, desperate help for homework, or just missing her older brother. It doesn’t matter what she says, as soon as it’s said he could hardly throw a glance in your direction. Clearly if you make it long term you always enable this behaviour alongside him

Ashley will give you the girlfriend special. Blowing up your phone with god awful messages at a god awful time at night, sending you hundreds of letters, hell you’re sure you saw her in your window at night! Her pink eyes staring daggers into you. But alas Andrew is blind to his sisters actions, it can’t be her, are you saying she’s capable of such things?! How could you. And somehow by the end of the conversation, you’re apologising to him.

Any speaking ill of Leyley will not be tolerated, he raised her. Even if she can be a self proclaimed bitch at times, she’s his, and in his eyes you’re replaceable. During the relationship you’ll have to deal with both her abuse and his.

The rare times you do get him alone without Leyleys disturbance, you get to be in the presence of Andrew as opposed to Andy. His repressed fears and upfront attitude, a harsh 360 from the character he masquerades for the sake of his sister. He’s soft with you, gentle small gestures such as tucking stray hair behind your ears, or stroking his thumb across your knuckles while he holds your hand. You can’t shake the feeling though that he’s hiding something darker from you.

Once he realises you’re serious about the relationship and don’t have any issues with Leyley become a complete pushover just like Andy He tries to involve you more, to the point you basically live with the siblings in the apartment.

You notice some, unsavoury behaviour between the two, with Andrew perpetrating it, such as walking in on Andrew sleeping with his sister, coddling her like a teddy bear. Upon seeing you walk into the room his eyes flew open, sitting swiftly up before quickly explaining the “panic attack situation”.

It was bullshit. You weren’t stupid, he knew you weren’t stupid. But you loved him, and if you make it far enough in the relationship, he manages to work into your brain and guilt you into thinking it’s just a unique element of their sibling dynamic. Hell what would you know, even if you had siblings it’s just not the same

Where most people would’ve seen his manipulative side rear it’s ugly head, and tear loose of this creep, he manages to get to you. He gets you so fucking good, right where he wants you, with your stomach exposed and vulnerable that you feel like apologising for even getting Involved! You’re not so lucky as the one before you, nobody is going to pull you out, and you certainly can’t help yourself.

Andrew is passively abusive, to both you and Ashley; he’s passive aggressive, and gives you whiplash with his contradictory behaviour, sometimes using his bad moods to emotionally manipulate you into doing whatever he wants. Even the times you think he’s doing what you want, it’s usually because it serves him.

Andrew is smart, he knows it, but he’s not smart enough to admit he’s also capable of being a terrible person while also being a victim. The times you try to address his negative behavior he withdraws from you completely, before coming back due to his physical needs.

As much as he doesn’t feel the true love for you he knows should be burning in his chest, he needs you. He needs you for a sense of normalcy, for your comforting grasp and honeyed words, because without that he has nothing else to stop him from snapping. So you’re very important to the Grave duos coexistence.

Once it gets to a certain point in the longevity of the relationship, Andrew will feel like he needs something permanent to tie you down, especially if he becomes increasingly suspicious of you leaving. He’s not above baby trapping you to keep you exactly where he needs you. Besides, he raised Leyley, what’s one more.

Following from that he probably has a breeding kink, he likes the idea of something like a baby keeping you tethered to him permanently. Just like how his parents tried to shake him and failed, you’d never be free from him.

Andrew uses sex as a stress relief, in a similar bracket to the cigarettes. He’s fucked enough to know what he likes, and that’s all that matters.

He’s not particularly intimate, In the traditional sense, he’s hypersexual so he fucks a lot, but don’t expect him to lovingly gaze down at you while he pounds you into the pillow.

He knows your body inside out, knows what makes you tick, where you’re sensitive and what gets you moaning like a bitch. He knows how to work his tongue and have you crying to the ceiling forgetting any other problems you had.

You noticed he comes to you for sex a lot particularly after he argues with Ashley, you always just assumed he was Pent up and it was his way of dealing with stress.

When it all comes to an end I think there’s only two ways you’d be around to stay with Andrew, if he hasn’t already indulged in his sister and descended to the final layer of hell.

Either you know about Ashley with all that entails, and you choose to stay despite it all, then you allow Andrew to live his fantasy’s inside the house, and play a normal life when he leaves those four walls with you. You become his front, and to an extent, he can love you for that.

Or he has snapped, killed Ashley, and before he can kill himself, you walk in. You and your gummy spine help him dispose of her body, and then you become her replacement. You’ll start to notice gradually Andrew dresses you more often, in outfits following the formula of shorts, boots, some sort of sleeveless top, and a choker. He does your hair for you, a low messy ponytail. Eventually whatever your name was doesn’t matter anymore, you’re not you, you’re Ashley! His beloved Ashley, his dear sweet Ashley, His Ashley.

Cant stay like that forever though, his soul craves her, and you’re not her.

Ashley Graves

Unlike Andrew, Ashley makes no effort to get closer to you, because she knows there’s no point.

There was a time in her life that she had wanted to be social, wanted friends outside of Andrew and that bitch Julia ; but Everytime she tried to talk to new people it felt like an overbearing shadow loomed over her. The girls she did talk to were uncomfortable with her brother, and the guys didn’t even talk to her, they already knew the crack.

A lot of the reason her attachment to Andy was allowed to fester is because of this rotting social life. But you can change that.

You meet her through Andrew, specifically being part of his friend group during school, though closer to the other guys, you thought he was… nice? He’d decided to invite all of you over to continue their card game match. The issue is he hadn’t mentioned you being the new addition, thinking it pointless

Ashley being Ashley was seething, smoke steaming from her nose, blood shot eyes seething. Why hadn’t Andrew mentioned you?! Was he hiding something. And who was this floozie trying to take him away from her!

Ashley couldn’t hold on long with you in the apartment before having an outburst in front of the whole group, in turn making them uncomfortable; all the guys opted to go to someone else’s house to continue, but you couldn’t help worry for Ashley. Andrew assured you it was one of her Temper tantrums and walked off in a huff.

Following her into her room, you find her crumpled on the floor infront of her made bed, head stuffed down into the bedsheets, as sobs wracked her frame, your heart ached for the poor girl. You wondered what could have hurt her so much

“G-go away!! You’re just like the others hussies tryna steal him away from me! W-well you wont be able to, I won’t let you!” She shot up, despite the height difference clearly trying to intimidate you.

Oh! That was all it was! She was just a jealous younger sister scared of her brother having too many friends and not spending time with her anymore. A smile graced your face as you pulled her into a hug, she fought back like a wild raccoon but eventually warmed up to it. “I’d never steal your brother from you, Ashley. He loves you so much, I’m sure of it!”, unaware of the full extent of their relationship you felt confident in your statement.

It was enough to get Ashley’s tears to dry, and a small smirk on her face, you’d heard Andrew complain about her in the brotherly way, but she seemed like a little sweetheart!

Over the years you grew away from Andrew, went to different universities, did different courses, he split from the friend group where you stayed in touch. But you did end up getting closer to Ashley.

She felt relieved to have someone outside of Andrew that wasn’t also competing for his interest like Julia, and you didn’t judge her for anything!

She confided all the bullshit her parents did, or do, even the arguments she had with Andrew, expecting you to be fully on her side like she had gotten used to with Andy. But you weren’t, you were honest with her, told her things she needed to hear to be better, and yeah she fucking hated it, wouldn’t talk for a while.

But eventually the phone would ring, in a small voice she would mention how she apologised, or made up and moved on.

She felt different than she did with you than when she hung out with Andy, there wasn’t a pit that sat heavy in her stomach, a guilty gnawing feeling. She enjoyed sleep overs at your house when her parents were particularly overbearing, the relief of getting away from it, even Andrew bizarrely

Ashley always likes her affections for someone to be affirmed, oftentimes through physical touch and words of affirmation. She’s relieved she doesn’t have to force this out of you, you enjoy her company, her snarky remarks about people and her perspective. She takes comfort in cuddling with you on the couch watching some shitty tv and making a running commentary of it, something she stopped doing because it pissed Andrew off.

Ashley tells you the secret that’s “weighed on her soul” since she was a kid. About what happened to what’s-her-face. You’re dumbfounded that she was capable of something like that, but seeing the tears streaming down her face made you think otherwise, even if the sobs conveniently stopped when you held her. You felt awful thinking she lived with such a heavy action from when she was a child, with nobody to comfort her, but disgust overwhelmed your senses at the nature of the act. Locked in a box, in the dark, she probably cried for her mom in her last moments. But she isn’t here, Ashley is, and it’s Ashley’s pitiful expression you’re forced to gaze back at. Did she feel guilt of her constant rotting?

She’s surprised you don’t do anything about the Nina secret considering you knew Julia, her closest friend; she had assumed after worming it out of her you’d hold it over her head forever, forcing her to bend for you. But unlike others in the past you don’t, you don’t blackmail her or ignore it for bigger issues, you’re simply there for her, rather than for something from her.

Don’t get her wrong though, as soft as she can appear, shes just as capable of being manipulative as Andrew when it serves her. you were ruined by this secret too, bonded together with her by it forever.

Ashley’s attitude as a whole is a lot harder to shift than just with the power of friendship. It’s fucking draining. She will always find a way to start an argument, screaming that you don’t care about her and you don’t put effort in, then if you respond she blames her inadequacies, and how she’s a “terrible woman”. You try not to indulge these, rather hugging her, asking her to talk when she’s calmer, and leaving. It’s clearly insecurity and you want to help her rather than hinder her or feed into it like some people-

Unlike Andrew, a relationship with her doesn’t revolve around sex, At least on the terms of her wanting it. She would much rather get validation through other actions towards her, and if you use her you’re no different than other people. If you’re going to do it, be gentle with her, that’s all she wants.

However, despite not wanting anything from you physically, she can be quite mentally draining to be around, even she’s aware of this. She’s grateful you ‘put up with her’, she’ll never tell you that though! Hehe

She’s the type of person who enjoys having something personal to someone, like having inside jokes nobody gets, or matching bracelets. She’ll absolutely make those ugly mismatched bff bracelets and expect you to wear it like it’s woven with gold.

The only other person she’s ever had that kind of relationship with is Andrew, and having it with you made her feel so… normal?

Unfortunately in the end, Ashley is a product of her upbringing by Andrew, all her behaviours and irrational fears, her attachments, they were all planted far too early on for you to even fathom changing them. No matter how long you stay by her side, treat her like an individual rather than a concept, care for her with your full heart, she cannot help crawl back to Andrew. It’s in her blood.

Nobody gets her like he does, and you’ll never know her fully unless you know the ins and outs of him too; an impossible task. Andrew knows this too, the off times you see him in public he smirks, as if he’s won over you.

She’ll keep talking to you, but gradually the phone calls lessen, there’s no silly notes or clothes left around your place, it’s as if all traces of her have been erased. She is fully absorbed by Andrew, she’ll never be yours, she never was.

Maybe you can slow her decay, but you can’t stop the inevitable.

[thewailingbells]

I couldn't find if you had a request guidelines. But I did see that you wrote for Thomas hewitt!

In your latest post, Thomas ended up getting on his knees and hugging S/O (gf/wife?) waist. That really did sm for me girl 😩💪🥵

Can we get another fic Where's he's literly on his knees for her (when she would do anything for him anyways). Maybe he's just had a bad day, and is showing his appreciation for her comforting him. And he's just on his knees completely submitting to her 😩😩? Feel free to change whatever. (Or not do the req if you're not comfy)

PLEASE AND TY BBG

My Love Mine All Mine

AN: I’m sorry it took me a while to answer your request, it was the end of the trimester for my school and I was very busy. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Warnings: None!

The Texas heat clung to Thomas’s sweat-soaked clothes as he slammed the front door shut, the wooden frame rattling. He stomped down into the basement, the weight of each step vibrating through the worn wooden stairs.

The loud noises of Thomas’s frustration echoed through the house, jolting you from the pages of your book. With a sigh, you set the book aside, rising from the dusty old chair. You made your way towards the basement, gently knocking on the door.

"Thomas," you called out, your voice carrying a mix of worry and compassion. "Come upstairs.” Silence was all that followed. You pressed on. "Don’t make me come down there and get you! I know you hate it when I go to the basement."

A heavy sigh came from the other side of the door, and after a moment, the sound of Thomas's boots echoed back up the stairs. He opened the door, and he met your gaze—a mixture of anger and sadness in his eyes.

A frown appeared across your face. "Tommy, did you have another rough day at the Slaughterhouse?" His eyes briefly met yours before shifting to the ground.

"Are they giving you a hard time? Saying mean things to you again,” you asked gently. He responded with a shrug. It was his way of saying yes when he had too much pride to fully admit it.

You gave him a comforting hug. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. Those men can be cruel. You know that nothing they say is true, right? What were they saying this time?"

His hand found its place on the back of your neck, and in a hushed whisper, he confessed, "Ugly."

"You're the most handsome man I've ever met!" you declared, tightening your embrace. Tommy huffed in annoyance, rolling his eyes.

“Kneel down. I want to show you something,” you said.

He slumped his shoulders, a defeated sigh escaping him as he kneeled down.

“Tommy, I think every part of you is handsome. From your arms, to your chest, to your hands, I love all of you. You know what I think is really handsome, though? Close your eyes.”

He allowed you to take charge. Your fingers worked at untying his mask, and as it fell from his face, the foreign feeling of his lower face being exposed made him shudder. Yet, that odd sensation was quickly replaced with a comforting one—the feeling of your lips meeting his.

You gently pulled away from him and smiled. “I love your face. I love that I’m the only one who gets to kiss it. I love how no one looks like you. You’re mine. My Tommy. And I will always love you more than you will ever know.”

For a split second, you could have swore you saw his eyes glisten with tears. Before you could say anything, he buried his face in your stomach.

You ran your fingers through his hair to comfort him. Before you could praise him some more, you faintly heard the words, “love you,” said in a gruff voice. You smiled softly and kissed the top of his head. No man was better than your Tommy.

[beckyninja]

So Close

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Setting typical violence

Description: The Avenging Son wreaks havoc, and the Reader learns her cousin has even darker secrets to reveal.

You guys are gonna hate me for this one. 😈

Remember to read the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. And feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the Taglist!

Ping! Ping! Ping!

Each pulse of the receiver felt like the prodding of an electro-baton. 

Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

Hiis eyes remained fixed on the battleship looming large through the Command Deck’s viewports,but  his mind tracked the movements of every single individual scurrying around him. Techpriests interfacing with the great cogitators, TerraNovan technicians typing furiously on their slim little dataslates, vox operators relaying order. Only his genesons remained still, though his practiced gaze saw the tiny flexes that marked them ready for action. 

The deck was alive with motion. Yet every living soul seemed trapped in viscous fluid compared with the speed of his thoughts.

Theoretical: You are alive and held captive aboard that voidship.

Practical: I will rescue her.

Theoretical: You are dead and the transmission is false.

Practical: I will avenge her.

He clenched his gauntlets, careful not to crush the little machine holding all his fragile hopes. 

“My Lord?”

He turned his head a fraction of an inch to one side.

Captain Takahashi looked worse for wear. Dark bruises bloomed beneath bloodshot eyes. He’d watched her guide his Navigator through the Wards, an experience even those without eidetic memories were unlikely to forget.

The Macragge’s Honor had groaned and shuddered like a wounded beast as the TerraNovan delivered rapid-fire instructions to psyker and helmsman alike. Every instant it seemed the mighty voidship would rattle apart at the seams. The command crew had clung to their stations in silent terror. Reports had come from other departments of those unable to maintain such composure, breaking down into whimpering balls or running through the corridors, shrieking prayers to the Emperor.

Even his gene-sons had felt the strain. He remembered the stifled groans coming from within Sicarius’s helm.

Any other circumstances and he might have felt compassion. As it was, he’d stood like a monolith, legs splayed, willing his struggling flagship through the maelstrom with every ounce of his being.

The stillness when they’d made it through had been what nearly bowled him over. The Navigator had collapsed into a twitching pile of elongated limbs and been carried to the Apothecarion. Captain Takahashi had stood, leaning against a nearby cogitator with her single trembling arm.

Only then had the vox operator reported that none of the rest of the fleet had made it. The Macragge’s Honor stood alone.

“In all likelihood they were spat back out into Imperial space once the connection was broken.” The Captain murmured. 

He nodded. Eyes still fixed on the approaching battleship.

“They’ve seen us by now.”

Another nod. 

“My Lord,” Sicarius spoke from his place, everpresent, just behind and to the side, “shall I give the order?”

Guilliman spoke for the first time. “Yes.”

Everyone on the bridge heard the Commander’s bellow. “Open fire!”

Guilliman felt the near imperceptible shudder and watched trails of light rocket toward the TerraNovan battleship. 

“The officer’s quarters are nowhere near the engines or shield generators.” He heard Captain Takahashi mutter, half to herself. “She’ll be safe.”

Horrifying theoreticals raced through his mind with renewed rapidity. He gritted his teeth.

Be alive. Please. 

***

“What the fuck?!” 

Frenzy’s metallic squawk came just as the walls and floor around them shook violently. Distant booms rolled down the corridor, lumens flickered and went out, soon replaced by the glowing red of emergency lighting. Klaxons screamed.

Tarchus braced himself. “Missile strike.”

“Gee, y’think?” The torso of his companion’s mech pivoted toward him, enough for him to see her disgruntled expression. “Who’s shooting at us?”

Tarchus was grateful for the restoration of his armor and helmet. He’d been told the grin of an Astartes was a fearsome thing to behold. 

“I recognize the sound. Imperial ordinance.”

“You sure?”

Her ability to read his body language astounded him as she glanced at him and backed up a step, metal hands raised. “Never mind! Jeez. Touchy, aren’t you?”

He’d grown used to her rhetorical questions. “They will have targeted the engines.”

“And the shield generator, if they’re smart. Not that I’m saying they’re not smart! Fuck. And I thought you were scary without your armor.” A snort. “Do you ever not radiate menace?” 

“No.” Her eyes narrowed, and he huffed in annoyance. “I jest.”

“Sure you do.” She muttered. “Well, enlighten me, Big Guy. What’s standard Imperial protocol here?”

“The next strike will be against your cloaking device, as it poses the greatest-”

Another boom. Another shake, this one more violent and prolonged. 

“Fuck.” The TerraNovan snarled. “How in the Void did they make it through the Wards, anyway?”

He swiveled his helmet toward her in silent question.

She waved a metal appendage dismissively. “I’ll explain later. Safe to say at least someone from the Princess’s ship must’ve survived. Especially since they seem to know exactly where to hit!”

“Will this crew return fire?”

Through her mech’s viewport, her face grew grim. “In case you haven’t noticed, buddy, the Predator’s not exactly fully crewed at the moment.”

“We have encountered a significant lack of resistance since the armory.”

“She’s been in orbital docking at HQ since the Bugs busted her up good.” The two of them continued their march through the trembling corridors. “Ol’ Vicky was in such a rush to get out here he barely had time to gather a skeleton crew. That means most of the systems are being run by computers that had the shit kicked out of them not six months ago.” 

Tarchus remained silent, running theoreticals and practicals. “If an attacker wished to board, how would they do so?”

A huff. “I’d pop straight through the main hangar doors. Armor’s thinnest there. Problem is, that’s where most of the fighting crew’s likely to be. Well, there, and wherever the void Vicky’s got himself to.”

“How far is the hangar?”

“A few klicks, if we took this elevator.”

He stopped. She took several steps past him before turning back.

“The Void are you doing?”

“My brothers will arrive soon, if they have not already.”

“Your- fuck.” She glared at him. “You’re just gonna abandon her?”

“Never.” He growled, and she flinched. “We will have a greater chance of success if we link up with the boarding party.”

“Yeah? Well I say that’s just gonna waste time. We have to get to the Princess now!”

“Theoretical: we go on alone. Practical: whatever forces the traitor has at his personal command slow us down long enough for him to re-capture the Lady.”

Uncertainty passed over her face.

“Alternative theoretical: we join my brothers in the hangar. Alternative practical: as a combined force, we deliver the Emperor’s wrath to whoever stands in our way and cut through to the Lady at a significantly increased rate of speed. The Codex states that-”

She rolled her eyes and cut him off. “I swear, you’ve brought that void-damned Codex up at least a dozen times since we left the armory. Fuck! Do you always talk like this?”

He felt his facial muscles twitching at her disrespect. “Yes.”

“Another example of Astartes’ humor?”

He tightened his grip on his bolter. “Lieutenant-”

“I know, I know. Fine. We’ll do it your way. You’ve got, what, a century or so more of experience than me anyway, right?” 

“Over two centuries.”

“Damn. Ok, old man.” She hefted the cannon she appropriated from the armory and grinned. “At least that means I’ll get to use this baby sooner. Let’s go bring some, what did you call it? Emperor’s wrath!”

Tarchus followed her into the elevator, annoyance at being called “old” overshadowing a lingering sense of doubt.

***

“What-?! HOW?!”

You hid your smile as Victor throttled the mercenary who’d delivered the news of the Imperials’ arrival. Pressing a hand over the ring tucked into your bodice, you thanked the Light for its provision.

I’m here, Roboute. 

“Lord Heir,” the giant sergeant who never seemed far from your cousin’s side drawled, “what are your orders?”

Victor released the messenger, who fell back against a wall, gasping. Spittle coated your cousin’s lips and chin. His eyes darted from side to side like a trapped animal. 

“I… I don’t….” Then, suddenly, he cocked his head as if listening to something. “I… yes. Yes!” 

He rounded on the messenger once more. “Go. Have my personal yacht made ready. NOW!”

The man bobbed his head and ran.

The sergeant smirked. “We’re abandoning the Predator, then?”

“We are, Alroy. She’s served me well, but the old hulk’s on her last legs anyway.” He jerked his chin back toward the blood-spattered communication station. “Relay orders to the crew that the invaders are to be resisted at all costs. Tell them… oh, I don’t care. That reinforcements are on the way, or something. Whatever you need to keep them fighting.”

A slow, cruel smile crept across Sgt. Alroy’s face. “Just like Pangea, eh?”

Both men seemed almost to have forgotten you, crouched against the wall. But you couldn’t hold back a gasp at the name. Your cousin’s eyes snapped back to you.

“Ah, so you haven’t been kept entirely sheltered, have you? Granny told you of my great victory?”

Your mind raced. Pangea. A planetoid on the very edge of TerraNovan space, hailed as a triumph of the new terraforming technology. The videos broadcasted throughout the homeworld showed starry-eyed colonists, giddy with the thrill only a brand new colony can bring. A bright spot in your Grandmother’s otherwise dark reign.

One of the only times I ever saw her genuinely smile.

You wondered if the colonists were ever told how thin the Wards were in that corner of space. You doubted it. Maybe no one knew.

Until the Tyranids attacked.

“Pangea. Such a pretty little morsel.” Victor’s eyes took on a feverish gleam. “I was so confident, you know? So sure in my battleship and fleet. We’d put down rebellions, slaughtered orks in their thousands. We were invincible!”

His laugh sent chills down your spine.

“Grandmother told me the colony was lost.” You whispered.

“We fought hard. We hurt them badly. But it wasn’t enough. They were unrelenting. And they knew so much. Not the animals we thought.” His voice dropped to a rasp. “I had to make a sacrifice.”

Your blood ran cold. “Pangea. Oh, Light.”

“You should have seen the little colonists.” He giggled. “So brave, so proud. Embodying the TerraNovan ideal. They believed me when I said I’d be back with help.”

Horror mingled with rage and you stood to your full height. “You told us they blew the planetary reactor. We built memorials, called them heroes!” You stabbed a finger into his chest. “Did you even try to save any of them before you destroyed the colony, Victor?”

His gaze finally held yours. What you saw sent an electric shock through every nerve in your body.

“You didn’t destroy the colony.”

“Clever little cousin,” he purred, “I’ll never underestimate your intelligence again. No, no. I didn’t destroy Pangea.” He leaned in until you felt his rancid breath on the side of your face. “I made a deal.”

“Does… Grandmother know?”

His incredulous laugh answered you.

“Lord Heir.” Sergeant Alroy stepped away from the computer. “The order is given.”

“Good.”

“The Imperials have breached the hangar bay. From what I could make out before the transmission cut off, Guilliman is leading them.”

Your cousin gave a shocked chuckle. “He’s proven more tenacious than I thought. And for what? A little bastard bitch?” He snorted. “Still, time to leave, quickly.” 

“We’ll make for HQ?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“He will follow.”

“Yes, I suspect he will. The timetable will have to be accelerated, but our… new allies… should be recovered enough by the time they arrive.” Victor cackled. “Oh, to see the smug superiority wiped off your fiance’s face when he realizes, sweet cousin!”

All this you heard in a frozen haze. The scope of Victor’s lies… the depths of his betrayal… of his delusion….

And no one knows but me. No one knows!

The Sergeant stepped out of the communications room. Victor turned to speak to him.

They thought you a scared little rabbit. But rabbits were quick.

With a bound, you were back inside the room. Your hand hit the door controls, shutting it in Victor’s shocked face. Grabbing the bloodied knife from the floor, you thrust it hard into the locking mechanism. Circuits sparked as the door jammed. 

Dead eyes stared up at you from the floor. The mercenary you’d killed. The brave Ensign who’d died for you. Blood, so much blood.

Only a merest prelude of the oceans to be spilled if you didn’t act.

“Time to be what they all think I am.” You murmured as you took a seat before the transmitter.

***

The burning blade swung in arcs of flame and blood. Dozens died with each swing. Like insects.

For insects they were, in the eyes of The Avenging Son.

“My Lord!” Sicarius’s voice reached him as if from a great distance. “Wait!”

He did not. He would not. Doors not meant for the breadth of his armored shoulders burst asunder before him. Bodies crunched beneath his feet, alongside discarded weaponry. The enemy fled.

The growl that came from his throat would have sounded more at home in the maw of a Space Wolf. 

Where are you, my love? 

“My Lord!” A restraining hand on his arm. “Forgive me, but-”

He shook off Sicarius’s gauntlet with a snarl.

To his credit, the Commander held his ground. “We’ve located Brother Tarchus, my Lord.”

The red haze faded long enough for his analytical mind to function once more. 

Julian Tarchus, the Ultramarine I sent to guard her. He lives!

“Take me to him.”

He followed Sicarius through corridors his gene-son navigated with difficulty. The Primarch had to bend nearly double, pauldrons and halo scraping along the walls and ceiling with every step. He noticed grooves already carved into the metal.

How far ahead did I charge?

His rational mind berated him for his foolishness in outdistancing his guard. His hearts screamed at him to continue.

It had taken all of three minutes and fifteen seconds for the TerraNovan mercenaries to break formation when he leapt from the still hovering Thunderhawk. He remembered pursuing, not even bothering to fire his heavy bolter. Just slashing without thought.

It had been… cathartic.

A helm he’d never thought to see again appeared before him. Guilliman felt a pang of guilt. So focused had he been on you, that he hadn’t spared your bodyguard a single thought.

“My son.”

Tarchus knelt. “My Lord!”

Beside him, a machine the likes of which he’d never seen before also dropped to one metallic knee. “What is this?”

A hiss of air, and a hatch opened to reveal a disheveled young woman seated at the machine’s controls. She stared at the center of his chest, mouth agape.

Tarchus spoke. “This is Fren- Lt. Calderon, my Lord. A fellow prisoner aboard this voidship. She is loyal to the Lady.” He hesitated a moment. “She saved my life.”

Guilliman nodded to the woman. “My thanks, Lieutenant.”

“Holy fuck,” was the only response.

Sicarius huffed. “Of all the disrespectful-”

Guilliman’s raised hand silenced him. “Enough. Tarchus, is the Lady still….” the word caught in his throat.

Tarchus met his eyes. “She is, my Lord. She has commandeered a communications hub in the upper decks. The Lieutenant and I made contact and were approaching when we heard of your arrival.”

Relief almost weakened his knees.

Alive. 

And so… very… close!

A thought struck him. “You deviated from your path to come here, Tarchus.”

The Ultramarine’s face tightened. “The Codex dictates-”

Guilliman kept his tone calm and measured. “Damn the Codex to the Warp.” 

Every Ultramarine in his retinue stiffened. Something that might have been a hysterical snicker came from the TerraNovan lieutenant.

Tarchus bowed his head. “Forgive me, my Lord.”

“If she remains safe, I shall.” He glanced at the Lieutenant, wiping the smile from her face. “You know the way?”

“Y-yeah?”

His glare was enough to have her pushing buttons and raising her mech to its feet, hatch closing once more. Just before it locked into place, he heard her mutter.

“Holy fucking fuck!”

Sicarius spoke again. “We should send scouts ahead, my Lord.”

Tarchus shook his head. “Unnecessary.” He looked at the carnage throughout the hangar. “This ship is operating with minimal crew, as difficult as that is to believe. The majority of its defensive forces seem to have been in this hangar. What remains will pose little threat.”

Guilliman felt his anger toward his son ease slightly. “Then we move as one, en force.”

“Let me lead the way, my Lord.” Tarchus stood, face eager. “Let me-”

“No.” Guilliman turned to the woman and her strange machine. “Go. I will follow.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” 

The Primarch and Ultramarines made their way through the all but empty ship. Guilliman gritted his teeth at the glacial pace. Already his fingers ached to draw his blade. The walls and ceiling seemed to close in around him, as if holding him back, the whole ship an obstacle to overcome.

Where are you? Where are you?

He fought the urge to demand how far they were like an impatient child.

He fought the urge to tear through the confining metal with blade and gauntlet alone.

He fought the urge to chase down and slaughter each fleeing baseline they encountered.

He fought a losing battle.

Just as he felt he must charge ahead or burst, a message came through his vox receiver.

“Lord Guilliman.”

“Captain Takahashi.”

“We’re receiving an all-frequency transmission from the Predator. It is the Lady Heir!”

Both hearts leapt into his throat. “Patch it through.”

And then, your voice. 

Oh… Throne….

It flowed over him like cool water. It burned like fire. Soothing and stimulating. Everything… and not nearly enough. If you knew how you could break him with a word…. When this was over, he’d make sure you knew. 

Only slowly did the actual words register.

“...call to arms! People of TerraNova, you have been deceived. My cousin is no war hero, but a traitor. And not only of our people, but of all humanity.”

The terrified determination in your words filled him with equal parts pride and horror. Theoreticals and practicals began their unstoppable cascade once more as you brought the sordid truth to light.

“No longer as the Lady Heir do I call upon you, no longer as your Princess in the Tower,  but as your Matron Uncrowned. Military, merchant, and civilian alike. In every voidship that can bear soldiers or arms. Come to these coordinates and ally with the Lord Guilliman, your Patron To Be. We must eradicate this evil before it can take root and spread among us.”

Guilliman had heard speeches beyond count. Speeches full of evocative language designed to manipulate. But the sweet sincerity in your words roused something in him he’d thought long dead.

“We are TerraNova, we are the heirs of Humanity That Was. United with our stalwart brothers and sisters of the Imperium, we will prevail. Light guide us all.”

A long pause, and then….

“Roboute, if you can hear me, I love-”

The transmission died.

He didn’t think. He whirled upon the TerraNovan lieutenant and she understood.

“Not far now!” 

Her machine burst into a thunderous sprint all but drowned out by the pounding of his own sabatons.

A sobbing groan tore from his chest as they reached the broken door of the communications room. The sight of blood almost deprived him of his sanity, until he realized neither body resembled you. Then,in the brief moment of stillness, a soft scuffle from far up the corridor.

He pursued, cursing the ever tightening corridors that clutched at him, cursing his unwieldy armor, cursing everything and everyone….

…but you.

The air he dragged into his lungs bore the faintest trace of your scent now. 

So close.

Fleeing footsteps around the next bend.

So close!

The hiss of a door closing.

SO CLOSE!

Ripping through metal he burst into the smaller hangar just in time to see…

You.

Bruised, bloodied, clothing torn. Your cousin’s arm wrapped around your throat as he dragged you up the ramp of a hovering voidship. 

“Roboute!”

Before Guilliman’s very eyes your cousin dragged your head back and covered your mouth in a savage mockery of a kiss. Then the ramp closed and the ship’s engines flared, sending it soaring out into the black.

So close….

Guilliman activated his vox.

“Hear me, you motherless bastard. I will find you. I will drown everything you send against me in blood to take her from you. And then I will crush you… with my bare hands.”

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan

@justanothermemestrider @meervalv0 @grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads @riokunova

@ailujsenutna @emiemiemiii @astrohymn @synfiction @soul-of-leya

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@ilovewolvezz @primordialsneeze @summersong2262 @nereidof40k @ahrianee

@sunsetlobster @nekotaetae @toto-the-cactus @thevoidscreams

[simpforsolas]

So I've seen a some discussion of people both criticizing and defending the DATV companions for being nice to each other. And I think the arguments from both sides are being a little bit misconstrued, which is honestly understandable. I think that often when something bothers us in fiction, it's hard to put into words exactly what it is. So as we try our best to express ourselves, it may not end up getting to the point of what the issue actually is (this is also why it can be tough for writers to properly address criticism - the readers providing the criticism might not be accurately diagnosing the root of the problem, so their attempts to fix it are shallow and don't actually address the issue).

Now I obviously don't speak for everyone, but I do think that a good amount of the people saying they want the DATV crew to be meaner don't actually mean they literally just want people to be rude and insulting each other for no reason. I think it boils down to three things that the new crew was missing:

Inability to really feel how the companion's backstories form their unique worldview

Lack of conflict between companions

Limited relationship dynamics between Rook and the companions

Inability to feel how companion's backstories form their worldview

In previous Dragon Age games, the characters frequently discussed and argued topics of philosophy, faith, politics, and beliefs. They came from all different backgrounds. You had Morrigan, a hedge mage raised to believe in self-preservation, teaming up with an Andrastian circle mage and former templar. Their beliefs and worldviews are, at their core, at odds with each other. The game doesn't necessarily try to make you believe one way or another, it simply drops you into the world and allows you to interact with these character, see their interactions with each other, and draw your own conclusions. In Dragon Age Inquistion, you have Cole, a spirit of compassion, teaming up with Vivienne, who believes the circle teachings that spirits are demons and want to possess people, and Sera, who represents the perspective of the common people that are afraid of all things magical or fade-related. You have Solas, a staunch individualist who believes in freedom for all, Cassandra, a faithful Andrastian who follows her own inner compass even when at odds with the institution of the Chantry, and Iron Bull, a Ben-Hassrath agent who believes in the Qun not because he's a philosopher and has decided that's what works best, but because that's how he was raised and so far, the Qun has worked for him. So in previous Dragon Age titles, you have people whose worldviews and beliefs are fundamentally at odds with each other, and whose actions and dialogues are a direct result of those beliefs. Veilguard really downplayed the importance of religion in Thedas, which isn't necessarily a problem in and of itself. In DA2, the only companion with strong religious beliefs is Sebastian. However, you had Anders who believed strongly in mage liberation, Fenris, who believed strongly in the dangers of magic, and Isabela, whose lack of belief and lack of respect for religion/beliefs led to one of the game's biggest conflicts. Discussion of religion and philosophy was always a huge part of the Dragon Age games, so when they almost entirely removed that element and didn't replace it with other types of belief that could lead to meaningful differences of opinion, we were just left with nothing of substance to really talk about. This isn't saying that the companions don't have things they believe in, but it's just not the same as characters from previous games. In general, their backgrounds don't form a unique worldview that results in differences of opinions and interesting conflict. Which brings my to my next point:

Lack of conflict between companions

There's a huge spectrum between "everyone is friends and always gets along" and "everyone hates each other and is happy when their ally is sold into slavery." In fact, fans often get really into fictional relationships that have quite a bit of conflict. Speaking for myself, I love relationships where two people may fight or disagree, but they truly care for one another and would willingly put themselves in harm's way to protect one another. So I think when a lot of people say the companions get along too well, they don't necessarily mean that they want them to all hate each other (maybe some do). They mean that they just want there to be interesting interpersonal conflicts. (I personally would love for a companion pair to argue a lot, but when it comes down to it, they actually really care about each other) Why do we want this? Well first, conflict just makes things more interesting. But I think that it also ties into point 1. In this game, the companions simply don't seem passionate enough about what they believe to argue for it, or, if they are, there's not anyone who challenges their beliefs and forces them to defend their position. I would say that Emmrich is very passionate about his love for spirits and necromancy, two things which are seen as weird and dangerous by most people in Thedas. However, there's almost no chance for him to passionately argue for his worldview because no one challenges it. There is that one scene with Taash finding his passion for working with the dead creepy, but as soon as the issue comes up, it's resolved. Compare that to Solas, where a big part of his characterization is love for spirits and frustration with fear and ignorance leading people to discriminate against what they don't understand. Having to face opposition to his beliefs, both in the world and within the inquisitor's inner circle (and sometimes the inquisitor themself), gives the writers the opportunities to emphasize core parts of his characterization.

On a final note for this section, it's just more interesting when different pairs of companions have unique relationships with each other. Solas and Cole's wholesome, mostly conflict-free friendship is made sweeter because you can compare it to Solas and Sera's relationship. It makes the relationships more meaningful when you can contrast it to how those same people click or don't click with other companions.

Limited relationship dynamics with Rook

The final issue I want to talk about is how all this ties into Rook. In previous games, you could learn a lot about a character's beliefs by seeing what they approved and didn't approve of. Anders approves of supporting mages, Fenris doesn't. Leliana approves of compassion for strangers, Morrigan doesn't because why should she help people who can't help themselves, and also it's a waste of time. Cole greatly approves of helping people, Solas slightly approves of you asking questions, Cassandra approves of expressing belief in the Maker, and so forth and so on. Then depending on the choices you make, your approval actually makes a difference in how these companions view you as their leader. But in Veilguard... well either the companions don't have strong feelings about things, or Rook isn't allowed to make decisions that oppose the beliefs they do have. Because of this, there's basically no conflict between Rook and the team. From my understanding, worst relationship you can get with the team is "distant boss whose employees don't invite them to their work parties," but that's not the same as Cassandra hating you so much she gets drunk or getting specific rival scenes like in DA2 where companions react entirely differently because Hawke consistently acted in opposition to their beliefs.

Final thoughts

So when people criticize the companions not getting along, I think it's less to do with the fact that people want them to hate each other, and more to do with the fact that we want companions who have a strong worldview shaped by their backstory, and for that worldview being challenged to lead to interesting conflict. Whether that challenge comes from other companions, the world, or Rook themself, I don't care - I just want interesting and meaningful conflict that is arises because the companions are strong characters who believe in something.

[stottlemorgan]

Sketches & Scowls | Arthur Morgan x Reader Fluff

Summary: Arthur encourages your artistic journey but you lack patience. Word count: 952 Tags: Fluff, can potentially be read as platonic too imo! Author's note: I'm thoroughly pissed off whilst learning to draw so take this, dear hearts. If only Arthur were here with me to stop me from throwing my sketchbook through a damn window. I'm pretty sure this is gender neutral! Lmk if it seems any different and I'll change the tags.

A scowl curls your upper lip and the weight of your frustration drags your brow south as you attempt to will a tear through the paper of Arthur's sketchbook. Bound betwixt the leather cover that rests snugly in the dip of Arthur's closed thighs is a gallery of beauty; countless paradigms of how graphite should be used to capture one's visions. The subject of your current envy is a drawing of yourself.

The slight dampness of early spring cools your rear through your clothes as you and Arthur sit together on a hill of green and lupine. A flurry of warmish wind rustles through the thicket further up the hill, pulling a chittering consonance from the birds inside. The afternoon sun casts a pretty glow upon Arthur's portrait of you, upon the perfect likeness he has achieved within such a short time. You can plainly see the way he has skilfully sketched your countenance, the shapes both rigid and round that make up your face, the subtle dips and marks that pepper your skin. Though in this moment, you're appearing to be all ridge and lacking any semblance of the tender grin that had graced your features when he'd requested you still yourself while he drew.

"Try loosenin' your wrist up a little," Arthur's eyes flit to your hand which seems to be on the verge of snapping the poor pencil within its grasp. He blinks and raises a brow, tempering the amusement in his voice, "And maybe show some kindness to your tool, hm? If you break it, you ain't gonna be able to use it."

Your glare drifts up to his eyes which are laden with their usual sympathetic amicability which has only furthered over the past weeks of trying to teach you how to sketch. As you hold one another's gaze, Arthur notices your hand reluctantly shift in his blurred periphery to mirror the way he is holding his own much shorter pencil. He can't resist the chuckle tickling his chest and the smile tugging at his lips as his heart fondly responds to your grousing.

"I hate this, Arthur," you spit, tipping your head down to look at your own sketchbook, the one which Arthur kindly gave to you from his slender collection of spares. Scattered across the centrefold are multitudes of sketches, messy and incredibly amateurish, though Arthur describes them as "Charming". Your most recent is your fifth attempt at a portrait of Arthur. You were almost smiling as you shaded about his eyes and crows feet, though the excitement quickly faded the more you scribbled and was replaced with a steaming exasperation. You feel that it looks like an awkward caricature, perhaps an oddly set doppelgänger donning the scar on his chin and the mole at his cheek. Arthur's voice sounds out into the air, a lilt of understanding and compassion about it,

"You're just frustrated. It's okay, you're learnin' somethin' new-"

"I hate this," you repeat with increased fervour, sighing. Arthur sighs along with you, but warmer and gentler; he tilts his head toward you and he looks at you with a raised reprimanding brow before peering down at his sketchbook,

"I been doin' this since I was a kid. It's not somethin' you just pick up in a few weeks. Takes time 'n' practice. Jus'... Think about how you learned to ride, hm?"

"You ride better than me-"

With a scolding click of his tongue, Arthur lifts his pencil and knocks the wood softly against the bridge of your nose to which you scoff and swat his hand away.

"This ain't about me. Now, how long'd it take you t'learn to ride?"

Your head lolls sideways towards him and you roll your eyes, your voice dragging on with infuriation, "I'm still learnin'."

Arthur makes a gruff sound of triumph.

"Exactly, you're still learnin'," he shifts fully sideways to face you, nestling his pencil between the halves of his sketchbook and placing it beside him in the grass before leaning an elbow on his bent knee.

"Drawin's like ridin'... Kind of. S'one of them things you ain't gonna master in a lifetime. Screwin' up's part of the process."

"Yeah, well, it'd be nice to not screw up once," you grumble, huffing and smudging your fingers over the unsightly Arthur's chin, marring the already wonky line of his jaw. Arthur rolls his eyes and slaps a palm to your back, rubbing large circles as he speaks with a firm affection.

"Now you're just bein' sour. Maybe I shoulda drawn you all mean lookin' like you're bein' right now," He moves to nudge his knuckles into your jaw, gently pushing your face and drawing your focus from your sketchbook in hopes of swiftly popping the bubble of self-loathing that had begun to form around you.

"Put'ch your book down an' lie back with me for a bit," he instructs whilst taking the sketchbook and pencil from you anyway, setting it atop his own and tugging you to lie down next to him in the grass, "It'll give your eyes a rest an' we can decide on whether we're settin' up camp here for the night."

Despite the sigh that slips from you, you let him pull you back, and as you do, you feel your head slowly land in the cradle of his underarm. You tilt your head, glancing up at him as he tips his hat to rest more comfortably on his head, a shade falling over his closed eyes.

"I think I'll give up on drawin' for today," you murmur, studying the faint raise of his brow and feeling the arrhythmic padding of his fingers against your shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm, m'happy to settle for lookin'."

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @pinescent-and-gingerbread @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @zae-heeyyy

[krakensdottir]

Something else I've noticed about Crowley's compassion is that it also extends to his enemies.

To a point, mind. What he did to Ligur makes clear that he has limits. And those two pushed them like no one else. If it's compassion or survival, he will pick survival every time, even if it means melting your ass.

But outside of that? Look at him with Shax. He knows she's a threat, he keeps her at arm's length. When she asks about the boiler, though, he's instantly helpful. He could have grinned at her and said 'figure it out' and shut the door. But he didn't. He answered her question, because hey, this Earth shit is hard and she needs all the help she can get. And that's remarkable. Because I doubt most demons would do that - even though helping your replacement settle in could be seen as practical, they generally don't seem to go out of the way for each other at all, certainly aren't obligated to. This was Crowley's decision.

Then there's Gabriel. Crowley doesn't trust him, he initially argues that they shouldn't help him because it's dangerous for them both to be anywhere near him. But once he has agreed to help... he is remarkably gentle with Jim. Answers questions about gravity even when he doesn't have to - when he could easily just not talk to him at all. Even when he tests him, almost gets him to jump out a window, he ends up calling him back (once he's satisfied Jim isn't faking, I have no doubt). He ends up offering him hot chocolate. Even when Crowley wants to be mean, even when he tries, his nature ends up winning.

And finally, Beelzebub. I've seen a lot of talk about how jealous Crowley must be, how bitter... but he doesn't seem like it, does he? He's very soft in that scene. He's the one who recommends them a nice date spot to retreat to - one that he himself was considering at one point. He sounds a little wistful to me, like yeah, he wishes he and Aziraphale could have that happiness too. But he doesn't show any sign of begrudging it, either. It seems like he is, in his Crowley way, happy for them. (Of course I'm sure it doesn't hurt that this means they won't be his or Aziraphale's problem anymore. If it were just that, though, I don't think his voice would've sounded like that.)

So all of this is remarkable, but of course, with a little consideration, it's not surprising coming from Crowley. This is who he is underneath. This is who he wants to be. (Even if he hates that he wants it, lol.)

[extremely-judgemental]

Long Post (From the Drafts)

I hate Feysand. But it’s just me hating on Feyre, really.

I struggled for so long to put this into words as I couldn’t pinpoint the exact the reason to hate this ship until recently. It isn’t because Rhysand is manipulative or Feyre turned into his trophy wife. Aside from the reenactment of the SA as the stepping stone in their relationship, my problem is solely with Feyre.

To preface this, I don’t care about romances, only the character growth resulting from it. So I don’t care whether Feyre ends up with Rhysand or Tamlin or alone, as long as she evolves.

Warnings. This is completely based on my memory of how the two relationships progressed. Because otherwise I’d have to go through the books to cite and I really, really don’t want to. As it’s hard to explain this objectively without talking about the author’s influence in the narrative, this could be also taken as more of a writing critique on how to NOT write characters falling in and out of love. Basically, it’s a jumbled mess and it took turns on its own and there will be lots of psychology talk. Also, THIS IS NOT AN INVITATION FOR SHIP WARS. Don’t bring that shit here.

The common assumption is that Feyre and Tamlin weren’t good for each other from the start, which is only partly true. The first book had just a spark of potential since more were lined up in the series exploring their relationship. Feylin falling apart was not inevitable. They definitely had strong bones to build upon.

Their relationship starts out almost whimsical, a necessary reprieve from their lives for both Tamlin and Feyre. The two come together under the worst of circumstances and grow to understand each other.

Feyre is a mortal who sees Tamlin with fresh eyes, without the stain of his reputation. And Tamlin gets to see a side of her in return, one even her family didn’t or wouldn’t acknowledge. He experiences her as a person instead of her burdens or responsibilities.

Feyre finds a kindness that she was never offered with a beast. Tamlin learns that a huntress can have a heart after all.

Their relationship was built on shared values and beliefs like compassion for other lives, intolerance towards injustices, the youngest sibling forced to take on mantles they didn’t choose for themselves. They accepted each other despite their flaws and cruel choices. They fought for each other. They endured so much for each other.

Despite all this, the romantic notes were quite lacking and physical attraction was thrown in too soon to compensate for it. This undermined the bond the two had which is often considered the proof that their relationship wasn’t real or ideal. Whereas there clearly was a beautiful connection between them, one that neither had in their lives until they found each other. Even Lucien’s friendship doesn’t compare to this as Tamlin is still his saviour which forged an unwavering trust and loyalty.

To have developed such deep bond with someone for the first time in her life, Feyre is quick to move on. She states that she fell in love with the first person who offered her kindness and presents herself as a misguided being preyed upon by someone. But in truth, none of Tamlin’s love or kindness was fake.

Feyre wasn’t safe with Tamlin, I agree. It isn’t her choice of leaving that bothers me as much as her responses. The kind of resentment Feyre harbours towards Tamlin usually comes from prolonged trauma which completely replaces every good memory in the mind. Or if the relationship was built under false pretences and the victim is forced to accept their reality. Neither is the case here.

At best, all of this—leaving UtM, the almost wedding, leaving Spring for good—happens in less than a year. And given the list of trials Feyre lived through until then, what happened in Spring was only a blip. Trauma is unpredictable and so is the response. None of Feyre’s reactions are impossible given her circumstances, but they are so inconsistent that it feels forced.

Victims tend to have some sort of attachment with their abusers and fond memories even when they understand the gravity of their situation. Feyre had core moments that made her fall in love with her time in Spring—trapping Tamlin in the forest, swimming in the stardust lake, dancing for him and with him, her bond with Alis, the teasing with Lucien who was her first ever friend. All of it is instead treated as an illusion that Feyre wakes up from when her initial feelings were clear. She was finally, truly free and experienced genuine happiness with them but she remembers none of it again. She readily demonises everyone and hates them without hesitation. Not once does she reminisce her past, or mourn the life she left behind.

Feyre forces herself to relive the traumatic moments over and over again until the image of Tamlin as her villain is cemented in her mind. While she feels no need to do the same around Rhysand when she knows he can’t be trusted. Granted she doesn’t remember the SA itself, she however remembers the head mounted on a spike, her mind being violated, her arm being broken, being tricked and coerced, being stripped naked and paraded, being forced upon twice, and yet, she has no reaction towards him.

There are two other key moments which stand out. Feyre tried to escape Tamlin’s mansion after agreeing to go with him, but she doesn’t attempt anything similar in Night during the initial stays in Moonstone Palace. Of course, later she is homeless and alone in a strange world, but she has always been an advocate for freedom and she should have at least resisted the idea of living in a secret city no one knows about (basically a high class prison), which she doesn’t. Though this could very well be exhaustion from living in survival for long, it is also an attempt to drive the idea that Feyre feels safer with her supposed tormentor than the partner she chose.

The other is her hatred for Spring when she returns from Hybern. She despises everything, she can’t stand the mansion, the gardens, the people. But she had none of this anger or loathing for CoN, which mirrors UtM, when she plays Rhysand’s whore again.

Besides Feyre has a lot of issues on her end which is completely ignored. She is very controlling and she loses a part of it when she is expected to play her role in Spring. For someone as reckless as her, she couldn’t speak the way she wanted. She couldn’t act the way she wanted. And she definitely couldn’t lord her importance over Tamlin to have her way, like she is used to with her family in the past.

Despite being so perceptive, she doesn’t grasp the idea that she can’t and won’t be everyone’s priority. Feyre wants to be doted on. As a result of childhood neglect, she convinces herself that she is above it. The narrative wouldn’t let Feyre acknowledge this either since she is a feminist hero and she can’t have girly needs like love. She can’t be like other women.

But it is obvious with how her relationship with Tamlin cracks. During her first stay in Spring, Feyre had the undivided attention of Tamlin and Lucien alike. She wasn’t exposed to the court matters as most of his subjects were cloaked.

After UtM, Feyre sees Tamlin, the High Lord of Spring. She resents everything about him when he tends to his court—rehabilitating his subjects through the social events, entertaining priestesses in his court, even a basic tax collection.

Tamlin’s attention is now shared between Feyre and his duty. When she feared his devotion for her was slipping away, she began resenting him. She turned Tamlin into the scapegoat for every pain she was ever dealt. This is contrasted with Rhysand who is overly zealous about her (and literally doesn’t do anything court related ever). Feyre doesn’t have to want attention with him, she just gets it in abundance.

The more we look into these contrasts, it feels like Feyre forced herself into falling out of love rather than it being a direct consequence of Tamlin’s actions. Ignoring the bond and its influence, the switch from one man to another so lightly, to me, it doesn’t even feel like she fell out of love. Instead, what she had for Tamlin was trust. She had learnt to rely on someone for the first time in her life and she felt abandoned again.

And most of her feelings after leaving him is guilt that revolved around pursuing a new romance too soon. The first instance I remember clearly is right before she goes into the Weaver’s cottage. That happens weeks within of leaving Spring permanently. That’s how long it took to move on from a man she died for only months ago to flirting with the man who sexually abused. (I am a liar, I remember the others too. Rubbing the tattooed hand on herself comment, teasing Rhysand after stealing from Summer. Yeah, they are despicable and I hate the pair.)

Feyre essentially cheated on Tamlin emotionally long before she ended the relationship or decided to do so. This is not a judgement given the complicated situation but combining it with everything else, her guilt is again just a forced narrative so she can retain the saintly status.

The note she sent to Tamlin is a character armour as none of her actions so far imply Feyre believes her old relationship deserves a proper closure. It comes off like an afterthought that Feyre is only acting out of societal customs. But you can also tell it is the author trying so hard for the readers to not blame Feyre for enjoying the sexual act in CoN. Even without the note, Lucien could’ve come looking for her in Night and it wouldn’t affect the plot differently. The only purpose of the note is to protect Feyre from scrutiny and eliminate any grace for Tamlin.

Instead of disrespecting the sacrifices the two made for each other and ridiculing their struggles for a dramatic yet effortless partner swap, I’d have preferred if they had come to realise they weren’t right for each other, that the three months broke something in them, that Amarantha succeeded in tearing them apart, and moving on amicably.

But now, as a result, her relationship with Rhysand comes off as coping—to some extent, denial even—instead of genuine. The biggest flaw in this narrative is again not Feyre’s choice but the lack of emotional substance in her.

Her intense monologues and outbursts at times are often mistaken for emotional depth. But since moving to Night, Feyre becomes a mouthpiece for Rhysand’s state of mind and a device to endlessly justify him rather than processing her own feelings about him or her new life. There is no organic growth in their relationship as she is quick to agree with what’s fed to her without questioning anything.

While it’s a common notion that Rhysand manipulated Feyre, it is true only to a degree. In order to turn someone as stubborn as her, Rhysand will have to hit every one of her vulnerabilities and make her doubt every belief she ever had. But he doesn’t have to try so hard. At best, he gives her a slight explanation and Feyre takes it as gospel.

The only time she truly hesitates is when she learns of Velaris. It’s because she is supposed to. Because she is a strong female lead who can’t be gullible and believe her tormentor. Although phrased as such, she doesn’t really question it out of curiosity or because of her morals. She doesn’t pause to wonder if these ideals are something she agrees with, if it goes against her values. If the latter were the case, she’d question if the Illyrians, a race she knows nothing about, are really all brutes. She’d question if the people of Hewn City, again a bunch she’s never met, are all evil especially if Rhysand and Morrigan turned out alright.

Feyre always had a skewed sense of morality but it takes a much clearer form after she moves to Night. Her disdain towards her sisters and opinion about the townspeople represent her narcissism and shallowness. She also has a superiority complex, in my opinion, which actually drives her to oppose Tamlin during the tithe and offer charity to the water sprites.

Her kindness and compassion is very selective and circumstantial, and this is easily directed towards the people of Velaris. Not to mention the community that affected her the most was the artisans’. Because Feyre saw herself in them, saw them as vulnerable and the ones deserving of protection. And this belief is extended to the rest of the city.

I digress. Rhysand strokes this side of her. He feeds her ego by making her believe she has power through a sex show. In Illyria, he goads her into believing she is a match to the Generals (who knows how old they are) who have been trained to war all their lives.

The longer this dynamic is explored, there is one conclusion for me. Feyre doesn’t love Rhysand either as much as she loves the sense of power and importance she has with him. Feyre is basically a parasite and will latch onto anyone who benefits her. At the moment, Rhysand does, by validating her in ways no one else does. As long as he offers her a modicum of control over her life or others, and reveres as someone who can do no wrong, she will be by his side.

[andy-wm]

i feel like i missed a chapter somewhere lol whats with the itaewon house? i know nothing about this, did one of them build a house?

Hey Anon

Yup, JK built a house

A few years back (2020? 2021?) He bought a very fancy property in the same neighbourhood as the embassies and Chaebol mansions - in the most expensive part of Itaewon.

I remember at the time, news sites were frothing over the house and how it reflected Jungkook's excellent taste. The common thread was that the prestige of the property showed how urbane he had become. It clearly indicated that he had grown into an astute and mature investor.

There was a lot of chatter about it being a fine family home in an exclusive locale.

I mean, it definitely was a flex. A freestanding house on a 6ooM2 allotment in Seoul? Please, the man clearly has a bottomless well of money. And even more impressive than the hefty price was the fact that he paid cash for it.

Of course, the straight-boy-JK brigade were ecstatic about his pretty new house. To them it was demonstrable proof that he had plans to find himself a pretty wife who would pump out pretty children for him. They were very smug about the hereronormative imagery his picturesque little cottage conjured up.

It was all very tiresome.

But what came next is my favourite part of the story. We all woke up one day to discover...

He unceremoniously flattened that house

Yup, the news broke one morning that the house was... gone. Bulldozed. He clearly had zero regard for its prestige, refinement, or family friendliness. I love that about him. He really does follow his own compass.

I was secretly delighted interested to see what would replace it, and Anon, I have not been disappointed.

Can a house have sex appeal?

This one does.

Where that frankly underwhelming red brick meh once stood, we now have a gloriously ominous and uncompromising statement that looms over the street.

Jungkook has built a neobrutalist fortress.

It is a thing of beauty. Sophisticated and dominant in a way that makes me feel just a little bit breathless, the fine balance of weight and lightness is magnificent. It has charisma, refinement, and a hint of malice. If it could speak, I imagine it would tell the people who try to impose their values on him to fuck off in several different languages.

Anon, on my honour I had absolutely no intention of going anywhere near his house before I saw it complete. Now I'm afraid that the desire to gaze at it in person it might outweigh my distaste for lurking near the home of a celebrity like a sasaeng. I'd die of mortification of he was actually at home. Maybe I can go when I know he isn't there?

Ugh i hate this for me. I just wanna see the bloody fluted concrete walls for myself.

But lets move on from my whining...

I find myself appraising the aesthetic and stylistic choices he's made with this building and truthfully I'm seeing Jeon Jungkook in a new light.

I am pretty fucking impressed with what he's doing here. This house shows far more finesse, maturity, and sophistication than the gable-roofed clipart homestead ever could. It's the absolute antithesis of that twee vision of traditional values and domestic boredom bliss.

This monstrosity is dark, brooding, and beautiful. And I'm a little bit in love with it.

Yes, i admit that some of the images come from tiktok accounts that have been stalking the build.

Yes, i am aware of my double standards.

Other photos come from the architect who posted progress shots on his insta, and he's quite entitled to do so since this is his work. He never mentioned whose house it was or anything else that could compromise our boy.

[andy-15-07]

If you’re inspired could you do a fic about Paul Atreides and Y/N’s first night as enemies to lovers? Like they hate each other but they’re in an arranged marriage? Maybe Y/N is scared of the pain she’ll experience during sex? Would love fluff at the end…

Thanks!

From Enemies to Lovers

masterlist ! pairing: Paul Atreides x reader

Dune Masterlist

In the grand halls of the Atreides palace on Arrakis, a tense atmosphere hung in the air as Paul Atreides, the young heir to House Atreides, stood before his bride-to-be, Y/N. The marriage between their families had been arranged as a political alliance, a union meant to strengthen their houses in the turbulent times ahead. But for Paul and Y/N, the prospect of marriage was fraught with tension and resentment.

As they stood face to face, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills, Paul could sense the fear and apprehension emanating from Y/N. He knew that she harbored doubts and insecurities about their impending union, just as he did. But duty and honor compelled them to carry on with the charade, to fulfill the obligations thrust upon them by their families.

"Y/N," Paul began, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation, "I understand that this marriage is not of our choosing. But we must make the best of it, for the sake of our houses."

Y/N's eyes flashed with defiance, her resolve unyielding. "I will do my duty, Paul, but do not expect me to pretend that I am happy about this arrangement."

And so, on their wedding night, as they found themselves alone in the opulent chambers of the Atreides palace, the tension between Paul and Y/N was palpable. Neither knew what to expect, their hearts heavy with the weight of obligation and uncertainty.

As they stood on opposite sides of the room, their silence filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, Y/N's fear threatened to overwhelm her. She had heard stories of the pain and discomfort that awaited her on her wedding night, and the thought sent shivers down her spine.

Sensing her apprehension, Paul approached her slowly, his movements cautious yet determined. "Y/N," he said softly, "I understand if you are afraid. But I promise to be gentle with you. We are in this together, whether we like it or not."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes searching his for any sign of deceit or malice. But all she found was sincerity and understanding, a rare glimmer of compassion in the midst of their tumultuous circumstances.

With a shaky breath, Y/N nodded, her walls beginning to crumble under Paul's reassuring presence. "Thank you, Paul," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I will try to trust you."

And so, as they lay together on the bed, their bodies trembling with anticipation and uncertainty, Paul and Y/N embarked on a journey that would forever alter the course of their lives. With each tentative touch and whispered caress, the barriers between them began to fade, replaced by a newfound connection forged in the fires of adversity.

As their bodies moved together in a dance of longing and desire, Paul and Y/N found solace in each other's arms, their fears and doubts melting away in the heat of passion. In that moment, they were no longer enemies bound by duty, but two souls united by love—a love that had blossomed from the ashes of conflict and resentment.

And as the first light of dawn filtered through the window, bathing the room in a soft golden glow, Paul and Y/N lay entwined in each other's embrace, their hearts overflowing with a newfound sense of peace and belonging. For in each other, they had found not only love, but also the courage to defy the expectations of their world and forge their own destiny together.

[terriblechickenhousebuilder]

i think lots and lots about xavier (MCD) and what he could've been. pretty sure his character ended up getting scrapped and replaced with esmund somehow, but u ppl can rip xavier from my cold dead hands

here are some random headcanons about him:

● He was the one to encourage Lady Irene to lead a revolution against the tyrant King of O'Khasis. Though he was born into nobility he always despised the way the King ruled Ru'aun with an iron fist and that common people were fearmongered into doing everything he said.

● Xavier was Irene's first thought when it came to deciding the identities of the Divine Warriors (even before Shad), as he was her strongest and most trusted guard. He declined the offer immedietly, never explaining why. Truth be told, he just hated the idea of his hard-earnt strength being chalked down to a relic's power.

● He was somewhat insecure of the fact he might never have a legacy. Everyone paints him as a humble, down-to-earth man, but in reality he did have dreams of grandeur and a longing to be remembered.

● He begged Esmund for funds to be able to establish the Guard Academy, since his parents disowned him after he began to work with Irene.

● His proudest achievement was the forming of the Jury of Nine. Should he have found out what came of it centuries later, it would've broken his heart.

● He became the first Shadow Knight. His form wasn't the Knights we know today, since Xavier was Shad's first experiment in necromancy. Instead of the pillars of rage we know, Xavier was more of an... empty puppet, shall we say, for the Shadow Lord to control.

● Irene's last act of compassion was to put Xavier out of his misery. His (second) death was the straw that broke the camel's back in terms of her eventual lack of feelings. To kill a Shadow Knight means destroying the cursed soul, so Xavier was never able to reincarnate (though cycles often finds ways of repeating themselves...).

also, i could write an entire thesis on xavier x esmund but this post ended up too long already. just need to know if there's anyone else in this fandom that's stuck in this echo chamber of side characters with no almost lore being some of ur faves 💔