#she reminds you of them. she's not them. she can't be them.

[alverrann]

Before I watched TNG I felt that way about Deanna and often wondered why she was on the bridge (partially because I grew up listening to my mom dog on TNG and call her the "touchy-feely lady" 😭). But listen, after watching her in action I've realized just how amazing she is.

Now as a disclaimer: I'm no therapist; but I work in customer service, and sometimes people will get mad and yell at me or treat me badly and pretty much every single time that happens one of the best ways to handle it is by acknowledging their emotion.

Deanna does this expertly, not just in an empathetic way, but in a therapeutic way - at least from what I've observed. She doesn't say "this is how you feel," never that. She says, "I'm sensing anger." (Or whichever emotion applies).

Her aknowledgment of these emotions is a form of very passive validation - it isn't aggressive and it isn't meant to be. Sometimes the response is "Yeah, I'm angry!" But I think that response is so so important.

I can't say how many times I've said "Hey, I want to help you, but I can't do that if you keep yelling at me." And without fail the response I recieve is,

"I'm not yelling!"

But after that response, they stop yelling at me. I think most of the time people don't even realize their own emotions - at least my clients often don't. Deanna's gentle acknowledgement of people's emotions (though they seem painfully obvious to us as audience members) are something that I've grown to love about her, because I think that they're super important, and serve as non-confrontational reminders to others of their own emotions.

It's important to note that she doesn't condemn them, nor does she praise them. The emotions are there, and she acknowledges them, allowing the other person to do the same.

Ofc that's not even counting how often she uses her extra sense to read the other ships or help in diplomatic situations, which has already been mentioned.

So anyway. TLDR: Deanna Troi knows she is being obvious and she means to be and I love her

Btw I have to speak my truth. Deanna Troi is not useless on the bridge. She is underutilized in the plot points yes and I don't think we ever got to see exercise her full powers. But she is NOT useless on the bridge. People hate her on saying things that are "obvious" (eg. she says she feels that the visibly agitated person is agitated) but that is literally no different than the person at a console that says "we have been hit!" or "the shields are holding". Like these are obvious too bc yes we have been hit that's probably why we're all over the floor. But the person is saying that bc the sensors they're looking at recorded a hit and their job is to verbally read these to the captain. It being "obvious" isn't the point it's not supposed to be a groundbreaking observation they're making a report of what their station received.

And Deanna is basically just another sensor and she's reporting what she got!! And yes her saying a visibly angry person is angry actually is Useful because if they weren't feeling the emotion they're projecting (lying) that would be worthwhile. So her making the report is useful information for Picardddd

[kedreeva]

I think one of the funner things about Kpop Demon Hunters is that the relationship between Rumi and Jinu doesn't HAVE to be read as romance. It can be, of course, and most people will read it that way, and it may be intended to be... but actually it isn't integral to everything else they are, nor to the choices they make. Whether it's romantic or not doesn't change how meaningful it is, and in fact in this case actually feels as if romance would lessen it all.

Let me explain.

Behind a cut because spoilers.

We learn right at the start that Jinu is a 400 year old demon that, according to the demon king, has never - not in /400 years/ - done anything that didn't serve himself. Which is the whole reason he's a demon- because he literally threw his own mother and sister under the bus to go live in the palace.

And for 400 years, he's believed that, well, y'know, he's guilty. Which he is! He did do the thing, and he HAS put himself first for four centuries. But he also believes it is his nature that landed him there, not his choices. And you can't change your nature. The scorpion always stings the frog.

Then this 20-something kid turns up, and everyone's at a fork in the road with her. Either Rumi succeeds and turns the honmoon golden and all the demons are fucked (trapped in the demon world forever with no humans to feed on) or someone stops her and is the savior of the demons. Perfect opportunity to form a demon boy band and wallop the hunters but good at their own game, and if he can leverage it to get something he wants, well, it's in his nature.

At the start, he's totally on board with this plan. Plain as day he's amused that he can get under her skin. He's just fucking around. Like, if he loses he's no worse off than before and if he wins then he gets acclaim and fortune. Literally no downside here. She's just one more human he can destroy to get something he wants. He actually fights her in the bathhouse that first showdown, claws out and everything.

AND THEN.

And then he sees her Patterns, the mark of the demon king on her skin.

He has to RAPIDLY come to terms with the fact that this random-ass human is... actually not human. That she is at least part demon. And she is hunting demons. Which is NOT in a demon's nature. And he's GOT to know more, and he can't do that if she's found out by her friends and has to deal with that (also maybe she'll owe him one for not exposing her).

Because OBVIOUSLY she must just be covering up her true nature for some reason. So he pries, and he teases her, and over and over finds that... actually she's just a good person.

But more than that, she believes he can be a good person. HE knows he can't be a good person - 400 years of history has shown him that, it's in his nature! - but... maybe actually he wants to believe her. Maybe he wants to pretend for a little while that he could be good, if she will lead the way. "I'll make sure the Saja Boys lose tonight," he tells her. Until Gwi-Ma gets to him again, reminds him that he can't be anything else but a demon, that he would have told her the truth if he really thought he could be free if he was himself.

400 years of buckling under the weight of his guilt wins out, and he turns on her.

She's exposed. Her friends reject her. Her fans turn to him and the honmoon dissolves. Even her godmother turns on her. Whens he finds him, she asks him why he did it, and he rejects her, too. He tries to tell her the same thing he was told- she's a demon. He can't change his nature and neither can she, so just give in, because you can't fight it. All he deserves is the suffering he's earned, it's all demons deserve. All she deserves. She has nothing except every reason to turn into a demon and join them. To turn on all the humans who deserted her and serve herself.

And at his final show, he watches from the stage as Gwi-Ma stands tall and proud of brighter than he's been in centuries and mocks her where she stands in the shadows, Gwi-Ma attempts to use her worst fears against her: she cannot save herself, her friends and fans have all seen her for who she truly is, the honmoon she was supposed to turn gold is gone.

And he watches as she agrees.

And he watches as she says none of it matters. It doesn't matter that she's part demon. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of her. It doesn't matter what has been done in the past- she's going to forge a new honmoon now, she's going to fight back now, she is going to protect others now.

Can you even imagine.

The Good Place had it right: What matters isn’t if people are good or bad. What matters is if they’re trying to be better today than they were yesterday.

She's told him all through the story. You can be good, you can be good, you made mistakes, but you can be good. You can choose to be good. "that's the funny thing about hope, no one else gets to decide if you feel it." And she stands in the shadows and agrees that everything has gone wrong, but she puts her foot and and pushes back anyway because no one else gets to tell her it's hopeless. She made mistakes, but what matters is not those choices, it's the next choices.

And the next choice she makes is to kick Gwi-Ma's ass.

And for the first time in 400 years, this guy does something that isn't self-serving. He puts himself between Gwi-Ma and Rumi. He knows damn well he's not going to survive it. He knows that if he doesn't, Gwi-Ma will reward him for being instrumental to the success of the demons taking over the world and getting rid of the hunters. But he's watched her choose to act in ways counter to her nature, to be who she WANTS to be, and she's told him he can do that if he wants, and this is the last chance he's going to get either way.

So he takes it, and she doesn't tell him she loves him- she tells him she wanted to save him. Part of her had wrapped up his freedom in the definition of success. She needed to save him because "If there's no hope for you, then what hope is there for me?" Saving him had become a part of saving herself. Saving him had become a part of saving the world because she wants him to be in her world- literally, in her world and not the demon world.

But she did save him. She gave him hope. She showed him that he can choose to be good. That his past only matters if he lets it control him. You can't change your past, can't destroy your shame, but you can choose to do better. You can be good NOW.

And he chooses to.

Maybe he doesn't believe he can be good, but maybe he hopes. Maybe he hopes he can give her the chance he didn't get, to be good.

We see the way souls light up. We see how they make connections. The honmoon is all about connection. She's already forged the honmoon anew when she reconnected to her best friends. They forged the shield, and he gives his soul to her instead of Gwi-Ma so that she can forge a blade as strong as both their souls together, and she immediately uses it cleave the demon king in half.

Are you kidding me? That's totally killer imagery.

And right after she went to her godmother and asked to be killed before she hurts what she swore to protect. After we see how she has been told her whole life that what she is, it's shameful and she needs to change to be worth anything. She can only be someone once her patterns are gone.

And he hands over his soul to her because that isn't true. She's someone NOW. She matters NOW. She wanted to set him free, and she did. There was hope for him, and there is hope for her.

idk man, idk. romance is good and all, but "well of COURSE he would do that because they're in love" feels like a cop out. It feels like "of COURSE this would happen because that's the nature of love" in a movie whose whole thing is that a person's choices are more powerful than their nature.

Maybe he was in love, maybe she was. I don't think it matters. What matters is that they both finally chose freedom together. They showed one another how to be free of the thing that has trapped them for so long, and in doing so, saved each other.

[lieyarzy]

Gwi-Ma's Disappointment

Gwi-Ma, the Demon King, wasn't your typical tyrannical overlord in my AU again this is my AU from the previous prompt that I did. So he will be out of character for this one. Prompt1 Prompt2

He had a peculiar fondness for the demons, the Saja Boys, and their… unconventional relationship with their manager, Y/N. He found their dynamic amusing, even endearing. He secretly enjoyed watching them shower Y/N with affection, their playful teasing and competitive displays of devotion a source of quiet amusement. He'd often whisper encouragement from the shadows, fueling their antics.

"Hmm, a little more playful biting, Abs. Romance, that caress needs more… sincerity. Baby, your attempts at seduction are… adorable. Jinu, you're doing well, but could use a little more… demon flair."

He'd chuckle to himself, watching their attempts to win Y/N’s attention, their competitive spirit a constant source of entertainment. He even subtly manipulated situations to bring them closer, creating opportunities for stolen kisses, whispered secrets, and shared moments of intimacy.

However, Gwi-Ma's amusement turned to simmering fury when he sensed a shift in their dynamic. Their playful affection, once so abundant, had dwindled. The stolen kisses became less frequent, the whispered secrets fewer, the shared moments of intimacy rarer. He noticed the subtle changes—the lack of playful teasing, the absence of competitive displays of affection, the overall decrease in their attempts to win Y/N's attention.

One night, under the cloak of darkness, he showed and made them feel his presence without anything physical showing where he is, his presence a reminder that they are still under his law.

He whispered, his voice low and dangerous, a venomous hiss in the darkness. "I'm disappointed," he whispered, his words laced with a chilling disappointment. "The years you spent honing your demonic skills, the countless battles you've fought, and you can't even manage to hold her hand? To whisper sweet nothings in her ear? To shower her with the affection she deserves? You call yourselves demons? You disappoint me."

He paced between whispering and talking in their mind, his presence looming large, his disappointment palpable. "You have the power to charm the very stars from the heavens, yet you falter before a single human? What has become of your demonic prowess? What has become of your… devotion?"

His words hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to their usual playful banter. His disappointment was a palpable force, a chilling reminder of the expectations he held for them, and the consequences of their failure to meet them. The usual playful teasing was replaced by a heavy silence, each of them grappling with his words and their own failings. The playful competition was gone, replaced by a shared sense of guilt and the weight of their grandfather's disappointment. Their playful affection towards Y/N had been a source of amusement for Gwi-Ma, but its absence was a source of profound disappointment, a chilling reminder of their potential and their failure to live up to it.

[theatre-mqn]

More Separated AU content

Because this AU has been stuck in my head and this movie is taking over my life.

(For anyone who’s new here: this au is essentially just what if Gwi-ma got to Rumi before Celine did, and huntrix ended up never being formed because of it)

A very rough concept sketch for separated au Rumi:

Rumi:

"Raised" by Gwi-ma, though "raised" is a subjective term given the guy is not a good father, mentor or parental figure whatsoever. In fact he's probably the worst dad you could think of in-universe

Because she's half-human, Gwi-ma is constantly holding the fact that he let her live over her head — reminding her that she killed her own mother, and that she doesn't belong in the human world or the demon one — that she's a half-breed and a mistake, and he's the only person (demon?) gracious enough to let her belong.

She hears his voice in her head constantly. Most of the time when she slips up to the human realm, it’s just to distract herself from it and get away from him for a bit.

Zero self esteem. If you thought canon Rumi was bad, imagine her living in Actual Hell with every single demon present being completely ready to tell her that she's a mistake and they hate her at any given moment

She still has a natural connection to the Honmoon, and because she's half human she can sort of pass back and forth through it with relative ease (i say relative because the demon side of her does not have a fun time with it. Being on the wrong side of the Honmoon hurts). That's pretty much the only reason Gwi-ma didn't have her killed on the spot — he just needed a pawn that could walk freely amongst the humans without getting disintegrated, and he figured that if he could train a hunter to obey him and him alone, the Honmoon would have no chance of ever fully forming.

Despite her being sent off to the surface on multiple occasions, usually for scouting purposes/some random mission that usually involves fighting the one (1) single hunter who's still in operation, she's never really been able to convince herself to take anyone's soul, which is something Gwi-ma finds infuriating. She can't help it — her connection to the Honmoon already means she has a sort of gut instinct to protect, and she spends a lot of time amongst the humans because most of the demons frankly just don't want her around, which means she just can't bring herself to hurt any of them.

Jinu is a sort of older brother figure to her in this universe (in the context of this au the man would've literally watched her grow up. rujinu is out of the question i fear). He's the only person who sort of understands the shame that Rumi feels about her own identity, and one of the few demons who's actually willing to talk to her about it.

She looks relatively human on the surface compared to most of the demons, but she still has a few odd (?)/off-putting behaviours and traits that come through a lot more since she's been more exposed to the demon world than she has to the human one. She's terrifyingly silent all of the time, scares animals shitless because of the natural Uncanny :tm: air surrouinding her, purrs like a cat from time to time, and her eyes glow in the dark.

She's fought Mira on multiple occasions, usually because Gwi-ma keeps sending her on missions that usually end in her either distracting the hunter while the demons go do whatever it is they're meant to do now, or getting caught by her while wandering around and instantly engaging in battle.

She usually wears a Dokkaebi mask to hide her face, both from the demons and from the humans from time to time. She used to wear more traditional Korean clothing like a lot of the demons did when she was younger, but once she started slipping into the human world more often she starts dressing in more modern styles.

Jinu convinces her to buy him merch when she's on the surface. Nobody questions where she got the money from

Mechanical claws —> Gwi-ma won't let her use her hunter weapon, so she has a crudely-made clawed gauntlet that he bullied some demon that used to be a blacksmith into making for her.

Horrible wet cat creature I love her

Zoey:

She moves back to Korea a lot later in this AU, which is part of the reason why Celine wasn't able to find her while she was hosting the idol-auditions-that-were-actually-secretly-hunter-auditions.

She still loves writing and composing songs, but unlike in canon, this version of Zoey doesn't have the same found family/safety net that comes in the form of the other two hunters to support her.

The first time she works up the courage to post a song she wrote online she gets dogpiled, and without anyone to support or encourage her it ends up killing her self-confidence and her motivation to write/post new music. She does still write from time to time, but most of it ends up scrapped or hidden away in a notebook that she keeps under lock and key.

She has a hard time fitting in and finding friends when she first moves back to Korea, and essentially ends up living alone in an apartment watching marine biology documentaries all day and avoiding social interaction as much as possible because she's worried she'll mess it up again and make everyone hate her.

She does however instantly become enamoured with Mira's music and with Mira herself but shhhh. She listens to it on loop and has showed up to one of her signing events before

Unfortunately Mira had to run off to fight another pack of demons before she was able to realise that Zoey was also a hunter. That probably would've made things a lot less stressful

The first time she meets Rumi, it's while the latter is wandering around the human realm just to avoid having to deal with Gwi-ma for a few hours. They bump into each other at a convenience store, and Rumi seems oddly interested in hearing Zoey ramble about turtles and music theory.

They end up meeting up at that convenience store a couple times a week just to talk, and while Zoey does notice Rumi's… general weirdness that comes about as a result of being raised by demons, she doesn't really acknowledge it because. Well frankly she's too happy to finally have a friend to be complaining about why said friend has eyes that glow in the dark or suspiciously sharp teeth

Surprisingly the closest anyone in this group ever gets to being Relatively Normal. Which isn’t exactly a high bar but it’s also rare that Zoey of all people is the voice of reason so

Mira:

A somewhat popular indie singer/songwriter and the only one who's actually initially trained by Celine, because she's the only hunter that Celine is able to find.

She shows up at an audition that Celine holds in an attempt to find whoever the other two hunters are and gets clocked as a hunter almost instantly

She and Celine fight a lot. She's not exactly great with authority, and Celine still hasn't gotten over losing both her best friend and the only thing she had left of said best friend in the same night, so one is naturally rebellious and the other is somewhat passively resentful and overprotective.

They do not have a healthy dynamic at all — Mira is not well-adjusted enough to be going around killing demons, and Celine still hasn't gotten over her own failures so she ends up projecting them on the only hunter that she's been able to find and somewhat train.

Speaking of training — Mira doesn't really get as much time to learn to fight as she does in canon. Without the other two hunters present, the Honmoon is already tearing itself apart, so she kind of just has to figure out how to kill the demons through trial and error alone, hence why her fighting style is a lot more reckless and frankly somewhat unhinged.

She once hotwired a car and drove it directly into a water demon. Celine had to pay a couple thousand dollars in damages

She and Celine also usually have to go on hunts together purely because Mira alone isn't enough manpower to slay an entire pack of demons, which means that they usually end up shouting at each other over one thing or another while murdering every demonic entity within a five mile radius

She's also not having the easiest time coping with the responsibilities of being a hunter — she's the only one who's currently active, if we're not counting Celine, and because all three hunters are separated from each other, the Honmoon is essentially in shambles. Mira is holding it together through spite and spite alone.

It doesn't help that she's not nearly as successful as she is in canon (mostly because she's quite literally destined to be in a three-part harmony but is forced to do a solo act), because her parents will not stop bothering her about "getting a real job" and "giving up the starving artist act". They spam her comments and posts, relentlessly call and text her until she blocks them, and only reason they haven't shown up at her place of residence to harass her in person is because Celine's sanctuary is fairly out of the way and hard to find.

It also does not help that Celine sometimes reminds her of her parents.

Rumi essentially becomes her arch-nemesis at one point because Gwi-ma keeps sending her to keep Mira occupied and stop her from killing the demons that are taking people's souls. Or, well, Mira thinks Rumi is her arch-nemesis, Rumi is too busy having an identity crisis to notice.

[fellamorte]

you know what. Maybe they were right* to totally ignore your clan and the city elves dying because holy fuck does it impact the implication/tone of so many scenes that follow it!!! (*jokes.)

It's been ingrained into Ira his whole life that diplomacy and non-aggression is the key to survival. If you react with force, you will be beat down 10x harder. Don't rock the boat. So far that line of thinking has kept him (mostly) safe. But then, Ira's whole clan dies along with the city elves of Wycome.

Then, after a very rushed grieving period, Revelations happens and Ira doesn't take it well. There's nothing he hates more than being lied to. Finding out that someone he respected killed a family for money?... Just after his family were killed? Yeah sorry Thom, he's leaving your ass in jail.

Then, Demands of the Qun happens and despite everything, Ira still chooses what he feels is the safe route. He can't get over the fear that has controlled him. The Inquisition has their alliance but the chargers are dead. He got his own clan killed and now he's killed Bull's people. All for what?

Then, Vivienne brings Ira with her to cure Bastien. In this instance, this feels like Vivienne trying to form some kind of bridge between them. Like, she wants this act of vulnerability to be a show of trust and respect between them. She can see Ira is in a very bad place and there's too much at risk if he completely falls apart; I think Viv believes the cure is going to work and I think she wants Ira to be a part of and witness that success. Look Ira together we've saved a life! It's equal parts genuinely trying to help him and playing the game. Too bad it uh doesn't work. So now, Ira feels responsible for another death. (I gotta come back to this because there's so much to chew on here. if anyone has any thoughts or knows of any analysis posts on viv in this scene please throw them my way.)

Then, Sera brings Ira to the rooftop. This scene's original intent alongside Revelations and the Clan/City elves dying??? Bro i'm crashing out. With that in mind, it really feels like Sera's trying to reach out and empathise in her Sera way. Since the game doesn't really give you anything re: Sera's reaction to leaving Blackwall in the cell, I'm choosing to believe this scene doubles as a reaction to that. Sera sharing that grief and frustration towards losing someone that hurt you. Trying to turn a bad association into a good thing, pride cookies into Inquisition cookies. Sera they could never make me hate you (as much as your writers tried.)

And then the Temple of Mythal and being surrounded by your people's history. A constant reminder of your incredibly fresh personal loss on top of the wider loss. And then Dorian tells him he's going back to Tevinter and won't let Ira come with him. When Ira (at this point) literally has no where to go once this is over. Because his clan is gone Dorian. His self-esteem is in the gutter so he's not going to beg you to stay Dorian... like you couldn't have waited a little longer to drop that on him Dorian??

Irasalin Lavellan you should've just blown up Skyhold.

[electrodasher]

What did the mysterious caller tell Kris in the kitchen?

ID: Screenshot from Deltarune. Kris is alone in Noelle's kitchen drinking chocolate milk while a voice coming from their cellphone says: "...dark... fountain... next...". End ID.

Maybe everyone's seamlessly mixing memes with serious theories, but no, the mysterious caller does not literally say "police sacrifice next week". Most of the ellipses in their dialogue mark inaudible and/or unintelligible words, not pauses, and we know this is the case because at the end of the chapter we see them speak a full, clear, hesitant sentence: "...Kris... / ...don't forget, Kris... / ...you promised." Compare with the fragments we get in Noelle's house:

…dark… fountain… next…

...Susie... must not get... guitar...

...need... soul...

Without… soul… Kris… will…

...Susie... guitar... code... stop...

…police… sacrifice… next week…

… church... tonight…

…Kris… dark world… no soul… can't…

…Susie… guitar…?

…I'll be… right there…

By paying attention to word order, capitalization, and the placement of the ellipses, we can piece together at least some of the conversation. Go ahead an reblog with your best guesses. I'll go first, assuming the caller is the Knight and the Knight is at least partially Dess:

Kris, we'll meet in the dark world again. I'll make a fountain in the church next.

Listen: Susie... must not get her hands on my guitar…

And you need to keep that soul inside you a little longer.

Without the soul… Kris, how will you seal the fountains?

I'm telling you, Susie must not get the guitar or she'll see the code inside. You have to stop her before that happens.

The police chief was a necessary sacrifice. I only have to keep her in the shelter until next week…

Got that? See you at church… tonight...

…Kris, if you go into the dark world with no soul… you know you can't seal the fountain.

What? Susie got the guitar…?

Damn it. I'll be hurrying things along, then. Mom'll be right there…

Notes and reasoning under the cut.

The Knight explains their plan.

Maybe Kris explains that they're at the Holiday's with Susie. The Knight remembers the guitar and warns Kris. Kris explains how they had to take us out to keep us from reading the code, or maybe just complains about us in general.

In response, the Knight reminds Kris why they have to keep putting up with us.

Kris can survive without injury a whole night without the player soul, so no, I don't think the caller is saying they'll die, unless they specified a whole day or week or even longer. So what else could it be? Any Lightner can open fountains; Monsters like Susie and Darkners like Ralsei can ACT, make independent choices, and use magic. But sealing the fountains has been repeatedly mentioned as an ability exclusive to Kris, and they do so by using their red human soul. I guess they could be talking about saving files or commanding battles instead, but fountains specifically were mentioned 3 lines ago.

The Knight harps on about the guitar; if this is Dess, she could be extra-stressed by a stranger grabbing her sentimental belongings. Kris has nothing new to say, so maybe they bring up Undyne instead. They might not be personally super worried about her, but they could totally worried about people asking questions and linking Kris & co. to her disappearance.

This is where the heaviest speculation lies. First of all, I'm confident that "police" here refers to Undyne and not Asgore like some people think. Dess or Rudy would call him "your dad"; Carol and most other adults would call him "Asgore" or "your father"; and others are unlikely to call him by his ex-title. Second, I'm skeptical that "sacrifice" refers to something being done to her "next week". If Kris knew of such a sacrifice, I'm very skeptical that they would help kill or maim even a stranger - they can barely handle killing virtual avatars of their friends. The Caller might be springing the sacrifice" on them in the spot, but if that's the case, why would they do that instead of withholding it from Kris as long as possible to keep them cooperative?

Sounds like the Knight tries to conclude the call.

"No soul" here could only refer to either Kris or the Knight, since everyone else seems to have normal monster souls that can't persist outside of a body. If it's Kris, this would mean that they A) have no soul outside the player/SOUL, or B) the player displaced their original soul. If it's A), that could be explained by them being the Vessel. If it's B), that soul must've gone somewhere; for example, if Dess absorbed it, then the Knight might be the resulting "horrible beast with unfathomable power". OK that's long as fuck but IDK how to put it in simpler terms so I commend you if you understand what I'm saying.

1-8 are from the first call in the kitchen. 9 & 10 are from the second call in Dess's room after Susie gets the guitar.

This is my best attempt at splitting "I'll be" and "right there" into separate sentences. Not exactly the most natural turn of phrase ever, but Deltarune dialogue is not always 100% naturalistic, especially when it comes to exposition.

[dailymanners]

I'm with the USAmericans on this one, there was absolutely no reason to not provide that accommodation, and by refusing to allow a screen reader they were, as you said, limiting his career opportunities based on his disability. If they're going to refuse to accommodate disabled people, why not force their hand? In this case it wouldn't just be about your friend, but all the legally blind people after him who also deserve the same access to a career as anyone else.

It reminds me of how a co-worker of mine, a USAmerican woman married to an Icelandic man, was applying for Icelandic citizenship, and to apply for Icelandic citizenship she needed a document from the municipality proving that she's never received any sort of government assistance like unemployment benefits.

So she goes to the municipality office, and they tell her they can't help her or give her the document and she needs to come back with her Icelandic husband, and then they'll give it to her. Super illegal btw, of course it's illegal to deny giving a woman a document pertaining to her own records and tell her to come back with her Icelandic husband before they'd help her.

So she hired a lawyer and sued them. And then they gave her the document without her needing to bring her Icelandic husband with her, as they legally should have done in the first place, but didn't because, well, let's just say that women of foreign origin are often not treated kindly by Icelanders.

She said she didn't really even do it for herself, her main motivation was wanting all women of foreign origin after her to be able to go into a government office, and retrieve their own legal documents that they legally have access to, without being discriminated against and being told they need to come back with their Icelandic husband.

A lot of Icelanders got huffy with her over this, telling her it's "not the Icelandic way" to solve your problems by hiring a lawyer. But why should she have just settled for being discriminated against like that?

I am about going to gripe about something that's been really annoying me lately.

First let me start with a disclaimer that I am speaking generally here. Of course both the U.S. and Europe are both massive and diverse places containing hundreds of millions of people, and a lot of regional differences. Neither the U.S. or Europe are a monolith (although a lot of people on the internet speak of both places as a monolith, which I wish people would stop doing, since neither are).

I could be wrong about this, since I don't live in the U.S., and haven't visited everywhere in Europe. But between where I have visited in the U.S., and where I have visited / lived in Europe, and from what I know from my friends in the U.S. and friends in other European countries, I get the feeling that overall the U.S. has stricter disability access laws than a lot of places in Europe do, especially in regard to building codes.

Of course there are exceptions, I know New York city is abhorrently hostile in its design towards anyone elderly and/or disabled. Although when I visited New York city it really just felt on par with a lot of major European cities with how abhorrently inaccessible it was.

One example of this is that recently I saw a Reddit discussion where a USAmerican vacationing in France was surprised at how many staircases didn't have handrails, because according to this man handrails are required by law in the U.S.

The comments were all Europeans having an absolute field day with this. Pretty much all of the comments were some variation of "I can't believe Americans are too stupid and lazy to use the stairs without a handrail 🤣🤣🤣 what's wrong with you fat lazy stupid Americans that you can't even use stairs without a handrail 🤣🤣🤣 thank GOD I was born in Europe where I was just taught how to walk up and down the stairs on my own and don't need a handrail like a lazy fat stupid American 🤣🤣🤣"

A few people tried to gently point out that this was about accessibility for elderly and disabled people, and it's not cool to laugh at building codes that are about accessibility, but those commenters were usually shut down with some variation of "yeah well in MY European country if someone is disabled or becomes elderly we either move to a more accessible building or we modify our home to be more accessible, we don't sit around whining like a bunch of Americans that our building isn't already accessible 🙄"

Which is, such a cruel way to talk about accessibility. Why wouldn't disabled and elderly people deserve the same access to a building as anyone else? Are elderly and disabled people not allowed to visit friends and family? Anyone could get hit by a car today, and after that struggle with going up and down stairs without the use of a handrail for the next several months, years, possibly the rest of your life. It's so easy to feel smug when you can easily trot up and down the stairs without a handrail, but so cruel to be unwilling to consider anyone who struggles with stairs should maybe be allowed access to the same places as you.

Honestly when I go on vacation abroad with my elderly + disabled mother, it's often easier to go to the U.S. with her than other places in Europe, because the U.S. does tend to be more accessible (in my experience, and except for New York city ofc) making going around to different public places with my mom generally a lot easier than somewhere like France or the Netherlands.

It's also part of the reason a lot of retired people in Iceland end up having to move abroad to live out their retirement. Of course the main reason for that is usually that the cost of living here is so ridiculously high most people can't afford the cost of living on a pension. However for some the fact that Iceland is just not very accessible is part of that.

Out of all the things you could clown on the U.S. about, why you gotta go for accessibility of all things? It's disgustingly ableist and ageist, and I have to wonder if these people actually just hate disabled people / accessible design, and are using the U.S. as an excuse to hate on disabled people and accessible design.

[sisaloofafump]

Would you be open to expanding on your thoughts about interpreting Damian as aromantic?????

Unfortunately most of my reasonings are just "vibe" and relating to him personally. He reminds me a lot of what I was like when I was like as kid—vocally against romance, got into a lot of fights, and quick to deny any notion of attraction to someone.

There's a tendency to go "oh they have a crushhh" when preteens bicker with someone, and to double down on that accusation when they try to deny. A lot of Damian's romances rely on this "logic". Pre-crisis Damian's crush on Kara is supposedly canonical, because of this:

Superman/Batman #77

And consider how young him treats Steph who he's also implied to have a crush on. We're supposed to see that his attraction manifests as name calling and violence. That's not attraction! Why can't we take what he says at face value. What could he do more to signal that he doesn't have a crush?

While I understand this is something people do, on a personal and political level, I really disagree with this interpretation. I think it is incredibly dangerous and invalidating not to take people at face value when they say they are not attracted to someone—especially if the signs of "attraction" you see are violence. I know for me, when I was 8–10, my response to this was only to get meaner, because how else would people understand that I didn't like them? (I grew out of this long ago, I am an adult now, but I definitely see Damian taking a similarly bad approach).

So instinctively, it's very hard for me to think of Damian having a crush on someone when the only examples we have post-crisis is him actively saying he doesn't like someone.

That said! Modern Damian? I do really like Flatline and I think their arc together is well written and quite engaging! She is one of the only people in his life that treats him as an equal (the other Robins, the Titans, Rose, and Connor all look down on him in some way), and is someone who he genuinely has a lot of fun with. I think they have a great connection and a strong friendship. I don't think those traits should be taken as inherent to romance.

The concept of independence is so big with their "relationship"—their first kiss even happens in a conversation about how he wants something for himself separate from his families. Dating Niki would be the epitome of that. As such, Damian immediately tells people she's his girlfriend (checking off a box, much?). But iirc he doesn't actually initiate any romantic affection between them, and most of their scenes end with Damian switching into Work Mode immediately. He doesn't consider what being together would look like beyond the first kiss and the label.

Robin (2021) #17

"You could ask me out on a date, or something." "Is that the next move?" He says, and then proceeds not to ask her on a date.

By goly is he aromantic to me.

In summary: younger/post-crisis Damian's "crushes" rely on the reader interpreting that cruelty and denying attraction means that you like someone. Damian and Flatline's relationship reads to me as him seeking independence by labelling one of the first solo-made friendships he has, and he has very little interest or initiative in actually being romantic with Niki.

So uh. Yeah! That's about it. It was hard to put it into thoughts because it's less a conscious headcanon and more me going "what? This makes no sense" emotionally when I see him in a romantic pairing. But I hope this explains why I see him as aromantic!

[kaayyyys]

How the walking dead men react to you kissing them in the middle of an argument

(daryl dixon, rick grimes, negan smith)

Life in Alexandria wasn't easy. Even with the walls, the routines, the semblance of normalcy, the apocalypse gnawed at the edges. Little things, insignificant in the old world, became mountains. Today, it was firewood. Or rather, the lack thereof.

"(Y/N)," Daryl's voice was a low rumble, the kind that usually preceded a storm. "I thought you were gonna get more wood stacked."

You sighed, the sound laced with weariness. "I was going to, Daryl, but then I had to help Maggie with the garden, and then I was patching up clothes for Judith…"

"Judith can sew a damn button," he retorted, crossing his arms, his brow furrowed. The setting sun cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the lines etched by worry and hardship.

"That's not the point, Daryl! She needed help, and we all help each other here. It's called community." You were already bristling, the day's accumulated stress finding its release.

"Community don't keep us warm at night," he muttered, gesturing towards the dwindling woodpile.

It was a stupid argument, you both knew it. An argument born of exhaustion, fear, and the constant pressure of survival. But once it started, it was hard to stop.

"So, what, you're saying I don't contribute?" you challenged, heat rising in your cheeks. "I'm out there fighting walkers just as much as you are, Daryl. I'm not just sitting around braiding hair and baking cookies!"

His eyes flashed. "Never said that. Just sayin' we need wood. Winter's comin'."

"And I'm saying I can't do everything! Maybe if you helped out a little more instead of skulking around like a lone wolf, we wouldn't be in this mess!" The words were out before you could reel them back, and you instantly regretted them.

Daryl flinched, the hurt evident in his eyes. He hated being reminded of his past, of his solitary nature. "Fine," he said, his voice tight. "I'll go get the damn wood myself." He turned to leave, his back rigid.

Watching him walk away, you felt a wave of remorse wash over you. You hated fighting with him, especially over something so trivial. You hated the way your words had wounded him. And you hated the stubborn pride that kept you both from simply apologizing.

But then, an idea sparked in your mind. An idea so audacious, so out of character, that it momentarily silenced the internal battle raging within you.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you moved. You closed the distance between you and Daryl in a few quick strides, reaching out and grabbing his arm. He stopped, turning back to you with a confused expression.

And then, you kissed him.

It wasn't a gentle, tentative kiss. It was a desperate, passionate kiss. A kiss designed to shock, to distract, to silence the argument and bridge the gap that had formed between you.

Your hands cupped his face, your fingers tangling in the strands of his greasy hair. You poured all your frustration, your love, your fear, and your regret into that single kiss.

Daryl was taken completely by surprise. His body went rigid for a moment, his mind struggling to process the sudden shift. But then, slowly, he began to respond.

His arms came around you, pulling you closer, his calloused hands pressing against your back. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. The taste of him was familiar and intoxicating – woodsmoke, leather, and something uniquely Daryl.

The argument, the firewood, the apocalypse itself, all faded into the background. There was only the two of you, locked in a desperate embrace, finding solace and connection in the midst of chaos.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, the world seemed to snap back into focus. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, casting a warm glow over Alexandria.

Daryl stared at you, his eyes wide and searching. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface had vanished, replaced by a mixture of confusion and desire.

You managed a shaky smile. "Sorry," you whispered, your voice still husky from the kiss. "I just… I didn't want to fight anymore."

He ran a thumb across your cheek, his gaze softening. "Me neither," he murmured.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the tension of the argument dissipating like smoke in the wind. You leaned your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

"I'll help you with the wood," you offered, finally breaking the silence.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your body. "Alright," he said, wrapping his arm around you. "Let's get to it."

As you walked towards the woodpile, hand in hand, the argument seemed like a distant memory. The kiss had been a reset button, a way to reconnect and reaffirm the bond that held you together.

Later that night, as you lay wrapped in each other's arms, the fire crackling in the hearth, you knew that arguments were inevitable, especially in a world as harsh as this one.

But you also knew that you had something special with Daryl. Something worth fighting for. Something worth kissing for.

And sometimes, all it took was a little bit of impulsivity and a whole lot of love to silence the storm.

Daryl gently strokes your hair as you both lay together "Next time, just kiss me sooner, 'kay?" he whispers into your hair, a small smile gracing his lips. You giggle softly, nuzzling closer to him, the warmth of his body a comforting shield against the cold reality outside. You both knew that life in Alexandria would continue to be a challenge, but as long as you had each other, you could face anything. The love you shared was a beacon of hope in the darkness, a promise of a brighter future, one kiss at a time.

And as the embers of the fire glowed, casting dancing shadows on the walls, you knew that your love story was far from over. It was a story written in stolen moments, whispered promises, and passionate kisses, a testament to the enduring power of love in the face of the apocalypse. The End.

The prison was never quiet. Even when the walkers weren’t actively clawing at the fences, a low hum of anxiety permeated the air – the collective breath held by a community constantly teetering on the edge of disaster. But inside the small cell you shared with Rick, a different kind of tension was building. A silly, frustrating, utterly human kind of tension.

It had started over something trivial. Maybe it was the dwindling supply of clean water, the uneven distribution of watch duties, or perhaps the way he always left his damn boots in the middle of the floor. Whatever the catalyst, the argument had quickly morphed into a swirling vortex of unspoken fears and pent-up stress, all bubbling precariously close to the surface.

You felt the familiar sting of frustration rising in your chest. You loved Rick, fiercely and completely, but sometimes his single-minded focus on protecting everyone left you feeling… overlooked. You knew it wasn’t intentional, knew the weight he carried on his broad shoulders, but that didn’t make the feeling any less real. And he... he just looked so tired. The lines etched around his eyes seemed deeper, the stubble on his jaw grayer than usual. The apocalypse had aged him beyond his years, and you hated it.

"Rick, all I'm saying is that maybe we need to delegate more responsibility," you insisted, your voice rising slightly above the din of the prison yard. "You can't keep doing everything yourself. You're going to burn out."

He scrubbed a hand over his face, his blue eyes clouded with exhaustion. "And what do you suggest, (Y/N)? Hand over guard duty to someone who can't tell a walker from their own reflection? We can't afford mistakes."

"That's not what I meant!" you countered, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "There are people here who are perfectly capable. We just need to trust them."

"Trust?" He scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Trust is a luxury we can't afford anymore."

You knew you were both being unreasonable. The argument wasn't really about water or watch duties or trust. It was about the relentless pressure they were both under, the constant fear that gnawed at the edges of their sanity. It was about the unspoken question that hung in the air between them: How much longer can we survive this?

The air crackled with unspoken words, heavy with the weight of their shared burden. Rick stood across from you, his stance rigid, his jaw tight. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant groans of the undead.

And then, something shifted within you. A sudden, overwhelming urge to break the tension, to erase the lines of worry from his face, to remind him – and yourself – that even in this broken world, there was still love, still passion, still hope. It was a reckless, impulsive urge, born out of frustration and tenderness in equal measure.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you. He blinked in surprise, his brow furrowed in confusion. You could see the question in his eyes, but you didn't give him a chance to voice it.

You reached up, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble on his cheek. His gaze flickered down to your lips, and a flicker of something – desire, surprise, perhaps even relief – sparked in his eyes. And then, you kissed him.

It wasn't a gentle, tentative kiss. It was a desperate, hungry kiss, fueled by the months of fear and uncertainty, by the longing for normalcy, by the fierce, unwavering love you felt for this man. You poured all your frustration, all your tenderness, all your hope into that kiss.

For a moment, he was rigid, caught off guard by the suddenness of your advance. His hands remained at his sides, clenched into fists. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the remnants of the argument clinging to him like a shroud.

But then, slowly, hesitantly, he began to respond. His fists unfurled, his fingers reaching up to tangle in your hair. The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by a soft yielding. He met your passion with his own, his lips parting slightly, inviting you deeper.

The taste of him was familiar, comforting – a mix of salt and sweat and something uniquely Rick. You deepened the kiss, your bodies pressing together, the hard edges of the apocalypse momentarily forgotten.

The sounds of the prison – the groaning walkers, the shouting guards, the ever-present hum of anxiety – faded into the background. There was only you and Rick, locked in a desperate embrace, finding solace and connection in the midst of chaos.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, the argument seemed like a distant memory. His blue eyes were no longer clouded with worry, but softened with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

He stared down at you, his expression unreadable. You could see the remnants of the argument still lingering in his eyes, but now they were mixed with something else – a vulnerability, a hint of amusement.

"What was that for?" he asked, his voice rough, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though your cheeks were flushed and your heart was still racing. "Just… thought you needed a distraction."

He chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest. "Well, it worked. I've completely forgotten what we were arguing about."

"Me too," you admitted, smiling.

The argument wasn't truly resolved, of course. The problems that had sparked it were still there, lurking beneath the surface. But in that moment, standing in the cramped cell, surrounded by the horrors of the apocalypse, you had found a temporary reprieve, a moment of connection that reminded you that even in the darkest of times, love could still bloom.

The Lingering Effect: He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice sincere. "I needed that."

You knew that the challenges ahead were still daunting, that the road to survival would be long and arduous. But as you looked into Rick's eyes, you felt a renewed sense of hope, a quiet determination to face whatever came your way, together. And sometimes, that was all you needed. The kiss hadn't solved everything, but it had reminded you both of what you were fighting for – each other. It was a reminder of the love that bound you together, a love that was stronger than any walker, any hardship, any apocalypse. It was a kiss that silenced the argument, and for a brief, precious moment, silenced the apocalypse itself.

Life at the Sanctuary was a brutal symphony of survival, punctuated by the ever-present threat of walkers, the iron grip of Negan's rule, and the daily grind of keeping their little world turning. Yet, amidst the chaos, you and Negan had carved out a space for yourselves, a pocket of something real, something…tender. Your relationship was a paradox, a fierce love blooming in the most unlikely of gardens. He was a whirlwind of charisma and menace, and you were the steady anchor, the one who saw through the bravado to the man beneath.

The argument had started over something insignificant. Maybe it was the allocation of resources, the way a certain Savior was slacking, or perhaps just the accumulated stress of living in a world gone mad. Whatever the spark, it had quickly ignited. Negan, pacing back and forth inside your shared quarters, his voice gaining volume with each pass. Lucille, his ever-present companion, rested against his shoulder, a silent observer to your domestic dispute.

"I'm just saying," you began, your voice tight, "there are better ways to handle this than threatening to bash someone's skull in."

Negan stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, really? And what would you suggest, sweetheart? A strongly worded letter? A goddamn hug?"

"Maybe some actual leadership," you countered, the words slipping out before you could fully reign them in. You knew you'd hit a nerve.

The air crackled with tension. Negan's jaw clenched, and his eyes flashed, the charm that usually softened his features replaced by a hard, predatory glint. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden silence.

You were tired. Tired of the arguments, tired of the constant pressure, tired of the weight of the world on your shoulders. And in that moment, looking at Negan's frustrated face, you just wanted it to stop. An idea, bold and instinctive, took root in your mind.

Without another word, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you. Negan, surprised by the sudden movement, faltered, his expression shifting from anger to confusion.

You reached up, your hands framing his face, your thumbs gently tracing the lines around his mouth. His skin was rough beneath your fingertips, weathered by the sun and the hardships of this new world. You looked into his eyes, searching for something, anything, beyond the fury that had consumed him moments before.

And then, you kissed him.

It wasn't a gentle, tentative kiss. It was a desperate, hungry one, a merging of your souls in a world that seemed determined to tear them apart. You poured all your frustration, your love, your fear, and your longing into that kiss.

The effect was immediate. Negan's body went rigid, his anger momentarily forgotten. Lucille almost slipped from his grasp, but he quickly recovered, his fingers tightening around her handle. His lips, which had been set in a hard line, softened under your touch. His eyes, wide with surprise, flickered with a mixture of confusion and dawning awareness.

The argument, the tension, the world outside, all faded into the background. There was only you, your lips pressed against his, your bodies close, the rest of the Sanctuary disappearing for a moment.

As the kiss deepened, Negan's resistance melted away. His hands, which had been hovering awkwardly at his sides, came up to meet yours, his fingers threading through your hair. He pulled you closer, his body molding against yours, the hard angles of his frame softening as he surrendered to the moment.

A groan escaped his lips, a sound of pure pleasure and relief. The kiss became more fervent, more demanding, a silent conversation between two souls who had found solace in each other amidst the chaos.

In that kiss, you felt Negan's vulnerability, the cracks in his carefully constructed armor. You felt the weight of his responsibilities, the loneliness of his position, the fear that he kept buried deep inside. And you knew, with a certainty that warmed you from the inside out, that he needed you as much as you needed him.

Finally, breathless and slightly dazed, you pulled away, your foreheads resting against each other. The silence that followed was different from the charged silence before. It was a comfortable silence, a shared space carved out by intimacy and understanding.

Negan's eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were now soft and unguarded. A faint flush colored his cheeks, and his lips were slightly swollen from the kiss. He looked…younger.

"Well, damn," he murmured, his voice husky. "That's one way to shut me up."

A small smile played on your lips. "Did it work?"

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your body. "Yeah, darlin'. It definitely worked."

He paused, his gaze becoming more serious. "But we can't just go around kissing every time we disagree. People might get the wrong idea." He winks.

"So," you said, stepping back slightly, "are we still arguing about the Saviors slacking off?"

Negan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I know I can be a bit…heavy-handed. But sometimes, it's the only way to get things done around here."

"I know," you replied, "but maybe we can try a different approach sometimes? Talk to them, explain why it's important?"

He considered this for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "Alright," he conceded, "I'll try. But if they don't listen, all bets are off."

The argument wasn't entirely resolved, but the tension had dissipated. You had found a middle ground, a compromise born out of passion and a shared desire to make your relationship work, even in the face of the apocalypse.

As the days passed, the memory of that kiss lingered, a reminder of the depth of your connection with Negan. It became a secret language between you, a way to diffuse tension and reaffirm your love in a world that seemed intent on destroying it.

Even Lucille, resting against Negan's shoulder, seemed to approve of your methods. After all, in a world where violence was the norm, a kiss could be the most powerful weapon of all.

Your relationship with Negan was a testament to the resilience of the human heart, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, love could find a way to bloom. And sometimes, all it took was a well-placed kiss to silence the noise and remind you both of what truly mattered. It was a love forged in the fires of survival, a love that was both fierce and tender, a love that defied the odds and thrived in the heart of the apocalypse.

[fanged-fanfics]

https://www.tumblr.com/fanged-fanfics/777561223089799168/can-you-dowhite-lily-x-autistic-reader-like?source=share

Omg I loved these hcs they are so cute and defiantly the one who prefers quiet like her lol...

Do you also do fics if so...can you do a fic where autistic y/n goes to white lily to get a strong hug because they feel like they need pressure and snuggle up to her...loving being around her quiet self or maybe asking her to infodump because they like her voice?

☆ Quiet Among the Lillies — White Lily x Autistic!Reader ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: Part one for those who want it! This is a bit of a shorter one but I hope it's still enjoyable

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

"White Lily Cookie?" You called out softly. Her head immediately perked up, white braid falling over her shoulder as she did so. She had been reading one of her old notebooks, but your voice caught her attention. "Yes, my love?" She asks gently. You step closer, opening up your arms "Can I ask for a hug? If you're not busy". A warm smile graced her features. She stood, gently wrapping you up in her arms. She added a little squeeze to the gesture, knowing how it soothed you

The weight eased a part of you that you had been waiting to soothe, relaxing your muscles. You leaned into her, nuzzling into her shoulder. She placed a tender kiss to your temple "My poor little bluebelle... was the day cruel to you?" She asked. You gave a short nod "Yeah. There was a celebration for uncovering new land in the kingdom gardens" you sighed "Very loud. There was almost no room to get inside"

"I'm sorry, dear" White Lily replied with a sympathetic frown. She pulled away for just a moment, sitting on the side of her bed. She patted the side of it "Join me?". You walked over, immediately climbing in. She scooted up next to you, snuggling up under the covers. She held you in her arms once more, her weight soothing you once again. But the silence was... unsettling. It reminded you of the headache threatening to come on, the wave of exhaustion barely being staved off

With an uncomfortable grunt, you tucked your head under her chin. She shifted, allowing you to press as close as you'd like. "What were you looking at before I came in?" You asked. "Some notes from my academy days" White Lily answered, her hand coming up to rub your back, right between the shoulder blades. You gave a soft hum, nuzzling into her collarbone "Can you read them out to me?"

"You'd want to hear all that?" White Lily asked with a little chuckle "I can't see what old homework would do to entertain you". "It's not that, it's listening to your voice" You clarified "It's really soothing". White Lily felt a wave of affection hit her being at that. It had been so long since someone was really willing to hear her. She got up a moment, picking something up off of the bedside table. She laid back down, letting you curl up as she opened up the cover to a large book and saying "Then I can read to you one of my favorite tales"

Your head found refuge on her shoulder, looking up at the book. In truth, your eyes were unfocused. The weariness from all the noise and confusion was already buzzing in your head, a dull and bothersome ache. You slowly closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and letting her soft voice fill your ears as her hand rubbed your shoulder

[cosmermaid]

A reminder to writers, nerds that like to argue about it, or whoever else keeps forgetting this detail- A sword is a lever.

"But where's the fulcrum?" you might be asking. It's the wielder's grip.

The wielder's physical strength is one of the least important factors in how well they'd do in a fight or a fencing match. A woman who's spent years practicing swordplay isn't going to lose to a big burly man that's mad at her if he's never been in a fencing match before. No, he can't just cleave through her sword if she knows what she's doing.

See, a lever isn't just good for moving heavy objects, it's also good at redirecting momentum. So a skilled but physically weaker swordsman can still prevent their enemy's sword from cutting them by controlling where the blade goes. There's two factors that actually matter in a swordfight, assuming the sword itself was forged properly. -Skill -Reach Skill is more important than reach because a short skilled fencer can make up for the fact that they're short. Reach is still important though, somebody with a spear is far more likely to kill you than somebody with a sword. And for fucks sake nobody gets big muscles from doing swordplay their whole lives. A sword on the heavy end only weighs three pounds. (Grinding my teeth at a webtoon I read where a woman couldn't use a sword because her 'delicate noblewoman body' was unable to lift it. She wasn't disabled.)

[weirdcat1213]

Alright it's time for the moment maybe 2 of you were waiting for

It's time for my favorite kyrie moments in the dmc 4 novels because yes this poor girl is under developed as hell BUT there are still moments in the novels that make me go "kyrie :333" so here, take them.

I really really like kyrie reading nero like this. Of course she knows nero needs to feel helpful or he'll die and she notices how hard nero tries so yeah, really nice of her.

Kyrie taking children places is nice already, but kyrie being the kind of person who invites you places even if you say no most of the time just so you Know you're always included and welcome god this girl I love her

Ik we are all bothered by kyrie not being that active in the story but I do like this type of strength for her. The order does seem sexist as hell so of course she isn't as prepared as nero for a fight, but she still has enough courage to try and save others. Of course she doesn't want to die but from the books it seems like her body acts before she can think about it and that's neat as hell

Idc how many knights were injured I just know she insisted to do it herself because 1) she wanted to try and help nero directly, 2) she probably didn't want to bother other wounded/scared staff and 3) she wants to prove herself she's not that useless but more on this one later

Same thing as before but this only shows this girl has not learned shit lmao

She went through the rubble and the chaos to find the gift :3 just like nero wants to express he doesn't take her for granted, kyrie wants to show all the things he does for her, no matter how little, are appreciated it. Plus I like that she likes it even if it's not that sparda related. It's a normal necklace that anyone would like.

THIS FUCKING HITS MAN. I know in the game she says "thank you" BUT THIS IS WAY MORE INTERESTING TO ME. She knows she can't fight, she knows that every time she tries to help she puts herself in danger and it's a reminder of how weak she is but it also put nero in danger. Nero is part of the 2 people she cherishes the most and seeing him in trouble because he tried to save her must have made her feel guilty af. It really shows kyrie being aware of her recklessness, so she apologizes for being useless. Also it's a nice way for her to let Nero know they're in good terms, like "yeah i though you were going to kill my brother so I got scared but of course you wouldn't, you are still you. You came to save me and now we're both trapped and I'm sorry" AND SHE TRIES TO PUT ON A BRAVE SMILE GIRL YOU NEED HELP. I NEED HELP-

I love kyrie putting all her trust in nero SPECIALLY considering the last time she took a good look at nero it did seem like he was going to kill credo. No words, all trust. She doesn't know the plan but she's looking forward to see the pope blow up. It's also faint enough so sanctus doesn't suspect anything. Nice

More of kyrie taking the initiativeeeeeee. She doesn't even know what's up with the arm or how/when nero became part demon but she really doesn't care. She also doesn't want to be lied to anymore. Now they can both be completely honest with each other.

She wants to encourage him to stop hiding his arm ahhhh. I'll be honest the next line is like "I thought you wanted to stop hiding your arm" but I love how casual she is about it. Also nero looking at his arm instead of saying anything is cute as hell like dude she's onto you, you can't hide

We love an unbothered queen.

Kyrie not only thinking of how nero was as a kid (and how far he has come) but also cheering him up with Abel as an example of other people accepting him (which has some weight considering that he got bullied by other kids in the past. She's kinda reminding him that the past won't repeat again. He is stronger, he isn't alone and people are accepting of him now)

[e-vay]

Kpop Demon Hunters:

Favorite Huntrix character? Favorite Saja Boy character? Favorite songs and explain why? Favorite scene?

YAY!!! But oh my gosh these are going to be a challenge to answer lol!

It's so difficult to choose a favorite Huntrix girl because I love them all SO much and they are each so perfect!!! I definitely relate to Rumi the most, shouldering burdens all on her own and focusing on her failures rather than her strengths. But she is so stunning and so badass and I just love her! Her character arc was incredible and insanely inspiring. Zoey is so cute and fiesty, I love her style and energy. I think she'd be so much fun to hang out with. But I think Mira is probably my favorite, but by the thinnest of margins. I love how intense and abrasive she is, but she's also SO funny and fabulous. It's so brave how instead of caving to the pressures of her family and hiding her personality, she doubled-down and chose to be herself even at the risk of ostracizing herself. It's so badass! Also, it's just so sweet how much she adores Rumi and Zoey and they're her whole world! 🥹 (Plus she's a redhead, so I'm naturally drawn to her!). I really love them all and I love how the animators/writers showed them all as stunning and gorgeous but also dorky and embarrassing and natural (SHOWING THEM WITHOUT MAKEUP?!?! 🤌♥️)

Favorite Saja Boy is Jinu OF COURSE! He's stupid handsome, his voice is EVERYTHING, he has such an interesting and morally complex backstory, and he's such a DORK

Rumi is so much stronger than me because the second I saw his fangs I was like SCREW THE HONMOON, LET'S GOOOO

If we don't count Jinu, Abby is my favorite but mostly his demon form. You turned my giant "redheaded" himbo into a goth? YES PLEASE. And those EYEBROWS! ❤️‍🔥

Choosing a favorite song is also impossible... Can I just say the entire soundtrack? lol. I've been listening to the entire soundtrack on loop all day, every day since I first saw this movie. It'd be easier for me to say my least favorite song, which (hot take) is "Takedown." That's not to say I don't like it, because I still love it! But in my opinion, it's the weakest (but I feel like that's intentional, considering in the story they're feeling disconnected). But yeah, I really can't choose because they're all incredible. "How It's Done" is one of the sickest songs I've ever heard in my life and I can't believe they STARTED the movie with that, "Golden" has the most range I've ever heard and is a masterpiece, "Soda Pop" is such a guilty pleasure song and it's so fun, even if it's not my usual thing I can't help but shimmy to it, "Free" is just SO BEAUTIFUL AND ROMANTIC it makes me cry!, "Your Idol" literally has my soul and I would happily give myself up to Gwi-Ma if it meant I could listen to that song for the rest of eternity, and "What it Sounds Like" is literally miraculous, it gives me chills!

Favorite scene, oh man... Again, every second of this movie is scrumptious and I just want to replay it as soon as it's over... But if I had to nail it down to one scene, it'd probably be "What It Sounds Like." I'm going to be very careful to not say any spoilers, but this scene was a spectacular finale. The colors, the choreography, the emotion, the big build up... It was such a fantastic payoff. The best way I can describe it (and I say this without trying to diminish it), is that it reminded me of the climax of the first Sailor Moon movie I ever saw, which was Sailor Moon R. When I was a kid and was watching that, it blew my mind. Seeing these women join together to become this unstoppable force, I felt this indescribable feeling in my heart. I was so awe struck and moved, and the scene in this movie made me feel the exact same way. I think the first time I watched it, I was just sitting there with my jaw dropped and my hand to my chest during the entirety of it haha!

I LOVE THIS MOVIE!!!!

[faux-big-bro]

I was still asleep when I rolled over in bed, instinctively grabbing you and pulling you into me.

Were you awake? Pulled from the depths of your dreams by the feeling of your big brother throwing his leg over your ass, curling my arms around you, and pulling you to me like a stuffed animal.

Well, and you know what happens when I've got my weight pressed against you like that, even when I'm asleep.

How long were you lying there, sugar? Sweet sleepy little thing with your brother grinding his cock against your hip as I dream? How long did you wait before that hand slipped down between your thighs to your yourself for me?

I heard that guilty little gasp when I murmured "Ain't a bad way to wake up" in your ear. My arm squeezed tighter around you, as I added, "Don't think I told you to stop touching yourself either, sugar."

Was it a dream? And if so, which one of us was dreaming? Practically impossible to tell, except for the press of my hard cock against your hip, and my hand idly tracing fingertips against the side of your neck in the sticky darkness of the summer night.

You caught on to the rhythm pretty quick, didn't you, darling? You're always clever, you know I'm fond of that. Your hand started to move with the same rhythm as my hips moved against you, moving slowly, no more words between us as my baby sister fingered herself for me, feeling her big brother's cock throbbing against you, just a few thin layers of cotton separating us, and you desperately wished for them to be gone.

Good girls get what they deserve, don't they?

It was a slow transition, still in that damn dream-like haze. My fingers slipping around from the side of your neck to grip you by the throat. My weight shifting on top of your body. The press of my cock going from your hip to your ass to sliding down between your thighs.

And then, pulling those panties aside, and your big brother's cock sinking into you in one single push, a wordless groan from my mouth as I savored how sweet your wetness always feels to me.

That was when it stopped being slow, wasn't it? Maybe the first few thrusts into you still managed it. But you could feel the control slipping. That gentleness dissolving away beneath the delicious pleasure of your body.

When the first hard, deep thrust came, it woke you up, but it hardly seemed a shock anymore, did it? No. It wasn't a surprise at all.

It was claiming you.

Claiming my baby sister with my cock, as I'd done before, as I'll do again, as "just can't fuckin' help it, kid, fuck, you feel so goddamn good, just need this, need you..." as the lust takes over, as the hunger drives me on, as I just can't do anything else but

Fuck my baby sister deep and hard and remind her who she belongs to.

Just a stream of words as I carry on, telling you how good you feel, how perfect you are, what a sweet little sister you are for me- but do you even hear them? Or are you just focused on the feeling? On my cock throbbing deep inside you? On the heat of my body pinning you down? On the force of my thrusts driving you into the mattress?

Or maybe you're just lost to the sensation of how good your big brother's cock is making you feel.

And how good you're making your big brother feel in return.

The apologies are long gone by the time I'm cumming inside you. I can't think about anything other than just needing you. Needing to cum inside you. To claim you. To make you mine again and again and again.

So, in the end, after I can move again, after I pull my cock free from you, kissing the back of your head as I readjust your panties again, this time to cover you up, as I collapse back onto the bed, sated and sleepy and smiling softly, there's no "I'm sorry."

Just a simple, "Sleep well, little sister," with a kiss, carrying so much more to it than just a few words might normally bear.

[400badrequest]

CHAPT TWO: Sunnyside up | Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

SUMMARY: You never say what you like. Never. Not flavors, not textures. Not hot or cold, soft or crunchy, sweet or salty. Won’t even tell him if you take your coffee with sugar, just drinks whatever’s closest like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.

It makes him irrationally upset.

CW: age gap

WORD COUNT: 1327

A/N: OH GOD i wrote more oops

Mikey doesn’t mean to make it a thing.

He swears. He tries. God knows he’s already got enough goddamn mess on his plate - between the plumbing, the debt, the city permits, and Richie’s emotional constipation, whatever the Hell’s going on with Sugar. The Bear is hanging on by duct tape and leftover faith. He doesn’t have time for a crush - especially not on the twenty-three-year-old admin girl he hired half because she seemed overqualified and half because he was too hungover to argue when she started reorganising the meat invoices before he officially gave her the job.

But.

But you stayed.

And then you started fixing things.

And then - God help him, you started understanding things.

You’re young. Too fuckin’ young for him. Born after Nirvana. Doesn’t remember dial-up. You’re not from Chicago, doesn’t get the weight that word holds in yor mouth. Not Italian - not even close - and you give him shit for claiming it, calls it “white boy seasoning” with this sly, unimpressed look that makes him laugh even when it shouldn’t. Not Catholic, thank Christ, which means you don't get the way guilt and duty intertwine until you can't tell them apart. You’re not tied to this place by blood or debt or guilt. You could leave anytime.

And yet.

And yet.

He watches you eat your stupid little protein bars like they’re punishments and finds himself wondering what you’d do if he cooked for you. Really cooked. Like he used to. Like he hasn’t in years. Wonders if he made you something delicate, something sweet and careful, would you even know how to receive it?

You work like you’re on fire inside. Like if you slow down, you’ll burn out. And he sees it - recognises it, deep in his bones, because he’s the same way, just more practiced at hiding the smoke. Maybe that’s why it pisses him off so bad that you won’t let him charm you. That you won’t let him help.

you’re polite, always. Respectful, even. You call him “Mikey,” like it’s a nickname and not a lifeline. You laugh at his jokes when you're tired, but never lets them land. Never lets him land.

You eat more now. That’s his doing. You don't know it, but it is.

He started making extra - pastries that ended up “accidentally” on your corner of the pass, soups that “had to be taste-tested,” a run of the family meal where your plate looked suspiciously more balanced than the rest.

You never thank him for it.

You never have to.

He pretends it’s not a thing. But then he finds himself watching you fold receipts with surgical precision and suddenly it’s four minutes later and he’s still staring. He’ll make a joke, call you “sweet’art” or something worse, something designed to land, and you’ll glance up with that flat, amused look and go, “Don’t flirt with me while I’m doing payroll, Mikey. It’s unprofessional.”

And he’ll laugh, but it’ll sting. Because you’re the only one he can’t make feel special. He knows how to dial into people. It’s his gift. He can make Richie feel competent and Tina feel heard and even Sydney, prickly and brilliant, feel trusted. But You? You just see through him.

It pisses him off. It fucks him off.

But it also makes you real.

Because you’re not charmed by the smile or the swagger or the stories about when Carmy was little. You don't want anything from him except his shit to work right and his invoices to be correct and maybe, on a good day, a conversation that doesn’t end in her having to carry his weight.

You remind him of Carmy, in a fucked-up sideways way. That same drive. That same weird, twitchy stillness. That same feeling like you’re just one sharp corner away from unraveling completely.

So yeah, he doesn’t mean to make it a thing.

But you’re standing across the kitchen right now, talking low with Sydney, wrist tucked into your opposite elbow, shirt hitched up just enough to show the soft curve of your hip. There’s a smear of flour across your shoulder where you had leaned against a prep table without realising. You’re nodding, thoughtful, blinking too slow, and he can see it - you haven’t slept again.

He’s already halfway to the stove, already pulling down eggs and butter and flour.

He doesn’t mean to make it a thing.

But he’s going to make you breakfast.

---

It’s a good fucking breakfast.

He doesn’t half-ass it. Not this. Not for you.

He goes quiet about it - just starts pulling things out with the kind of casual efficiency that makes people think it’s no big deal. It is. He doesn’t cook like this anymore. Not often. Not since before Carmy left and the walls started closing in and food became a thing they threw, not offered. Not something beautiful. Not something meant to be received.

He slices the bread himself - his bread, the sourdough he baby-sat through a hangover three days ago. Toasts it on the flat top just enough to get that perfect crunch on the edges while it stays soft in the middle. The omelette’s real. French. No overcooked scrambled eggs pretending to be something they’re not. He whisks it proper, low heat, keeps it delicate, moves it in the pan like it’s a living thing, because that’s what it is, sort of. He folds it over soft goat’s cheese and chives - he thinks you like goat’s cheese. You’ve eaten it when he’s made things with it. Never commented. But you ate it, which is more than you does with half the shit he offers.

You never say what you like. Never. Not flavors, not textures. Not hot or cold, soft or crunchy, sweet or salty. Won’t even tell him if you take your coffee with sugar, just drinks whatever’s closest like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.

It makes him irrationally upset.

It makes him want to sit you down and say, Pick something. Let yourself want something. Let yourself say no to something else.

But you won’t.

So he watches. He catalogues. He learns.

You eat with your left hand when you’re tired. You won’t take a bite until everyone else has started. You like things warm, not hot, and you have this fucking adorable habit of licking your thumb to pick up stray crumbs off the edge of the table like no one’s watching.

He wants to plate this.

Desperately. Wants to do the whole thing - clean white dish, perfect curl of egg, herbs sprinkled like it’s spring, two slices of bread on a bias with a little ramekin of whipped butter, warm. Wants to give you something pretty. Something worthy of how hard you work, how much you hold.

But you won’t eat it if he does.

He’s learned that too.

Pretty plates make you stiffen. You eye them like traps. Once, when Marcus got a little too artistic with a staff dessert, you barely touched it and told him “it’s too nice for me.” It had crushed him. Mikey almost decked you before he saw the look on your face - like you’d meant it. Like you believed it.

So he doesn’t plate it nice.

He drops it into a takeout container - ugly, utilitarian. Sets the bread beside it with no garnish, no flourish. It looks like leftovers. On purpose.

He scrawls your name on the lid with a sharpie - in all caps, underlined once. No heart. No note. No goddamn flourish.

Then he leaves it on the corner of her desk.

You’re in the walk-in when he sets it down. He doesn’t wait around.

But later, he sees the container in the trash. Empty. Clean. Bread crusts gone. Not even a smudge of cheese left.

And for the first time all week, you hum while you do the books.

Just once. Just a little sound. Barely a note.

But he hears it.

He doesn’t smile.

He grins.

[spinnydino]

˖ ࣪⭑ caught in memories

summary: nat and her team are hanging out at the mall & its all calm until she she's someone that reminds her of her father.

cws: she/he little!nat, they/them big!brother van, negative self talk, nats home life & swearing

The mall on a Saturday in New Jersey was hell with a food court, but that was all it was, right?

Until Nat saw him. The same posture. Same movements. Same energy, radiating off this man who resembled her father in all the wrong ways. That same cold, careless weight in the way he stood. What the fuck.

Nat decided she wanted—no, needed—to run. She didn’t know where to. Just away. Away from him, right this second.

So he did. Somehow, his legs had led him to the stupid bricked wall behind the mall, today its purpose was to give nat some privacy.

He dropped down onto the probably disgusting, cold ground without thinking, his body already curling in. He pulled his knees to his chest, thumb to his mouth. Just like that, he was eight agian. He was back there.

This was supposed to be fun.

She wasn’t supposed to be acting like this.

This was supposed to be a fun hangout with her team.

She wasn't supposed to be a child anymore.

She wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

She wasn’t supposed to act like this.

Why can't she just be normal?

His hands were shaking. His thoughts were loud, fast and made no sense at all. Nat had no idea how long he had been there, slowly spiraling, until “Nat, you hiding out here?” Van’s voice cut through his poor, scared mind.

Thankfully for Van, Nat wasn't too far. “Hi, buddy,” they said softly, sitting opposite of Nat, careful not to scare or disturb him any further. Nat looked exactly how he had looked the day his dad died. Small. Thumb in mouth. His eyeliner streaking down his cheeks.

“I’m fine. I am. Just—h-he looked like my dad. Like… fuck. Like I was seeing a ghost or some shi—” she confessed around her thumb, voice cracking in places, clearly using the swear words to seem bigger than she felt. “Oh, Nat,” Van cooed. “I’m fine,” she said again to prove her point, right before Van pulled her into a hug.

“You’re okay.” Van’s arms tightened just a little. Not enough to trap. Not enough to scare. Just enough to hold. Just enough to keep him from spiraling again. Nat’s breath hitched. He wanted the comfort so badly, but he didn’t know if he was accepting it 'right'

“I’m fine, Van,” she mumbled again, though the words were half swallowed by the side of Van’s hoodie and the thumb still stubbornly stuck in her mouth. Nat didn’t sound fine. He sounded eight. And furious about it. But Van didn’t argue. They just continued slowly rubbing his back. Just like they had that day his dad died.

Nat started babbling about something clearly distressed, eager not to seem stupid. Trying to prove he was normal. Van gently shut it down. “You don’t have to explain, bud” they said quietly, hand still moving gently against her back.

Nat started again, faster now, shaking his head in that fast, messy way that meant he wasn’t ready to stop. “I… I aren’t stupid! I know it wasn’t him. I just. I just” he took a deep, breath. “I want him to go 'way, Vannie. Stay d-dead.” He whispered the last part like it hurt to say. Then, louder but no steadier this time, “I want him to g-go. Make me stop feeling like a little fucking child.”

Van let go of Nat just enough to look at her while speaking. “You aren’t there anymore, Nat.” A soft smile played on their lips, a gentle one. Just safe. “You’re just… scared. Scared and dealing with the aftermath.”

Nat let out a sound, something between a relief and cry. Then he buried his face again. Still sucking on his thumb, but he felt lighter this time. "Thank you, Vannie."