#seeing people help them and care about them enough to let them live in a human way....

[noxspost]

Vi and power often into trouble and silco was often The one to bail them out of trouble, the best he can and no questions asked because he knew vander was gonna be a lot harder on them than silco will be.

Vander's disappointment when his kids get in trouble is far worse. Vi feels a lot of pressure living up to being vander's child and she doesn't feel that much pressure on her when she's with silco so she often goes to him for help.

Vi still often feels the need to hoard money from random jobs and from the pit fights, but also save food and give more to her siblings being powder Mylo claggor And echoes well and so oftentimes. She will go hungry.

Silco knows this but since she doesn't want to embarrass why he keeps it under route though he is getting worried.

He may not act like it, but he hates to see his daughter coming home after pit fight not even trying to take care of her injuries before she got home. It hurts his heart because he'd promise to their mother he would take care of both girls.

Sometimes Vi will just sit next to silco, as he's grumbling and writing down in his journal or just dis associating both of them do that this is associating, but it's not as often with vi, but it's still happening with silco.

He has been using more makeup to hide his scar even though he doesn't need to, he still feels that impulse. To do so sweet doesn't terrify the kids.

Silco has very long hair longer now. It reaches down to the middle of his chest, the middle of his back and he only lets a few people touch his hair without being Vi, Jinx, Vander and Sevika.

Vi is actually trying to do more with his hair, which is just braids. They're often very frizzy and lopsided. Though you can definitely tell it's abraid.It's often a ponytail first before it becomes a braid.

he fixes it before anyone else can see the braids, but still not enough. That it's very obvious that he did it to himself.

Vi absolutely is emembarrassed and touched that he kept in her terrible braids. Sometimes Jinx will just add a bit of hair clips to it just to add to the mess of his hair afterwards, he wears them to council meetings to the meetings at the chem barons.

He does not give a shit meanyone, who does raise an eyebrow to it and vocalizes their opinion of how terrible his hairstyle is. He will Promptly glare them down.

Since often vi is like his bodyguard when he's in meetings, either with the chem barons or the piltover council. it is so often and moticeable that she's trying to be the big scary dog she thinks she is that they Have set up her own seat next to silco.

And since Vi has tattoos, some of them are dedicated to her mom and silco. Though most of it still about her sister.

Also, she started practicing makeup around the same time. She always liked more messy and goth looks, but she didn't have the courage to pull it off till she went into pit fighting much to her dads' annoyance and fear.

That you try to alcohol for the first time and silco would not approve of her pit fighting make up. He thinks it's very atrocious, yet he keeps that to himself.

These are some ideas.

While I know most Vanco/Zaundads enthusiasts are focused on the family dynamic centered around Powder for obvious reasons (alternate timeline w/ Vi dead, we’re not really sure when Vanco reunited in that timeline, Jinx and Silco’s relationship in S1, etc.), I feel like we’re missing out on some solid Father-Daughter antics between Silco and Vi. For example:

- Vi growled at people she didn’t like until she was like 10 because she heard someone call Vander the Hound of the Underground and thought that was the coolest thing ever. Silco threatened to muzzle her if she didn’t stop.

- While Powder loves helping Vander out at The Last Drop, Vi insists on being Silco’s “bodyguard” whenever he had business to deal with, whether it’s with the Chem Barons or Piltover elite. Silco appreciates it but also cannot have every meeting end with a fistfight, please just stand in the corner and look menacing, Violet.

- Silco is the only one who calls her Violet. When she was really little he gave her the nickname Petal, which she loathes once she’s older but also secretly loves.

- He’s also the one she goes to when she wants to hear stories about her parents. Vander will tell her the big stuff, how Connol and Felicia met, when Vi was born, etc., but Silco will tell her about how her mom would sing the raunchiest ballads when she got drunk, how her dad hand-carved her crib when he found out Felicia was pregnant; the sweet little in between moments that made them who they were.

- Vi will keep Silco company when he stays up late working, a warm, solid presence pressed into his side. Vander loves it, because the second Vi starts drifting off, Silco will put down his work and help shuffle her off to bed. It’s the most effective way to keep Silco from burning the midnight oil.

Please feel free to add on, I’m obsessed with the entire Zaundads dynamic and want my girl Vi to get some love, too. ♥️♥️

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

So I'm putting together an In Defence of Cassie PowerPoint for a PowerPoint night with friends. Do you have any arguments for or against her? I trust your opinion and am curious.

Let's see.

"She's too powerful, too unique, too far-seeing, and not good enough for Jake! What a Mary Sue!"

Counterpoint: May I introduce you to the reigning champion fan favorite, Sad White Boy Tobias?

Only nothlit ever to regain the ability to morph

Only known human-andalite hybrid ever to exist

Regarded as savior by entire hork-bajir species

Entire existence is a time paradox the war hinges upon

Pulls the canonically "most beautiful girl in our grade", who turns down 6 or 7 other offers in favor of Bird Boy

Correctly predicted planetary ecology 65 million years in advance

Believed to be immune to 2-hour limit

In conclusion: y'all wouldn't be crying "Mary Sue" if Cassie was a sad white boy, and I can prove it.

"She's too weak and hand-wringing, and she never helps the war effort!"

Counterpoint: First of all, the fact that the same people say this in the same breath as "she's too powerful" is... telling. Secondly:

She saved the entire team's lives in #24, in #29, in #44, and in MM1, among others.

Specifically calling out #44 — that ending shows she is willing and able to be ruthless when her friends are in need. She doesn't like slaughtering human-controllers, but if the alternative is everyone she loves dying, then she'll fucking well do it.

Much like Jake (see: Sad White Boy), she's more willing to risk herself than her friends, hence the end of MM1

Her medical knowledge saves Marco from rabies, Ax from brain!appendicitis, and Tobias from bird flu.

Her survivalist knowledge saves everyone in #25 (the Arctic), MM2 (Cretaceous Era), #11 (rainforest), and #14 (desert).

In conclusion: Cassie's only idealistic-looking by the standards of this extremely morally gray team.

"She's so unfair to Jake!"

Counterpoint: Jake? The Jake who refused to speak with her for weeks? Jake who proposes marriage while they're still broken up? Jake who announces he'll never trust Cassie again because she [checks notes] saved his brother's life? That Jake?

Also:

She gives him tons of emotional support in #16, #21, #47, and other times he's feeling low.

They have a healthy argument where they air differences and come to an understanding in #9.

Did I mention he doesn't just dump her but ghosts her in the middle of the war's endgame?

They're teenagers. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it is built on open communication and mutual respect which is more than Rachel and Tobias can say

She's fighting a war, and PTSD for that matter. No, she doesn't have infinite emotional bandwidth.

In conclusion: Their relationship is fine, their breakup is mutual, and her behavior only looks bad if, once again, you're holding Cassie to a different standard than you are Jake.

"She shouldn't have trusted Aftran!"

Counterpoint: friendly reminder that the alternative was killing a 6-year-old for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that's what you think Cassie should've done, that tells us more about you than about her.

"She spends too much time moralizing!"

Counterpoint: this is a book series about war, not a friggin' video game. If you want moral pornography, go play Call of Duty. If you want sci fi realism, then you're going to have to accept that a majority of humans prefer not to kill their fellow humans if at all possible.

"She's a ripoff of [insert character here]!"

Counterpoint: literally every single one of these says more about the commenter than about the source work. "Every dystopia is set in the U.S." is the kind of thing only people who only read books by American authors would think. "All epic fantasy is Eurocentric" => tell me you only read books by white people without telling me. I'm glad you think Cassie is too similar to Willow Rosenberg, but there are at least 6 other stories in the known world, and I hear some of them even feature sweet/dorky/caring characters who are secretly ultra-powerful.

In conclusion: You don't have to like Cassie as a (fictional) person, but 85% of criticisms directed at her are bad-faith attacks on one of the 1990s' only fat Black female gnc ultra-powerful superheroes.

[gothicfied]

Cho Hyun-ju / Player 120 Headcanons

Pairing: Cho Hyun-ju / Player 120 x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, killing, guns/gunshots (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

જ⁀➴ Watching Hyun-ju during the six-legged pentathlon, you couldn't help but be amazed. She was a leader, a fighter, someone who didn't and wouldn't give up, that much was sure. It was amazing to see her lead her group to victory, to safety, being the one to push them and encourage them. Everyone cheered, obviously including you, and it truly was an amazing feeling to see them all get away with their lives. You weren't so sure if you'd make it, too.

જ⁀➴ Thankfully, you did. Your group barely scraped by and you just decided that you needed to be on Hyun-ju's team. Hesitantly, you approached Geum-ja, who immediately noticed your small figure and agreed in a heart beat to let you join their little group.

"You were great back there, you know?" You told Hyun-ju with a shy smile while she was sitting on the stairs, originally just observing Yong-sik getting scolded by his mother again. "Hm? Ah.. that was nothing." she replied back, shaking her head when smiling up at you. "I think everyone in here should be like you," you chuckled, "like, actually. We'd all benefit from it."

જ⁀➴ Hyun-ju's heart melted at all the nice words you would say to her, complimenting her braveness and strength. It made her feel more validated in her actions, which was the motivation she really needed in a place like this. Young-mi was equally excited to have you in their group now, having animated conversations with you about the things you had in common — And if she approved of you, Hyun-ju would, too.

જ⁀➴ Whenever you were scared, were having doubts about yourself or just needed someone to talk, Hyun-ju was there. It was almost like she felt it when you felt that way and she'd always listen to you and comfort you. Her hugs were warm and firm, perfectly calming you down after a particularly bad nightmare. In return, you also encouraged her to talk to you if she ever felt the need to, but everytime you suggested that she'd laugh it off. To Hyun-ju, it was enough to know that she brought you comfort, she didn't need anything in return. She did think it was adorable for you to say that.

જ⁀➴ To distract you from all the stress sometimes, she'd ask you about your plans for the future, about your hobbies and jusy about the things that made you, you. Hyun-ju was genuinely interested in getting to know you and was growing very fond of you over a short period of time.

જ⁀➴ After suffering through the third game together, and also a painful loss (rip Young-mi, my queen), everyone was going through it. Instead of everyone keeping it peaceful, they just decided to slaughter each other after lights out. Ever since losing Young-mi, Hyun-ju was very adamant on keeping you by her side at all times. She wouldn't make that mistake again and leave someone she cared about out of her sight.

The lights flicker like crazy above you, screams and the disgusting sound of people getting killed right next to you were the only things you could focus on right now. You were panicking, you were scared, you felt like you were going to cry and throw up. Hyun-ju had grabbed you by your hand and dragged you to the last corner of the dorm area, hiding you between some mattresses other players had set up. She was firmly holding you by your shoulders and telling you something you couldn't make up. Probably that everything will be okay or something. "Hey! Hey, please listen to me," Hyun-ju leaned in close, hugging you against her, "it's all going to be fine. We'll be okay."

જ⁀➴ In fact, you were. Obviously you were. Hyun-ju wouldn't say something she didn't mean — she wouldn't lie to you. She knew that winning someones trust was hard and the fact that you put so much of it into her filled her with pride.

જ⁀➴ Gi-hun had his mind set on a revolution. Anybody who could handle a firearm was supposed to step forward and take one of of the ones they took off the dead guards. You swallowed, locking eyes with Hyun-ju. She'd step forward, they needed her. You gave her a quick nod and a faint smile and she returned it, quickly stepping forward to help the others.

Geum-ja put a hand on your shoulder, claiming that she'll be fine and that she's far too tough to die out there. "They'll be back to get us out of here, don't worry about it." she said, tugging you by your sleeve, beckoning you to come with her.

When Dae-ho stormed in after a while again, hastily collecting the magazines out of the guards pockets, you were relieved, even if he seemed extremely beside himself. He had some sort of panic attack, so you sat him down on one of the beds, trying to reason with him, until Hyun-ju stormed in, making your facs light up. Oh my god, she's alive. She basically ran to Dae-ho, urging for the ammunition and kept asking him what happened.. so, this wasn't going according to plan at all. You assumption was confirmed by all the masked guards that flooded into the dorm area, holding the remaining players at gunpoint.

"Hyun-ju..?" your voice was shaky. Her eyes fell down on you, taking your hand into hers. "It's all going to be fine."

[theonottsbxtch]

SAVING HER | CL16

an: chat this is a short one but she’s been sat in my drafts unedited for a while SO PLS DONT JUDGE IVE BEEN BUSY WITH WORK also im about to close my requests for the next month or so because i am very busy

wc: 2.3k

THE ALLEYWAY WAS A THEATRE OF SHADOWS, the high walls narrowing like an unfinished thought. Rain clung to the cobblestones, slick and shimmering under the muted glow of a nearby streetlamp. Charles slumped against the cold stone, his breath a ragged symphony of pain he didn’t feel. The wound on his arm—a careful cut he’d made himself—bled just enough to convince anyone, though the blood seeping into his sleeve was nothing compared to the weight in his chest.

He’d been told she would come this way.

The princess of Monaco was known for walking among the people, her kindness spoken of like an old fable passed from lip to lip. A woman with a crown yet no walls, they said. A woman who saw everyone as a person worth saving. It was that softness—her fatal flaw, his boss had said—that made her the perfect target. Charles knew how to exploit such softness. He had done it a thousand times before, slipping into lives just long enough to end them.

And so he waited.

The footsteps came as if conjured from the night itself, light yet steady, moving towards him without hesitation. He pressed his hand against his wound for effect, his jaw tightening, his body folding into the pose of a man undone. When he raised his eyes, there she was.

“Sir, are you hurt?” Her voice was warm, unguarded, each syllable woven with concern. She knelt before him, her coat already sliding from her shoulders to wrap around his trembling form.

“I—yes,” Charles stammered, surprised by how natural the lie felt on his tongue. “It’s nothing. Just… had uh. You shouldn’t—”

“Hush,” she interrupted, her hands already seeking the source of his injury. “You’re bleeding. We need to get you help.”

Her touch was feather-light, and for a moment, Charles forgot the blade hidden at his hip, the kill he had rehearsed in his mind a dozen times. She didn’t flinch at the blood or the grime, her hands steady, her face calm, her eyes impossibly gentle.

It would be easy, he told himself. The knife would be quick. She wouldn’t even see it coming.

But as she looked at him, her gaze a pool of unguarded kindness, something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. It wasn’t guilt—Charles had never known guilt—but a hesitation, like a string pulling him back just as he prepared to strike. He gritted his teeth, forcing the thought away.

Not here. Not now. Next time.

Instead, he let her lift him to his feet, her shoulder under his as she guided him away from the shadows. And for the first time, Charles wondered if he had underestimated her. Not her kindness—that was as plain as the moon overhead—but its weight, its gravity.

And it terrified him.

Her flat wasn’t far—she said as much while helping him along the cobbled streets—but Charles found himself biting back questions. A princess who lived alone, away from the safety of royal walls? Who brought strangers into her home on nothing more than blind trust? It was absurd. Foolish, even. And yet, there she was, walking him through her unlocked door, her arm steadying him as though his weight was nothing.

The space was modest—unexpectedly so for someone of her stature. The furniture was worn, each piece arranged with a care that spoke of practicality over opulence. A collection of books leaned precariously on the edge of a small shelf, and the air smelled faintly of lavender. It was too… human for a woman who should have been untouchable.

“You’re lucky I found you,” she said softly, easing him onto the edge of a worn armchair. “I don’t usually take this route home.” She offered him a small smile, as though his suffering were a strange twist of fate they should both be grateful for.

“Lucky,” Charles echoed, his voice gruff.

If only she knew.

She disappeared into another room, her movements light and unhurried, returning moments later with a first aid kit. “This might sting,” she warned, already dabbing at the wound on his arm. Her brow furrowed in concentration, and for the first time, Charles could see the weight of her kindness—a heaviness in her eyes, as though she carried the burdens of every person she helped.

He clenched his fists. The knife was still there, tucked against his hip. All it would take was a single motion—a flick of the blade and she’d be gone. The mission would be over. His boss would be satisfied, and Charles could leave this city behind.

Do it, he told himself. You’ve done worse to better people.

But his hand remained where it was, resting on the arm of the chair, his fingers curling into the fabric instead of the hilt.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, her voice breaking the silence. “Are you in pain?”

Charles shook his head. “No. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

He looked at her—really looked at her. Her hands were stained with his blood, yet her touch was careful, precise. Her face, so close to his, was unguarded, open in a way that unsettled him. No one ever looked at him like that. No one dared.

“Why did you stop?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

She blinked, surprised by the question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you don’t know me. For all you know, I could be dangerous.”

Her smile returned, small but unshaken. “Everyone deserves help when they need it. Even if they’re dangerous.”

Something inside him twisted again, tighter this time. He averted his gaze, fixing it on the floor. The blade felt heavier now, its presence burning against his skin.

He could do it. He should do it. But as she worked, humming softly under her breath, Charles realised something with chilling clarity.

He wasn’t hesitating because of guilt. He was hesitating because, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it.

Not yet.

Not now.

“You shouldn’t walk home alone at night,” Charles muttered as she tied off the bandage on his arm. “It’s not safe.”

She tilted her head, studying him with a faint smile. “I imagine most people would say the same about bringing a stranger home, yet here we are.”

He couldn’t argue with that. She had no guards, no locks worth mentioning, not even a dog to bark at the wrong sort of man. Yet there she was, unshaken, as though kindness itself were a shield.

“Stay the night,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ve a spare room you can use. You shouldn’t be moving around much anyway.”

Every instinct Charles had told him to refuse. He should leave, disappear into the night, and finish the job another time. But the offer was tempting, and not for the reasons she thought. Staying close to her would give him the perfect opportunity. No more alleyways, no more waiting. If he stayed, he could end this before morning.

“Alright,” he said, his voice measured. “Just for tonight.”

She nodded, satisfied. “I’ll get you some blankets.”

The spare room was small but comfortable, a single bed tucked into the corner with neatly folded linens at its foot. Charles lay down fully clothed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as the silence pressed in. His work phone sat heavy in his pocket, the messages from his boss unanswered.

He would do it tonight, he told himself. It was cleaner this way, simpler. No witnesses, no complications.

But the hours slipped by, the house silent save for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the soft rhythm of her breathing in the next room. Charles stared at the faint light leaking through the curtains, his body taut with tension, his mind unwilling to rest.

Finally, he rose.

The knife felt familiar in his hand as he moved through the darkened hall, his steps silent. Her door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light from the streetlamp outside falling across her sleeping form. She lay curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head, her chest rising and falling in an unguarded rhythm.

It would be easy.

Charles stood there for what felt like an eternity, his shadow stretching across the floor as he tightened his grip on the blade. But the longer he watched, the harder it became to move. Her face, serene and untroubled, was unreasonably small in the pale light. There was nothing regal about her now, nothing untouchable. Just a person who had opened her home to a stranger and asked for nothing in return.

He thought of the blood on her hands—not hers, but his, from patching him up without hesitation. He thought of her smile, that maddening softness that made no sense in a world like his.

The knife dropped to his side, his fingers loosening until it slipped from his grip entirely.

He couldn’t do it.

Charles stepped back into the hall, his breath sharp and uneven. His work phone burned in his pocket like a brand, its presence unbearable. He reached for it, his fingers moving mechanically as he scrolled through the messages. The last one was simple, a single word: Update?

His jaw tightened. He moved to the nearest window, pushed it open, and hurled the phone into the night. It clattered onto the cobblestones below, its screen shattering on impact.

For the first time, the weight in his chest lifted.

He closed the window quietly and turned back to the room. The knife lay abandoned on the floor, but he didn’t pick it up. Instead, he returned to the spare room and sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

The mission was over.

It wasn’t enough to walk away now, not with his boss’s reach and the consequences that would follow. If Charles couldn’t kill her, there was only one other option: protect her.

His lips curled into a faint, humourless smile.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to make this choice, but it was too late to turn back.

Now, he was on her side.

Charles woke to the smell of coffee and the soft murmur of a voice carrying through the thin walls. He stretched, his muscles stiff from a restless night, and rubbed his face as he sat up. For a moment, he stared at the unfamiliar room, piecing together where he was and why.

The princess. The knife. The phone thrown out the window.

He sighed and pushed himself to his feet. There was no turning back now.

The voice grew louder as he approached the kitchen, and he paused in the doorway to take in the scene. She was pacing the small space, a mug in one hand and her phone pressed to her ear with the other. Her hair was pulled back, though loose strands framed her face, and her bare feet padded softly across the tiles.

“No, I understand,” she was saying, her tone brisk but tinged with worry. “But I can’t wait two weeks for a replacement. I need someone now.”

She turned and saw him standing there, and her lips curved into a faint, distracted smile. “I’ll call you back,” she murmured into the phone before ending the call.

“Good morning,” she said, setting her mug down on the counter. “Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Charles replied, though his gaze lingered on her tense shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Her smile faltered, and for the first time, he saw unease in her expression. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly, then sighed as if realising the futility of her deflection. “Actually, it’s… something. I found a knife outside my bedroom door this morning.”

Charles froze, the words striking like a blow. She wasn’t accusing him—her tone was too uncertain, too trusting for that—but the implications made his stomach twist.

“I assume it was a warning,” she continued, crossing her arms. “I’ve had threats before, but nothing this… direct. I was on the phone with my head of security. Unfortunately, my current detail is out of commission, and replacements take time. More time than I’m comfortable with, frankly.”

Charles’s mind raced, the weight of her words settling like lead in his chest. If she knew how close she had come to real danger, would she be this calm? Or would she have already called the authorities?

He straightened, forcing his voice into a calm he didn’t feel. “That’s… troubling,” he said. Then, after a pause, the lie slipped out as easily as breathing: “You’re lucky. That’s my line of work.”

She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Your line of work?”

“Private security,” Charles clarified smoothly, slipping into the persona as if it had always been his own. “Before… well, before things went sideways.” He gestured to his arm, still wrapped in her bandage. “It’s what I do.”

She tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and cautious hope. “You’re serious?”

“Serious enough to know you shouldn’t be pacing around without someone watching your back,” he said. “If you want, I can help. Just until your new detail is sorted.”

The words hung in the air, and Charles braced himself for her to refuse. It would be safer for her, he realised, if she did. But instead, her shoulders relaxed, and a faint smile touched her lips.

“Really?” she asked, her tone laced with relief.

“Really,” Charles said.

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Alright. Thank you, truly. I… I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

The irony of her words wasn’t lost on him. He was the threat she feared, yet now he stood between her and the danger she didn’t even know existed.

Charles watched as she moved to pour him a cup of coffee, her back turned to him, her trust laid bare. The knife she’d mentioned hadn’t been a warning; it had been his own. Yet now, instead of finishing the job, he was stepping into a role he’d never imagined for himself.

Protector.

He wasn’t sure what would come next, but one thing was clear: there was no going back.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[lady0mandy]

TL;DR: Fatshaming did not motivate me to lose weight, it programmed me to always hate my body, no matter the size.

Just wanted to weigh in with my personal experience with this matter. I was fat shamed, primarily by my mother, from the time I hit puberty. I was borderline underweight at this time, but my mother would still get on me about losing weight so I didn't get "bloatus of the toadus" or whatever the fuck she used to call it. In highschool it got a lot worse, with her criticizing my stomach every time she saw it and openly making comments about my body around family, friends, etc. I stopped letting her visit the doctor with me because I didn't want to hear her giving me shit every time they weighed me. She even asked the photographer who took my senior photos to edit them to make me skinnier (he was very uncomfortable and luckily did not do that). I repeatedly tried to explain to her why this behavior is inappropriate, and I would always get the same responses: "I'm just worrying about you" "I just care about you" "I just want you to be healthy" etc.

When I was 19 I broke my spine. As a result I put on about 15-20lbs and let me tell ya, all hell broke loose. The guy I was seeing at the time was fatphobic and would fatshame me on a daily basis while also trying to control what I ate and what I did in my spare time. I repeatedly tried to explain to him why what he was doing was hurting me, and all he could say was "it hurts because it is true" Eventually I had enough and kicked him to the curb. I remember trying to confide in my family about his cruel behavior and each time my mom couldn't help but chime in "he's right, you know!".

Do you know what over a decade of fatshaming did for me? Well, first of all it gave me a pretty messy eating disorder. Some days I wouldn't eat anything. Some days I would eat everything. Some days I would purge until nothing was left. However, it wasn't until I developed thyroid cancer that I saw a genuine change in my weight. I put on 50lbs fairly quickly and it had a detrimental impact on my self esteem. My entire life I had been told my worth was dependent on how skinny I was, and now I was rapidly gaining weight. I started hearing the same things my mother and ex used to tell me, but from a lot of other people as well. I quit making my silly little tiktoks and sharing my silly little opinions on the Internet because I couldn't handle the waves of trolls coming at me for my weight. I quit wearing makeup because I felt that I didn't deserve it. I quit dressing up because I felt I didn't deserve it. I couldn't look at photos of myself without wanting to cry. I couldn't eat a meal without feeling guilt and shame. I didn't feel motivated by their cruelty, I felt defeated. I felt helpless. I felt like a disgusting waste of space that didn't deserve to live.

I have made some major improvements over the past year or so. I have been working with a therapist on the ED for a couple years now and this past year I have done really well. I still have days where I don't eat, but I can't remember the last time I purged or over ate. I got my thyroid out, and my weight is returning to where it was. People have been complimenting me, telling me how great I look, how noticeable it is, how hard I must be working, etc and instead of making me feel happy or proud it just makes me feel like shit. I still hate who I see in the mirror. I still hate my stomach and my chin and the fat around my arms. I bought some new makeup and I'm trying to put more effort into my appearance, but all I see in the mirror is a clown. Fatshaming did not motivate me to lose weight, it programmed me to always hate my body, no matter the size.

Anyways, I doubt anybody is going to read all this but it felt good to type it out. Don't fatshame. It never helps.

The number of times I've earnestly seen the take "but it's good for fat people to be mean to them! It motivates them to lose weight!"

Also whenever you provide even light pushback that maybe bullying people does not magically make them skinny but instead makes them depressed, they immediately demand scientific sources as if "bullying fat people is good for them" is scientific concensus and you therefore owe them a peer reviewed paper.

No babe I'm so sorry you're not actually doing people a service by being an asshole to them you just want an acceptable target and have decided that fat people are one. You don't get to be a bad person until you've produced 3 peer reviewed meta analyses that being a dick to random fat people improves their health, OK? I'm sure people will thank you for your invaluable service of being an asshole.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not a Word 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a life in hiding, away from your father and the world, until a man decides to drag you into the light. (non-verbal reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: 😻.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You hear your father in the garage. It’s a comfort knowing he isn’t in the house. You’ve learned to navigate so that you rarely run into him. The fact of your existence only ever seems to irk him. 

That day, there’s a low rumble between the clank and clunk of his tools. You’re not sure it’s the engine or something else. The last time you glimpsed inside the garage, the engine wasn’t even in that old Bronco he’s worked on for seven years. 

You rub smooth the lines in your forehead and give a long blink. You’ve been squinting at the diamond art for much too long. You sit up and roll your shoulders. You need a break. 

As you emerge from your room, you feel guilty. A break from what? Doing nothing. That’s what your dad always says. Then he laughs and finds something to throw at you. 

You take his lunch box from the floor by the shoe mat and bring it to the kitchen. You open it up and clean out all the containers. Those things you do, as small as they are, like cleaning and making his meals, aren’t enough. He doesn’t fail to remind you of that. 

You dump the uneaten crust from his ham and cheese sandwich as the door from the garage clatters open and lets in the smell of oil and dirt. You turn your attention to the sink as you put the container with the rest. It’s only as you flip the faucet on that you realise the steps aren’t your dad’s. 

“Scuse me,” Sy says. “Don’t mean to bother, but, uh, had a bit of an accident.” 

You face him as he holds out the front of his tee shirt. You gulp. There’s a smear of shiny oil across it, ready to drip onto the floor. Your eyes round. 

“I can clean it in the bathroom, I see you’re busy.” 

He goes to turn away and you put your hands up. The oil won’t come out if he just wipes it into the shirt. You would know since you deal with your dad’s stained jeans.  

He nears as you sidle down to grab the baking soda from the cupboard. He looms, his shadow moving in your peripheral, and you shift the faucet to off. You grab a paper towel and turn to him. You hesitate to reach for him, that seems too much but before you can make a move, he peels his shirt off. 

You flutter your lashes and point to the counter. He lays the shirt out and you open the box of baking soda. He stands back and watches. Heat trickles down your back as you focus on the task. You sprinkle the powder over his shirt. 

You let it soak up as much as it can then blot daintily. 

“You’re clever,” he muses. “Helpful.” 

You shrug. 

“How lucky’s that daddy of yours, huh? You out here cleaning all his mess. You make his lunch?” He peeks over at the sink and you follow his gaze. You nod. “Hm, think he’d be nicer then, wouldn’t ya? Well, I know him, he ain’t a nice fella.” 

You return your attention to his shirt. If your daddy isn’t so nice, why does he come around? You wouldn’t ask even if you could. You can barely concentrate with him exposed like that. 

Your eyes dart over in a fleeting peek. His chest is hair and his stomach thick, his arms too. You’re always aware of how big he is but at that moment, he seems even larger. You look at his shirt. It’ll need more time to soak and wash. 

“Could wash it with the hose, don’t wanna ruin your machine,” he offers as if reading your mind. 

You frown and shake your head. You hold up your finger and flit away with his shirt. You put stain remover on it and dump it in the machine. You set the cycle then hesitate. What will he wear now? 

Your dad isn’t as big. He’s a pretty small guy. He might have something... 

You hurry into the closet of old things and search around. There’s one of those tees he got from a case of Labatts. They always pack the XLs and nothing else. It has some sports team logo on it. 

You go back to the kitchen and offer it to Sy. He crosses to you and accepts it with a smile, “thanks, sugar. That’s mighty nice.” His fingertips brush yours.  

He unfolds the shirt and shakes it out. He pulls it over his head and your eyes crawl down his torso unintentionally. You back up a step as he tugs down the hem, though it hangs short of his belt. Even that is too small for him. 

“You’re not scared of me, are ya?” He asks as he curls his shoulders as if to make himself smaller. 

You shake your head. Shy is all. You’re not eager to mingle with anyone. Nor they, you. 

“You know, I might have a word with your daddy. He shouldn’t be so nasty to ya. ‘Specially all the work you put in.” 

You shake your head frantically and clasp your hands. You know better than that. Even if he’s trying to be nice, it’s the worst thing he can do. 

“What’s wrong? Huh? Just wanna tell him what a good girl ya are,” he crosses his arms and seems to double in size. 

You pout and press your hands together. You cower and takes another step back. His expression turns dire. 

“Sorry, sugar, hope I didn’t upset ya there. I was only... only bein’ nice, ya know? Seems you’re not used to all that.” He drops his hands to his hips. “Fine then, I’ll just have to save them sweet words for you, huh?” 

You look down and chew your lip. You’re not used to the attention. Your dad’s other friends, if you can call them that, just ignore you or laugh at his jokes about you. You nod and turn, gesturing to the sink. You walk up to it, clinging to the excuse to get away. 

“Yeah, I know, you workin’ hard,” he praises. “I’ll be outta ya way now.” 

You bob your head and turn the tap on again. You work at scrubbing the containers, waiting and listening for him to go. When he does, you can breathe again. You’re not so sure why he’s being nice. Not like you can do much but stare. 

💘

When your dad’s at work, you’re as close to peace as you’ve ever been. There’s still that constant restlessness that follows you. The gnawing reality that time is passing you by. That you have no purpose. No direction. 

You envy others. That they have a reason. That they have everything you don’t. They have other people, ones that care, not those burdened with them; they have important work to do; they have fun things to celebrate; graduations, new jobs, marriages. They have voices and you remain unheard. 

You busy yourself with the tidying when he isn’t there. If you try to clean with him around, he only antagonizes you. There’s a roast out for dinner. It will last a few days. Most times, you lose your appetite. You spend all day craving and making the food then lose all desire the moment it’s before you. 

The small pleasures you once treasured fade with each day that starts and ends the same. You can’t feel too bad for yourself. Your dad doesn’t have to keep you. You’re an adult now. Maybe he’ll never say so, or even show it, but he must care, right? 

You finish mopping and start on chopping up the potatoes. You arrange them in the roasting pan around the slab of beef. Then carrots and celery. You save the onions for last because they make you cry. You’re saved from tears by the rumble of thunder on the horizon. 

Curiously, you set the knife down and go to the window. Would your dad be home early? Some days, they shut down the shop when business is slow. 

It’s not him but you recognise the grating on the truck’s nose. The large truck sends up dirt and gravel as it cuts across the worn roadway. Your confusion floods to panic and you rush out the front door.

Is your father hurt? Why else would Sy be here? 

You hover on the top step as he grinds to a stop and shuts the behemoth truck off. The driver’s door creaks as it opens and Sy jumps down. Instead of his usual camo cargo shorts and sweat-dampened tee, he wears a button-up with short sleeves and a pair of brown slacks. It even looks like he combed his beard. 

Your face twists in a grimace. What’s going on? Why is he here? 

He reaches back into the truck and brings out something behind his back. You can’t see it as he keeps his arm bent behind him and shuts the door. He grins and walks up to the house as you watch. 

“How’s it goin’?” He asks brightly. 

You blink. You look at his collar, the top button straining against his thick neck. You lower your gaze to your loose blue tee and barrel jeans. You’re dressed like a laundry line. Your clothes offer no shape, nothing. They just do the job. 

“I, uh, I wanted to surprise ya, and uh, I was thinkin’ ya know, this place deserves a bit of colour,” he chuckles then clears his throat, “and you deserve good things, so, uh, here.” 

He reveals the flowers from behind his back and you blanch. You stare at the dainty petals, white with violet edges. They are pretty. Too pretty for this place or for you. Besides, why would he do that? 

“You don’t like em? Should I have got roses?” He asks. 

You flinch. You don’t want to hurt his feelings. You come down the steps and cautiously reach for the paper cone. He hands it over and you stare at him. Then you smell them. You think that’s what you’re supposed to do. 

“Smell good?” He asks. 

You peer over the petals at him and nod. You’re not sure how to react. What do you do now? You can’t just leave him out in the yard. You raise your thumb and point it over your shoulder and tilt your head. 

“Sure, I’ll come in,” he accepts. 

He steps forward, a bit too close, and you hop backward up the step. You barely keep from tripping. You get onto the porch and spin around, scurrying to the door. You open the door and step to the side to hold it for him. 

He laughs again, “now, I’m a gentleman, sugar.” 

He grabs the door and gestures you through. You take his directive without pause. You hurry inside and he follows. As he stops to take off his shoes, you continue on into the kitchen. 

You search for an adequate holder for the flowers. You find an old canister and set them in it with some water. His presence lurks behind you. You put the bouquet on the table as he looks around. 

“You cookin’ a fine dinner, huh?” He says. “Like I tell your daddy, he’s a lucky man. Any man’d be lucky to have that waitin’.” 

You shrug. He shifts. 

“I don’t mean to take advantage of your kindness but I was gonna ask ya a favour.” 

You look at him blankly. He reaches in his pocket. He pulls a length of silk. A tie. 

“Couldn’t figure this out,” he explains. “Thought maybe you might...” 

You stare at the tie. You remember tying your daddy’s for your grandma’s funeral. That was a long time ago but you think you could remember. 

You swallow down your nerves and approach him. You take the tie and he glances around. He pushes a chair out and sits. He leans his head back. 

“Just wanna make sure I look good for ya,” he says. 

You flip up his collar and bring the silk around his neck. As you do, your thumb brushes his coarse beard. He hums. 

“Don’t worry bout pullin’ my hair,” he scoffs. “Won’t bother me none.” 

You line up his tie, knuckles brushing his shirt as you go through the steps in your hand. You pull the tie snug and fix hit collar. You step back and he sets his head straight. You hug yourself and give him a questioning look. 

“Ya like your surprise?” He asks. 

You look at the flower then nod. 

“And what about the other?” 

You face him again and your brows draw together. 

“Me,” he snorts. 

You purse your lips and shrug. What does he mean? 

“We’ll wait for your daddy, huh? Then I’ll ask his blessing.” He rests his elbow on the table, “and you’ll have dinner all ready, won’t ya?” 

[lxchadora]

Rosita fought the urge to let out a huff of laughter as she took note of the man’s expression, all bashful as Kyleigh scolded him.

“You… want out”, he responded quietly with something in his voice Rosita couldn’t place. Skepticism? Disbelief? Ridicule? It was hard to tell.

“I was prepared to die in this camp. I’ve obsessed over how long we could last. Taking all factors into account.. my most reasonable guess was that if we were lucky, we could last one or two more weeks. Maybe…”

He paused, shooting the half-lycan a thoughtful look, “Maybe I could live just a bit longer. Long enough to pick a better place to die than this place. It’s certainly worth it.”

Letting out a breath of relief upon her realization that this was a ‘yes’, Rosita decided to chime in.

“So you’re with us, then. We’ve been trying to find people to join us, we’re planning on leaving tonight since the guard who’ll be on duty is the least competent. Do you have any ideas that could help us, any idea who else we should bring with us? The more help we can get the better.”

Warren didn’t seem to agree with Rosita’s sentiment entirely.

“You should be selective with who you let in on this”, he chided with a hint of annoyance in his voice, “Look at the scuffles the people here are already having. Imagine how it would escalate if you put them in a high-stakes situation like having to leave a camp. No thanks. The only person I deem trustworthy enough is Irina. She, in fact, wants to leave this camp as well. Why don’t you get her, she has been sitting by those green barrels throwing a ball back and forth at a wall for hours. Just make sure Fred won’t listen in, who knows if he’ll rat you out.”

Kyleigh would probably agree to this, Espinosa thought, as she had originally intended to leave the camp with just her. Rosita couldn’t exactly argue with him either. He had a point. Internal conflicts could jeopardize the entire mission. (Although, admittedly, Warren’s demeanor wasn’t the warmest either, but she could deal with it in dire times like this.) Time to talk to Irina.

“I’ve talked to her before”, Rosita brought up, gazing at Kyleigh, “I think we can trust her. It’s probably better if we involve her in this— I think otherwise she’ll leave this place on her own. I doubt she’s gonna stay, no matter what.”

As Rosita walked away from the engineer, she couldn’t help but comment, “Well, let’s hope this guy won’t cause any ‘internal conflict’, though.”

—

Irina had reacted much differently than Warren had. The woman had seemed not only happy that Rosita had come to talk to her, but she had been curious about who Kyleigh was, as well. She had been dead set on leaving, having a five-year-old daughter named Raisa out there. Much like Rosita, she hadn’t lost hope that her family was still alive; she was willing to risk her life if it meant there was an abysmal low chance of seeing her girl again. According to Irina, her daughter wouldn’t be alive for much longer as she was in the care of her aunt, who she’d called ‘reckless and irresponsible.’

“I’d rather die trying to get her away from that horrible woman than die here having to live with the guilt that I’ve done nothing.. Everyone says they won’t make it long out there — but even if Raisa won’t make it long.. I don’t want Raisa to spend the rest of her life with her”, the mother spoke heartfeltly, breaking eye contact with both of the women.

Okay well. They said never to judge a book by its cover, and Kyleigh definitely should have listened to that advice. The last thing she expected for Warren to do was throw some sass their way, standing up as if she and Rosita were the biggest annoyance he had ever experienced. Not those dead things walking around trying to eat people. But two women who simply wanted to have a nice chat with him. Taking a deep breath to calm down the urge to break his jaw, Kyleigh then rolled her shoulders and forced a smile back onto her face. What didn't surprise her was the fact that Rosita hadn't been expecting that reaction either, guy looked like he could barely hold the book in his hands yet alone actually read it.

She also did not like the way he cut her friend off, the half lycan's eyebrows rising. Okay this guy seriously had one more chance before she gave him a piece of her mind that he wasn't going to like. Kyleigh didn't care if he was smart, if he was an engineer or some other fancy shit. There was no need to get so defensive. In order to save herself from getting into actual trouble (who knew what the rules were around this place, but Kyleigh would guess one of them wasn't fighting with each other), she simply let it all slide for now. They had more important things to worry about other than some dickhead with an attitude.

"Straight to the point, I can deal with that. And I'm going to excuse the rudeness given the situation we're all in right now. I don't happen to think we're doomed just yet but opinions are like assholes, everyone has one huh?"

It felt good to fire back a bit of her own brand of sass at him, but Kyleigh knew not to push her luck. The last thing she wanted was to give Warren a reason to say no to them simply because she had been a bitch to him. A defensive mechanism really, but also just how she was.

"The reason why we interrupted your reading is important, at least to us, and we think it might be to you as well. I'm sure you've figured out by now that these little set-ups aren't going to last long. Either those things out there are going to get in or supplies are going to run out and it's going to get real ugly, real fast. We want out but we know we can't do it all alone. You've made it this long, so I'm sure you can figure out where we're going with this."

If he wanted to play it like this then Kyleigh was more than ready for it. The last few years of her life had been spent making deals with people she rather would have for lunch, but it had given her what she wanted at the time. It was also the reason why she was stuck in this place right now but that had nothing to do with this conversation.

[alchemiclee]

I will always love stories about nonhumans who learn to become human or humans out of touch with their humanity, because of how they've been raised/treated/taught/etc and are nothing but a tool or a weapon or something else not human in other people's eyes. watching them learn what it means to be human and learning how human emotions work is always so satisfying for me to watch no matter how many different ways its used. wuwa just sprung that kind of storyline on me and I was not expecting it 🥹 and with the most beautiful music and scenery. anyway I love the shorekeeper. she's so neat. i'm glad I pulled for her before even doing the story

[medicinemane]

.

[anaalnathrakhs]

btw my mom said it. she said it to me looking me in the eyes. i told her about how difficult it was for me to get through those family reunions, and she admitted it was very important to her, important enough that she was just going to do it anyway.

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[acid-ixx]

tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less— who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

[plumipal]

The Tattoo (part three)

After scarabias overblot, and seeing what Ace and Deuce were willing to do for you, you were so touched that you decided to get them tattooed on your body as a small heart and a spade. After that chaos ensues-

If you wanna read the whole prolouge, then it's here

Oh poor Idia, where do we even start for him?... poor guy is absolutely shattered as soon as he saw those two tattoos on you through the cameras. He felt his entire reason to live just shatter. He feels his entire world collapsing in on itself. He completely just, breaks down, sobbing to himself on the floor trying to rationalise how the tattoos were not real, to try to keep his sanity in tact.

The days after that disastrous breakdown, he has been stuck in bed, too depressed to frankly do anything but to sulk. He had not eaten, not drank enough, and his personal hygiene is downright awful.

Once Ortho has convinced him to get up because crowley demanded him to actually attend his classes or it's byebye NRC for Idia, his pity for himself has turned into rage. Whenever he sees the dumb duo he can't help but to want to do anything against them, he sure would LOVE to doxx them...

But after some reconciderence from Ortho (statistics show he would be one of the top suspects for it and therefore make the prefect hate him even more (he believes)) he instead chose to take care of himself, putting actual effort in how he looks as to win you over with that. He sure hope it works, please...

Don't think ortho is just hyping up his brother, cuz he is sure helping on the sidelines. Digging up info the students don't want anyone to know abour sure is easy when you have unlimited internet access (and some illegal ways to obtain the info)

That's the easy way of getting students away from you, but getting you trapped up with them is almost just as easy. He starts calling you his siblings as well, subtly telling you how you and idia would be the greatest siblings ever to him, even backing up and glorifying hos brother in your eyes, anything it takes to get you to chose idia.... you will all be a happy family....

Sebek, for once in his life, is stunned to silence. He cant quite grapple the thoughts and feelings swirling within him is making him feel quite sick, making him quiet for the rest of the day..

Once classes has ended, he bolts over to his dorm only to dramatically lock himself in his dorm room and let out the worst crying session ever. He is sobbing,

The whole ordeal and emotions results in him having the need to constantly watch over you, as a way to show that he too can protect you, he can be there for you, just like ace and Deuce, but better! Please, he needed you, he needs you to need him too, please...

Silver don't quite know what to think about this. He cant blame you, the heroic stunts of your friends sure are nice, but why with something so permanent? He could do what they did and so much more for you, give him an opportunity and he will show you.

After "the talk" the four of them had, he has had a hard time sleeping for the first time in his life. He feels exhausted yet can't close his eyes, pictures of you happily being with ace and Deuce clouding his poor exhausted brain. He will take this on the only way he knows, a duel for your love and your hand.

You're not dumb either, you see how tired he had been and the lack of sleep he has been getting, and feeling bad for him you let him sleep on tou if that would help him. He takes this opportunity and sure is greedy with it, wanting more and more sleep time with you. It's one way to claim you, and at the moment it's enough for him, but don't think he won't demand more in the soon future..

Lilia feels heartbroken. First that the prefect, his beloved, has shown this love that he would love to have for someone else (especially two people), it breaks his heart. What breaks his heart even more is how he needs to go against his own sons for his beloved too. But he will do whatever it takes to secure you for himself.

When he meets you after hearing about the tattoo, he tries act as normal as possible, not wanting to scare you away with his desperation. Despite that though, he will also try to advance, because he is NOT losing to all these youngsters, he's old enough to know exactly how to treat someone right. Let him treat your right, please, he begs of you....

Malleus feels like there's a storm inside him, getting worse by every second he thinks about that forsaken tattoo you have. He activately tries to think less about it, not wanting the whole school to be stuck in a storm for weeks, especially when you're situated in that poor awful old and decrepid building. He will try to smite ace and Deuce if he has the choise to though-

After the anger dies down, that's when the sadness flows in. The fact that he was not your favorite, that he was not worth his own tattoo, frankly brings him to tears. He has never been denied something in his life, especially something that he wants so badly. It's a foreign feeling, and a horrible one at that.

He is an attention hungry dragon, give him what he wants and he will give you the world without question. Just, please, give him the love and affection he both crave and deserves...

Chat, im tired. Let me sleep- FINALLY THIS SERIES IS FINISHED! or so I thought- o will focus on other comics/ideas before I come back for the endings tho, because I kinda wanna do other stuff and not just the tattoo shenanigans yknow :) one again huge thanks to @artdolliewishes for lots of support and help lmao

I hope yall enjoyed this shitshow of a series atleast, was lots of fun to create after all

[greenglowinspooks]

To be honest. DCxDP where the reason Danny meets the bats is Ace the Bat-hound

Like, just think about it for a second. Danny is in Gotham for college, or maybe he just moved out to find a city where having mad scientist parents isn’t actually that unusual.

He can see ghosts.

The ghosts know this.

Now he’s getting harassed left and right by spirits trying to get closure. Fine, whatever, most of them are a one-and-done type deal, and the amount of ghosts trying to get his help steadily decreases.

Except for this one very stubborn dog.

It just keeps showing up and leading him to crime scenes! He doesn’t know how many “anonymous tips” he can call in to the cops before they trace his phone! And this dog, this incredibly good boy, will not stop trying to help the city. He’s never met anyone with such a strong sense of justice, let alone a dog. Can dogs even have a moral compass?

And so Danny just accepts the fact that Ace isn’t going anywhere and becomes his reluctant sidekick/dedicated medium. He leans into the whole thing, dressing up in a mix of traditional magic-user attire and accessories that pay homage to the ghost dog.

He becomes somewhat well known. The psychopomp detective following around the shadowy figure of a German Shepard? That’s unusual! That’s weird! I mean, it’s not the weirdest thing in Gotham, sure, but he’s a new vigilante and he’s got a ghost dog that people can only see when it’s around him. Someone’s gonna notice.

Damian, as Robin, is the first to reach out to him.

Ace doesn’t know Damian but he does know a Robin, and while this isn’t his Robin, he’s still friendlier than usual. Danny’s panicking because oh god the bats are here and also is this kid gonna steal my ghost dog, Damian is absolutely delighted by Ace, and Ace is just happy to see a Robin again.

Damian decides that the psychopomp isn’t a danger to anyone, and there’s no reason to put this encounter into his reports, really, and perhaps Danny can help with some of his cases in the future.

Danny is sweating bullets because Damian basically tells him that he’ll keep him secret as long as he gets to play with Ace. Ace is happy that he’s finally getting some bat affiliated crime-fighting assistance.

And so, Danny is now both Ace AND Damian’s reluctant assistant. At least whenever he’s in trouble, he can always call a middle schooler to help him.

(Is Robin even in school? He’s out patrolling damn near every night, and he stays out late as hell. Does he have a bedtime? He should.)

Eventually it gets to the point where Damian is going over to Danny’s house. When he first sees it, he has a damn bitch you live like this moment, to which Danny responds that not everyone has the money to afford a nice place. Damian counters that he could at least take the time to clean up, and Danny replies that he’s working, going to school, and being a vigilante assistant to a ghost dog, something’s got to give.

Danny nearly has a heart attack when he checks his bank account the next day and sees that someone transferred him 10,000 dollars.

And so they get into a routine. Danny and Damian fight crime with Ace at night, and occasionally Damian stops by during the day to play with Ace and have Danny help with his homework.

(Damian is smart enough to do it on his own, but some of the instructions are written incredibly confusingly, and he would never admit to needing help to his family. Danny is just glad that the kid is in school and cares about his education, blissfully unaware that he’s basically emotionally adopted him.)

Damian is used to being in Danny’s company.

Eventually, when going over a case with the family, Damian absentmindedly remarks that he’ll have to ask Danny about some of the clues that they might be missing. Nightwing asks who he means and Damian makes a face like he just swallowed a lemon.

Cue shitstorm.

Who is “Danny?” Why is Damian willing to ask for help from anyone, much less someone outside of the family? Does he know who Damian is? Has Damian been compromised? What the hell is going on?

Damian now has to explain that Danny is the psychopomp with the ghost dog who he might have met hunted down while on patrol and conveniently not mentioned, but he’s not a bad person, really, and he lets him play with Ace, and he’s been quite helpful on certain cases due to his ability to talk to ghosts.

Bruce insists that the family meet Danny. Damian, hoping that he won’t just skip town the second he hears the news, relents.

Danny is surprisingly eager to meet the bats, considering his earlier fears.

Damian, blissfully unaware of what’s coming, sets a time and place to meet.

Once everyone is there, he gives Bruce the earful of a lifetime.

Robin is in middle school! Danny knows that there’s no way to stop the boy from going on patrol, but you could at least shift his schedule so he gets enough sleep on school nights! Does the Bat even know where he is half the time?! (No) And why isn’t he comfortable asking his family for help with both cases and homework? Did they ever even notice how much time he was spending at Danny’s house? If Danny was a bad person, he could have seriously hurt the poor boy! Shame on you!

Nightwing is mortified that Damian didn’t trust him enough to tell him about any of this. Red Hood is laughing his ass off, because yeah Danny is making good points but he’s also chewing out the literal Batman. Tim is recording the whole thing. Steph is delighted by the absolute gall of this Danger Twink™️, and already planning to add him to several groupchats. Damian is more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his entire life.

You, he points to Nightwing, did your academic life feel supported when you were a Robin? Nightwing is too stunned to speak. Red Hood, eternal shit-stirrer, says that oh, we all prioritized patrol over our education, that’s just how it is. Red Robin actually dropped out of high school to avoid distractions, did you know that?

Danny honest-to-god shrieks at this.

He finishes his angry rant and leaves, everyone too stunned to stop him.

And as it turns out, Tim wasn’t the only person recording the whole thing.

The entire internet is blowing up with Psychopomp The Danger Twink™️’s rant. People are taking sides. Things are getting messy. Red Hood literally admitting on-camera to previously being a Robin is somehow not the main focus here.

Eventually someone connects some dots from the video, as well as stories circling the internet about the psychopomp. A ghost dog named Ace, who is the literal only reason that the psychopomp is fighting crime at all, which seems incredibly fond of Nightwing and Robin.

A crime-fighting dog who wants constant attention from both the current and original Robin.

Oh my god, Ace the Bat-hound died and became a crime-fighting ghost.

And, somehow, that’s still not the strangest thing going on in Gotham.

[luna-azzurra]

Questions for Crafting Problematic Characters

Sure, let's simplify and add some guiding questions to help you navigate the complexities of writing problematic characters:

Understanding Your Character's Mind: Dive into your character's thoughts and feelings. What makes them tick? What fears or desires drive their actions? How do their past experiences shape who they are today?

Looking at Past Hurts: Think about any past traumas or tough experiences your character has faced. How do these experiences affect how they behave now? Do they have unresolved issues that come up in their actions?

Considering Society's Impact: How does the world your character lives in affect them? Do they follow the rules or rebel against them? Are there societal norms they struggle with or don't agree with?

Thinking about Power and Privilege: Does your character have power or privilege in certain situations? How does this affect how they treat others? Do they realize their privilege, or are they blind to it?

Exploring Different Identities: What parts of their identity are most important to your character? How do aspects like their race, gender, or sexuality influence their behavior? Do they face discrimination or stereotypes because of who they are?

Dealing with Right and Wrong: Are there times when your character has to make tough decisions? What moral dilemmas do they face? Do they always do what's right, or do they sometimes make mistakes?

Giving Your Character Control: Does your character have control over their own life? How do they make choices and deal with the consequences? Do they have the power to change, or are they stuck in their ways?

Seeing Through Different Eyes: Whose perspective is the story told from? How does this affect how readers see your character? Do readers understand why your character does what they do, or are they left guessing?

Writing with Respect and Responsibility: Are you being respectful to the people or groups your character represents? Have you done enough research to understand their experiences? Are you telling their story in a way that's honest and fair?

Exploring Big Ideas: What themes or messages do you want your story to convey? How do your characters, especially the problematic ones, help explore these ideas? Are you starting conversations about important issues?

In short, understanding your character's past, their place in society, and their moral compass can help you write them more authentically. Remember to approach sensitive topics with care and to give your characters room to grow and change.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

:) I’m backkkk you all thought you could get rid of me

🛕Pharaoh Tucker with his “Wifes” Sam and Danny🛕

Yes I’m bringing attention to this like why is nobody talking about this????

Now let’s get into the main plot so Danny, Sam and Tucker have to GO and fast ( GIW or bad Fenton au either or. !!!Bonus points!!! If Danny got hurt and than it would make this so much funnier y’all get what I mean in a sec) and they all go to the ghost zone where they meet up with clockwork and he tells them that one of Tuckers earlier reincarnation made a place so in the future he’s good even if he doesn’t remember it so clockwork brings them to what looks like an ancient Egyptian empire with the civilians and the people who live there as the people who died in the past {sorry if this is a bit hard to read I am very tired} and they are brought to the place where clockwork just casually reveals that Tucker is the pharaoh ie: The King and Sam, Tucker and Danny take this very well for them this is a safe place for them to heal and live with the added bonus of helping with Danny’s obsessions (Protection and Space) and after a bit they gain the affection of the people and the…Protection of the people??? Because for the people they see that one of their queen (Danny) was hurt before the royals came here so they get a bit protective and for a bit of information here’s the main jobs of the trio

Tucker taking care of the rules and doing the main running of the empire

Sam takes care of the army and gardens of the empire ( making sure they have enough food and such )

Danny takes care of the people (who grown the most fond of ) and such

So you can see what I’m going for with this now here’s where the JL comes in so the empire was NOT in the ghost zone it is in its own little world but somehow the JL gets tipped off about a triving empire that NOBODY has made contact with so a group ( Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, the flash, green lantern you know the works) goes to make contact and hopefully make allies with them so they go and are taken aback a bit by how much this place is triving and what to meet the people who made this happen so what the JL was expecting was a lest a adult but instead they got what looked like a 16-17 with what looked like two people the same aged sitting next to him on either side (!!!EXRA BONUS POINTS!!! If one of the supers helped Danny before the meeting) and someone makes the dumb decision to ask them where are the REAL rulers and the guards in the room ( who I forgot to mention ) get mad at them and become hostile to them and Sam has to clam them down and that’s all for the plot at the moment

Now on to the details let’s start with tucker I’m thinking about this

( just instead of blue it’s red) and for a head piece I’m thinking the good old classic 

It just fits

Now for Sam I’m thinking is for her outfit

But in darker colors because she’s SAM and for a head piece I’m thinking something like this

Nothing to big because she has to train the army and she’s outside a lot so if it’s anything to big I think it will just be annoying

For Danny this

Mixed with this

Because ye and for his hair piece I’m braining

This I think it looks neat

Now that’s all from me byeee